A Tough Week in the Tasman Sea

A Tough Week in the Tasman Sea For a week, we steered 24 hours a day: the windvane self-steering couldn’t cope with the strong, gusty wind. 25–45 knots (if you prefer, divide the number of knots by two to get the wind speed in m/s), with gusts up to 52. Downpour, hail, drizzle. What a blessing that we have an inside helm; otherwise we would have had to stand watch outside. At +9°C at night, in storm-force winds and hail, it’s just like in the movies. Guys, if you’re looking for a yacht, buy a Nauticat like ours. The helm and wheelhouse with its big windows are simply brilliant. However, the Nauticat does have one flaw that matters to anyone who wants to brave storms in the high latitudes: the heater exhaust is badly designed. It gulps in seawater in heavy seas and floods the entire heater. The pipe needs to be routed upwards, like the snorkels on serious Australian 4x4s. It turned out that in the previous report, the captain had replaced the entire heater, rather than merely spending all night fiddling with the exhaust pipe. We tried starting it: it smokes. So at night it’s already +10°C inside the boat and +8°C outside, and we still have to head at least 2 degrees farther south in latitude. We’ll be freezing for the next week; then, once we’re past New Zealand, we’ll turn north, and life should start getting better. At least, that’s what we tell ourselves during our self-hypnosis sessions. On the morning of the 10th, the sun appeared, warmed the wheelhouse by two-tenths of a degree, and was sucked back into the grey cotton wool. Gloom immediately swallowed us whole. A hundred little leaks down the bulkheads, salt on the helm, the battle to stop water dripping from the hatch onto the young sailor’s bunk, streams of condensation, acrobatics with every movement so as not to smash your head into a bulkhead, damp and despondency. And only the sun can inspire confidence that this hell won’t last forever. No, I will never again do a long offshore passage through the forties and fifties—I promise for the umpteenth time, without the slightest trace of insincerity. Today The twenty-four hours leading up to the evening of 11 September were a gift from Neptune: the wind eased to 20 knots (10 m/s). The respite gave us time to lick our wounds: we almost caught up on sleep, rigged a backup for the troublesome shroud on the mast, and repaired the cooker yet again after its factory-made gimbal broke on the other side. We sorted through the vegetables and made cottage cheese with fruit for breakfast. Meanwhile, our young sailor was head cook all day. For dinner, she made a delicious kefir apple cake and her signature dish, lazy sushi. Give us one more day like that and we’d have settled down to schoolwork. But now, at half past eight in the evening, it’s blowing up again. Tonight, the accursed 40 knots will return. During the next lull, which should come in about two days, we’ll seal the leaking portlights in the aft cabin. Other magical measures have had no effect. The crew’s spirits and health have improved. We’ll see whether the foul weather manages to knock them back to rock bottom. Groundhog Day is getting lively. There has already been a crash from the galley as dishes went flying, followed by Nastya’s: “God, everything is so infuriating!” Optimism to you all! Thank you to all the wonderful people supporting the expedition through PayPal and YooMoney . We see the greetings from every one of you. Welcome to the team! You can find our real-time position under the Route tab. That’s also where the track from our hardworking Roxar Iridium-360 tracker, supplied by MVS Telecom, is plotted. Our current position is: 46°31′S, 159°33′E.