Author: cruisingrunner

Originally posted on July 22, 2014, by cruisingrunner

When we were back in Bora Bora, Tim met a husband and wife from Istanbul, Turkey who had taken notice that I was running. They told him they were runners too, and that their favorite place to run so far was in Nuku Hiva. Too bad I didn’t start running again sooner. Anyway, that couple are here in Suwarrow, and I got to meet them at the onshore cruisers potluck we all had our first night here. They let me know that they had scouted the motu here, and that it really didn’t look possible to run. How disappointing. After a 5 day ocean passage I wouldn’t even be able to run here?

The next day I paddled ashore to scope things out myself, and the prospects didn’t look good. There is a trail across the motu past the “yacht club” and book exchange, but it’s probably only a tenth or two of a mile across. I decided if I were desperate, I could do short laps. While I was doing my exploring I ran into Vaiane, the wife of the park ranger here at Suwarrow. We chatted a bit (in English!) and she told me that at low tide it’s possible to walk around the entire motu. OK, that’s my plan. Come to shore at low tide, and if you can walk around it should be possible to run, even if slowly.

Low tide today was at 11:45 am, so I paddled to shore and set out starting towards the southern end of the motu, towards the pass [note 1]. The running was like off-road running for about the first half to 3/4 of a mile. The terrain alternated between small bits of loose coral and the lumpy bumpy coral shelf, and it was tolerable, even if very slow. Once I got around to the other side of the motu I had to put on the brakes. From here and the rest of the way around the terrain alternated between very large chunks of loose coral and a very ragged and rough coral shelf. I had to walk unless I wanted a sprained ankle or a broken neck. So, at that point, it was much more like a hike than a run. The views were enjoyable, as usual, and I spotted a vessel approaching the pass from the east. At the far north end of the motu there were hundreds of birds, small black ones with white beaks, and they were not very happy about my presence. The entire way around the motu was just under 1.5 miles, and I went around 1.5 times, since I took the trail back the second time rather than hike around. So, not much of a run today, but a decent outing all the same.

Suwarrow has been a more social experience for us than our last two stops. There are several other boats here and we’ve had a potluck on the beach, a happy hour on one of the other boats. Since Exodus is neither the only nor the biggest catamaran in the anchorage, happy hour was not on Exodus, like it usually is. Today there will be a gathering on the beach to celebrate a birthday, and I will eat cake with less guilt having gotten in the run/hike this morning.

-D.

[Note 1] Atolls are basically a lagoon surrounded by a coral reef. For yachts to enter the lagoon, there must be a break in the reef wide and deep enough for passage, sorry if I’m being captain obvious. These breaks are referred to as “passes” and an atoll may have none, or it may have several. Some passes are challenging, and entry and exit must be timed to be close to a slack tide for minimum current rushing either into or out of the lagoon. Some atolls, like Maupiti and Mopelia, never really have a slack tide as the current is always flowing out because water is always spilling into the lagoon over the reef. We have found that it is easier to navigate a pass if you are going with the current, if for no other reason than you are through it faster. The most current we have had to contend with was when we were entering Mopelia and we had 4 knots of current against us. Probably a greater concern than current itself is the existence and size of any standing waves caused by the combination of wind, swell, and current. The biggest standing waves we have had to go through was when we were exiting Maupiti and they were between 2-3 meters. A bouncy ride, but not dangerous. Suwarrow has a single pass, and we had about 1.5 knots of current and no standing waves when we entered. It is one of the more straightforward passes.

Originally posted on July 20, 2014, by cruisingrunner

It’s extremely difficult, dare I say, impossible, to stay active on passage. Running is out of the question for obvious reasons. At least I hope it’s obvious. It is obvious, right? The boat motion is a huge hindrance. It’s hard enough just to move about the boat doing mundane things like, oh I don’t know, walking, that thinking about doing anything more ambitious seems downright dangerous. I have heard of people using stairstepper machines, but I just can’t see it, unless you are motoring along in dead calm seas, I just don’t see how you would keep your balance on such a thing. One option could be doing stair repeats in one of the companion ways [note 1] while holding on to the handrail, but this seems even more overwhelmingly boring than when I used to walk the stairs in our condominium with a sleeping baby in a front pack because I was desperate for exercise. And forget about Yoga. This is hard enough at anchor with the little bit of bobbing and swinging, forget about it underway. Stretching, just stretching, is an option. It’s easy to hold on or sit down in order to do a little stretching. But that’s about it.

But, oh, if that were the only hindrance to physical activity. If only there weren’t another whole layer of issues for some of us to contend with. The motion of the boat makes it hard to move about, but it also causes havoc in other, more intolerable ways as well. I’m talking, of course, about sea sickness. Half of our crew, my husband and 12 year old son Alex, have absolutely no problem with this. They can read, play on the computer, do school work, do boat projects, all while the boat is rocking and rolling and heaving about. Unfortunately, the other half of our crew, me and my 11 year old son Brenden, are not so lucky.

Sea sickness is a very broad terms and has many different manifestations, from sea lethargy to sea dizziness to sea queasiness to the full fledged sea vomiting. For me, it very rarely goes beyond sea lethargy, which I call, “The Blehs.” The Blehs are very powerful, though, and they sap all of your energy and hinder any and all productivity. I’m not just talking about exercise, I’m talking about cooking dinner or even brushing your teeth. When you have The Blehs, you simply don’t want to do anything. You cannot function like your usual self.

It is very hard to describe. In fact, while planning this blog post in my head I realized that I cannot even give a list of symptoms that I feel when I have The Blehs. You know, like when you have the cold or the flu and you can say that your throat hurts and your nose is congested, and you are achy and cold with fever. I’ve thought about it, and I’ve really tried, and I cannot tell you what is wrong with me when I have The Blehs. I can’t say that this hurts or that doesn’t feel well, I mean, I very rarely, if ever, even feel nauseated. The only thing I can point to is what I feel like doing. For example, yesterday at lunch time there was no way I could even fathom fixing anything, not even a glass of water, for lunch, and I knew that Brenden was feeling the same way, and I also knew it was important for us to eat. So, I asked Alex to make ramen noodles for us, and I only had to give him a second’s worth of puppy dog eyes for him to agree. Oh yeah, and I had to say it would be good for Brenden’s tummy. Those brothers, they look out for each other. In contrast, today, I had no trouble preparing cheese and crackers and then making a tuna poke with the fresh yellow fin tuna we had in the fridge. There’s just no accounting for what the difference was in how I felt. I can’t explain it. On the one hand I just wanted to crawl in bed and close my eyes and do absolutely nothing and on the other hand I was pretty close to my normal self.

Yesterday, late in the afternoon, I was lying in bed with The Blehs, and all of a sudden, I noticed myself thinking about how messy the salon was and that I really need to give it a thorough cleaning. Without even knowing it I had started to feel better, and my only clue was that I now cared that the salon was a mess, because an hour before with a huge case of The Blehs, I couldn’t have cared a whisper that there was any mess anywhere in the boat.

Usually The Blehs are shortlived and last only a day or so. However, sometimes they can linger on, like this current passage, where it has taken me about four days to get my sea legs. And sometimes they can come and go depending on the changing nature of the boat motion. It all has to do with boat motion. Some motion is much more physiologically tolerable than others, it seems.

So, yeah, staying active on passage has its challenges. But luckily passage making represents a very small percentage of our overall cruising experience. And given the fact that we get to visit places cruising that we never would have otherwise, I guess it’s a necessary evil, and one I willingly endure.

-D

[note 1] If you know anything about boats you might be confused about my plural use of the word “companionway,” since the companionway is the stairway that leads down from the cockpit to the living area down below. But if you know just a little bit more about boats you might immediately understand that we have a catamaran, which has two hulls, hence two companionways.

After I got over my disappointment that our core puddle jump buddy boat group was dispersed, I made an observation.  For the first time in a while, we were making new friends.  You see, we are most definitely not outgoing people.  It’s not that we’re anti-social or overtly unfriendly, it’s just that we don’t naturally put ourselves out there.  When I mentioned earlier that I was disappointed that the boys were still having to be coerced to play with new kids, I should have been fair and admitted that those two apples didn’t fall far from the tree.  So, our natural disinclination towards extrovert behavior coupled with the fact that we were always with people we were already comfortable with meant for sure that there would be no putting of ourselves out there anywhere.

But then we were alone, and it became obvious what a rut we had allowed ourselves to get into.  So, we looked on the bright side of our situation and used it as an opportunity for making new friends.  And then as soon as we could we rushed right back to our Lady Carolina security blanket.

Checking in and out of Suwarrow was pretty straightforward, and Harry the Park Ranger was pretty on top of things.  Within minutes of getting the anchor down he radioed us and let us know he’d be coming out to the boat and that we were not to go ashore until he had checked us in.  I had to ask him to give us about 30 minutes since Tim had gotten in the water to check the anchor.  Harry was right on time, and 30 minutes later he showed up at Exodus in his metal skiff. 

He was representing many aspects of The Cook Islands government (Customs, Immigration, quarantine, etc.) and he gave us a slew of paperwork to fill out.  There was a fee that was accepted in US dollars, so we never did have to exchange to Cook Islands currency.  I don’t recall how much the fee was, but I don’t think it was too outrageous.  In addition to all the forms, Harry took some sort of bug spray and did a few token sprays around the boat.  It seemed comical, and clearly, he was just checking a box because if we really had bugs, there’s no way those few sprays would have accomplished anything.

You are only allowed to stay in Suwarrow for two weeks, but since we were looking to leave at the first weather window, we didn’t butt up against this limit or have any experience with how strict it is followed. 

Checking out was easy.  I just went ashore and signed some papers.  The only tricky part was deciding when to leave and then sticking to that once you have gone through the checkout process.  Harry wasn’t very happy when people didn’t leave when they said they were going to, apparently.

July 21, 2014

Like Mopelia and the Tuamotus, Suwarrow is an atoll, but the pass is about as straightforward as they come, with the exception of not being marked at all.  So, we rely on our charts, the reports of other cruisers, and most importantly, our eyes to find the coral shelves that lie on each side.  We had a bit of a false start though, because we got just about to the pass entrance when we realized our depth sensor wasn’t working.  Tim was standing on the bow while I was at the helm, and he turned around and asked me the depth.  When it is too deep for the depth sounder to get a reading the instrument display blinks.  So, when Tim turned around and asked me the depth, I shook my head indicating that it was too deep to get a reading (which is somewhere around 500 ft).  He yelled back, “I can see the bottom!”  After a split second we both processed the situation.  Abort, Abort!  Tim gave me the, “Oh crap, turn around as fast as you can” signal. 

We turned around, power cycled all of the nav electronics, because sometimes when we transmit on certain frequencies with the SSB it wipes out our wind transducer, so we thought maybe that happened to the depth one.  No, that wasn’t it.  We figured out by slowly approaching that we just weren’t picking up depths greater than about 45 ft.  So, we cautiously proceeded through the pass and made it to anchor.

At anchor, Tim cleaned the depth sensor, but that wasn’t it.  So, we lived with it until we could get a new one.

Since leaving Mexico I hadn’t really participated in any SSB radio nets other than our private little mini-net, which had a different name everyday depending on the mood and inclination of whoever was net controlling on any particular morning.  But when we separated from everyone in Bora Bora, I found myself tuning into the Good-bye Isabela net, which was started by a group of boats when they were leaving Isla Isabela in The Galapagos, and it grew as they made their way across the pacific.  We had heard about it much earlier from one of TBV’s Aussie friends when we were in Fatu Hiva as well as from s/v Field Trip when we were in Tahanea (The Tuamotus), but it wasn’t until now that I started tuning in regularly. 

When we were in Maupiti I checked in for the first time, because a friendly voice was net controlling that day, and it was either that same day or shortly thereafter that they announced that another net, The bye bye Bora Bora net, was spawning to better service those vessels who were moving west faster than others, so specifically for those who had moved west of Bora Bora.  I thought it was a great idea, since the Isabela net was already overcrowded, but some others, specifically one guy, was pretty outspoken against it.  Anyway, it moved forward, and from then on, I was a pretty regular check-in on the Bora Bora net.

There was a core group of regulars, and they welcomed the Exodus crew into the group.  On our passages from Maupiti to Mopelia and then from Mopelia to Suwarrow I checked in pretty consistently.  So, when we got to Suwarrow, it was pretty cool to meet the gang.  The Southern Cross, Novae, Shakti, Sundancer II, Jac Tar, Tulu (who we had previously met in Nuku Hiva), and Keyif (Tim had actually met them in Bora Bora, they are runners too.) 

We had a sad moment on passage to Suwarrow.  We realized that our PPJ convoy of buddy boats was totally dispersed at that moment.  Chara was still back in the Societies (they have a 1-year visa for French Poly), Lady Carolina was in Pago Pago (American Samoa) and True Blue V was in Apia (Western Samoa).  We were still keeping in touch daily via SSB and we were hoping to reconverge eventually in Tonga.  But for the moment we were entirely spread out.

July 16-21, 2014

We had heard some negative things from friends in Suwarrow, and it was going to be a long passage anyway, so when we left Mopelia we kept our options open for proceeding on to Samoa rather than stopping in Suwarrow, weather permitting.  However, about three days into the passage it became apparent that there was no way we could make it to Samoa before the winds totally died and then the next cold front passed through, so… Suwarrow it is!

We had great wind upon leaving Mopelia and sailed the entire first afternoon, but then in the evening the wind died and we motor sailed all night.  That’s not always a terrible thing, especially if the batteries need to be charged and we would have to run the generator anyway.  At least that’s what I tell myself when we have to motorsail all night.  In the morning the wind picked up, slight at first, but we couldn’t justify the running an engine any longer once the sun was up and the batteries were getting charged by the solar panel, so we limped along at about 3.5 kts.  The wind did continue to pick up from there, and we sailed downwind the entire rest of the way with either one or two headsails, depending on the exact conditions.

Right when we were exiting the pass at Mopelia, we saw another vessel approaching the atoll from the east.  The conditions in the pass were about as good as it gets.  Crazy easy.  I think we saw as little as 1.5 knots of current or something like that.  So, I decided to hail the other vessel on VHF and share with them our observations of the pass conditions.  And that’s how we first met Novae.  Stephano thanked me for the call and then about 15 minutes later he called us back to let us know that since the wind was so good they were going to bypass Mopelia and press on to Suwarrow.  So, instantly, we had a new buddy boat.  Although, that didn’t last long.  They are a much faster catamaran than us, and they left us in their dust, and within 24 hours we no longer had VHF contact.  Now we know how Lady Carolina feels.

Sometime that first afternoon, after we had spoken with Novae on VHF, another vessel piped up on channel 16 without identifying himself.  He said something like, “Did someone turn off the wind?”  I aways hate that.  I’m kind of a stickler for radio protocol.  I know, I know, we were out in the middle of the ocean and it’s not like transmitting on channel 16 is going to block higher priority traffic or anything.  But to not identify yourself?  Too cavalier for me.  Anyway, I hailed him and switched to a working channel to so that we could introduce ourselves.  He’s an American single hander on the vessel called Dances with Dragons en route from Bora Bora to Fiji.  He was extremely polite, called me ma’am, even.  That isn’t exactly endearing to me, but I know it is to a lot of people, so I tried to feel respected.  OK, cool.  Three of us out here to keep each other company.  That night in the middle of the night on my watch, Dances with Dragons hailed us.  He asked if I knew anything about facilities and services in Pago Pago, because he was having trouble with his engine.  The low oil pressure light came on.  Although he was intending to go all the way to Fiji, in light of this he may divert to Pago Pago instead.  Not long after that he hailed again to say that he restarted the engine and the pressure looks good, so he suspects a faulty gauge.  His original plan is back on; he’s headed to Fiji.  Before long we fell out of VHF range and we never heard from him again.  His radio traffic seemed strange to me, but I was happy to be there for him when he needed someone to talk to.  A sounding board, if you will.  Anyway, I have heard that he made it safely to Fiji, which is good, because even though I certainly don’t know him at all, as a fellow cruiser, that little bit of contact out at sea makes an impression.  And I would always wonder and worry if I had never heard he made it safely.

The highlight of the passage was that the guys caught two wahoo.  Until we figured out they weren’t wahoo.  Tim leaves the lines in the water all night with the understanding that if we catch something on MY watch, I WILL be waking his butt up.  And that’s what happened with the second “wahoo” and Tim brought it in nicely even after being quickly startled awake.  The “wahoo” turned out to be barracuda.  Brenden says he never thought they were Wahoo, he said the eyes were too big, the teeth too big, the tail too small, and the stripes not quite right.  Brenden, our resident fish expert.  We ate one of them anyway, and found it to be tasty enough; more juicy like Dorado, unlike Wahoo.

Overall, this was a particularly uncomfortable passage.  Certainly not your lovely downwind run with following seas.  No, the seas were a confused mess and we would get hit on the beam at random intervals which sets us rocking pretty good, so Brenden and I were down for the count most of the time, not sick, just not right.  The final morning was the closest I felt to my normal self since the winds picked up about a day and a half in.

And on the last day the guys caught a yellowfin tuna.  So, when I said the highlight of the passage was that the guys caught wahoo that turned out to be barracuda, I should have said, “UNTIL they caught the tuna.”  Sashimi, tuna steaks and poke were enjoyed by all.