The Hardest Part of the Journey. Day 56

The hardest part of the journey. Day 56. Today we’re being tossed about mercilessly, and it’s even making us seasick, so this report will probably come out rather muddled. After a full day of calm, someone switched on a fresh breeze: in 15 minutes it went from zero to 25 knots. Nastya and the captain reefed the mainsail, and the whole crew went off to sleep. Through our half-slumber we sensed that, nope, we needed to reef it again or take it down altogether. We crawled out from under our warm blankets, sealed ourselves into our camouflage suits, and went on deck. We put in the third reef. We’re bounding along at a fine clip, the wind howling, the waves lashing us. We sat in the cockpit and watched for a while. “Andryukha,” I say, “let’s just take the main down altogether, so we don’t have to go leaping around at night.” Though it’s already 11 at night anyway, with dawn in three hours. The captain thought it over and gave the go-ahead. “Hold on, daughter!” I yell to Nastya, my teeth chattering. You can’t hear a thing, the deck light is on, and the boat is being flung about. We got it down, exhausted but, as you can imagine, very pleased with ourselves, and raced off at 6 knots under the small staysail. It has worked harder than any of our sails on this journey. And it looks as though its heroic service has not gone without consequences. It has started tearing along the leech too—if only it holds until we arrive. No calms for repairs are forecast for now, and the genoa, our largest headsail, is torn. At least the mizzen and mainsail are intact. But under those alone the boat will round up badly, so we’re keeping our fingers crossed for our brave little staysail. It looks as though we’ll be up to our ears in sailmaking work in Tierra del Fuego. . . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Cape Horn is 430 miles away, and our speed is about 6 knots. The forecast promises 20 knots tomorrow and 40 knots of wind the day after. We so badly want to see the foremost of the Great Capes with our own eyes, rather than hurtle past it in fog from sixty miles away. Here’s the catch: for a full sixty miles (111 km) from Cape Horn, the depth is only 100–200 metres. Now imagine the waters of the planet’s two largest oceans pouring into one another through a relatively narrow bottleneck 400 miles wide, known as the Drake Passage. Of those, 60 miles of continental shelf are only a hundred metres deep. The captain says that’s where we’ll encounter those mind-blowing waves if we get caught in Force 8–9 winds. At our present speed, we have another 3–4 days to go. In three days we’ll be 60–70 miles from the cape. The captain is calculating how to avoid getting caught in a storm without slowing down too much while weather fronts pass. We could really use a bit of post-New Year magic; only that will let us see Cape Horn. We’re placing an order for 20 knots of fair wind and a smooth ocean three days from now. And we’ll work out our sailing strategy after tomorrow’s forecast arrives. . . . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Current realities. Today, to starboard of Lady Mary there is blue sky and brilliant sunshine, while to port there is a grey porridge of clouds. The sun drives away our anxiety, but the waves won’t let us relax. They match the 25-knot wind, rising to around 4 metres and tossing us down into the troughs with very little ceremony. The crew, together with our whole little world and household, gallops along as usual, spilling tea and sauce over ourselves, reading, writing, talking. .. .. .. The young sailor and I have just watched a film about September 11, taking a little break from the travel theme. I’m finishing the diary of Nikolai Litau’s second circumnavigation, trying to understand what sort of man he is—the man we may cross paths with in Ushuaia. Thank you for the information about Fyodor Konyukhov’s dash. He motivates us to pull ourselves together. After all, compared with his light, low rowing boat, our floating home is simply a sailor’s dream. I wonder whether we’ll wait long enough to see him in Tierra del Fuego, or miss him by just a few days? Departure dates depend not on what you want, but on the season. . . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . The gastronomic side of life. Friends joke that, judging by their experience of long passages, our menu should now be down to two dishes: instant soup and beans, beans and soup. But we’re discovering what industrious little hoarders we were, stocking up on provisions well in advance! When we set off from the Society Islands, we certainly weren’t expecting a two-month passage. We were looking at a week, two at most. In the Austral Archipelago, we stocked up only on fresh fruit and vegetables. We have enough grains, beans and pasta to last us to the North Pole. And the tinned food is still a source of delight. Although, of course, the menu calls for an increasingly inventive approach and ever more stone-soup dishes. For now that we’re into our sixth ten-day stretch, the selection of tins is dwindling. Lunch was mashed potatoes with a gravy made from beans, tomato sauce, fried onions and hearts of palm. We have enough tinned vegetables and sauces to enrich soups and gravies for another 5 days, plus hot sauces—and why do we have so many of those? We can wolf down two large tins of fruit compote a day for a week. Chocolate bars somehow materialise every other day, while hidden under the floorboards are a tiny tin of Brie and two blocks of processed cheese from Tahiti. We were right to ration them carefully; there are still treats left at the end of the passage. Our main source of fresh food and our trusty lifesaver is Polynesian pamplemousse, a cross between a pomelo and a grapefruit. Take note, sailors. This fruit keeps for 3 months even in tropical heat—we tested it. Though you still need to sort through them, of course. We have another crate of pamplemousses. We’re already tired of them, but we eat one a day as a compulsory vitamin measure. Several coconuts have survived; they keep beautifully too. Plus onions and garlic. If we haven’t eaten them before the quarantine officers arrive, we’ll have to hide the remainder in the sails. We can’t just surrender them to the enemy after the journey they’ve made with us! . . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . We wanted to declare a bath day, but judging by everyone’s mood, we’ll put it off until tomorrow. After her lesson on English verbs, our young sailor announced that today was her birthday, which meant it was a day off. Then she went to dress up in the witch costume I made for her for Halloween in Tahiti. The photo is poor quality, but check out the outfit anyway. She danced for a while, fetched a stick and a ball, designated the wheelhouse floor as a golf course and the round opening for the captain’s chair as the hole. She knocks the ball into the cup. In 4-metre seas. And then, just like that, she turns into a storyteller and sorceress. She jumps around in costume, tells a fairy tale, and sends a big hello to everyone reading this right now. . . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . We’ve been asked about communications from aboard. We do not have HF radio. There is an article titled “Satellite Communications for a Circumnavigation”—please look it up using the search box on our website. It tells the whole truth about how we get in touch and publish our reports by email. The second question was whether the captain was pleased to have two masts. The answer is: more than pleased. I tried to find a link to the programme on Yacht Radio where we talked about choosing the yacht and the consequences of that choice. I couldn’t find it, sorry. But it is available on the Yacht Radio website. Our programme there is called “A Family Around the World.” The advantages of a second mast should also be covered on our website under Menu\About Us\Yacht. Are they? Well, if not, once we reach the internet we’ll tell you all about it. .. .. .. Friends, thank you for your comments and letters. We never tire of saying how important your warm greetings are to all of us. They are especially welcome on our 56th day in the ocean, amid exhausting waves and cold dampness. And with every passing day, your support becomes more precious! May God keep you all safe! . . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . A separate Huge Thank You to those who have become true members of our shore team by supporting the expedition through PayPal.me/TravelyFamily. Our thanks to Gleb K.! Sergey K. from Germany, Igor S. from Moscow, Valentina M. from St Petersburg, and Alexey B. from Novosibirsk! . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. We’re sending hugs to you all from a point in the Southern Ocean at 56 degrees 29 minutes S, 80 degrees 06 minutes W.