TranspacBlogII-25: Gribs and Gurus

Two of the most important resources for getting to Hawaii ahead of our competition are the weather files (called GRIBS), which we download a couple of times a day by satellite telephone, and words of wisdom from the Guru of the Transpac, Stan Honey.

On Psyche, in my blog yesterday, I admitted to being somewhat discouraged. Farfar was 30 miles ahead. That's 4 hours at 7 knots. That's a long way. Furthermore, the newest GRIB file predicted that, if they and we maintained our present parallel but 60 miles separate courses, Farfar would have 2.3 more knots of wind today. We were to have 14, they 16.3 (or thereabouts). Because these GRIBS have been marvelously accurate so far, this prediction, and Farfar's 30-mile lead, was pretty discouraging.

But yesterday's beautiful weather, and fresh 18-20 knots that we kept all day, consoled us significantly. Yesterday was the day that we were to have a bit more wind than Farfar. Today was when the 60 mile separation would favor them. And our fresh breeze seemed to support the GRIBS's prediction. We wondered at what time our breeze would start to look like the 14 knots predicted for today. That was a couple of hours before sunset yesterday.

Now the other great source of information, besides the GRIB weather files, for this race, is Stan Honey's gem of wisdom in the Transpac brochure and elsewhere. Among his pieces of advice is the best strategy for dealing with "squalls", local rain storms that roll over you from noon to the wee hours, creating locally very windy conditions, and just creating havoc. Stan's advice for the "slow boats", of which the Cal 40 is the prototype, is to take the most efficient track AWAY from the squall. He says that even though you might have wind in the front, the dead wind extending for miles behind these squalls is a real killer. So, if a squall captures you, Stan says jibe to port tack and head at a 90 degree angle and get the hell out of there.

But, this isn't any fun. Squalls are really cool. The wind in front of them blows much harder than the ambient wind. You can go really fast. So we have all been sort of torn by this advice. Instead of jibing out of the squall, the kid in us says, "ride that damn thing as far as you can!"

Yesterday, we got our first chance to put these paradigms (Guru vs Kid)to a test. On starboard tack, we saw a squall creeping right down our wake toward us. It looked pretty rainy, although not pitch black or anything close to it. It started to rain, and the wind backed counter clockwise, all like Guru Honey's descriptions. We talked for a while about what we should do, and then, we took the conservative approach, and decided to put Guru Honey's algorithm to use. We jibed to port (blowing our new 1/2 oz chute in the process, though we did nothing to cause it. Andrew says it was a classic pressure blow-out of a panel. Too much thrashing about in 20+ knots). This jibe took us rapidly out of the rain, and into the sunshine, exactly as advertised. Well, by this time it was Andrew and Charlie's watch, and the old guys just went to bed. I'll tell you what they did while we older gentlemen slept (you can probably guess) in a second, but first the action:

I woke up to the cry of all hands on deck. We need to change to the heavier 3/4 oz spinnaker. I reached for my glasses, which I always hook on an eye on the wall above my head. Not there. Ok, maybe I put them in my pouch. Got out of bed and checked. Not there. Everyone else was scrambling into their shoes and safety harnesses, which I also did, all the while puzzling over where my glasses were.

Up on deck, the scene was mayhem. The wind was really blowing, with gusts to 25. We needed to get our precious 1/2 oz chute down before it to blew up. Pouring rain. Ok, everyone takes their positions, I at the helm without my glasses. Charlie handling the spinnaker sheet and halyard release; Jim let's the spinnaker pole forward. Andrew and Steve are on the fordeck, hauling in the spinnaker, reattaching the lines to the new spinnaker, and then hoisting it.

I had just a little problem with my job. I couldn't see.

Well, that's not really right. I could at least see the compass. But the all-important wind direction (which changes substantially even within minutes) was out of my reach, except by the behavior of he oscillating spinnaker. Well, I managed my job passably (only one "head down Billy" from Charlie). But the foredeck crew was truly stellar. Pitch black, pouring rain, wind HOWLING, down comes the 1/2 oz chute, up goes the 3/4 oz. It fills with a pop, and we are off and running.

Big sigh of relief. The off watch goes back down to bed. Five minutes later, Charlie calls out, "it's too windy. We have to change to the 1.5 oz spinnaker." He saw 27+ knots on the anemometer. He said later the boatspeed was solid on 13.5 knots for tens of seconds at a time We only have one 3/4 oz spinnaker. Have to preserve that one too. Up on deck we go. I again without my glasses. Everyone in position, but by then the wind had abated to 21 knots. "Hold on!" came the cry. Ok. The wind is down to the low 20s. The squall has passed. Ok, back to bed.

So, as you might have guessed, this whole series of actions followed Charlie and Andrew NOT jibing away from the squall. They just let the bugger have its way with us! And did it work! We were sailing at 10+ knots for a several hours. Just flying along. The wind never died at all. After the squall, it went down to 20-24 knots, which made this one of the most exhilarating nights of sailing in my memory. I came on watch an hour later, and my turns at the helm were just as sweet as you can imagine. The wind held all the way through the night, and has been plenty strong even today, when we were supposed to be down in the 14 knot range. 18 knots average is closer to the truth.

Ok, the bottom line of this narrative, is that the GRIBS and gurus took a drubbing last night. First, the weather GRIBS gave us NO indication we would be sailing in 20+ knots for the entire night. They said 16.8 knots or something, a laughable under-estimate.

Second, a major squall gave us hours of good winds, and no wake effects, thus turning the Honey paradigm for slow boats on its ear.

We made 186 miles in 24 hours. We kept the spinnakers flying in the thick of some pretty windy squalls.

You can imagine we listened with anticipation to the role call positions at 8 AM. More particularly, how had Farfar done, 60 miles to our north. The answer was 164 miles, 22 miles fewer than we! We are within 10 miles of them. We ALMOST caught up with them (they give us 70 minutes handicap, so in principle they could finish before us, and we could still win). If we can close the gap to 5 miles, or better pass the suckers, we can win.

And guess what. They are to the right of us. That means we are in.......

The Passing Lane!

The GRIBS and gurus be damned. Here we come.