We escaped the typhoon, which is now raging to the east of us.
But as we approached southern Japan a strong wind began blowing from the north.
At first the high sea was still following while the wind had already changed and was blowing directly on the nose.
Then the Kuroshio Current joined the dance.
With that entire orchestra playing last night, the yacht was moving stern-first toward the south-west while her bow pointed north-east.
Needless to say, neither direction is where we need to go.
A few days ago we removed the awning because the cold has begun.
The advantage is that we can now set the mizzen — the small sail on the second mast.
We usually used it when storming through the Southern Ocean.
Since yesterday we have had occasion to use it that way again.
The wind reached about twenty-five knots.
We began reefing the mainsail, and our long-suffering sail cheerfully split along the fibres, leaving an erotic half-metre slit through the middle of the cloth.
We temporarily fixed the edges with patches without even taking the sail down.
During the night thirty knots came straight at us. In our “favourite” close-hauled conditions we charged into high head seas, alternately bogging down and jumping over them.
“Drop the main!” the captain's heroic whistle woke Nastya and me at four in the morning.
For the first time in half a year we pulled out our waterproof trousers and jackets again.
Despite having been carefully rinsed in fresh water and dried on the approach to Tahiti, for some reason they had become salty.
The paradox is unsolved but unpleasant.
All day we have been sailing without the mainsail, using a reefed genoa — the large headsail — and the mizzen.
Close-hauled.
The waves are about five metres high, with foaming crests that lash nervously over the roof.
Turbulence presses the crew into sofa backs and walls.
Cooking dinner has once again been classified as gymnastics with apparatus.
In weather like this fatigue feels sharper.
And we are already very tired.
More mentally than physically.
Shipboard watches
In the morning I found the skipper at the wheel in a heroic pose, red-and-black shorts fluttering.
“Look over there,” he says.
I look.
In the dawn mist I see a hundred-metre cargo ship, under the code name “cargo ship”, glowing ominously toward our side with its navigation lights.
Green and red.
It feels as though this monster is charging straight into our beam.
“Andryusha,” I whisper timidly, “what if they still haven't cancelled that order from 1772(?) to fire on every approaching ship? What if they sink us now?”
They did not sink us.
The cargo ship altered course and passed half a mile astern.
It felt as though only two hundred metres separated us.
There are already dozens of ships near the coast here, so we keep watch around the clock.
We removed every blind from the windows.
Yesterday the deckhand stood ship's watch until almost one in the morning.
“I wish to go onto deck to inspect the horizon,” she says.
“Absolutely not,” I object.
“Stand on the sofa and inspect the horizon through the windows. You are forbidden to go onto deck at night.”
The deckhand frowned and became offended.
She is grown up, after all — so what if she is only a metre tall with a bow on top.
But she did not break the rule.
Anti-deckhand prohibitions aboard are law.
On love for animals
The other day I stopped the captain from expelling two silly boobies from their overnight accommodation.
They eat a great deal while hunting.
Then they produce an equally great deal at the other end.
That was what the skipper was trying to prevent.
I staged an act of humanitarianism and insisted we leave the poor birds alone: “They'll die in the ocean at night. They don't sleep on the water!”
No, they did not die.
They merely left us two questions.
First: will half a kilogram of newly acquired precious guano eat through our proud sail?
Second: how good is it to sail without the little wind-direction arrow on the mast?
Because one booby finally planted its royal backside on the thin fluorescent arrow.
The arrow used to show where the wind came from.
Now it does not.
It preserves the memory of the booby's seating arrangement.
Fortunately a friend told us an excellent way to determine wind direction: stand facing the wind until it blows equally into both ears.
That is what we do now.
You just have to hold on tightly because the wind knocks you off your feet.
What lies ahead
The hardest section of the route is ahead.
The wind jumps from following to head-on, has not blown steadily for a long time, and now grows stronger every hour.
It should ease by morning, and we will begin entering the Korea Strait.
From there twenty knots will cheerfully blow straight into our face as a starting offer.
If we are lucky, we will cross part of the Sea of Japan with following wind.
If not, we may have to seek shelter behind Japanese or Korean islands.
Japan is not an option for entry. It was difficult to enter even before, and since Covid began it has been practically impossible.
Since 1 April we could try our luck in Korea, but the deadline for reaching Russia is burning with a blue flame and there is no time for stops.
If the motherland does not close its borders, we will visit Korea too.
One day.
Despite the steadily worsening news from the mainland.
One day that news will end too.
Good news will return.
The main thing is to wait long enough.
Peace to your home.
Because of world events our big road trip from the Pacific to the Atlantic may collapse.
It is the final part of our second family circumnavigation.
The captain and I recently realised that we are finishing a second circle.
It looks like this:
Novosibirsk to Moscow by car in 2013.
Moscow to Montenegro by plane in 2014, then the start from Montenegro.
Next: Montenegro — Panama — Tahiti — Vladivostok by yacht.
Now Vladivostok to Novosibirsk by car.
And in summer we hope to continue as far as St Petersburg.
For about half a month our friends and dependable people have been looking for a sponsored vehicle option.
What would not have been especially difficult back in February has now become almost impossible.
But we are not giving up.
Since money is rapidly turning into a pumpkin, if no car appears we will have to travel to Novosibirsk by train.
Guys, hello!
Does nobody need a vehicle delivered from Vladivostok to the capital of Siberia?
Miracle, please happen.
Thank you to everyone travelling these long weeks across the world's largest ocean with us through letters and comments.
If only you knew how much it encourages us.
Enormous thanks to Alexander E. and all the wonderful people supporting the crew's morale through YooMoney.
Thank you for becoming part of our shore team.
May your dreams come true.
Sent by satellite at the beginning of day 48 at sea.
Coordinates: 29°51′ N, 131°46′ E.
You can find our position and track in real time under the Route tab on our website. It shows the path from the Rockstar Iridium 360 tracker provided by MVS Telecom.