The expedition’s first waypoint. Wachusett, the phantom island. The thirty-second parallel. The point where we had to check in and find out whether the phantom island actually existed appeared on our route thanks to a watchkeeper aboard the vessel Wachusett, commanded by Captain Lambert. At around 9 a.m. on June 4, 1899, he spotted, at a depth of 9–11 metres, an object resembling an underwater ridge about 150 metres long. The existence of any above-water or underwater object at this location has never been confirmed since, which does not prevent it from appearing on many maps—for example, in the US National Geographic Atlas of the World. On the chart in our navigation tablet, the reef is marked by a circle five miles in diameter, just to be on the safe side at sea. What if the coordinates were wrong? That, presumably, was what the cartographers thought.
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Rolling her way up the oncoming three-to-four-metre waves, Lady Mary was approaching the point at coordinates 32*18S 15108 W. Suddenly, instead of the alarm clock for the night watchkeepers, frying pans went flying. In a low-level flight, a saucepan of papaya jam knocked a pot of pasta flat on its back. Fortunately, the young sailor had already crawled out from under her sleeping bag and was swinging from one galley bulkhead to the other in an almost upright position, so she managed to catch the saucepan of jam before it crashed upside down onto the floor. No one was injured. The only thing we had to scrape off the interior was the pasta. A little jam landed on the young sailor’s schoolbag.
Why did everything suddenly go flying? Twenty knots have been blowing straight on the nose for ages—we’re used to it, I thought as I made my way along the wall towards the instruments. The instruments showed 30 knots of right-in-your-face wind. By the time we had taken down the mainsail and set the mizzen, the expression about washing in salt water had ceased to be a metaphor. After working on deck, we had to take a shower without even taking off our clothes. Since then, the foul-weather gear has moved beside the companionway hatch so we won’t forget it.
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Before entering the area where the phantom Wachusett reef was supposed to be, we sent the young sailor out into the cockpit to monitor the wave patterns. An hour or so later, I crawled out to join her—I was curious too! The sky was scowling, the waves were raging, and spray was pouring over us across the coachroof, though most of the time we managed to turn our waterproof jackets towards the waves. Three hours on watch, peering at the horizon, revealed nothing we had not already seen in the open ocean throughout the previous week. So our expedition cannot confirm the existence of Wachusett Reef, or shoal.
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December 8. Another 4.3 thousand miles (almost 8,000 km) of watery desert still lie ahead. But at least it’s no longer 9,800, as it was two weeks ago. So progress is plain to see. Overall, our route from Bora Bora, including the initial detour west and the sharp change of course, amounts to a quarter of the Earth’s circumference, without any stops. Despite the brutal slog against the wind, the zigzags and the leeway, we have finally covered a thousand miles. We have never had a passage like this in the history of our voyages. Our previous maximum was 23 days at sea. Against the backdrop of our current forced march, that distance looks like a sprint. This one is a marathon. And the right mindset helps the young sailor and me not to faint at the figure of 4,300 nautical miles. .. .. Not to faint—only sigh. How the hell did we end up out here?!
It’s cheering to know that in two days we’ll get a following wind. Though the captain and the forecasts promise it will be blowing at 40 miles per hour. We’ll see. We watch films and fry bananas, and yesterday the young sailor initiated a mini-cake. We upgraded her gingerbread-cake recipe with papaya jam inside and more of it in place of icing—it went down a storm! As soon as we finish cooking the remaining papayas into jam, we’ll bake another cake. We’ll run this marathon deliciously.
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As for the expedition’s objectives: we could not claw our way up to Jupiter Reef, the next phantom island of the South Seas. The wind is blowing straight from Jupiter. To reach it, we would have to sail an extra 300 miles in the wrong direction. So next on our route will be an unnamed reef, designated 1957 after the year it was discovered. As of today, it is about 30 miles away. We’ll keep our eyes peeled, take video and photographic records, and stand watch on deck with the radar clutched close. Wishing everyone a clear day and interesting tasks!
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By the way, you can’t track us by satellite or AIS. Unless some ship happens along that can receive our AIS signal and cleverly send it up into space. But there are no ships. Unfortunately, our own instruments do not transmit a signal to the satellite. So for now, the expedition’s route can be tracked only from the coordinates we give at the end of each post. Our only link with the world is email: the shore team sends us your comments from the VK and FB groups, and we use email to send our chronicles to the website. We can’t see social media, but we do read messages sent through the website’s contact form—also by email. That’s how cleverly everything works out here in the ocean wilderness ).
Guys, your comments and letters make us so happy. The whole crew settles in comfortably, and the captain reads them aloud. We can’t reply personally, but we publicly declare that it means SO much to us. Thank you for being there for us! Hugs from 33*29S 15107 W.