I got another update from Martin this morning. I have to say that I got a little teary with this one just knowing that Martin is out there wrestling the elements while still fighting off seasickness in the middle of the North Pacific. As reported in Martin's previous post, they have a broken bowsprit which made flying a spinnaker impossible in fair winds, but after reading this post, it looks like they won't need one for awhile anyway.
Enjoy!
-Kym
"Yesterday I woke up
to the sounds of the crew frantically moving around up on deck. From my bunk on
the leeward side, I hear the water rush by my right ear and I knew we were
moving fast and heeled over hard. Soon, the sounds of water surrounded me and I
listened with fascination as the water rushed down the deck just inches above
me. Was I trapped? Then came the call: “All hands on deck!” As I scrambled out
of bed and put on my foulies, I then heard a second call: “All hands on deck...now!”
The scene on deck
was an exciting one. The wind was howling and the waves were a frothy white.
The third reef was in the mainsail but eight of the crew were up on the bow
trying to drop and secure the headsails. I clip on to the safety lines and crawl
forward on the slanted deck, dragging a big black sail bag to the bow with what
I thought was the storm jib only to be told that it was the trysail. Foolish
rookie mistake, as the name is stamped on the other side of the bag. I crawl
back and get an identical black bag with the storm jib and drag it forward.
Next I'm on the winch, grinding the sheet to trim it. Winds are 55 knots – with
gusts at 65 – but I'm hot and sweaty. The wind literally blows the top of the
waves off into the air and prevents them from building too big. Greybacks, as
these waves are called, are hitting us broadside and pitch the boat side to
side as well as up and down; frequently, they crash right over the side and we
get soaked each time. Somehow water runs up my right sleeve and soaks my inner
layers that keep me warm. With the sails now set for the storm, there is
nothing to do on deck but hunker down and ride it out.
Because we are
still in a race, as soon as the wind backs down some, Huw, our skipper, calls
for the storm jib to be moved from the inner to the outer (front) forestay in
lieu of a Yankee sail, and for the staysail to be set up again. Now I'm called
to go forward to the bow with Tino and Dana to set the sails. Tino is from
Barbados and is the kind of guy who doesn't always adhere to the boat routine
but who you definitely depend on when things break down in the middle of a
storm. Dana, a tax accountant from Los Angeles, is about five feet tall and is
the closest thing to the Energizer Bunny I've ever seen. She is always the
first to volunteer to take on the hard jobs. Tino hanks (clips) the
storm jib on to the forestay as Dana and I feed it to him while keeping it
under control in the wind.
Meanwhile, we are
getting doused repeatedly and bouncing up and down approaching liftoff
velocity, where we could be thrown in the air. The storm jib gets hoisted and
we then pull hard to hank on the staysail on the inner forestay. Once it gets
hoisted, I lean against the forestay for a moment feeling elated that I had
experienced the storm, did my job, and all was well. It’s one of those memories
I'll cherish. Greybacks were still plentiful, but their ferocity had
diminished. Just as I move aft, a big wave launches Dana and she goes flying up
in the air and crash lands hard on a cleat. It caught us by surprise, and she
doesn't know whether to laugh or cry with the pain.
Sitting on deck
with my back to the wind and spray for an hour leaves me cold and nauseous. I
sit down on the floor to get out of the wind and endure another hour, but the
nauseousness builds despite my focusing on the clouds and horizon. I go below
and as soon as I'm inside, the nausea overtakes me and I start repeatedly
puking while laying on a sail. I lay there for several hours realizing how
drained I am until our watch is finally over and my bunk is free. I drag myself
to bed.
The next morning,
my appetite has returned and I try to rehydrate. The seas have calmed and the
sun is shining. It seems to be a whole new world outside, and my dread of
nausea turns to lightheartedness. The day is spent organizing and drying out
our gear. We joke that only 15 hours before the storm, the Pacific was calm
enough to swim in.
Late in the day, we get a weather update. There is a huge low forecast to reach us by tomorrow night, which means another storm is coming. This one is expected to easily last three to four days. Here we go again!
—Martin"
