Storm-Avoidance Tactics

Storm-avoidance tactics. Day 15. The day after tomorrow, 50 knots are coming. Wow. Is that what the forecast says? The last storm was forecast to bring 40 knots of wind, but delivered 62. So this time we could get 70 knots—that’s 35 m/s. Well, the forecast simply doesn’t show anything above 50. It could be 70. They do say that around here you should add 20 knots to the forecast wind, and you won’t be far wrong. .. .. .. Like all normal people, we don’t like storms. They’re generally much nicer to watch on TV than from the epicentre. The children and I have gone quiet, while the captain studies the week’s forecast in detail, comparing speeds and the angle of our course to the wind. .. .. Our tactics will be as follows: first, we head as far northwest as possible. If we catch the tail of the cyclone, we’ll get 35 knots instead of fifty. Pointing as close to the wind as possible, Lady Mary turned her bowsprit towards north-northeast, while the captain climbed into the hold to change the oil filter and work some magic on the engine cooling system. . . . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . The wind was switched on without warning. It went from zero to 25 knots in half a minute. Bang. Ladunya and I clung to the table, which is lying on the settee while the engine filters are being changed. Preferably it won’t clobber the cap while he’s down in the hold. During the day, the wind machine died down again for a couple of hours, and we cooked borscht. But eating it had to be done from comical receptacles resembling bucket-containers. Otherwise you can’t serve more than five spoonfuls: everything goes flying, including any liquid placed in a bowl. The forecast says up to 25 knots of wind; in reality, it blew 35. The beam seas are doing a fine imitation of a storm all by themselves. But we’re expecting the storm on the evening of the 15th. I’m anxious, remembering the difference between the forecast and the actual wind. .. .. .. .. Meanwhile, the beam seas are flooding the deck so heavily that water has started seeping in again where the shrouds are fastened, running down the hull and landing squarely on the little settee in the children’s cabin-cum-office, where our young sailor sleeps. The mattress was soaked through and, of course, did not dry during the day. We had to put her to bed under the table, just like old times. Cushions, bedding, and the table legs keep her from rolling away; it’s snug as a burrow. Good thing she still fits under there. The main thing is that whoever is on watch doesn’t crush her in the dark. . . . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. All night, beneath an unrelenting 30 knots of wind, the yacht was tossed about so violently that the expedition barrel on the stern fell over, the remains of our second murdered solar panel were torn off into the ocean, and sleep was impossible because of the all-too-frequent sensation of free fall. This route from Cape Horn to the Cape of Good Hope is proving rather hard going. The only good hope still flickering is that we might be able to rest at Tristan da Cunha. Jules Verne’s Duncan can’t be the only one to get lucky with the weather! But Tristan da Cunha is still more than 1,300 nautical miles away—a two-week passage. .. . . . . . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Day 16. We’ve just received an updated weather forecast. The captain is pleased. The tactic of heading northwest proved correct. The peak of the storm is now raging northwest of our course, and by the time we reach point X, the 50-knot winds will already be raging farther east. Though we’ll be driven in the opposite direction from the one we’re currently heading—southeast, the captain adds. But the main thing is that we should get less of a battering than we did last time, near the Falklands. . .. . . . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. It’s only Day 16, and already I badly want land. And warmth. In the mornings, it is still no warmer than plus 12 degrees Celsius inside the boat. The air temperature is around 6 degrees at night and perhaps reaches 15 during the day. It should warm up soon, apparently. But anyway, guys, the children are playing and laughing around me right now, the captain and husband is joining in their fun, and amid all the noise and commotion I can’t finish the post elegantly; all I can do is sing what I see. Besides, it turns out our young sailor is dying of hunger. We’re all off together to finish the borscht, the little herring that has survived to this day, boiled potatoes with cucumbers, and buckwheat with onion and carrot. We’ll enjoy the meal before the storm, so we’ll have something with which to welcome Ichthyander—sorry. The mood is optimistic, although we’re already tired of the passage. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. We’re reading messages sent through the website. Kirill, thank you for your wonderful letter—it truly warmed us. We have Slava Kurilov’s book on board, and yes, we agree: his writing about the ocean is utterly magical! It makes you want to put on flippers and a mask and swim away. The 6-degree water temperature gets in the way, as do the waves, which are too high even to spend time on deck. So it turns out that in places outside the tropics, all the astonishing underwater life passes you by, and all you see is a thin, lead-coloured layer that wrinkles, smooths its features, and breathes deeply—at times spasmodically—spitting as it does so. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Another remarkable letter arrived. It went like this: Please call me back. Denis. And a phone number. .. .. It made us smile. We probably won’t call back for now—the phone has no signal. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . From the bottom of our seafaring hearts, we thank Alexey R. for his substantial contribution to the expedition fund through Paypal.Me/TravelyFamily! It is incredibly valuable and important to us! .. .. .. In addition, we’ve once again received an unidentified notification of another payment. We’ll be able to thank the sender personally once we have internet access and can uncover the names of all our heroes. Thank you so much, our wonderful support team back home! . . . . . .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. . You can once again follow the expedition in real time on our website under the Route tab, where our Iridium track is displayed. The same map with the track and details is available at bit.ly/iridium360. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. September 15, Day 17. By evening we’ll enter the storm. We’re getting ready. Hugs to you from 41 degrees south latitude. Transmitted by satellite.