(Dana)

A 17-day crossing of the Pacific Ocean from the Galapagos to the Marquesas in French Polynesia was not high on the list of “things I am looking forward to during the Oyster World Rally.” Lots of sitting. Lots of sailing. Lots of time to fill. Lots of monotony. Lots of togetherness in a small space. As we approach our endpoint, I recognize that all of that was true. But I can say that it also was lots of learning, healthy food, exercise (really), activities, blue water, stars, and confidence.

Three nights ago was tough (or was it four nights ago? … they blend). The wind kept shifting, sometimes as much as 10-25 degrees at a time, which is a lot when your sails are set for a particular route. The waves and swell were about 2 meters but not at a consistent cadence and from a sub-optimal direction for our course. Together, the conditions made the boat roll, often dramatically, followed by the sails snapping and slapping. It felt like every few minutes, but it was unpredictable. Uncomfortable for sleeping. Jarring in the dark while on watch.

As a self-proclaimed catastrophist (one who constantly sees what could go wrong), this was torture. During this adventure, I have been working on this tendency. The boat is not going to sink. We are not going to end up in a life raft (although we trained for that). Things will break (like the d-ring on the bowsprit), and we will fix it. But with all the snapping and slapping of the sails, I was convinced that something was going to break in the middle of the night. Plus, I had to keep an eye on the wind instruments, looking for wind shifts too extreme for our heading, so I could fine tune our course, and minimize the snapping.

Just like all other of my concerns, these fears were misplaced. No catastrophes. We were fine. But more importantly, I had done a good job on my watch. The rest of the boat was able to sleep, trusting that I would do my job from 2-5am. When I went back to sleep, I was edgy, but proud.

The one thing I wildly underestimated for this Pacific leg was the rolling of the boat and the accompanying snapping of the sails. I had naively thought that once we got into the Tradewinds (see Greg’s post on the Coriolis effect), that it would be relatively smooth downwind sailing. I had no idea how changeable the wind was (OK, maybe I should have), nor how impactful the waves and swell could be on this vast amount of water. Sleeping took a while to get used to. All movements, especially going up-and-down the main stairs, need to be slow and deliberate. Falling and breaking a wrist while scampering down the stairs would be bad when 1500 miles from the closest hospital. Showering meant bracing against one wall. Walking from our cabin often entailed being tossed against the cabinets. It’s been a 17-day core workout as even sitting on the toilet requires engaged abs to not roll off!

To balance all that have been the positives. I won’t wax as poetically as Greg, but I do have some to share:

Learning. All the instruments now make more sense to me. I am starting to find wind angles intuitive, not just a mathematical equation. Furling and unfurling the sails feel second nature (most of the time). Reading the radar and watching for squalls and storms is easier. I find myself participating more fully in the sailing conversations. There was sheet lightening in the clouds 3 miles away last night, and I didn’t go running to wake someone up.

Healthy food. Ellie along with Alex have kept us sustained with healthy bowls and meals, even as our fresh produce stocks dwindled over the weeks. Quinoa. Haloumi. Veggie curries. Shakshuka. Udon ramen. Minimal meat. Minimal carbs. All of that, in addition to only one coffee/day and no alcohol, has helped me drop a bunch of annoying extra weight. Most importantly, I am feeling good physically right now.

Exercise. Yes, my iPhone has asked me to recalibrate my daily step count, as I probably only take a few hundred per day. Thankfully, Starlink and the Peloton app have kept me sane. Each day after my 2-5pm shift, I do a Peloton cardio workout on the back deck. Improvising is critical, as Greg has made me promise to hold onto the thick wire backstay throughout the entire class. Burpees will have to wait until we are at anchor. Just enough time to shower before healthy meal #2 of the day. During my night watch, I do my 200 squats and sit-ups for the day. The goal is 1 per every mile we do of the circumnavigation, which should be ~27,000.

Activities. Despite Greg’s reluctance, all four of us now engage in spirited games of mahjong (thanks Phyllis!). Non-stick mats keep the tiles from flying around. Socks plug the drains nearby in case tiles hit the floor. Our walls are front-to-back, not stacked to keep from sliding around. And every so often, we all brace our racks as the boat rolls dramatically. Good fun! This complements the reading we do daily. Trying to make our way through the reading list compiled by our kids in anticipation of this journey. Finally, Crossplay has enabled some fun competition among colleague sailors in the fleet who enjoy Scrabble.

Blue water and stars. During the day, the water and the waves are mesmerizing. The vastness is mind boggling. It never stops. And each day the color is different based on the light. At night, when it’s clear, the starts are amazing. I watch them for hours. The Milky Way is apparent. The constellations are all there. My favorite is the Southern Cross; cue the CSN (or Jimmy Buffet) song now.

17 days is long. Sometimes it’s hard to get my head around the fact that we have been doing this for over two weeks! It’s almost like time is standing still and every day feels like the set of “Groundhog Day.” It’s rare in life to do the exact same thing for 17 days in a confined space; quite a contrast to the whirlwind 17-day vacations we have done in the past. We have pushed our clocks back four times to align to Marquesan time. But as my Dove chocolate wrapper said the other day, “cheers to where you’re at!”

Time to celebrate this long passage and my net gain in confidence. I am pushing the boundaries of my comfort zone outward. And we’re just getting started.

Taking the “W”

Pacific Passage