December 30–January 2
On the Opposite Side of the Planet
I had quite a day on New Year's Eve. I was napping down below when a huge wave knocked down the boat in winds of 20–30 knots, (23–35 mph). The knockdown turned the boat in another direction. I got into my
waterproof gear and headed up on deck. The main sail looked like a pretzel, jammed up against the lines.
First thing to do: Don't panic. And think before touching anything. I shut off the autopilot, then released one of the smaller sails. After some untangling, the boat almost sighed in relief! But there were other problems as a result of that big wave. The engine refused
to start. I figured out later the filters needed replacing as a result of
sediment getting sloshed around in the fuel tank.
Finally, I got the engine running. Then, the autopilot wouldn't restart, so I went with my backup autopilot. I crawled down below into the watertight compartment in the back of the boat to do some tinkering, crawled back out again, then went down below into the cabin to switch some electrical connectors.
Later, I was exhausted from a hard day of work. I had three times to celebrate midnight on New Year's Eve: local time, Greenwich Mean Time, or my hometown time of Milwaukee (Central Standard Time). I chose Greenwich Mean Time. I had some champagne and a Nestle's Crunch bar and sacked out.
I am almost exactly on the opposite side of the planet from Milwaukee right now. Milwaukee is roughly at 42.58 degrees north latitude, 87.52 degrees west longitude. I am at 46.12s, 87.00e. Every mile I have sailed up to this point was a mile I was sailing away from home. Every mile I sail now is a mile closer to home.
Tim
December 25–27
Christmas Calm and a Sail Overboard
On Christmas day I found myself in the middle of a windless hole in the southern Indian Ocean, going a rollicking 0.5 knots (0.6 mph). It was a dreary day with occasional rain.
My reading was 47.4 degrees south latitude, 61.2 degrees east longitude, approaching the Kerguelen Islands. I got some maintenance done in the cockpit that morning, cleaning up some messed-up lines. I decorated the navigation station down below with the garland and stuffed animals from my daughters. Next was a breakfast of Western-style scrambled eggs with sausage patties on the side, and some OJ and applesauce to top it off. Then, I opened the duffle bag full of gifts that I had packed away in the bow. I am now awash in socks and T-shirts, books and DVDs. My girls each gave me a handwritten book of poems and reflections. I will read and re-read them often.
Yet no calmness down here lasts for too long. Mama said there'd be days like December 27. I had the genoa—a smaller sail—and part of the main sail up. It was pouring rain. One of the lines supporting the genoa broke, and the sail started over the side. It took almost and hour and a half to get it down below.
I nearly lost the sail, especially after it wrapped itself around the keel underneath the boat! As soon as it went over the side, I dropped the main. I could not afford to lose such an expensive sail. It took all the strength and determination I had to get that beast back on the boat.
My brand-new foul-weather pants leak in the knees big time, so all of the cold weather gear that I had on under the pants was soaked in the knees. And in the middle of all this, I fell back into third place, from second. But there are roughly 5,000 miles to go!
Tim
December 21–22
Salt Up the Nose and an Electrical Crisis
This weekend was eventful. On Saturday, December 21, I was in the cockpit retrieving a line trailing over the side of the boat when I experienced a mild knockdown (a knockdown means the boat has rolled so that it is lying on its side or even completely over). I had the not-to-be-missed experience of having several hundred gallons of saltwater rammed up my nose at 20 knots (23 mph) and my favorite headlamp washed overboard.
On the brighter side, I was happy to learn from the 10 p.m. satellite report that I had moved past Spirit of Yukoh into third place!
The good feeling didn't last long. Shortly afterward I discovered power was low. All of the batteries were weak or dead. My blood ran cold. I need an engine to generate electricity to power the batteries, but I need a running battery to start the engine. At 46 degrees south latitude, that's NOT GOOD!
This was potentially the end of my race if I could not restart the engine. These boats depend on electricity for computers, global positioning system, radar, wind instruments, but most importantly for the autopilot. In the cold weather down here, one can only drive the boat by hand for a limited amount of time.
There was only one hope: the solar panels. They were great in leg two, especially in the tropical latitudes. But I had not paid too much attention to their performance down here—I knew the angle of the sun and the cloud cover would limit their performance.
I shut off every system on the boat except for the panels, then made some breakfast and waited. Four and a half hours later there was enough of a charge to try it. The engine turned over—but wouldn't start! Finally there was enough power to get the engine running—a lovely, wonderful, fantastic sound! All the batteries have a strong charge now and we are back to racing—and back to fourth place.
It's cold and my toes are numb. Time to fire up the heater and dry out some socks.
Tim
December 19
Better Food
The last few mornings I have found the deck strewn with plankton, the tiny little crustaceans that whales devour wholesale. With some less than half an inch long, it is amazing that beasts so tiny can exist in numbers large enough to satisfy the hunger of an enormous whale.
Speaking of food, I am in much better shape on this leg. For the last leg, I ordered freeze-dried dinners from a camping supply house in England. Boy, was I disappointed. The food was excruciatingly bad—so bad that I ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner a lot at the end of the leg.
When I arrived in Cape Town, I gave all the remaining dinners away—with a disclaimer on their contents. This leg, I have a full stash of better meals. The food is delicious and I actually look forward to dinner. I have had Chicken Polynesian, Sweet and Sour Pork, Spaghetti, and Mexican Style Rice and Chicken; so far each meal has been very yummy.
Fortunately, the weather has cooperated for the last two days, allowing me to make more repairs on the main sail. I don't much enjoy the work. I awoke this morning to find the batten sticking one foot out of the back of the sail. So I had to take another stab at it today. The next time that batten tries to get out of its pocket, I'm going to bolt it in place—a trick suggested to me by a sailor from near Detroit, Michigan.
We have a low coming up behind us bringing some big winds, a good test for my (lousy) sail repair skills in a day or so. My sail problems are not helping my progress. I am hoping for 24 hours with the main sail up as a first step. Gotta go catch a couple of sailboats!
Tim
December 17–18
Wild Times on Everest Horizontal
The other day turned out to be quite a wild ride. I smoked along in winds of 25 to 30 knots (29–35 mph) almost all day. A couple of hours after dark, the wind began to build slowly until it was in the mid 30s. I went on deck to check the main sail and was very unhappy to see that it had lost one batten and another was broken and flogging. (Battens are long strips of wood or plastic that rest in pockets on the sail to give it stability.)
I set to work getting the sail down in wind that was now blowing 40 to 50 knots (46–58 mph). It took almost 30 minutes to lash the sail in place. I rolled out a storm sail, which is a smaller, sturdier sail made for rough seas.
Daylight showed that the damage to the main sail was more extensive than I expected. One batten pocket was virtually destroyed—it looked like it was attacked by hungry dogs. Repairs would have to wait: The motion of the boat was violent. The movement was made worse because the large main sail was down, and the main sail gives the boat balance. I wore my cute climbing helmet to avoid whacks in the head.
Today, December 18, the weather was nicer, so I went to work at sunrise: 10 hours on deck cutting, sewing, hacksawing, fitting, tugging, pulling, and talking to the whole thing just a bit. It was without a doubt the hardest day of the trip.
The reason for all of this: I was pushing too hard in the early part of this leg and it cost me. I lost time to my rivals:
20 miles to Spirit of Canada, and 140 miles to
Tommy Hilfiger Freedom America. We are in a marathon here, not a sprint, and I have to remember that.
Later,
Tim
December 15
Back at Sea
Everest Horizontal is back at sea, at about 34 degrees south latitude and 17.4 degrees east longitude.
Just before 10 a.m. local time—some 22 hours after the rest of the fleet left Cape Town—I crossed the starting line and headed off in pursuit of the other boats en route to New Zealand.
It never crossed my mind that I would start a leg of this race so late, but auto-pilot problems that have given me so much trouble in the past legs had to be corrected.
My team of mostly volunteers worked tirelessly in port to get the boat ready to sail again. Sam mounted hardware, revised and updated the computers, and managed hundreds of tasks with good humor and grace. Alberto was shanghaied aboard almost a week ago and showed up every day for long hours of work. Herve revised the deck layout. The list of helpers goes on.
Saying goodbye to my chief supporter, best friend, and partner Cheri was hard. Saying goodbye to my little girls Whitney and Allison was really tough. It is Whitney's birthday today—she's 10.
I must get back to racing. I have to do some repair work before the sun sets.
More later,
Tim
December 1
Home Stretch
The last two days were long; after running around and away from the South Atlantic high, I finally had to deal with it. In the grand scheme of things, sailing through it was fairly painless, though there was one six-hour period where I went only 16 miles. The boats further north have had a much harder go of it, so I emerged fairly unscathed.
As I send this, I have less than 100 miles to go. I have been busy all day, so I really have not had time to ponder the idea of stepping off this boat for the first time in more than five weeks. It's amazing, but I have not laid eyes on another person in that long! And I have clocked over 8,200 miles of solo sailing. My main thoughts are ones of gratitude. Gratitude to all of you who have been following this adventure and have written to me with your encouragement. Gratitude for this wonderful, fleet, willing boat. Gratitude to my family and friends who have done so much. And gratitude for this wonderful blue planet, whose oceans are so overwhelmingly beautiful. And BIG!
Tim
Conitnue on to January's Journals
