Sept. 8 update

Sept 8
Time 1930 zulu/utc
Position N13 01 W 157 17
winds 25-30 knots out of the North/North East
Course 340 deg True
Speed 3.5 knots

Recap from Sept. 6, enroute Kiritimati to Hawaii
"There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home."......Hmmmm.......Well, it might of worked for Dorathy but it's not working for us. Maybe we need those red ruby slippers instead of clicking our heals in our bare feet or dock shoes---Do you think some red watercolor paint would make a difference?

Right now nothing sounds better than a nice dry bed...ON LAND. Maybe even a tent in the middle of the desert would do. The sheets and blankets aren't even really necessary, just a decent pillow and some firm ground would make me happy.

Let's see, so yesterday (Sept. 6) started out with consistent 15-20 knots of wind and 6 foot seas under partially sunny skies. As the afternoon progressed and we neared the ITCZ, the clouds on the horizon ahead of us began to build vertically into big puffy cumulus nimbus clouds. Those are the cotton candy clouds that look 'oh so cute and pretty' from the land; you know- the ones that are filled with all kinds of fun shapes, like bunny rabbits, elephants and teddy bears. Well, not sure if you are all aware of this, but those "cute" fluffy cotton ball clouds are actually schitzofrantic, two faced, monsters. Yes, this is true, because, as soon as the sun goes down and the air begins to cool, they turn an ominous dark grey and wait until you are just underneath them to drench you in pelting rain and blast you with wind....

.........AAAAAAHHHHHH....that thought was literally just interrupted by a surge of salt water spraying through the window (a tightly closed window, that is) above me and on to the computer in my lap as the boat was enveloped by a huge crashing wave. Sorry mother nature, I apologize for the harsh words above, I take it all back...

So, as I was saying, the sky was full of beautiful, expanding, pearly white clouds, brimming with moisture, and kindly awaiting our close proximity so they could bestow their clean fresh rain water and cool refreshing breezes upon us. ;-) (cough, cough, excuse me while I clear my throat). We had a nice consistent breeze moving us along at around 6 knots and no squalls during the day, or even all of last night for that matter. As the afternoon passed, the seas began increasing in swell size and the wind started picking up to around 20 knots. I actually thought for a moment, as I gazed out with dreamy eyes towards the distant horizon, how lucky I was to witness first hand, from the comfort of our boat and home, both the beauty and power of the great blue ocean. Well, ignorance is bliss they say, and later, as I sat there with a towel (one of only two clean towels left) draped over my head and the computer to protect it from any further unexpected waves crashing through the window, I came to the conclusion that being in the middle of the ocean with confused seas that consist of 25-30+ knot winds and 12-15 foot waves breaking over the boat, wasn't too fun and that really the only word that I could find to describe the experience is ...freakin scary! (Yes, I realize, that's two words)

Despite the tumultuous sea and building chaos, I actually was quite comfortable and content, until about 7 p.m., shortly after dark. As the day's events unfolded, the first "uh oh" happened around noon when the laptop and contents in all of the starboard side cabinets were flung onto the floor, without warning, when a large and heavy wave struck us on the side. The funny thing is (actually it's not that funny) that I was just contemplating if and where we should stow the computer to keep it from being launched off of the nav. station and potentially getting damaged. As I was pondering this, I stood up and walked over to the galley to pour myself a glass of water when all of a sudden, BOOM and CRASH. The wave sent us hard over to the port side and dumped the contents from behind the settee onto the floor. Among these were a large canister of dried milk, a bottle of oyster sauce, a bag of flour, some other food items, and... our laptop computer. Yes, the computer that we use to look at charts, to plot our course, to send and receive email, to download weather, and where all of our pictures from this trip are saved (I've been meaning to make a copy of them....just in case). Fortunately, somehow, the computer is still working after making a 3 foot leap off of the desk and landing on the hard wood floor, thank goodness! I did though, find it extremely ironic, that after 5 months of crossing oceans through various weather conditions, that the computer, which has never moved an inch before today, was sent flying only moments after I thought to possibly move it somewhere safer. So now, it has been moved and we will cross our fingers that it continues to work well, because with out it ...we are...basically...screwed. To add to the irony, I am now typing on the ACER (a little lap top), which also has never had any issues prior to today, but was just sprayed down with salt water as I mentioned above, through a closed window that has also never shown problems of major leaking.

The next exciting event, around dusk, was shortly after the waves had built to an average of 12 feet (with short 4-6 second periods, from all different directions). I was up for watch and hand steering the boat, instead of having the wind vane work as an autopilot, to ensure that we went over the waves at a better angle. I've grown used to seeing white caps and foamy tops of waves as the seas and wind builds, but never until this evening had I actually experienced or seen a breaking wave in the middle of the ocean. But, it seems, that it was my lucky day. So after diagonally coming down the back side of a large wave, I saw an even bigger set wave heading straight towards the boat and begin to break. My hands clenched the wheel (and I think I might have let out a screem) as I watched, with big bulging eyes in disbelief, a frothing white wall of foam tumble down over the entire boat. Although, the whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion, instead of ducking for cover, I froze like a dear in the headlights, awaiting the coming blow. Fortunately, I was under "the protection" of the cockpit enclosure and standing far enough aft to not get wet. I highlight in "the protection" of the cockpit enclosure, because the only reason the wave didn't make it back to me was because it broke over the bow and up over the dodger (which is the plastic window and roof in front of the cockpit to protect us from spray), but a little later I would discover that the enclosure is actually only a false sense of security, because, like the window down below, somehow, from just the right direction, a wave can find it's way through and do what it likes with you.

This leads to the third exciting event of the day, which happened shortly after dinner. It was about 7 p.m., Chris had just laid down for a nap and I was on my way up to the cockpit to check the radar and scan the horizon for any approaching squalls. I clipped my tether onto the wooden handle just inside of the companion way (that is the opening where you enter the boat, where the stairs are) and climbed out into the cockpit. I stepped outside and just as I turned around to look at the radar, with out any warning, I was hit by a wall of water that soaked me from head to toe. Granted it was only water, but it caught me completely off guard and scared the living begeezes out of me. Not only did it make it's way through the tightly zipped up complete cockpit enclosure, but it also poured down through the opening of the companion way, drenching the floor, cabinets and drawers of the galley. Still in shock, with tears in my eyes from being frightened, I stumbled down the companion way stairs in a daze. As I descended, Chris lifted his head from resting and instead of asking "honey, are you OK ?", playing his best role of the electricity police on the boat, he said "don't forget to turn the radar off!". At that moment, I believe I began to cry and said something back to him along the lines of..."bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep," which translates in to "could you please be quite about the radar and realize the state that I am in." After seeing my sad and dripping pitiful self standing in a puddle in the galley, like a lost wet dog, he realized what had just happened and came over to comfort me.

From that moment on, I decided that I would not venture up in to the cockpit, under rough conditions, at night alone, anymore - except during emergencies. I came up with a new routine of standing up inside upon the companion way stairs, and looking up towards the radar through clear hatch from below. Then, and only then, if I see an approaching squall or ship that we need to avoid, will I actually go up to the steering wheel to alter our course.

So, once I had dried off, regained my composure and tried my new radar technique for watches, I sat down on the settee to "relax" for a few minutes. But with the boat bucking and pitching, leaping and pounding in to the waves ahead of us and shuttering with the loud sound similar to crashing a car into a brick wall, I found that "relaxing" wasn't as easy as I hoped for it to be. Then, as I stared out towards the portlight (sailboat windows) across from me, watching them fill to the tops with water, then methodically drain down as the waves crashed over the deck, I started to ponder my situation and began asking myself questions like; I wonder how much force the boat can take before it breaks in half? Will the weather get any better or will this be our reality for the next month? And, what the heck are we doing out here in the middle of the freakin' ocean? The most entertaining question that I came up with while sitting in my underwear and wearing only my tether and inflatable suspenders(because it's way to hot to attempt wearing clothes, and really we're not expecting any company out here any time soon) was along the lines of - I wonder if I should put an outfit, or at least a sarong, in our ditch bag (that's the bag that you bring with you on the life raft if your boat sinks, it has essential things like water, food, flares etc.)? Because, I reasoned with myself, the only thing that might be worse then drifting aimlessly in a big rubber tube across the ocean if the boat were to sink, would be the embarrassment of being butt naked, with only a life jacket on when they come to rescue us.
Lots of love,
Chris and Lori