AU to PNG, Days 4-6: at least we didn't break anything

Landfall at Bramble Haven - Wednesday 3/10, somewhat beat up from the last three days of winds/seas.



This was a passage best characterized by highs and lows. That's a bad pun, because it really was defined by the high and low pressure areas affecting our conditions. It was a good reminder that even with a great looking outlook, weather is not predictable.



We left with a forecast of SE wind at 15-20 kts. This would have made a beautiful, 4.5 day passage on our most comfortable point of sail. What happened was that a high pressure system formed a ridge that caused the wind to drop and back, which meant we were going upwind in little apparent wind.



That was the fun part.



When we were a couple of days out, a weak low formed around the same area that was our destination point - the eastern end of the Louisiades. Because of this low, we knew we'd have a lot of wind- and soon. What we didn't know is how it would play out. We crossed our fingers and hoped that a squash zone wouldn't form between the systems.



Lucky for us, the low stayed weak. It created a trough (trof) in an east-west line just south of Papua New Guinea, producing a band of squalls to cross before our landfall.



As we sailed through the 500-ish miles below the trough, the wind clocked behind us and increased, along with sea state. We had sustained winds up to 45 kts and seas at 4 meters (the occasional gusts over 50 and 5m seas thrown in for fun)- both at levels above the evolving forecast for our area.



This was not so much fun. This characterized our last three days and nights of the passage.



Ultimately, we changed our landfall point several times to allow for a more comfortable or safer angle. Instead of four-ish days, it took over six. And in weather like that, there was not much fishing!



There is a great deal of good woven into the challenges of the passage. First, a shoutout to our friends on Ceilydh (http://maiaaboard.blogspot.com). Evan could see what was happening, and started to send us regular weather updates. Although we have good access to weather information on demand through our HF radio, there is data he can access online has that we aren't able to get (like swell direction, which was good to know!). When we are tired, and literally buried in the conditions, it's really helpful to have another set of eyes to evaluate the reports.



We are so impressed with how Totem came through: the boat handled adverse conditions extremely well. We were comfortable and dry below. Jamie needed to hand steer the swells a few times, but the autopilot usually gave a better course than we could by hand. Meals were prepared ahead, so when the bad weather hit (and boiling a pot of water was out of the question, even on a gimbaled stove) all we had to do was heat up a stew. Not least of all, the kids were amazing. It is a lot to ask for them to spend basically a week reading, but we had very few complaints.



It's really good to be able to look back on the passage from an anchorage. Bramble Haven is just that: a haven, with turquoise water and a wooded motu with just enough cover to shelter us from the wind outside the atoll. A handful of Kiwi boats are here, waiting for weather to sail for Australia. Shortly after the hook was set, fishermen in a dugout canoe came alongside with a gorgeous lobster (painted crayfish) on offer, and we had an invitation for sundowners on the beach.



It is SO good to be here!



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AU to PNG, Days 2 and 3: easy living

It took nearly three days for the wind to fill in, but it's finally here. Totem is now moving along at a good clip, averaging 7.5 knots on a beam reach in 15 knots of easterly breeze. We spend much of our days reading, as books and e-readers littered around give evidence. The ocean sparkles with the indescribably vibrant sapphire color we only seem to find at sea.



Our second day out, we clocked what I think may be our slowest 24 hour passage runs ever- barely 90 miles, and that just because we motoring! We're checking in on the Pacific Seafarers Net, a ham net comes on in the early afternoon (in our time zone, anyway). Land and boat based radio stations in Hawaii, Australia, NZ and other locations around the Pacific track the progress of boats under way that check in on the daily roll call. One by one, each boat provides a position, boat course and speed, sea state and weather conditions. The other two reporting boats yesterday had even less wind than we did in their various corners of the Pacific- it was a theme. One of the net controls joked "no course, no speed, no wind...no hope!"



I don't know about no hope, but it's good that we hit a comfortable stride early since our travel time is stretching out. We're also going to get more wind and bigger seas in a few days. I'm trying not to dread it. The wind we can handle; it's the sea state that will affect comfort level. We'll probably get into PNG on Wednesday, unless the conditions cause us to change from our currently planned route into a south pass inside the reef to Tagula/Sudest.

Australia to Papua New Guinea, Day 1: it's going to take longer than we thought

It's always good to expect the unexpected.

Finding the rhythm of a passage usually takes a day, or three, depending on which member of the Totem crew you ask. Settling in to a different routine, dealing with any seasickness(thankfully uncommon aboard Totem), adapting to the shakeup in sleeping patterns. It's not always appealing to add floppy bloody fish into the mix too soon, so the handlines aren't tossed out right away.

Forecasts suggested we'd have a nice broad or beam reach heading up to the Louisiades- 20 or so knots, optimal conditions for Totem to have a comfortable and speedy passage. For about the first quarter of the way we'd  have the wind just forward of the beam, until we pass outside the Great Barrier Reef and can crack off a little to point almost due north to our destination. Glorious!

As it turns out, the breeze is considerably lighter and farther forward, thanks to a high pressure system filled in sooner than forecasted. Sailing closer to the wind is slower, and can be less comfortable. There's a reason the flow of predominant cruising routes is downwind! But just in time, our new mainsail is doing excellent duty: we are holding a higher course than Totem could previously, and still making good way. With these lighter conditions, the seas are calm, giving us a mellow ride over gentle swells. It's beautiful.

Our first full day out passed easily. Watching Australia fade into the sunset as we headed offshore was bittersweet. Gliding under the bright light of a nearly full moon. A lazy sunny day, with cards and reading in the cockpit, and the occasional seabird swooping by to check us out. Help from Niall with watch keeping: it's great to have him take the helm so I can check in on a radio net while Jamie catches up on sleep.

It's easy to get focused on getting to a destination as quickly as possible. This time, I'm savoring the slower ride. So it won't be that ideal four-ish day passage, and it might be closer to six. But that's OK. We're in the groove of passagemaking in record time...time to put out the handlines.

A well fed crew is a happy crew

Among the cruising truths I had to relearn was how important it is to have easy meals prepared in advance.

The stove was gimbaled, but apparently still not level...lopsided cake is a hazard of galley cooking.

People, this is cruising 101. I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I glossed completely over it in our preparation. Apparently, I really thought I'd be cooking pasta, dicing tomatoes and cutting up pineapples as we worked our way up the coast.

The first leg up to Pittwater was motoring in flat water. Easy. But Pittwater to Port Stephens was such a roller coaster ride, the best I could do was throw  a bunch of veggies, lentils and some couscous in the pressure cooker with water and make curry mush. It was good enough, and it stuck to bowls (hot, liquid soups are a menace to eat in a seaway!).

At least it only took one leg for me to relearn this. Before we left Port Stephens, I cooked up a storm. We had a pumpkin cake, banana bread, brownies, cornbread, chili, baked beans, prepared salads and more. Minimal effort (and no boiling water!) required.

Sydney to Brisbane: the weather always wins

We had looked forward to getting off the dock and being underway for months. Free under sail again, listening to the whoosh of water against the hull while we worked our way north. Taking the time to discover a few pretty bays, as our route would keep us near the shore to avoid the big currents running south on the Australian East coast. We'd have almost a week to work our way from Sydney to Brisbane before commitments required us there.

The reality, however, was a little different. Uncooperative weather didn't prevent our departure, but it definitely stalled our progress. This was the first of several cruising truths I had to relearn on this passage: that you can't put anything on a calendar, because the weather will always decide for you.

On the other hand, much of this was more happily familiar. Cruising in company with another family. Being off the grid, without readily available water and power from marina hookups. Separated from known, easy access to everything from hot showers to grocery stores. That sounds a little daunting, but it's an integral aspect of what we love about cruising. We are responsible in a more material way for our use and acquisition of basic necessities, and being in tune with their use and discharge in return increases our respect for what we have.

How passagemaking is like pregnancy

It's been so exciting to see friends we made cruising in the US and Mexico get ready for their own departures for the Pacific islands. Most have now departed, and we're reliving the passage vicariously as by following along a number of blogs.

I traded email with our friends on Ceilydh today. They're five days in from their departure from La Cruz, Mexico. Thinking about where they are in the journey, I couldn't help reliving the experiences from ours from last year. I remember this part of the passage really well...and it makes me smile!

This is going to sound nuts to some, but the phases of a big passage like this- about three weeks- is kind of like the major phases of pregnancy. Ceilydh is in the second trimester now. During the first trimester, you often feel a little icky, and you're settling- physically and emotionally- into a whole new life. By the third trimester, you're a little over the experience and kinda ready to be done. But the second trimester? It's spectacular. You're embracing the adventure, immersed in a whole new life. You're feeling good, and excited about every new thing that happens. It's truly like one natural high after another.

I generally loved being pregnant, but I never felt better (at ANY time in life, not just my pregnancies) than during the second trimester. And in the same crazy way, I deeply loved the middle chunk of the big passage... embraced it 150%, and wanted it to go on forever.

Here's a short list of some of friends who are blogging updates on their passage: check the rolls on their blogs, too, for even more of the 2011 fleet.

Ceilydh
Moondance
Evergreen
Whatcha Gonna Do
Don Quixote


Gorgeous rainbow, somewhere during our Pacific passage- April 2010

Land ho!

At four days and 21 hours, Jamie sighted the coast of Australia. Poetically enough, it rose from pink clouds at sunrise. I was off watch sleeping (and happy to stay that way), but he woke Niall up for a bleary first look at our destination.

Australia emerges from the pink morning haze

Later that morning, as the shore came into focus, we all sat giddily in the cockpit. It's hard to describe the excitement of the moment, but it all feels right. I'm grateful for the safe completion of another major passage, and ready to rest.

Day 5 - Almost there

Sunrise in the Coral Sea

The wind has backed to the Northeast, which means we're running dead downwind. It's also lightened up considerably to 10-15 knots. We motorsailed, which is easier on the autopilot, a more comfortable motion, and ensures we can get in during business hours on Friday.

I'm devouring a stack of cast-off magazines from a fellow cruiser- mostly fashion oriented, and about half of them Australian. I'm hoping for cues to some of the culture in our destination as well as easing my brain into the fact I'll have to actually pay attention to what I wear soon. But the shiny pages of scrawny models bound up in "look at me" clothes feels false and foreign. So does the message on almost every page, pitching something "essential" to buy. It's entertaining, mostly, but makes me wonder how the adjustment to first world life will sit. In case we missed the point, one magazine is actually named "Shop Till you Drop". Maybe the Aussie fasion mag should gets point for telling it like it us, but something inside me resists.

Siobhan flips pages with me. Her game is to point at something she wants on every page. This could be people for her imaginary game ("I'll be her, and her, and you can be that girl") to things she wants to eat or use (a pizza on one page, an electronic gadget on another). Maybe she'll be our material girl... she's already our fashionista.

MIKE/IO: If all is well on Totem give us a quick tune now please.

BEHAN/TOTEM: (hits tune button)

MIKE/IO: got it, good! all's well on IO. Here's a position- if you are within 20 miles of this mark, give me a tune now.

MIKE/IO: OK, you're within 20 miles of that position. If you are east of this position, along your rhumb line towards New Cal- give a tune now please.

MIKE/IO: OK, good! If you are within 10 miles of this position...

...etc.

It takes some time, but Mike usually pegs us within just a couple of miles.

Day 4 - Fickle Autopilot

Big news today- we GYBED! Yes, it's exciting things like this that make the day of the passage sailor.

Petrels circling Totem

The autopilot needs to be babied. When he opened up the gear box for another lube, Jamie found brass shavings- a sign the planetary gears are wearing. At least we replaced the plastic gears back in Mexico- they would never have lasted this long! We are taking steps to lighten the load on the autopilot- hand steering more, motorsailing when it makes sense. With just two of us trading watches, hand steering all the time would be exhausting. Niall is able to help, which is huge, and we can still rely on the autopilot in some conditions. A new autopilot is now just another boat buck looming in our future.

We're making great progress. Besides near ideal conditions for Totem- 20-25 knots, right on the beam- we're riding the East Australian Current (those who know it can now quote several relevant lines from Finding Nemo...). We've gone long stretches of averaging 9-10 knots, rarely seen less than 6, and occasionally surfed over 14. Not bad!

Ocean-dwelling petrels circle Totem. These dove-gray birds spend most of their life far out at sea. It's beautiful to watch them glide over the water, perfectly anticipating the lift of the waves and and staying just inches above them. Occasionally a wing is very diliberately dipped to skim through the surface: it's magical to watch.

At 6:45pm (NSW time) this evening, Totem crossed into Australian waters. We watched and counted down the minutes until this first hurdle of arrival: it was an exciting moment! It looks like we'll arrive in plenty of time on Friday to complete clearance and avoid the nearly $300 additional in fees that come with checking in on the weekend.

Day 3 - Blue skies!

Totem charges along on a reach.

I wake to the "beep-beep-beep" sound of the autopilot spontaneously shutting down. A less auspicious beginning to our third day, which is otherwise bright and blue. Jamie spends a few hours hand steering. I get breakfast and monitor the morning radio net while skimming through the autopilot manual. The troubleshooting guide lines up with Jamie's gut: excess friction is causing an automatic shutdown of the drive unit before the motor can be damaged from working too hard. I take over steering the waves while Jamie digs up a can of WD40 and crams himself into the lazarette to lube up our old Raymarine as best he can. We gingerly shift back to the autopilot, helping the wheel along to minimize effort on the drive unit. It seems to work, so Jamie and I sit in the cockpit and eventually breathe a sigh of relief.

Jamie not only wore pants last night, but a fleece and sea boots. I resisted the boots, and neither of us have consented to put socks on yet. We're just not ready to condescend to wearing them again.

Even though we can't transmit, the HF radio nets are a key part of our day. Along with friends making the passage to Oz concurrently, we've organzied an informal net with twice daily check-ins. Mike from IO runs the show and is our advocate and guardian angel, tracking Totem's estimated position and sharing weather updates for our benefit.

When the SSB stopped working in Vanuatu, we found that our tune-up was still audible at significant distanc, and we use this single chirp as a basis to communicate. Mike asks us yes/no questions, and we confirm positive responses by hitting the tune button. It can be a bit cumbersome, as the tune process takes about 30 seconds before timing out, but it's effective. Mike has gotten our position within a radius of just a few miles at each of our twice daily nets, and read forecasts taht we aren't able to download ourselves. It is truly wonderful to feel so looked after by our friends, to know that even in this vast expanse of ocean, we aren't alone.

We hear over the net that FlyAweigh has broken a lower stay on their port side. They've dropped all sails and are doing fine motoring through with plenty of fuel to reach Australia, but it's yet another reminder. Anything can happen, an you have to be able to cope with a spectrum of unexpected events. Their boat was commissioned barely a year ago- who would expect this level of rigging problem?

The dryer, cooler air is an exciting reminder of our destination. Pants, foulie jacket, hat and boots were essential for night watch, and I finally submitted ot the tyranny of the socks... sliding into fleece to warm my toes.

Day 2 - Cool and gray

Lumpy gray seas reflect the sunless skes, too overcast to cast a shadow. Our cockpit cushions have a light salt grit from waves that slapped the hull and splashed over the coamings last night. The sea state has eased considerably from our first day, so I cooked a hearty breakfast for the crew/family of eggs, bacon and potatoes. We've all shaken the "blahs" that often accompany the first days of a passage as our bodies adjust to the constant motion. A few squares of dark chocolate, usualy reserved for the wee hours, find their way into my morning watch.

Niall and Jamie in the cockpit- bundled up, but still refusing to condescend to socks.

The children have slid easily into their passage routine as Jamie and I have slid into ours. Their quiet times spent reading or listening to audiobooks are interspersed with rambunctious wrestling in the aft cabin's big bunk. We shift watches in a seamless rhythm found through trial and error over thousands of sea miles.

Late at night, leaning over the binnacle and looking astern, I can just make out the phosphorescence that marks our path. Clouds obscure the stars and no moon shed light, making this the inkiest of nights I can remeber at sea. We charge along at well over hull speed, surving down the front of three meter wave fronts. Without light to expose our surroundings, the feeling of speed is magnified and exhilarating.

Day 1 - departing New Caledonia for Australia

After waiting for an early morning squall to pass through, we headed toward the pass through the reef. Looking for a push to get away from the coast and a full charge to our house battery bank before starting the passage, we motoredsailed away from our last of 24 tropical islands visited this year. Gray skies were cracked by widening spots of blue, as the roll of ocean swells took over from the choppy fetch in the lagoon.

We have a series of reminders that this passage closes a chapter for us on Totem, the end of a glorious season crossing the tropical Pacific. Already it feels distinctly different. The breeze is cool; I can't remember the last time I wanted to wear pants, but they're suddenly essential. Overhead, a contrail cuts through the clearing sky. It stands out starkly, and we all stare at this once familiar sight that has become entirely unfamiliar to us.

We're a little anxious about the weather, but not enough to wait in New Caledonia any longer. From one update to the next, forecasts have shifted meaningfully several times in the last few days. With our HF radio unable to transmit, and no sat phone for backup, our options for weather updates are limited. But all signs point towards departure. Degradation could mean discomfort, but not danger.

We think our waiting has paid off, but know we'll be skirting a trough of intensified wind between two weather systems that would be nice to keep tabs on. For the first time in many months, I have dosed with Meclazine before departure. I'm grateful for it now: the swells are nearly on our beam and Totem rolls sharply to starboard, but we're feeling fine. My world is full with the joyful feeling of wind in my hair as we sail for Australia.

On our way!

Landfall in Australia!

Totem is in Australia! Our passage from Noumea to Coffs was a little shy of 900 miles, and Totem rocketed here in five days + 1 hour. It was near ideal conditions for us (average around 20 knots with apparent mostly square on the beam), and the most comfortable sea state we've had in a long time. How delightful to have reasonably predictable swells from a single direction... trust me... those bi- and tri- directionals are no picnic.

We're taking some time to recover, but plan to head for Sydney as soon as we're rested up and the weather allows. Meanwhile, I'm going to dribble out a series of posts from my log during the passage.

Jamie scanning the Coffs Harbour entrance

Day 20: LAND HO!

*** Totem has made landfall, but didn't get our daily blog updates posted after our radio stopped working. Here is the last of our written-but-not-posted updates sea. ***

position: 9*48' S, 139*01' W

24 hour run: 178 miles

Distance to go to Hiva Oa: it's right in front of us!

This afternoon, vague shapes from Marquesan mountains begain to take focus on the haze. We all squinted at the horizon from the deck, straining to make out a complete island sillhouette. LAND HO!

How can I explain what it feels like to see land after 20 days of nothing but water? I wondered how we'd all respond. There was euphoria on board: We all felt uplifted by these distant, hazy shapes. As my friends know, it doesn't take more than a cute puppy to make me cry so naturally I had happy tears. The kids decided this meant breaking out precious treats to share (why not!). We all had big grins on our faces! Everyone is so excited. I especially can't wait to see how this place *really* looks, and breathe in the rich earthy aromas after weeks of the simple clean air of the ocean.

We've been watching our mileage and daily progress carefully. If we make good enough time, it means the difference between arriving in daylight or in the evening. With that in mind, we've really been working ourselves and the boat the last couple of days. The nights have been tough- Jamie and Ty splitting night watch, because with my gimpy arm I'm not much help in these conditions...any sail change (and we've been doing a crazy number of reef in, reef out repetitions) would mean waking one of them up anyway. The guys took on more than their fair share without a second thought and focused on speed, speed, speed- getting us closer to our destination.

To be clear, arriving at a new port in the dark is generally a bad idea. We had heard our charts of the anchorage, unlike those of pretty much everywhere we've been in Mexico, are actually accurate. The harbor lights are working (another novelty, after Mexico...where you never knew what lights you'd find and if they'd operate remotely like the charts indicated). We have excellent moonlight- it sounds strange to say, perhaps, but it is amazing how miuch you can see under the moonlight, especially without any land-based light pollution. And of course, we do happen to have a Class A Pilot on board. That might be giving us just a bit of an extra dose of confidence!

The sun disappeared behind the surprisingly tall peaks of Hiva Oa as we came down the channel on the south side of the island. With a swell nearly on the beam and the wind coming ahead of us, we fired up the Yanmar to power in the final stretch. Sloowwwly into the harbor, then setting bow and stern anchors outside the breakwall, we settle in for our full night of sleep.

Day 19: things have been better

*** Totem has made landfall, but didn't get our daily blog updates posted after our radio stopped working. Here is another of our written-but-not-posted updates from sea. ***

position: 7*28' S, 136*30' W

24 hour run: 181 miles

Distance to go to Hiva Oa: about 200

I'm thinking back on our daily posts, and they're pretty rosy. I don't deliberately try to put the happy filter on and only share good news. The truth is that this passage really has been good. With the exception of the radio, there has been no failure of gear or equipment that we could not deal with. The conditions have been really comfortable. We have not been sick. We pass the days pleasantly, and with our superstar crew Ty on board, there are shared duties and night time watches that keep us all rested and on an even keel. There's really nothing to complain about!

That trend ends today...I'm going to whine a little. It's lumpy out. We are happy about the wind and will have excellent progress today, but it's mostly upwind (we are supposed to be in the trades on beautiful beam reaches or downwind) and the swells are confused enough that we get launched around. Just try cooking at an angle, juggling hot things on the stove.

What's really making me cranky is my shoulder. Not long before we left I was diagnosed with a rotator cuff injury. Mostly it's been fine...I take anti-inflammatories and can't use my right arm. That's correct: can't use my right arm. Not with any kind of strain, at least. This is where the seaway makes things challenging. Moving from one part of the boat to another means going handhold by handhold and pulling yourself along. As a dominant 'rightie' it's my first instinct to reach with the right arm. Can't do that!Now try cooking with one arm (you need one hand to cook, and one hand to hold yourself in one place by hanging for dear life onto the bar in front of the range). Or sleeping (it's a whole neck/arm/shoulder continuum of strain)...I usually sleep on my right side. Not any more! Never mind that it's also the most comfortable way to pack myself into a seaberth with cushions, so some rest is possible between the rolls... yeah. Not really fun.

The hard part really is that this all makes me really grumpy. I have no patience for helping the kids. I don't want to cook. I can't even do little chores like filling a bucket with water for dishes...tried that, and the arm yank was categorically bad!

Meanwhile...the boat is too small a space to be short tempered...but it's hard.

See? I can be whiny. It's not all roses.

Day 18: a semi typical day on board

position: 5*18' S, 134*22' W
24 hour run: 193 nautical miles (hoooo yeah)
Distance traveled since departing Mexico: lots
Distance to go to Hiva Oa: 375

The radio problems throw a lurch into our days. We can hear, but we cannot effectively transmit, and so we cannot request or receive weather reports or update our position. It has probably helped us focus even more closely on the radio nets we can hear: noting the position and weather of other reporting boats, and thinking about what that means for us and the weather we may experience next. It's a far cry from a grib file but s close as we can get.

Otherwise, today has been like any other day- that is to say it is unstructured, but has a rhythm. I have the watch that bridges dawn, and love the quiet time where see the stars fade into warm yellow clouds. Ty usually comes up earlier than his 6am start, and I get ready to scribe details from the net. Jamie is up to listen in on the radio by the time the net starts at 7. Breakfast is around 8; today, hash browns with sausage and eggs. The children are up in staggered sets... last night, the motion of the boat sent Siobhan back to the aft cabin with me. With the added heel, she and Mairen otherwise become piled like puppies at one end of the forepeak.

When the radio net and breakfast end, Ty and Jamie are typically in the cockpit while I spend time below with the kids. Today, I read aloud from a book we're learning from about the history of navigation. Other days, it's been chapters of 'Stowaway', a great kids' book about a stowaway on one of Captain Cook's vessels or helping the girls with their readers while Niall dives into another book on his own. Later in the morning, an elaborate diorama of paper sea creatures was arranged on the starboard settee. Mermaids, whales, sea horses, squid, dolphins, eels and more are drawn, cut, colored, and then arranged by the girls to tell a story. We broke out the camera so they could create the sequence and play it back later.

At midday, we usually have sandwiches or a salad for lunch. If there aren't any clouds, the sextant often comes out for a noon sight. In the afternoon, Jamie, Ty and I take turns napping- making up for gaps in our sleep from the nighttime watch schedule (which shuffled a little but mostly settled at 9pm-12am, Ty; 12-3, Jamie; 3-6, me). One of them, or occasionally me, is always in the cockpit. If the movement of the boat is settled enough, games come out: everything from Candyland to chess, dominoes, cards, or puzzles. On this day, we're tossed too much for any small pieces and so the kids are coloring at the table, with boxes holding markers and pencils wedged on the settee next to them. At some point, the journals are broken out and they do their entries- I do mine as well. On settled days, this is the perfect time to sit on the rail in the shadow of the genoa with a good book. I spent hours watching jellyfish and man-of-wars drift by us in the doldrums from this perch.

Our battery bank, while not completely topped up, is doing well and we're bringing in a lot of power with all the sun and wind to feeding through the solar panels and wind generator. There's enough to run the watermaker and maintain net positive amps into the bank, so we run it for a few hours to keep our tanks comfortably full.

Later in the afternoon, we mark our daily 24 hour run. We've tracked it daily at 0:00 UTC, which coincides with 4pm for our current time zone. After looking at our progress and route, I usually put down notes for a blog post. When we could still connect our radio, the late afternoon and early evening were good times for propagation for a successful link, and I like to have it ready between the SSB net (0200 zulu, or 6pm local time) and the Pacific Seafarer's net (roll starting around 0325 zulu, or 7:25pm local time). The children are helping mark our progress on a paper chart as well.

I'm feeling a little tired, so Jamie cooks up a dinner of sautéed cabbage and shredded beef with lavender. While he's cooking, the SSB radio net is starting and once again I'm checking all the boats who report in with their position and weather. There are a number of boats who will be making landfall within a few days of us, so there's additional chatter after the roll call on the net as the boats underway quiz Eric (s/v Secret Agent Man) on everything from lights in the harbor for an evening approach to the process for signing into the country with officials. Later, I switch frequencies for the Pacific Seafarer's Net. It is astounding to me but Randy, the net control in Hawaii, can actually still pick us up. Our signal is very, very weak- the best we can do is answer "ROGER ROGER ROGER" to affirmatively respond and confirm with him that all is well on board. We believe we are essentially operating without an antenna, and are amazed that he is able to direct his antennae from about 2,000 miles away to pick us up at all. It is like a lifeline, and feels so important to know that we can be noted on their roll call as OK...just hampered by a radio problem.

After dinner, Ty and Jamie get some rest before their watches start. With the power looking good, tonight is a special treat: the children get to watch a movie together in the aft cabin, our laptop movie screen balanced on Niall's lap as they lean into pillows. They finish as Ty comes on watch, so I can tuck them in and read the girls a story before retiring with a book of my own.

Pictures from the passage

We interrupt the somewhat time-shifted updates from Totem's passage across the Pacific to bring you... pictures! A few of our favorites are below. To see more, visit our Flickr stream: you can always get to it at http://www.flickr.com/photos/giffordclan by clicking through images down the right hand side, or through most of the photos in the blog. (THANKS TIM!)

You can get to the stream by clicking through any one of these as well. Sizes are smaller to help us upload on this dribbly bit of bandwidth that's available.

Finding Escapade offshore, and trading fresh yellowfin tuna for cake! (I think we came out ahead)

The girls open gifts from their grandparents on the 10th day offshore

Deck bathing!

I always knew he wanted a square rigger! Jamie and Ty show off the ratlines they built for checking our our backstay connections for the radio (more fruitless troubleshooting)

Pesky little fishing net that ALMOST gave us a very, very bad day

Clouds at the equator: I could watch them for hours. I *did* watch them for hours.

Day 17: radio woes

*** Totem has made landfall, but didn't get our daily blog updates posted after our radio stopped working. here is the first of our last few written-but-not-posted updates from sea. ***

position: 3*2.5' S, 130*6.5' W
24 hour run: 170 miles
Total miles: 2360
Distance to go to Hiva Oa: 590

Jamie has gone to great lengths to troubleshoot our SSB. The bottom line is that we have no power for our transmission. This seems to point to a problem with a connection or with the ground plane. It might also be a problem with the tuner. We have gone through almost all the alternatives we have available to us on board, from swapping out cables to testing signal strength.

What is truly remarkable is that despite the supremely weak signal, we can still be picked up by Pacific Seafarer's net control, Randy (KH6RC). He can't hear us in any detail- in fact, he can barely make us out. It is enough, however, for him to verify that all is well on board. I believe he'll be able to update our data on the roll call to note that although our position could not be taken, we were in no danger.

Meanwhile, we are just screaming along and making great progress. We're definitely in the trades now and doing better every day.

Thinking about that shellback tattoo now...

Day 16: shellbacks!

*** Totem has made landfall, but didn't get our daily blog updates posted after our radio stopped working. here is the first of our last few written-but-not-posted updates from sea. ***

Current position: 01*11' S, 130*16' W
24 hour run: 150 nautical miles

At approximately 3:30 a.m. on April 17, Totem sailed across the equator and into the southern hemisphere. There was no glowing yellow line in the water...no hot dog stand, no Wall Drug style billboards...but it was a moment I'll never forget. After nights of shifting clouds in the ITCZ, we had clear skies and spectacular stars. Pointing just right of the Southern Cross (cue the Crosby Stills & Nash!), we were on a comfortable reach, making over 6 knots in about 12 knots of breeze.

We let the girls sleep, but Niall was very excited to be in the cockpit for the big moment! Since our watch change is scheduled for 3, Jamie and I were both up anyway and we got Ty up to join us. He's a veteran of arctic circle and date line crossings was looking forward to crossing this circle; now, he just has to plan a trip to Antarctica to get the full complement of rings.

At a more civilized hour, we celebrated with a big breakfast of waffles with strawberry compote and whipped cream. Decadent! Soon after, Neptune himself made a visit to Totem. He questioned our pollywog crew, then accepted us all as shellbacks. Siobhan was completely taken in by the spectre of Neptune and buried her head in my shoulder!

Ceilydh gave us a bag to open ONLY at the equator, as Maia's note emphasized. The kids had been jonesing to open it all week! Inside were treats for everyone: serrano ham (oh, joy!), a wee bottle of anejo tequila (mmmmm...how much does Neptune need?), sweet treats for the kids, a bag of buttery cookies. Best of all was a home-made coloring book based on pictures of the good times the girls had together in La Cruz. What a great stack of memories!

Although we're not quite in the southeast trades, the sailing is now spectacular. In the evening, we had dinner together in the cockpit. Jamie pointed out that this was the sailing that armchair sailors in northern winters dream about! We were on a flat, comfortable reach, moving along at 6+ knots...watching the sun set over the equatorial Pacific...enjoying a warm breeze and a delicious dinner. It really was pretty near perfect! We had Jamie's favorite meal, a farmer's plate of finger food: in addition to our treats from Ceilydh, there were green olives stuffed with blue cheese, baby corn, dried chorizo slices, sliced cheese and tomatoes, hearts of palm, and to spread on crackers- cream cheese with papaya chutney and a pate of smoked salmon. We felt utterly decadent!

The only blemish on an otherwise lovely day: our SSB radio stopped transmitting in the morning, before we had checked into the net. It's very discouraging, and the troubleshooting continues.

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Posted via radio: we have no internet access

Day 15: no "boat fever" here

Position: 00*32' N, 128*33' W
24 hour run: 103 nautical miles
Distance since La Cruz: 1976
Distance to go to Hiva Oa: <1,000!

It is honestly hard to believe that for over two weeks, our world has been the 47 feet of Totem. We estimated once that our area below decks was about the equivalent of a 500 square foot apartment- and a high efficiency apartment at that, considering there are 3 sleeping cabins, 2 "bathrooms", and a main cabin with galley, navigation station and a couple of settees. Add six bodies into the mix and it's amazing that we have not gone stir crazy.

Before we left to go cruising, we spent our last Christmas in the Northwest (2007) at a cabin in the mountains. Knowing we would not have the opportunity to play in the snow for some time, it seemed the perfect way to celebrate the holiday. And it was, truly: I recall it as a beautiful set of picture postcard memories... right up until we were snowed in. Although we had a lovely, spacious cabin, after 3 days of being stuck indoors the meaning of cabin fever truly struck home. The children were bouncing off the lovely log walls. I was craving exercise and finding that being cramped in a small abode did not do good things for my humor. One of my big fears of cruising was that this would repeat itself, tropical style- especially with the children.

It amazes me then that we have spent this extended period of time on board and not once felt that confinement. Is it the huge expanse of sea and sky around us? Impossible to feel confined when the surrounding world appears so immense. Is it the subconscious exercise? We are moving all day, adjusting our bodies to compensate for the movement of the boat. No one motion feels like much, but in aggregate we move a great deal.

I quizzed the children today about how they're feeling to make sure I wasn't misunderstanding, but they too are not feelign the confinement, or limitations, of being in our bobbing vessel for so long. Even the prospect of about another week on board wasn't daunting. Mairen literally jumped up on the bunk and said- "I LOVE IT!". I am not sure how we raised such salty pups, but I'm sure happy we have!

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