39 days from La Paz, Mexico to Hiva Oa, Marquesas.

Thanks to modern GPS navigation, it turns out to be pretty easy to navigate to a small Island in the middle of the ocean.

Definitely the most physically and mentally grueling thing I have ever embarked on…so far. It’s a bit masochistic. I can’t say I would recommend it.

It’s like a carnival ride (Tilt-a-Whirl?), or a bucking bronco, that never stops. Add in some intense tropical sun and heat, and some Chinese water torture to boot. I couldn’t predict when the next dollup of salty water would land on my head, but it was absolute that it would. I almost always flinched when I saw it coming. And it wasn’t even cold. I made some makeshift weather cloths from some acrylic canvas I rescued from the Ballard Mill Marina dumpster. This mitigated the splashing some. But on a small boat with low freeboard, the splash comes right over the top. And since I’m standing or sitting only two feet beyond, I get to taste the salty spray. Kind of like Yukon Cornelius tasted his pick axe. I also improvised a bimini for the sun that worked OK for sitting in the supervisor’s chair. There was nothing I could do about the bronco.

The real star of the show was Sampaguita. She just bounced along like a cork. I won’t say gracefully, because the sea makes that impossible, but if canvased properly she was unphased by the water torture, charging ahead despite the accumulating  barnacles on her bottom. She only complained when her lackey supervisor wasn’t quick enough to make adjustments (or was sleeping.) within 24 hours of being anchored, most of the goose branches just fell off. I guess they like the boat to be moving. When I was entering the anchorage I was noticing the look of an ocean crossing vessels. They have a certain waterline grubbiness to them. When I got the dinghy sorted out, I realized Sampaguita was the worst of them all. You just can’t see it from the deck. Ha.

Arrival in the anchorage was very stressful. All the literature and Navionics reviews said to be ready with a stern anchor. So I was. It also said there was very restricted anchoring. Reality was much different. So many boats. So much swell. And hardly anyone was stern anchored. Where will I go? Sampaguita’s shallow draft meant she could go back in the bay. There were two spots left. I chose the most protected one. Yes, I stern anchored. Needed to. But we’re in a good spot. Most of the other boats will have to skidaddle when the supply ship arrives in a couple days. I think. Yes, Sampaguita is the smallest boat by far in the anchorage. Note: There is a certain kind of people who write reviews on Navionics, so the information is biased to that club.

I’m not officially checked in yet, but I hear it’s easy. I tried today but the Gendarmerie was closed. That’s like saying the police station is closed. I think because most of the staff was out in the boat. It’s a long walk to the station. I’ll go in the morn before it gets blazing hot. It’s not a big deal. Last night I went to a restaurant and had goat with coconut sauce. A local cuisine. A couple beers and strawberry ice cream for dessert. 2nd desserts was birthday cake from a locals birthday party. The family gave everyone in the restaurant a piece. You don’t see that in America.

I love this small Island stuff. Everything is closed in the afternoon because it’s too hot to do anything. Nobody’s stressing about anything. Except the tourists.

I’m amazed I haven’t broken any part of my body yet. My thighs were bruised from sitting in the supervisors seat bracing against the companionway and the perpetual side to side roll. I got sat down so hard in the cockpit one day I worried I had given myself a concussion from my brain slamming down in my skull. I gave myself a nasty blister on my palm trying to remove a thu-hull hose. I’m super surprised I still have any front teeth left. Sweaty, salty, dirty, and dehydrated, while oscillating between awe and apathy.

The pod of pilot(?) whales was cool. When I went below to grab the camera I could hear the high pitched speech of their sonar through the hull. The birds were ever present. I could sometimes see the shadow of pelagic fish below the surface. And so many flying fish! They smell awful. A whole fleet takes off and flies in unison, I suspect spooked by the onrushing Sampaguita. Though not as much marine life as I expected to see. The sea is so big and bubbly, it must hide it.

Once in the ITCZ and south, the conveyor belt of rain clouds began to appear. Warm enough to stand in the cockpit and allow the water to come down on your mostly naked body was refreshing. While the same cloud’s squall effect was demanding you tend to the sails and adjust the self steering gear. Add to this the simultaneous attempts to collect rainwater with a bucket hung from the boom below the fold of the reefed main sail. Mostly in vain, as the bursts were hardly long enough to rinse the sails of the salt first, and Sampaguita’s movement sent the bucket swinging around wildly, spending scant amounts of time underneath the stream. Then getting the water you do collect into a jug before dollups of onboarding salt water taints the catch or the rolling sloshed it from the bucket. All while holding on with two hands? This seemed to happen more at night than during the day.

A daily jig of whiskey turned out to be a blessing. Not that I’m much of a whiskey man. But alcohol in a concentrated form seemed the best option when space and weight were major considerations. In small amounts, it offered a needed attitude adjustment. Originally for a cross equatorial celebration, it took on a different purpose. As for the equator party, that was delayed an hour and a couple miles due to an above mentioned squall. Pretty anticlimactic. I had a bottle of Jameson which was palatable, and a bottle of Edward Lawson, which was not. After many attempts at mixers for the Lawson, by the last three drinks I discovered mint tea to be the best.

The bunk was the only safe and comfortable place to be. Movement there was minimal, and if I lay on my back, the position was stable. Sleeping was generally too easy. Who’s driving that boat, anyway? Flopping or flogging sails got me up pretty quickly though. In the heat of the day I would lay down just to cope, dozing and sweating, with a towel underneath me. However, a trip to the bunk meant considering sail trim and steering gear adjustment first. In a small boat, your body is ballast and that extra weight on the starboard side made a difference. Super annoying when you don’t get it right the first time. I lay there asking myself “Do I really need to get up again or is it good enough?”

Hands down, the most valuable piece of gear was the self-steering wind vane. A remarkably simple and effective use of physics. I had to do a repair because a screw came loose and was lost. I can’t imagine having to steer myself the whole trip! Luckily I MacGyvered it and had just enough metric fasteners on board to make it work.

Would I do it again? Do I have a choice? Considering where I’m at, death or shipwreck may be the only other options.

Lots to think about and consider. Still getting my bearings. Thanks for reading.