It’s 1:00 in the morning, I’m bathed in red light, the cabin sole is littered with chocolate wrappers, and every part of my body hurts. I love ocean sailing.
I didn’t post anything today because I was busy and tired. But first the essentials: the boat is moving pretty well, the wind is almost perfect and I’m still well enough to complain.
The big event early this morning was that we passed Guadalupe Island, a large (20 miles long) mountain about 300 miles south of Ventura and out in the middle of nowhere. I like it because I’ve been there before, in a singlehanded race back in 1996. So it was fun to see again. The two places of note so far (Bishop Rock on Cortes Bank and Guadalupe Island) are places “Ventura” has been. It’s kind of like we’re visiting old haunts before heading off for a new home.
I think “Ventura” is happy to be going home. I cursed at her a couple of times today, but all in all we still love each other. For those of you who don’t know, the reason for this trip is a promise I made in 1994. I was 700 miles west of San Francisco, on the way back from Hawaii. We’d been hammered for a couple of days be a low pressure system that swooped further south than I expected. By the second night, I was exhausted and scared. Sitting in the cockpit, no moon so it was as black as a coal mine, I turned my head so the red headlamp lit up the boat’s nameplate.. “Rustler No. 32. Anstey Yachts, Poole, Dorset, England.” I said, “If we make it to dawn, I promise I’ll take you home someday.” Every time I’ve thought of selling “Ventura” I felt a stab in my heart and I remember the promise. So I finally decided to do a complete refit (for which I could have bought two boats) and sail her home. So the emotional apex of the trip will be sailing “Ventura” into Poole Harbor.
By the way, for those of you who wondered about the name “Ventura,” given that I live in Ventura, CA, no, I did not name her. She was given the name “Ventura” in 1969 in England long before anyone ever had any idea she would someday be in Ventura. “Ventura” means good fortune in Spanish, as in “buena ventura.” I don’t know what to make of that.
I get weather advice from an amateur meteorologist on the radio each morning, a guy named Don Anderson on “Summer Passage.” He told me today that the fair winds I have would last to Sunday and then die out. I’d then have two or three days of very light or calm winds. Yuck. So he suggested I head in towards the coast of Baja California, where he thought there might be more wind on Sunday and Monday, and then head back offshore. So I’m taking his advice. It seems a gamble, since I don’t really want to head so much east right now, and there is more traffic closer to shore (which means less sleep for me), but the thought of just bobbing around in a calm for three days sounds bad, too.
Some of you have left me messages the past few days. I’ll try to answer personally when I can, but for now please know that I REALLY appreciate the messages. It’s a lonely place out here, and I love hearing from you.
I do want to leave a message for Tara Yuriko Fish, who wrote to me from her 4th grade class at Sol Feinstone Elementary School in Newtown, Pennsylvania. I hope you notice on the map on the web site that the ocean is a VERY BIG place. See if you can figure out how big. And then you can tell me. I’m always amazed that I can sail day after day after day and see nothing but water. If I had known how big the ocean was, maybe I would have done something else. Do you know how far it is from Ventura, California to Panama? Maybe your teacher can help you figure that out.
I was feeling pretty low tonight, partly because the moon is waning, so it rises later and later. On a moonless, cloudy night, when you can’t see your hand in front of your face, the sharks of despair circle a little tighter around the boat. Also, the seas have been boisterous, say nine or ten feet, so “Ventura” has been rolling quite a bit. I’ve been banging into things, so by now I’m pretty bruised and sore. And then there are the breakages.. Nothing catastrophic, but unrelenting and irritating. Today was the turn for the towed electrical generator to flake out. That’s a generator mounted on the stern that trails a propeller on about 60 feet of line. The propeller spins, which makes the generator spin, which creates electricity. It seems that it is not adjusted correctly from the factory, so it cuts out when the batteries are not charged. I spent the afternoon with the screwdrivers and sat phone out talking to master electrician David Decrevel again. I think I can get it sorted out at sea.
Anyway, I was resting in my bunk doing what lots of unhappy people do: eating chocolate. I have a few bags of those mixed Hershey small chocolate bars: regular chocolate, dark chocolate, Mr. Goodbar (with nuts) and then my absolute favorite, Krackel. Try I as might, I cannot keep myself from picking out the Krackels from the packages. So I’m barely four days into my trip and I realize I will soon be out of Krackels. Now on the list of crises at sea that doesn’t rank very high, but I sure wish I could trade someone some Mr. Goodbars for some Krackels. The problem solo sailors have is that there is no one else around to tell them they’re being foolish. So without that social regulator that we all have ashore, it’s easy to get into a panic over stupid, inconsequential stuff. Still, I think someone should write to Hershey and explain that there is this singlehanded sailor and he’s almost out of Krackels….
I’ve added a couple of pictures I took Friday morning near Guadalupe Island.
Fair winds,
David