Sh**fight in the Straits of Magellan

Where do I begin? It was a good trip south – mixed conditions, a good chance to get familiar with the boat and the way things are done onboard … We hove to for nearly 1 ½ days for what we thought was our ‘big blow’ of the voyage; then spent a couple of days battling our way against winds from the wrong direction to get to the Straits, and thought we had a good window to arrive (timing things to have favorable currents). I will write more on this, once the reality sinks in.

Serge says you can experience all four seasons in one day in Tierra Del Fuego. We had snow, and sunshine, dolphins, and fog. And then, about 36nm from our destination – after 10 days at sea – we got hit with a 30k blast. No biggie … Then sleet. And then, the wind started to climb. Hi 30s … low 40s … high 40s … low 50s … 60s … Serge was on lookout in the cuddy (enclosed – thank God) and called Stephen up. ‘There’s something strange …’ he said (although in his French accent it sounded more like ‘Zere’z sumzing stuh-range ahed … ‘ J ). A white squall. Legendary. Stephen says he’s never seen one before … well we got a lifetime’s experience with white squalls on this one and I hope to never see this again as long as I live.

The wind blowing so hard (70k) the water was smoking (and earlier, I discovered, so cold that it froze before it hit you), The seas grew to into rolling mountains of blue green, with so much spray, there was a halo of white across the horizon. A white squall anywhere is a sh**fight … in the narrows of the Straits of Magellan, it was a nightmare. But one thing I noticed … in the spray flying off our leeward side, was a constant rainbow. My Bible-reading friends will recognize this as a symbol of God’s promise … as I did. The failure of any one thing could have screwed us up – had the staysail (furled to the size of a string bikini) or main (reefed down 4X) blown, any sheets or halyards parted, ‘Mr Perkins’ (the engine) stopped, etc -- we would have been up a creek without a paddle. However: kudos to Stephen and the rest of my mates, not only for keeping their heads on, a close watch on all systems, and excellent crew-work; but ALSO for having worked so darned hard to prepare this boat, ‘The Fat English Girl’, so she held strong. So we are very fortunate, and thankful !!!

The white-out conditions finally paled to gray, to clouds, to patches of blue sky, and the wind tamed down into the 20s. We made it to Barranco Amarillo, a small fishing port just north of Punta Arenas, just before dark (long days here in the south). Docking the boat was a work of art – we half expected an audience on the docks, applauding our arrival. We were very content with hot showers, steaks and wine aboard, and a good, long sleep.

More soon, but for now: we are safe & sound, at the bottom of South America. Probably in port longer than expected as the entire boat will have to go through checks – rig, lines, sails, etc – before leaving P.A., which is a pretty neat town (with an internet café – YES!!) Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers, sending much love to you all.

PS Sorry about the dodgy photo display I cannot get FB to take my downloads

The First Big Blow

The Furious Fifties have lived up to their reputation. No sooner had XPLORE crossed the 50 S meridian than we met with our first ‘big blow’ of the new season.

But we were ready. Several days before the skipper had seen this brewing, and one night the crew gathered around the nav station for dinner as he clicked through the satellite images and grib files, explaining what was to come.

The night before was the proverbial ‘calm before the storm’. Audrey and I sat on deck and she admired the bucolic scenery as a crimson swathe of sunset burned between the sea and the brooding sky. “We have petrels. We have dolphins (a small pod of Duskies splashed alongside). We have sunset.”

“And we have storm,” she added, her arm panning the sky.


Since then the wind has increased and canvas decreased, as we took in all the reefs on the main, furled down the headsails, until ultimately, last night just after midnight, we hove to. Now we are drifting – deliberately and slowly –out of harms way, waiting for the storm to pass. It’s quite civilized: we stand two hour watches, read, rest, and enjoy meals together. And watch the sea. The swells seem to be born right before our very eyes: huge charcoal grey mountains pushing up from the sea; white with spume; rushing by, one after another after another …

Home Sweet Home

Oct 20 7:30AM

Audrey and Serge were roping cattle on deck last night. I'm sure of it, based on the stampede of feet, flogging of ropes, jingle-jangle of metal. Yeah, it was a downright rodeo, right above my head, on the foredeck.

My cabin is the forwardmost one, on the port side; just astern the head, which is just behind the forepeak. I like it: it's cozy and it's mine all
mine (at least for now). I sleep in the upper bunk, since my aging body
seems to like the suspension of the pipe berth over the firmer (but bigger)
bunk below . besides that, I've been working on organizing the medical kit,
which, seeing we are self-sufficient at sea, is MASSIVE, so currently it
looks like I'm dealing drugs out of my lower bunks, plus I have wads of
luggage permanently stowed: slinky stuff and flip flops which will likely
not see the light of day for months .

My pipe berth is just about as wide as my bodacious bionic hips. Considering
all my parts screwed and soldered on, cut up, newly tweaked (left ankle) and
recurring (right arm) I sleep rigidly face upl, under a mountain of
blankets, and practice being in a coffin.

Outboard (towards the hull) I have a sturdy lee cloth and a post, to keep me
from falling out. But inboard my lee cloth attaches only at the bulkheads,
fore and aft (at my head, and at my feet). So that leaves a wobbly lip of
fabric at my (ahem) more generous sector, making it likely (in view of my
propensity for clumsiness) that I could get tossed right out of bed, and
onto the floor - which is a good five feet down to solid teak. And probably
bouncing off a pallet of ibuprofen on the way down .

So I've devised a plan to string a line from the bulkhead by my head to the
one by my feet, and attach a piece of webbing in the middle of the lee cloth
to this, to pull it up and make my bed more snug. This could make a really
neat laudryline (if I deign to sleep with wet socks dangling by my noggin).
Or if I want to feel like the Queen of Sheba, I can drape my cotton cheetah
print sarong (yes I brought it with me) on the line, for some privacy and
ambiance . however considering how appealing it might be to hang around
naked in a meat locker, I'll pass, and leave the ambiance to the foo foo
'room sprays' I bought for my birthday in Buenos Aires.

I have a wee window/hatch above the shelves that house four plastic milk
cartons that house my stuff, atop of which I of course duly propped my
collection of books, that come flying at me whenever we tack over to port.
The piece de resistance is a rug the crew gave me for my birthday so I have
someplace warm to put my feet: that's if I ever take my socks off! (Which
brings us back to the nice smelly sprays from BA.)

NOTES & GEN'L OBSERVATIONS

The Wanderer (AKA Wandering Albatross) is truly massive, with its 11'
wingspan and corpulent white body. Everyone has been teasing me about my
desire to have Thanksgiving dinner in So Georgia (apparently turkey is not
the rage down here) but I'm thinking one of THESE puppies with a nice
cornbread stuffing .

I make a pot of coffee every other morning, when I have the 7AM - 1PM shift.
Like today. J Otherwise we drink a lot of tea; plus I brought some
individual packets of Crystal Light pink lemonade which I sparingly dole
out; and fantasize about TJ's jasmine green tea.

Mom's carrot soup was a big hit with the crew. I suggested we could have the
leftovers chilled on a warm day and everyone laughed. "Not anytime soon!" .
Considering the amount of ginger in it, it might be a good meal for seasick
passengers . or it could just produce a very colorful byproduct.

A small pod of Dusky Dolphins visited us yesterday. First three, then
another bunch veered in, showing off. These guys could never get a job at
Sea World, they are clumsy splashy guys and up on the bow I had to watch out
for dolphin snot and spray. The ocean temp is 8C . I don't know what that is
F but it sounds cold.

I look very dashing in my matching aviator hat and gloves, foulies and
boots. Shopping list for Punta Arenas: liner socks (many) and one new warm
sweater/fuzzy shirt.

We are fast approaching the Straits of Magellan (424nm). Maybe too fast .
there is a storm brewing and Stephen will probably elect to stand offshore
until it passes. I figure if he says it's a "big blow" then it must be a BIG
blow! We are all preparing (getting showers out of the way, stowing our
stuff) and hence I might not send another dispatch until after we are in
port. Currently we are at 46 20S 62 40W. Sometime Friday we will cross from
the Roaring Forties to the Furious Fifties :-O !!

As we say here in multi-lingual XPLORE: ciao ciao, bonne nuit, g'night.

Wake up!

Sunday Oct. 18

4:56AM. First light. Wind in the mid-20s, driving a course of 230-235 ... it does not escape me that this is the approximate course from California to Hawaii.

But the bright stars of the Southern Cross are nestled in the crook where the clew of the double-reefed main meets the boom. We're at 38-50S LAT 57-30W LON; 929 miles to the Straits of Magellan, and at our current rate of speed, will be there in a week.

I am not the sort of person usually up at this hour (yawn). I am the sort of person who always - ALWAYS - wakes up with my very first thought of the day being: 'Now WHY do I have to get up now???' Whether it's an alarm, or someone waking me up; my reaction is always the same*and rarely (actually,
NEVER) do I leap out of bed without first pondering whether it is absolutely truly unequivocally critical that I arise at that particular moment (*crying babies excluded).

Thus far I have stood five watches on XPLORE .

Friday 1pm-7pm; 11pm-3am

Saturday 7am-1pm; 7pm-11pm

Sunday 3am-7am

.. and with each one I have woken with a groan (not audible, I hope). And each time, as I pull on my fuzzies, brush my teeth, and gear up to go on deck, I am mentally calculating what (chores) I have to do and how many hours it will be before I can crawl into my bunk again.

But then . you're on deck, the sky is sapphire blue, and a pair of black browed albatross skim by, and you marvel at how 10 minutes pass without them flapping a single beat. And a petrel dances around the boat and - as if to facilitate identification - tips his wings to show the splotches of
pattern that confirm: 'Yup, he's a Cape Petrel' (also called 'Pintado'). And you realize you'd never get to see stuff like this if you just stayed in bed.

XXOO ~ Betsy 42-04S 59-43 W

A Day of Firsts

Oct 17 2009 9:30AM

It was a day of firsts. My first sail on the Atlantic. My first * offshore *
sail in the Southern Hemisphere (having done a beercan race in Sydney Harbor
once). It was the anniversary of my first birthday (I won't say which
one . ). And it was the first time I'd ever eaten a banana on board a boat.

Sailors are a superstitious bunch - and taking bananas on a boat is thought
to bring all sorts of bad luck. So are rabbits and, for that matter, women.
Aboard XPLORE we have two of these three vices - but perhaps our lack of
hares will spare us any ominous fate. (Alas I have no lack of bad 'hair'
onboard .)

Yesterday morning - five weeks after my arrival in South America - we left
the erratic, sprawling skyline of Buenos Aires astern; departing through
narrow marked channels in the chocolate milky water. A smudge of pollution
spoiled the blue sky. It was sunny, and warm.

We continued east all day and night, past the red tower at Punta Piedras,
and into the widest part of the Rio de la Plata, where the river yawns into
the Atlantic: with Punta del Este at the top, and Cabo San Antonio (at the
foot of Bahia Samborombon - love the sound of that name) at the bottom. The
lowlands to starboard faded into the dimming lumes of distant cities as
night fell. Now it's Saturday morning: soon we'll pass Mar del Plata, and
there the land will fall away, leaving us 100 miles or so out to sea ---
alone, save for the random ship on the horizon, and birds-a-plenty. XXOO -
Betsy

LAT 36 39S LON 56 17W

PS -- Penguins! The muddy river water has faded into the most beautiful
green-blue sea. Cozy clusters of Magellanic penguins bob in the swell;
disappearing and appearing as the waves rise and fall - like a shooting game
at an arcade. Albatross, terns and petrels keep us company as well.

All are well: we've had an easy first days of sailing which has helped us
all get acclimated. And now it's siesta time . I'm on watch again in three
hours! ~ XXOO Betsy

NOTES

To Donnie: Happy Birthday Bro!

To Sue & the Chicas: Good luck! Be Nauti!

To Holly & Crew: Many Happy HA-HAs to you!

To Mom & Dad: Thanks for having me! Love you!

To All: I've been blessed with so many friends and loved ones ;-)Thank you
all for the birthday wishes, love and support. MUAH!

That 'OTHER' Big Apple

(me outside Immigrations)

He lifted the stamp well above his head; paused dramatically, then swung it down: WHOMP!

WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP!

We had wound our way around the ferry terminal, skirting the harbor along a busy thoroughfare, through potholed sidewalks, under massacred (you might say ‘pruned’) trees, side-stepping the occasional dropping (or baby diaper) to the large yellow building that housed Immigrations. In through the gate, where pistoled-guards pointed us to the back, along a drive I would not normally consider walking, to the right, in the tall creaky entrance, down the hall, to the oversized door with the frosted glass window.

The Immigration officer rubbed his bloodshot eyes vigorously. I wondered if he had a hangover; looking towards his desktop, I realized an advanced game of solitaire was the problem. He reviewed our papers carefully … checked the names against the passports … and stamped the papers solemnly.

But he didn’t stamp our passports. As ‘crew’ of the ship we don’t clear customs in/out he said. However for Pascal, who had joined us as crew but would be returning to Uruguay on the ferry, it was a problem. Discussions. Phone calls. Rules. Regulations. It looked like we were stuck … until the officer handed over a vial of White-out and suggested Stephen change Pascal from ‘crew’ to ‘passenger’ on the documents … then all was well. Pascal’s passport was opened; the officer raised the stamp high above his head; and with a strike so powerful, the stamp jumped out of his hand: WHOMP! The paperwork was done.

Buenos Aires is a strange place that deigns to be a big, modern, city … but still requires immigrations forms in triplicate: with carbon copies. Where do you even BUY carbon paper these days you wonder? Here, in BA – that “other” BIG APPLE. Here there are skyscrapers lining narrow lanes, like the canyons of Wall Street. The Post Office (correo) is so civilized, it has padded theatre type seating for your comfort while you wait your ‘take-a-number’ to be called. Yet the city is dirty and gritty; the water of Puerto Madero foul with trash and condoms; the sidewalks exist mostly in theory; and people stampede through town bearing the pallor of winter.

Tonight at 10:30pm, we trudged back to Immigrations – watching carefully where we walked so as to avoid the bottomless potholes and missing grates along the way. Back in the office, this time it was an officious woman who tended to our documents … appalled that we hadn’t had our passports stamped on the way in. “You should have insisted,” she told us. Uhm – how do WE insist on such a thing???!! Calls on the broken telephone with the wired handset; keys pressed on the early-model computer; carbon copies stamped – with a flourish – and then, at last – our passports.

So it is official!! We leave Oct 16 (my birthday!) for Punta Arenas. We are weary, but the boat is in immaculate shape. She is powerful, clean, well-stocked, and ready. And me too: I cannot wait to get to sea! Love & blessings to you all ~ Betsy

PS: I will be offline 10/16 – 28(ish) and unable to email; but hope to be able to post my blog from sea!

Finally: we sail!

This will be brief, as my fingertips (what is left of them) are tender from the last week’s marathon sanding / scraping / scrubbing /solvents / laying / lugging session – all to get the boat done! (for the most part) and in the water! (all 40,000-some tons of her) and off to Buenos Aires (Hooray!)

The last few days in Piriapolis were wild, with an epic TBS (non-skid deck tread) measuring-cutting-laying-sticking project while Fiky’s guys finished polishing the hull and sprayed our gorgeous toe rail. We laid out the rolls of non-skid on the ground nearby and puzzled the pieces together to make the best use of the footage. We didn’t have time to affix it all to the deck before leaving for BA, so for now we walk on the port side of the boat: or ‘ice skate’ on the slick surface on starboard..

So finally, XPLORE was re-launched … and 24 hours later we were on our way to BA! She’s a spectacular boat, huge (67’), powerful, impressive. She sailed beautifully under just staysail and yankee and we arrived much ahead of schedule. The Rio de la Plata is murky – the color of chocolate milk – and shallow, so we kept an eye on the depth sounder (in some spots just 2m under the keel!) Skirting the shipping channel until the last minute, we also kept a lookout for the white lights signaling sunken ships and other hazards in the slender turbulent waters.

And then … Stephen let me drive her the last few miles into BA ;-) Approaching the harbor here, like so many other cities, it was a confusion of lights. Red – green – white – yellow … picking out the right lights for the narrow channel – and studying the horizon for ships shooting out. “See that dark blob in front of us?” Pascal announced. “It is a ship.” And a big one at that.

So finally we’ve left the dock – if just a quick overnight – and will pick up our mainsail and other parts, finish the TBS, reprovision, and set sail for Punta Arenas on Thursday (10/15). My battery is low and I AM IN BUENOS AIRES so I’m going offline now to go for a quick stroll through Puerto Madero and the nearby downtown area.

More soon & much love to you all ~ Betsy.

ABOVE: docked outside the posh Yacht Club Argentino ... we are too big for an inside spot, so enjoy our neighborhood of the fuel dock and ferries

SANDING BALLS IN URUGUAY

It was a perfect day for sanding and scrubbing. And these balls were feral! Splotched, grubby, rusty … one had a ring of black mold around it, and another had dirt in the nooks and crannies of the end bits. I had my work cut out for sure, and throughout the day, I rubbed and scrubbed so much, I even scoured all the color off of one!

It was Saturday, and the spectacular (and rare)warmth and sunshine – combined with the heat generated by my vigorous scrubbing activity – enabled me one of my ‘California girl’ ensembles of tank top, shorts, tevas and Hawaiian print visor: ill-placed, but like ‘comfort food’ these were my ‘comfort clothes’.

As I continued scrubbing and sanding, splattered with solvents and cleaning fluids and bits of ultra-fine sandpaper, several of the local marina guys wandered by. Although most said they were ‘practicing their English’ (like Grif, a Portuguese, who really is; and brought me a glass of orange juice which I drank even though I don’t drink orange juice, because how could I say no?) I truly think they just wanted to see for themselves a big blonde gringa sitting on a dock in Uruguay with a gigantic round fender rolling between her thighs as she hunches over it, scrubbing …

And while I sat on my squat, uneven, butt-numbing piece of timber, adjacent the greasy water spigot, gazing at the small playa (beach) hemming downtown Piriapololis, where scores of people were gathered for the annual grand prix car races (either that, or judging by the BzzzZZZzzz going round and round: being consumed by a horde of giant killer bees), I pondered my good fortune in being on my much-envied ‘adventure’ to South America. I mean, here I was, scrubbing enormous groadie boat fenders all day (Saturday, no less) in a third-world marina, when I could be doing something boring like flipping through old tattered copies of PEOPLE magazine at Happy Nails, or having lunch with a friend at the Blue Water Grill. Ho. Hum.

No, I was enjoying the excitement of a spring day in Piriapolis: scrubbing balls, and when each one was done, I tied it up on the wooden cradle of the boat, and contemplated how the whole thing – the green hull, the timber posts holding it up, the round and tubular fenders of various colors (and not) dangling from the scaffolding – looked like a giant Christmas tree. –ish.

And I thought about how, if I were ever to turn to a life of crime, it should be now: considering that – after all the sanding and scrubbing, solvents, thinners and pastes of the last few weeks – I have no fingerprints left.

I did take one break: to make lunch, and then that night, I got to shower at the marina baths – amazingly hot water with stinging pressure. And then, get up and do it all over again – although with the fenders done, today’s job was laying. Deck tread. Exotic, n’est ce pas?

What more can I say in this little ‘postcard’ from Piriapolis? Other than …. “Wish you were here”. Cliché, but true: it would have been so helpful to have someone hold my balls for me..

~ Betsy

3 Oct 2009

A couples of photos from the last few days of work