Oh, bitter cold—day ten in the southern Tasman Sea Inside the yacht, it is like a polar station: for most of the day, our breath hangs in the air. A wind has come up from Antarctica, and tonight we expect the temperature outside to be around zero. I once studied at SibSUTIS. Its main building burned down, and the entire budget was channelled into rebuilding it, leaving no money to heat the other buildings. In winter, we sat through lectures in sheepskin coats, our breath steaming in the air. Ever since then, I have known that exhaled air condenses into visible vapour at temperatures below +12 degrees. That is exactly what we have aboard during the day. At night, it is about 5 degrees colder. We will probably remember this stretch from Tasmania to the southern tip of New Zealand as the coldest passage we have ever made. Of course, outside Lady Mary it has been as cold as -5 in Antarctica and -15 while we wintered in Tierra del Fuego, but inside we had the heater going. This time, during the first storm, it was thoroughly flooded with water through the exhaust pipe. It is beyond repair. We are nostalgic for the first day of the passage, when the cabins were dry and warm. But we are not losing heart: only 200 miles to go to the corner; in two days we will start bearing away to the north and gradually warm up. At least there are plenty of things to joke about: the captain stood his watch at the helm in boots because his feet were freezing in Crocs and socks; our cold-proof young sailor finally asked for socks herself and put on two pairs at once—thin ones and woollen ones. Day and night, we hang out in two sweatshirts and under blankets. And the cap is even wearing a down vest.
Bread and circuses At breakfast we watched a film about our friends aboard the yacht Elizaveta crossing the Pacific during the pandemic. After Antarctica and Patagonia, they spent four months trudging to Fiji across a closed ocean. “It’s so warm there!” Nastya drawled dreamily. We are going the opposite way and will probably call at the same sparsely inhabited atolls as the guys did. Without formalities or permits, because they are impossible to obtain. We dream of somehow managing it and stocking up on coconuts. But for now, our greatest dream is to sleep without a hood and the weight of two blankets. The wind has eased a little and is holding steady at 30 knots (15 m/s). We are sailing under the jib alone. At times, the waves slam into the side so hard that we flinch along with the boat. A blue wave washes over her, while salty spray lands on our table and the tops of our heads. Under the water pressure, it seeps inside through invisible cracks. The cupboard with the bed linen is getting soaked. Very bad. On the bright side, it smells of borscht, which will add a bit of comfort to dinner today. For breakfast, we had hot sandwiches from the oven and baked sweet potato. The oven adds a couple of degrees of warmth too. But the main thing is that the sun comes out every day; today it briefly managed to heat the deckhouse to a scorching +17.
More of the same—and school The whole of our life aboard is pinned by the violent rolling to its epicentre—the deckhouse. You fetch vegetables from the forecabin, grab a chopping board, knives and containers from the galley, bash various parts of your body against corners eight times along the way, and hurrah!—with the help of every crew member, you finally set the board on the rubber tablecloth, and everything else on the settee in the deckhouse. You put on the Ice Age show and chop vegetables four-handed with the young sailor. “Mum, you’ll teach me to ice-skate, won’t you?” “Of course.” “And will we buy me some skates? Will we skate on the river when we’re home?” “Yes!” And then my line: “What a fool I was to quit figure skating in second grade and take up skiing.” Pots are wedged between our knees so that, when the boat lurches, at least some of the chopped pieces do not end up on the sleeping bag. Getting a baking tray of sandwiches and a rack of sweet potatoes into the oven is Nastya’s and my paired acrobatic routine with props. The captain’s workout on a rocking chair is yet another reason to smile. Today, at last, Ladunya started fifth grade. She settled down with her biology textbook. In such Spartan conditions, that is a breakthrough. Today I looked at the wind map while trying to decide where we should go after Tahiti. We are stubbornly sailing through the red and black zone )). In about three days, we will start making our way out of it.
About you and us Sergey Yakubenko, our responsible shore support coordinator, sent us news from the mainland and your comments on our posts. It is sooo wonderful! We read them aloud, and those are some of the happiest moments at sea. So many people are worried about us and write words of support—it fills us with optimism and fresh strength! And makes the ordeals easier to get through. Friends, we hug you all. May you always feel a friend’s shoulder beside you and the support of those behind you. That is how we will win. Our heartfelt thanks to everyone supporting the expedition through PayPal and YooMoney . Your greetings warm us enormously. Where are we now?—See the Route tab. It displays the track from our hardworking RockSTAR Iridium360 tracker supplied by MVS Telecom. We are currently at the following coordinates: 47°15′ S, 163°43′ E.