The Pacific Ocean is the biggest ocean on the planet, covering almost a third of the earth’s surface, an area greater than all the earth’s land masses combined. Sailing across the Pacific is the longest passage a sailor can undertake without seeing land and is a major achievement in any sailors life, in fact less people sail across the Pacific Ocean each year than climb Mt Everest, so to be on the cusp of doing this voyage, filled me with excitement, but also nervousness. Were we ready? Was the boat ready? Were we physically and mentally capable of being alone at sea for 30+ days? We were about to find out, and as land gently slipped away and the vast Pacific Ocean lay ahead of us, we bade farewell to internet and morning quizzes, access to fresh fruit and vegetables and social interaction (outside the two of us) for the next month!
A few days before leaving we were following the story of a fellow cruiser who had set out to cross the Pacific a month earlier. He was about 600NM from The Marquesas when he hit a whale in the early evening, causing disastrous damage to his boat and injuring the whale. It took 15 minutes for his boat to sink and fortunately everyone on board was rescued but it certainly made us very aware of the numerous dangers that lay ahead of us.
A strong current and favourable wind swept us southwest as we headed out of the Gulf of Panama, and we enjoyed a fast magic carpet ride away from land. We were in no hurry and decided to sail under jib only to avoid the stress of an unplanned gybe while the hydrovane steered us downwind. We knew that if we waited a few more days there would be a better weather window for us to get through the doldrums but we were keen to get moving and start the adventure with the knowledge that we had a weather router keeping an eye on the conditions that lay ahead for us. We would only be granted a 90 day visa on arrival in The Marquesas as we had decided against going through the long process of applying for an extension, so we needed to make sure we did not check in until 25 April at the earliest, as my son and his wife were joining us in Tahiti in July.
We had arranged to have nightly SSB radio calls with friends and looked forward to the communication, talking to other boats in different locations – Jamaica, Galapagos, Panama, Pacific Ocean, Guadeloupe and Anguilla. By day two there were no other ships on AIS and we felt completely alone, even seabirds were an uncommon sight with only a few boobies and terns swooping around us as we headed further out to sea, disturbing flying fish which the birds caught as they flew away from our bow. Using information provided by our weather router, we tried to stay in a narrow band of wind and avoid the worst of the doldrums just north of the equator. On the third night when we were still 5 degrees north of the equator, the wind died to nothing so, after drifting for a few hours and watching the wind instruments do several complete circles, the engines were turned on at 2am, along with the watermaker and anything chargeable was plugged in to make use of the power generated by the engine. As the sky started to get light, with the engine still running, I did my usual 360 degree look of wonder around us and was alarmed to see a yellow buoy following us at speed. I had wondered why we were not going as fast as I would’ve expected, and I could now see a long trail behind the buoy and realised we had hooked a fishing line. As the sun came up, I woke Steve, and he gallantly jumped into the calm, deep, warm waters while we drifted with no engine or sails. We could see two lines coming from under the boat but were unsure where they were caught. Cerulean has a bar installed which runs from the keel/hull to the bottom of the rudder skeg, protecting our propellor. The line must have slid down the bar and was attached just at the base of the rudder – very lucky as, although we do have a rope cutter attached to our propellor, we did not want to test it out at the start of a long crossing! Steve was able to untangle the lines from the boat without having to cut them and we then hauled the rope, hooks and floater on board, scoring a squid that was on one of the large hooks. After untangling the lines, Steve then re-attached the hooks, cut the squid up for bait and tested our luck with fishing on our rescued lines! Watching the fishing line out the back of the boat while I made breakfast, Steve suddenly noticed another line was caught around our rudder and we immediately stopped the boat again to investigate. As before, Steve jumped in the water and released the strong line from the rudder, handing it to me as he climbed back on board. We started hauling the line in and, from one of the buoys behind us, we could see a large game fish jumping out of the water, giving us more enthusiasm to keep pulling in the line. About 45 minutes later we were still pulling in more line and our cockpit was starting to look and smell like a fishing boat! We realized that the line must have only recently been put in the water as nearly every hook had a fresh looking squid attached to it, but now we had started pulling it in, we felt we needed to continue, even though the big fish had freed itself. With over 700 metres of line now in the boat, numerous old plastic oil containers to act as floats, and several large fish hooks, we continued on our way hoping we did not have to encounter any angry Colombian fishermen. A few miles on and we almost ran over another line as it lay just below the surface of the water, with small, hard to see floaters. Realising we must be on the same trajectory as the fishing boat, we altered course to a more westerly route to get further away from the Colombian coastline, over 200NM to our east. We certainly were not expecting we would have to dodge fishing lines this far off the coast and thanked our lucky stars it had happened in daylight otherwise, judging by the weight of the second line, it could have done real damage to our rudder.
While on passage there are a number of things that can cause problems or at least affect comfort levels. One of those things is bugs! We try really hard to make sure we do not bring bugs onto the boat. While in Panama I saw a couple of flying cockroaches in the saloon and our cabin and immediately took action – cleaning, killing, lifting, disinfecting and (hate to admit it) spraying in all the crevice’s they may be lurking. I obviously didn’t kill them all as at various times on passage, a loan cockroach would appear and, after killing it, I started cleaning and searching again! Another pest that is even harder to get rid of are weevils. They are often already in the food we buy, pasta being the worst offender, but I also had to dispose of a bag of lentils that was infested with them and a bag of rice that was too precious to throw out, so I decided to zap it in the microwave instead. One of my tasks on passage is to check the food storage regularly and try to control, or at least keep on top of, the critters. Another routine is to turn the egg boxes every two days. We made sure we purchased eggs that had not been refrigerated but in the heat of the tropics, eggs will go off if the yolk touches the shell for too long, so by turning the boxes regularly the eggs will last longer. There is nothing worse than the smell of a bad egg in a boat, believe me!
We started our passage on a waxing moon which meant it rose in the morning and set early at night. This made the nights very dark for the first few days of our journey, accentuating the star filled night sky but making night watches long, only using red lights when needed otherwise our eyes would take too long to adjust to night vision again. I love the sound of the boat moving through the water on those dark, still nights – the gurgling sound as Cerulean cut through the calm ocean with the only light coming from the millions of twinkling stars that cut through the blackness of the huge skies above us. Trying to decide whether it was a star or masthead light on the horizon ahead and the instruments assuring us we were still headed in the right direction!
On day six we crossed the equator. We were watching the latitude degrees, minutes and seconds countdown to zero when with about five minutes left a large pod of dolphins appeared in the flat waters around us. We could see them rushing towards the boat in every direction, cutting through the still water until they found the bow wave of Cerulean. We rushed forward and marveled at the large dolphins just below the surface, swimming often two or three deep just in front of the boat. They all had markings on them, some quite intricate almost like a tattoo, and all seemed to have their own personality. One swam just in front of us and turned on its side to look up as we hung over the pulpit to get close to them and then did a full spin before disappearing. They stayed with us until just before the equator, peeling off, jumping high out of the water and splashing down on their side or lying on the surface and flapping their tails. We really felt as if they were communicating with us and it had been a very friendly encounter! With seconds to go, we grabbed a bottle of rum and, as we reached the equator, celebrated with a small nip as well as pouring some into the ocean for Neptune, asking him to keep us safe for the rest of our journey.
We can make water, stock up on food, but there is a limit to how much fuel we carry – once that’s gone, there are few options! We have a large fuel tank, carrying 660litres plus jerry cans, and felt we had plenty for the passage but, after four days of motoring, we were starting to consider different scenarios. As we gazed out over the flat vast ocean with no ripple of wind in sight, we agreed that we could continue motoring for only another 24hours and then we had to turn the engine off, regardless of whether we had even the prospect of wind or not. This way we would still have fuel for emergencies and topping up the batteries while on the remaining part of the passage. We downloaded weather charts and the forecast was grim to say the least. Our weather router, John, also confirmed that we would be unlikely to see consistent wind for a few days as the predicted westerly we were heading towards had now died and with it, so had our hopes of being able to sail. We discussed the option of changing course and heading to the Galapagos, just 150NM north, and filling up with fuel there, but the implications of this were big. We would almost certainly be refused entry as the bottom of our boat was not clean and, even with the calm water we would not be able to get all the barnacles off on the base of our keel. We plodded on and hoped that Neptune would thank us for our earlier gift – always a reliable option! After one night of utter frustration, going round in circles in glassy seas with rolling waves and not a breath of wind, I was ready to call it quits, which was a bit like a woman in labour announcing she wanted to go home and not have the baby!
At 2am on the start of day eight, Neptune returned our gift and the wind started to build. Not quite from the direction we were hoping but we took what was on offer! We hoisted the main, unfurled the jib, altered course and we were sailing hard on the wind as a 10-12knt SW blew. It was a relief to turn off the engine and have the peace and quiet of the familiar creeks and noises that Cerulean makes when she’s sailing. The wind did not last for long and we spent the rest of the day hoisting, pulling down, changing and resetting sails, trying lots of different combinations and plans to try and get our speed up. With our daily email check came updated weather news and it became apparent we needed to get south to find the wind as the forecast was for them to completely disappear in a few days. With that news we turned the engine on again and headed SW as fast as we could to get away from the Galapagos where we were encountering fishing boats which were not on AIS and we can only assume were fishing illegally.
Making the most of the light morning wind, we put the cruising chute up to help us on our way. We had just noticed a rain cloud behind us and tracked it on radar but, based on past rain and the sea state we took the decision to leave the chute up as we felt the wind gusts would help fill the flapping sail. When the squall hit, the boat was pulled over by the chute and attempts to snuff the sail were futile. In the chaos of the moment, a strain was put on several parts of the boat including a low friction ring slamming against the coachroof, with a very real possibility of breaking a window. We made the call to ditch the sail into the water and we hauled the soggy mess back on board, sorted it and repacked it into the sock while the mainsail kept us moving. We surveyed the damage around us – the safety lines had been stretched on the starboard side and were sagging from the stanchions and the pushpit had been bent a little due to the pressure put on by a block we had installed in the wrong place. Lessons were learned, but so frustrating after having had no wind for so long!
No wind continued to be a real issue and as we progressed on our southern dash we were informed by our weather router that forecasters had officially named this season as being El Nino, Christ Child in Spanish. This was not good news as it meant the currents and winds would not follow the usual pattern and could be a lot less than normal. Books and advice we had studied said attempts should not be made to cross the Pacific during an El Nino – and we were in the middle of it! Then, at last, after another frustrating night and morning trying to find wind with a strong current against us in lumpy seas, we crossed the 05 degrees latitude point and were rewarded with a building wind from the SE. The boat suddenly came alive and built up speed as we trimmed the sails and settled in to, what we hoped would be, trade wind sailing to French Polynesia. The current against us died away and our speed picked up along with our spirits as we started to put some much needed miles under our keel. We celebrated with fresh baked bread and, with the fishing line out, hoped to replenish our dwindling supplies of fresh food as our fruit and vegetables stocks were coming to an end. The wind continued to blow from the SE at around 15knots and we now felt confident we had found the tradewinds that would be with us for the foreseeable future and we made good speed and progress towards our final destination. We watched the Latitude and Longitude readings tick over as we sailed away from the equator and closer to French Polynesia, celebrating each milestone as we continued on our journey.
As we progressed west we adjusted our clocks by an hour every 14 degrees of longitude so that when we arrived in the Marquesas the 4.5hr difference between Panama would be an easy transition. We made the adjustment in the morning after my watch had finished at 8am, so we had all day to readjust our body clocks. Each morning, watching the sky get lighter and the sun come up at slightly different times made us appreciate the miles we were covering, and each night we enjoyed watching the journey of the moon as it set earlier or later and the position of stars in relation to it. It is wonderful to have the time to really look and observe just how we fit in with the solar system!
On the evening of day 17 we reached the milestone of 2000nm left to our destination and officially our halfway point in the 4000+nm passage. This was a major boost to our moral as it signified we had sailed more miles than there were remaining. For the remainder of the passage we could see the miles melt away to a reachable target and with the diminishing miles our spirits lifted in equal measures. To celebrate I put fresh sheets on the bed and did a load of washing in our hand operated washing machine. We pegged the laundry to the lines around the boat and they baked in the mid-day sun! Cleaning the sheets will need to wait until we arrive as they are too big for our small tub!
We put a fishing line out every morning, certain that today would be the day we hook a good one. Fish came on the line but managed to fight free before we could land them, and as we continued west, sunsets became redder, the humidity started to drop and evenings became a little cooler, giving us a comfortable heat to sleep with. Each day we tackled different jobs on board and checked for wear and tear. A boat is put under huge pressure doing a passage like this and I don’t think I really appreciated how much until we were halfway across! Our daily checks were more looking for ways to prevent breakage and trying to spot any points of wear before they broke. We also cleared the deck of flying fish which had somehow misjudged their flight and landed on a moving target instead of the vast ocean around it! Must be the unluckiest fish and so probably deserved to die!
The days passed by with us filling each one with daily chores, cleaning, cooking, reading, repairing, sorting and researching. It’s amazing how busy you can be on a boat in the middle of the Pacific with no internet. Twice a day we connected to our satellite phone to receive updated weather and get news from family and friends which was always a highlight. I remember equal excitement waiting for the postman to deliver letters when I was away from home in my 20’s and the building anticipation each day.
On day 19 we had rain and with it came wind and big swells. We spent a very uncomfortable day and night being thrown around, making any task frustrating, difficult and dangerous. Just making a hot drink or preparing something to eat was a major challenge as items slid along the galley bench, depositing themselves on the floor, in the sink or over us. Having sailed down to 10 degrees Latitude, we decided to alter course and head NW and follow the large rolling waves, instead of fighting them. We had the wind directly behind us and just one poled out jib up, making the sailing more comfortable although every so often a big wave would come on our side and we’d roll violently, usually while we were preparing food! We hoped that by heading further north the seas would flatten out a little so we could change course to a more westerly direction. The next day the sun was out and, although the waves were smaller, they were still too big to consider altering course more west, so we continued on our NW heading until the waves reduced to a more manageable size! Point Nemo in the South Seas, is the most isolated spot on earth. When there the nearest human contact, apart from other boats, is with the International Space Centre. We had reached our Point Nemo, being the furthest point from land we are ever likely to get. The closest land was Easter Island, located 1000nm to our south, 1600nm west of us were the Marquese’s and east was Peru while 2000nm north lay Hawaii and somewhere in the NE over 1300nm away were the Galapagos. It was while at this remote spot we learned of two boats possibly needing assistance. One was Tomas, a solo sailor, whom we mad met in Panama and had failed to make his regular contact call with a buddy boat, and was only 300nm SW from us at last known position. The other was a yacht further west who had lost their rudder and had made the decision to abandon ship, presumably once a rescue boat was close by. We were asked to alter course and head towards the last known position for Tomas while another boat rescued the yacht with the broken rudder. As it turned out, Tomas was having an issue with his satellite phone and a low level satellite picked up a new position for him showing he was still making good progress along his course, so we stood down and continued on our planned course. The other boat was going to be more of a concern as, being adrift with a current helping it, the yacht could well be on our course in a few days time so we will need to be alert. Learning of the two incidents while at this remote spot certainly made us very aware of the perils we need to face and I was extra vigilant on my routine boat checks for the remainder of our passage.
On day 23, in the early evening, the wind started to build. We changed our sails, reefing down to just one small jib and settled in for the night. With the wind, the seas also grew and by the morning we were being bounced around as we slid down large waves as they came up behind us on a slight angle. Our speed was still good but the ride was not particularly comfortable. These conditions continued for a few days with the occasional wave breaking over the boat and throwing Cerulean off course while we hung on to anything to prevent us becoming missiles as we tried to keep our balance! We knew that the conditions would change in a few days with the wind reducing substantially as we got closer to our destination, so we wanted to put as many miles as possible behind us while the wind blew. We were averaging 140nm a day and celebrated on day 25 when we reached the milestone of less than 1000nm remaining – we used to think sailing 500nm was a big passage but now we were celebrating “only” a 1000 to go!
On day 27 the wind died and we spent a frustrating day trying to keep the boat moving, hunting for wind in the north west and then, when we were getting too far from our line, gybing and heading south west again. This meant our daily mileage covered dropped considerably, sometimes barely making 100nm, and we had to start to come to terms with a later arrival date than we had hoped for. It was actually better for us to arrive later but the psychological barrier was hard to overcome since I had the 25th as a target and all of a sudden it had become a moving one! The tradewinds didn’t return but on day 31 we had enough wind to propel us forward again at 5knots, which was a huge relief as we had spent a few hours motoring or drifting on previous days. With our watertank full of water we made while motoring on the previous days, we were now able to enjoy seeing the miles remaining reduce at a reasonable speed and we could once again feel confident of our arrival in a few day’s time in Hiva Oa, French Polynesia. The realization that we were now closer to New Zealand than we were to Panama dawned on us and filled me with excitement but also some trepidation that our adventure was coming to an end!
On the morning of day 32 we were having breakfast in the cockpit with the two big jibs filled after a quiet night with light winds. Our furled jib was poled out to ensure it didn’t flap and stayed set as we sailed dead downwind, when we heard a loud “twang” coming from near the bow of the boat. I went forward and discovered the bracket which attached the pole for the jib to the mast, had bent and broken, making the pole unsafe to continue to use. The day was already hot and we sweated under the morning sun, getting the pole down, removing, folding and stowing one jib, gybing the furled jib and resetting so we could continue sailing before inspecting the damage. Fortunately we had a spare part but, although the piece broken was a simple bracket, replacing it was not a quick job and with every job on a boat, not an easy fix! Steve tirelessly worked, having a frustrating time as the replacement part was just slightly different to the part that had broken. On top of that, the car we needed to replace was filled with small ballbearings and these occasionally scattered along the deck as a wave hit us on the side and we started rolling violently. At last the pole was operational again and we were able to reset the jib and get the hanked on jib back out the bag we had carefully packed it in hours earlier. With the heat now stifling and the deck very hot, we worked hard to get everything ready so we could pick up speed again. Just as we had poled out one jib a squall hit, the wind backed and all of a sudden, instead of a gentle easterly, we had 20knots of a north easterly and, as the rain cloud passed over us, the wind died and turned north westerly! On went the motor so we could determine what the wind was doing. It seemed like the Marquesas didn’t want us there or we were being severely tested, I’m not sure which!
On our last full day at sea we received a very worrying email telling us that a friend of ours, sailing with just the two of them on board, had suffered a medical emergency that morning and needed to be transferred off the boat, leaving one person to sail the remaining 1000nm to the Marquesas. They were asking for help to find another boat near to them with extra crew who may consider transferring over onto our friends yacht and helping the solo sailor for the rest of the journey. We spent a few hours trying to locate boats close to them and pass the information on to a relative who was co-ordinating the rescue mission. In the evening we heard the great news that another cruiser was helping them providing extra crew and the patient was being transferred to a commercial ship where medical assistance was available. Once more we have been shown the kindness of strangers within this wonderful community we are lucky enough to be part of and I will always be thankful and grateful for the time we have spent being amongst fellow cruisers who are so willing and ready to offer assistance when needed.
At 5am Steve woke me to change watches and I asked if he had spotted land yet. He said it was too dark to see anything, even though we were within 20nm of land. I peered into the darkness and wondered whether the dark shape beside us was cloud or land. Light started breaking the dark sky and as the night gave way to dawn, land was clearly visible on our starboard side. High red cliffs greeted us, with no sign of life or lights but plenty of birds as the sea pounded the rugged rocks. It was quite a sight after 34 days at sea and I sat quietly watching the land get closer as I allowed the enormity of our achievement to sink in. I felt proud, overwhelmed, excited and a huge sense of achievement. We had accomplished what few people ever achieve, or probably want to, and had done it well, without breaking too much, or ourselves – we were completing the longest passage we will probably ever do, sailing over 4000nm non-stop across the Pacific Ocean.
As we approached the entrance to the main anchorage on Hiva Oa, we saw a boat we knew on AIS and radioed them to say hello. We continued into the anchorage and saw more boats we had met in other parts of our journey, waving to them as we found a good spot to anchor in the crowded bay. We were just getting ourselves settled when a man on our boat in the anchorage came over and gave us some fresh fruit as a welcome gift, followed shortly by our neighbours who gifted us a fresh baguette. We had arrived, and been welcomed into, a community of sailors who had all experienced the same challenges and pushed the boundaries for adventure. It felt great and we were excited to start the next chapter of our journey home.
Things we’d do differently:
- Buy more pumpkins – we had five butternuts, wish we’d bought 10 as they keep for ages and they’re hard to find in FP
- Carried less eggs – we had about a dozen that went off, so would reduce number bought to just 3 dozen
- Bought more jerry cans for diesel – we have 60 litres, but need over 100 litres to top up in FP
- Carried more fishing lures – we lost so many!
- Bought cheap sunglasses in Panama as great to use to trade in FP
- Instead of buying a cruising chute, we would have been better getting a spinnaker as most sailing is downwind
- Left on a better weather window
- Stopped in The Galapagos
- Made first landfall in Fatu Hiva – we were just too honest!
- Had better/more solar panels