TranspacBlogII-18: Mangle-day

July 14: 3PM
Writing in the leeward bunk. We really are in the trade winds now. Wind is coming from the NE, gusting to 18 knots! We love the trade winds. We have 1717 miles to go. That is a lot of spinnaker work.

What's more, I am clean, and shaven, with nothing but clean clothes. Food is becoming a source of interest on the boat. Jimmy saw Steve eating one of the pounds of cookies laying around in the galley, and said "Steve, you've got to stop eating that shit food, here let me make you some macaroni and cheese." Steve and Charlie are on deck, the wind lightening to 12 knots. I have the distinction of being the first driver to hit 10 knots, while surfing on a fortunate combination of waves. Wee Hee!

We decided yesterday evening while sipping our box wine during happy hour that we were tired of going south. "Let's go to Hawaii!". So while FarFar sailed cold, we sailed hot. Farfar is going south, south. They are the farthest boat south. We say, let's stop fiddling around, and head for Hawaii. Naturally we are second guessing this decision. We are trying to pass Farfar to the right. Hmmm... But, everyone else in the fleet is north of us. The early west-makers (Brown Sugar, Xdream) are laying a HUGE egg; the others look pretty good.

Earlier today, after we got a gust of 16 knots, we traded spinnakers from the lightest sail, the half ounce (ounces refers to the weight of the cloth per square yard)for the stronger 3/4 oz spinnaker.

To do this, we first set a little jib to keep the boat going, but most of all to prevent the spinnakers from getting tangled. Then down with half oz, re-tie the sheets and halyards to the 3/4 oz, and up it goes. The boat is without a spinnaker for perhaps 2 min while the crew does the operation.

This maneuver we executed flawlessly. Yesterday's maneuvers were not so smooth.

We jibed twice yesterday. Once when the wind suddenly shifted to the east, portending the edge of the high. This allowed us to really sail away from the bad winds I described in yesterday's blog. The second jibe came when we sighted Farfar and decided to 'cover' her, i.e., stay within sight of her and see if we can just beat her. Charlie just commented after a bizarre debate of jibing angles, "I hate thinking about sailing. It hurts my head."

We are in 3rd place in the class today. The mood is upbeat.

Meanwhile, Charlie made one of the best dried dinners I have ever tasted last night. "Taco Surprise". I sliced a half an avocado on my casserole, and was it ever gooooood. Tonight, Jim has promised a very special "chicken-rice" dinner. The water-maker is the reason we are eating these meals. Being able to turn seawater into delicious drinking water means dried meals are the call. It also means we can minimize the amount of fresh water we carry with us. Everything to reduce weight.

The two jibes we did yesterday were very awkward, even though the 12 knot breeze was ideal. This was the first jibe for the five of us, which makes things a little awkward to begin with. No one is quite sure what to do, and what others are to do. See the 2005 blog for more details about jibing. Our first jibe looked to be almost perfect, until we noticed that a cylindrical structure, called a reaching strut, was in the way of the boom when it came over, and the force of the boom put a major kink in the strut. We will need our mangled reaching strut coming into Diamond Head, but not until then. We are discussing work-arounds. The second jibe was also awkward. We had a couple of false starts, and one of the lines didn't fall free like it should have. Our rhythm sucked, and in the confusion, Jimmy caught his thumb in the spinnaker guy (the line that pulls back the pole). It was a minor injury (not really a mangle), but it gave us all pause for thought.

An injury on a long ocean race is a very serious issue. This is because you are not minutes, not hours, but days from shore-side assistance. Every boat has her own first-aid kit, but sometimes these are woefully inadequate.

In 1969, I was the deckhand on Dick and Betty Steele's 55 foot motor sailor, the Bon Homme Richard, on one of the windiest Transpacs ever. This was an amazing summer job for a new high-school graduate. About 4 days out, with the wind gusting over 35, we got a "may day" call on the radio. A sailor on a 36 foot boat had been standing on the downwind side of the mast when the spinnaker pole, which holds, under great compression, the spinnaker out on one side of the boat, sheared from the mast and speared him square in the head. We answered the may day, fired up the engine and headed the "Bonnie Dick" upwind (sea-sickness an immediate consequence) for a half day. I'll never forget the sight of one of the crew members as we approached the stricken vessel. The ocean was so very big. 20 foot seas with big fat white caps on them. The little sailboat rolling like crazy. One of the crew members was hailing us from the foredeck. His shirt was completely covered in blood, sheer despair on his face. We put the doctor on board, 60-year old Bill Schuman into a rubber dinghy and paid out a few hundred feet of line so he could drift down to the racers without endangering either boat. He climbed on board. 15 minutes later, Schuman came on the radio. "I've patched him up as best I can, but this is an extremely dangerous wound. We will need to call for assistance, immediately." His skull had been caved in by the impact of the pole. 10 hours later a Navy destroyer showed up, hove to upwind of the tiny sailboat, creating an eerie calm, and loaded the injured sailor on board. They steamed post-haste toward San Diego, and a helicopter met them 300 miles out to airlift him to the hospital. I heard second hand that this sailor, although he survived, was partially paralyzed. I'm not sure what became of him, but the thought of a serious injury at sea is a lonely, sobering one.

10PM: Just going to send this email. We had another amazing rice and chicken casserole. And blueberry muffins. Jim's wife Andrea was instrumental in organizing these dinners. Thank you Andrea.

We've jibed twice more. We're getting better. Nothing else mangled.