After the rain, the calm instantly changed shoes and became a fresh headwind. Until nightfall the crew got no pleasure from the sea, despite our best attempts at positive thinking.
If the trade wind is prepared to change direction, why can it not blow from the south-east? Why does it absolutely have to come from the north-east? — The trade wind does not care what you think about it.
If Lady Mary were sailing around the world in the usual direction, we would have nothing to complain about. Except the heat.
At 06:30 it is already +30°C. It is time to switch the clocks to Tahiti time. Then +30 would begin an hour later and psychologically it would be easier to accept. But we decided to take that final one-hour step only after crossing the equator for the second time.
That is still about a week away if we continue drawing zigzags between headwinds and calms, moving in every direction except the one we actually want. You can see the complicated track of the last few days on our website under the Route tab.
The last atoll
About thirty miles to the west lies Penrhyn, the northernmost atoll of the Cook Islands, with roughly ten square kilometres of land and a population of around two hundred.
Russian navigator Otto Kotzebue contributed to its exploration. He established its precise coordinates, which differ from the modern ones by about twenty minutes of longitude. Otto Evstafievich called Penrhyn Atoll the Penrhyn Islands.
The internet still says this about his work: Kotzebue not only made extremely important discoveries, but also resolved many doubtful discoveries of earlier navigators in the central Pacific, examining and describing island groups about which previous information had been approximate. For example, the Penrhyn Islands, discovered in 1788, were taken by the British to be a single island. Russian navigators counted fifteen islands. Kotzebue was the first to establish their position precisely — approximately 9°1′30″ S, 157°34′32″ W.
Wikipedia says that Kotzebue headed for the Penrhyn Islands, or Tongareva, first seen by Europeans in 1788 by the English captain Sever, and marked them on his chart on 19 April.
And here comes the moment of truth :). — In reality the islands inside an atoll are collectively counted as one island, so there are no “Penrhyn Islands”. There is Penrhyn Atoll, and for two days we have been trying very hard not to drive into it.
From the life of harems
People from Penrhyn now live on Palmerston Atoll, another Cook Islands place with an entertaining history, which we passed about three weeks ago.
In 1862 an Englishman named William Marsters arrived on then-uninhabited Palmerston. From Penrhyn he brought a wife, her sister and another young woman. Isolated from the world, the four collected sea cucumbers, grew coconuts and raised children.
Forty years later Palmerston had a population of one hundred, all descendants of William and his three women.
Palmerston suffered repeatedly from cyclones. One destroyed every palm tree, but did not break the close-knit family. Since about sixty people still live on the atoll today, the palms were evidently replanted.
So that is one story from the Penrhyn harems of Palmerston.
Unfortunately we have no personal impressions from visiting these inhabited atolls because, for now, we do not call at populated islands. There is a pandemic in the ocean too.
Today is day 61 since the crew last saw other people. Those last people were our friends in Tasmania, Lena and Leonid. If you need a Tasmania guide or an immigration agent, ask us for their contacts. They drove through pouring rain to the fuel dock to see us off. We had already cleared out of Australia and could not have contact with anyone, so we said goodbye from the pontoon.
What, again?
Do you know why big ships have a dedicated mechanic and electrician? Because something is always breaking at sea.
On Lady Mary the mechanic, electrician, captain, bosun and owner are all one person. I think he is thoroughly fed up with major failures. Every day gives us more reasons to call at civilisation.
Yesterday the boom nearly came off.
Only a few days earlier the captain had permanently repaired one part of the boom, in two separate attempts. Then, when the wind really began blowing, Andrey went out to reef the mainsail — reduce its area — and immediately shouted: — Deck light! Drop the main. We have a problem.
A handsome steel fitting called a reefing horn consists of two hooks on a common centre, shaped like curled ram's horns. It is mounted on the mast together with the boom on a heavy bolt. Rings sewn into the sail at different heights for the first and second reef are placed over those hooks. They hold the folded part of the reefed mainsail.
But that bolt does more than hold the reefing horns. It also holds the entire boom — and therefore the mainsail.
The main bolt had snapped in two.
We dropped the mainsail and lashed the boom to the mast. We removed the awning over the stern — hello, furnace — and set the mizzen, the sail on the second mast.
At least the battle against the trade wind and the failure did not happen on the captain's birthday, we unanimously concluded as we sailed into the night.
By morning the captain had built a workbench on the stern and fabricated a replacement part. He could not cut a new thread, so we need to buy a new bolt or we will not make it. For now, instead of a threaded fitting, several lashings of strong Dyneema are doing the job, assisted by our word of honour and one wing.
Energy crisis
Today is the first day in two weeks without rain. It is hot, and we have found a fault in yet another solar panel mounted on the same side that took the hit in the storm. Electricity is in short supply.
It is fortunate that we do not need to run the watermaker; it would consume the entire charge. The tanks are full of rainwater.
There are 555 miles to our marked point north of the equator, then another roughly 1,500 miles to Tahiti.
The senior sailor is studying navigation. The deckhand, under the first mate's supervision, is learning the parts of speech. We must not disgrace ourselves in front of school when we finally regain communications — presumably in about a month.
By the way, because of yet another lockdown, we are again receiving questions about where the deckhand studies. Shall we tell you next time about distance learning at the St Andrew the Apostle Geography School?
Wishing everyone good health. Sent by satellite from 7°56′ S, 159°20′ W.
P.S. Yesterday we could not establish communications, so yesterday's post is appearing today. Since then the adventures have multiplied: the genoa halyard snapped again in the night, and the fresh-water pump failed.
Hooray, the flight is proceeding normally!
Thank you, friends, for your comments and messages on the website and for cheering us on. Special enormous thanks for the very tangible gifts to the crew and captain sent through YooMoney and PayPal. May your own dreams come true.
To see where we are now, visit travely-family.com and open the Route tab. It shows Lady Mary's track from the Rockstar Iridium 360 tracker provided by MVS Telecom.