Dena Hankins's Blog, page 3

Brava to Martinique Day 4

Thursday, November 14

We’re kicking ass! Three days, 320 nautical miles!

We started strong again and are slowly bringing the average down. It’s a comfortable speed, so it’s hard to complain. We’d have another knot if the wind was just a little further off our tail so we could fly the yankee but c’est la vie.

Speaking of French…I don’t speak it at all. Without claiming I was good at it, at least I could work through some Portuguese and Spanish over the last year. In Martinique, I’ll be completely at the mercy of the translate app and people who know English. Similar to India except for all the education in English the kids get. I’m not overly intimidated, but I do wish I had more of a facility with languages.

Friday, November 15

James reminded me of the name for the kind of cloud that’s been obscuring the moon to greater and lesser amounts all night.

Stratocirrus.

Makes for a moody full moon viewing. It’s arranged in big patches but there’s enough clear sky to catch sight of the anemic stars. Orion was in the open when I took over at 0300 but is now hidden.

I’m listening to music and adding songs to a new playlist: nightmusic. The way I listen while underway reminds me of nighttime road trips. Nothing else to do but engage with the songs.

My other new night watch duty is stretching. It isn’t easy on a surface that moves so dramatically. Sometimes I have to wait out a series of swells, holding on to the winch on the cockpit coaming in lieu of bracing with my legs.

Speaking of which, that’s why my muscles get so tight. The way I’m using my body doesn’t have a lot in common with strength training. Unless I’m sitting up (like now) and swaying my torso forward and back (port and starboard), I’m leaning on a coaming or reclining. For either situation, I keep a foot placed to push when a wave tries to send me crashing to the other side of the cockpit. Like, 10-20 times per minute. It’s a weird kind of tiring.

Noon position: N 15° 13.566’ W 031° 54.439’

Distance noon to noon: 107.6 NM
Average speed: 4.49 kn

Trip distance covered: 427.9 NM
Distance to destination: 1687 NM

Brava to Martinique Day 3

Wednesday, November 13

A bold new sailing day, but very gentle wind. Just caught an AIS signal from Gleda, a 12m pleasure vessel. I don’t know if we’ll get close enough to see them.

I was looking back through the log and realized that we achieved 5000 nautical miles on Cetacea at some point between Key West and leaving Boot Key with our brand new electric motor. They’re not very far apart, so it’s safe to say we did 5000 miles in Cetacea with the old infernal combustion engine and have already beat that with the electric motor, about 5800 miles. Wow.

It’s now 2005, just after 8pm, and I’m tired! Broken sleep takes some getting used to, but I feel good about my chances for sleeping during my next off watch, which is the first long one. I’m also in a food coma because James made spaghetti and his scratch-from-canned-ingredients sauce. He did a rose using some of the shelf stable cream from the Azores and it was delicious. We have two bottles of leftover sauce for mixing into packets of tomato soup. Biiiig upgrade!

Looks like we’ll be doing basically the same as last night, rolling in the yankee so we can head farther downwind without listening to it flog itself to death. So far, our average is 4.2 knots, just under a 100 mile day if it keeps up. We’ll see, as always.

The sunset was beautiful and I clipped my harness to the jackline so I could go forward and get some pictures from somewhere other than the cockpit.

Then, while James was cooking, the light got good in a whole new way and I had to shoot that too.

We ate in the cockpit with the breeze cooling the cook and the post sunset light softening the severity of the sky’s encroaching darkness. The moon, full tomorrow, came in and out of view as the boat rocked the solar panels into and out of the way. A romantic and lovely meal, the first complicated one of the trip. (Though I did make savory oatmeal this morning, which calls for a pot for the oatmeal and a skillet for the eggs.)

Since I’m apparently reporting the food news today, what we had in between breakfast and dinner, during the heat of the early afternoon, was tuna salad and soft cheese on crackers with tomato and cucumber slices. Marvelous day’s eating, and I’m impressed we’re acclimating to being underway so well so quickly!

Thursday, November 14

James woke me up full of adrenaline. He’d just seen a fireball traveling west to east, lasting at least 10 seconds. He looked at the clock and it was 2345, or quarter to midnight (UTC+1). Since that’s when he would have woken me anyway, he got to share it right away.

Last time he saw a really big one was off the coast of North Carolina. I was able to find it in an online database of citizen sightings that astronomers confirm. It will be cool if I can find this one too!

0710 I slept well on both of my off watches. Dreamed a lot…feels like it must have been the whole time. I just watched the sun rise and I’m putting off the inevitable application of sunscreen. At least I’m remembering to wash after dark, so I’m not covering the pillowcase with it.

Thanks, planet! First you fuck me over, then you fix it. We were being dragged north and I was letting it happen. We’re going downwind as far as I’m comfortable. Then, right as I took over at 1000, we just…stabilized about 3 miles off our course line. Cross-track error that isn’t growing larger can be a problem for later.

Noon position: N 15° 10.329’ W 030° 06.118’

Distance noon to noon: 100.5 NM
Average speed: 4.19 kn

Trip distance covered: 320.3 NM
Distance to destination: 1792 NM

Brava to Martinique Day 2

Tuesday, November 12

It’s hot! If we didn’t have a good breeze, it would be painful. Instead we’re still sailing with the double reefed main and both headsails. We’re doing 6-7 knots which means keeping a close eye on things. Don’t want anything going wrong at this speed.

Ordinarily, we’d have rolled in the staysail by now but the wind isn’t actually as strong as all that. We’re not heeling too badly and beam-on big waves toss us, but not far enough over that we’ve had to close the portholes against water splashing in when the rail goes under. The tiller is nearly centered and LoveBot isn’t struggling.

I suspect a helpful current but maybe it’s the scraping we gave the hull plus just the exact right amount of wind at the most favorable angle.

Knowing that the wind will be farther abaft later, I’ll enjoy this while it lasts.

At 1400, the average speed was 6 knots. At 1500, 5.9. Already at 1538, it’s 5.8 so it’s true that we’ve slowed down a little. It does feel easier and the lesser amount of wind is welcome on my face.

I’m still too weak to refrain from doing the math. It would be 15 days averaging 6 knots but the ship already sailed on that possibility (har har). At a 5 knot average, it would be 18 days. Wouldn’t hurt my feelings. On the other hand, it’s not in my hands.

The sun lights up the sail’s stitching holes. Then I saw a pinhole where there’s no stitching. Sigh. Gotta keep an eye on that. It’s above the second reef.

Boy howdy, it’s 1753 and have we ever slowed down. High 4s, but it’s sapping our average speed by the minute. Plus, with the wind this light, the headsails don’t stay full when the big waves tip us back and forth. Bad for the rig, bad for the fabric. We would be able to point more upwind, but looks like a current is dragging us just a little extra north.

Wednesday, November 13

After a whole 2100-2400 watch where the yankee did some drastic popping, I brought up another option when James woke up for the midnight watch change. We shook a reef and rolled in the yankee.

That saved my nerves from the violence of the headsail emptying so thoroughly that it wraps the stay and then filling hard and shaking the rig.

I went to bed (and even slept some) and came back to discover that the decision hadn’t really hurt our speed, and we were more on track. Win win win.

I’m almost done with one of those night watches where I am more sleepy than rapt. I dozed off, but I wasn’t comfortable enough for it to turn into a long sleep.

My new crappy but fine headphones died. Once they were charged, I went down for them and made some kind of noise that startled James and made him think I’d gone overboard. I went to kiss him and assure him I was fine, and Beluga Greyfinger reared up as though for nuzzles. Instead, he climbed right onto my shoulders and settled in.

I spent a happy half hour on the settee with him. Once he moved to my lap, it was really hard not to fall asleep. He’s a comfortingly warm little bundle and calming him reverberated to benefit me as well.

Now it’s 0535 and I’ll be waking James in 10 minutes. Here’s hoping I’m as sleepy lying in bed as I am sitting up in the cockpit.

Noon position: N 15° 03.001’ W 028° 25.545’

Distance noon to noon: 104.8 NM
Average speed: 4.38 kn

Trip distance covered: 219.8 NM
Distance to destination: 1889 NM

Brava to Martinique Day 1

Monday, November 11

Wild start! I was hauling chain by 1230 and we were underway just before 1300. I was beet red from heat and a guy on the other boat in the anchorage, only a half a boat length away, asked where we were going. I let James hadle that conversation while keeping us off the neighbors, and I focused on getting that last 15m of chain into the locker.

The wind was light, which made James’ job a little easier. I mean, it was light as we left the cove, and it was light as the waves got mean. Only a little wind and a major current with choppy waves, so James put the motor to good use. Thanks, motor!

Then it took less than 5 minutes to need two reefs. James pulled one and didn’t even leave the mast before pulling another. We kept the staysail.

Now, at 1439, I’m on watch, we’re well trimmed, and it feels like regular ocean. We’re sailing mostly in the 4-5 knot range, which is excellent, and feeling pretty comfortable on the waves.

The wind decreased a bit, seeing more mid-3 knots, so I pulled out the yankee. It’s 1640 and we’re back to high 4s, reasonable wave action, and the slight possibility of a sunset? I imagine it’s too soon to be out of the Sahara-to-Amazon zone, but I’m looking forward to having tropical sunsets again.

In other news, I feel good. Maybe everyone should spend a couple weeks in a rolly anchorage before going offshore.

I wrote a poem once about my boat being like a cradle and the sea being the hand that rocks me. Some seas are clearly meth heads and others fall asleep before the baby.

Random thoughts in the dark (2018): doesn’t every latitude around the equator have a different longest day? And shortest day? Is that what the “tropics” are? And actually, in that band, they’d have a longest day and then the sun would keep moving poleward. Then it would come back down and they’d have a second longest day. Right?

Not having internet means having to follow a train of thought without guardrails. I could have failed anywhere along that proposition in either facts or logic. I could check for myself by traveling to the equator and measuring the length of each day or look into the compendium of human knowledge or ask an expert, but I can’t do any of those right now.

I’m rarely charmed by the idea of being wrong, but I am today. Must be situational.

A riddle: when is a straight line not the shortest distance between two points? When it’s a line of longitude other than the equator.

Tuesday, November 12

We’re still bowling along. Our average speed at 2400 was 4.8 knots. Wow.

I know the boat is capable and that this beam reach is her favorite. And that hull speed is somewhat over 6 knots before waves start pushing us along.

Still this is some of the most solid and powerful sailing we’ve done on this beautiful vessel. Knowing the condition of the bottom, meaning scraped by hand by me and James and none too smooth, I’d been expecting slower than usual averages.

I can only imagine what she’d be doing with a freshly smoothed and painted bottom!

Orion is just over the Primary Energies Tower. Hi, Rigel. Aldebaran is its usual sparkling self. I think the Sahara-to-Amazon dust conveyor is already thinning. Nice.

At 0728, with the sun well up, I think it’s safe to say we made it through the night without any flying fish landing on the deck. James put a nitrile glove in the cockpit so that saving them is less of a slimy and scaly experience. If we miss them, they dry out and stick to the deck. It’s so much better to hear them fluttering and toss them back while alive.

We’ve had a great morning for wildlife! A pod of dolphin used Cetacea for their hunting. A couple herded a large group of flying fish across the bow and the rest circled in hiding until they could pounce. They did 8 or 10 rounds of this while James was sleeping.

Later, he caught sight of a huge dorsal fin and recognized three orcas! I leapt up and saw their next disturbance, but they were going the opposite way and were too far for my mediocre vision. James saw them surface one more time.

Lots of little fish jumping, but no further sightings of whatever was chasing them.

Noon position: N 14° 57.302’ W 026° 40.001’

Distance 23h 6m: 115 NM
Average speed: 4.98 kn

Trip distance covered: 115 NM
Distance to destination: 1991 NM

Plans Change, Martinique version

So the whole thing about not loving the Brazil idea anymore got more traction the more we thought about it. The Brazil to South Africa and into the Indian Ocean would be the fastest way to get to India, but not the easiest. (All things being relative, of course.) The Northwest Passage isn’t famously easy either, but it’s a road less traveled which makes it attractive.

Meanwhile.

As we went through our groceries, the cliff hike became more and more arduous.

Though no less beautiful

And so did beaching the dinghy in that round rock.

We look good for being exhausted

On our last trip ashore, I (Dena) had the weirdest experience. A young woman approached the back of the truck, where I was already sitting, and hauled her toddler up by the arm and…handed it to me! I was taken aback but relieved the pressure on the kid’s shoulder, remembering a story about having my arm pulled out of the socket by my mom at about that age…

She never did take the kid back…kidding…but I held the child the whole time

We took a hard look at our finances and all that we could expect to make from publishing and Patreon…and it’s not enough to keep us going indefinitely, or even until James’ social security kicks in (if that even still exists then). We know we can work in the US and never have been able to figure out the work-abroad thing so here we are.

We’re sailing for Martinique! Now there are a lot of things that direction so it won’t hurt us too badly if we don’t hit that exact spot, but the weather is good for it.

The moon and Venus

The idea is to work our way west to Haiti or Jamaica, around the west end of Cuba, and up to Key West while it’s still to cold to go farther north. If we find only shit jobs paying crap, we’ll do those jobs until April (or May if necessary and/or lucrative) and take the Gulf Stream to the Chesapeake in time for the boating season’s start.

As beautiful as Porto de Ferreira is and as much as the Tantum beach and town have been good for us, it’s time to get underway again. This trip is a little over 2000, just over the distance between San Francisco and Hawaii. We don’t anticipate huge storms so we probably won’t make it in 20 days like we did that time. (Plus, we’d just painted the bottom and that Gulf 32 performed marvelously on that trip.) I’m telling people 4-6 weeks but I do have a little hope that it’ll be slightly less.

Not excited about going back to the US, especially right now. Horror at the election and real fear for what emboldened assholes will take it upon themselves to do to other people are part of it…a big part. A really big part.

Also, though, we don’t want to do this. We don’t want to pause this circumnavigation and on the other hand…we want to be able to continue it in good condition for as long as our bodies allow once we have some independent income.

So there it is. Next stop, Martinique. I’m actually excited, at least I’m excited to get underway!

Beluga Greyfinger doesn’t know what’s coming, but he’ll cope

So here’s a thing…

When we find a place in the world that looks and feels like paradise, we tend to want to explore that place in depth. After the intense shakedown sail to Brava and the associated healing and projects list, we took a little time to look around and discovered we were anchored in a totally beautiful environment. The water is clear and warm, but not too warm for swimming and making water, the people are awesome, hardworking and respectful, and the cove we are anchored in is calm and quiet.

A little less quiet on the weekends when the kids come down to play and swim and get boat rides

Brazil is looking less and less attractive from a cruiser’s perspective, being expensive and a long ways away with a bit of a beat south of the equator. After the debacle where we got and then lost a contract for writing a Brazil cruising guide, we’re no longer sure we want to continue on the Portuguese trade-wind route, east around the world. We had developed an entire five-year circumnavigation course and plan. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we had an itinerary or anything but we had a working plan that was cool and exciting…then it was blown to shit. We were both numb for weeks afterwards. Gradually we came out of the shock, anger, resentment and healing phases of the process and regained our excitement about what it is we are doing with our lives.

Beluga Greyfinger is an excellent therapist

And that brings us back to the island of Brava, uniquely situated in the middle of the Atlantic flow of the Earth’s one big ocean. I (James) mean, from our current perspective here in Cabo Verde, we could very easily take the fair winds back to the Caribbean for the winter then take the Gulf Stream back to the Downeast run, setting us up to do the Northwest Passage. The boat is ship-shape and ready to go. We are healthy again and pondering an entire ‘verse of directional possibilities. But we’re in fucking paradise and not in any big hurry to do much of anything really.

We have been up and down the mountain trail three time as of this writing with another round trip planned before we weigh anchor for…

Where?!

While we let that question percolate, we got ourselves a room. The anniversary lunch was nice and all, but it didn’t feel like as much of a treat as we wanted. Some time to decompress, to refocus, to step away and gain new perspective…and pleasure! We booked an actual hotel room with an actual shower at a hotel with a pool (not that we don’t get a lot of swimming already, and I [Dena] love swimming with the fishes). It would be the first time we’d slept off the boat since we celebrated James’ birthday in 2021 by taking the cat to a cabin in Friendship, Maine.

We rowed the dinghy to the rocky beach and made our third climb of the cliff in order to catch a ride from an aluguer. (If that doesn’t help you understand why we didn’t bring the cat this time, I don’t know what will.)

Ish was late but we were entertained by Mareida, Maresa, and Janice plus two wee ones who didn’t say their names

Ish took us to Nova Sintra and we did the next leg in a different aluguer. We were reaching new territory again, always a reason to be excited, and it was beautiful.

Sometimes the road just isn’t there anymore

The Faja de Agua Beach House did not disappoint. It’s brand new and at a lovely point on the coast. So new, in fact that only three of the rooms were complete. The painting and staining work was neither noisy nor noxious, so it didn’t impinge on the pleasure at all.

The view from our room’s doorway

It was straight into the shower. James went first and I did a little nesting, then took my turn under the cool water. It was a rain shower type head and it felt luxurious to simply stand under the flow. Our garden sprayer does a decent job, but we make all that water and we treat it like it’s dear.

The release of tension acted like a soporific. James went to sleep on the very comfortable bed and I put my caftan on so I could lounge by the pool.

Good murals all over the walls, another reason to hang out

In the time James napped, I found out when they’d be serving dinner (just for us). I shared the picture of the kids with some friends. I stared out over the hillsides and dinna fash myself about the existential issues. A little light conversation with the owners and very few words from their son, and I was ready for another shower before dinner.

The pool seating is a work boat cut in half with some very comfy settees dressed in

I’d asked for shellfish and we got freaking excellent saucy lapas and buzio, salad and rice and french fries. It was to be a feast for the senses but was not yet ready. Rather than just wait around getting hungry we took a walk!

I banged that leg up pretty good beaching the little boat

There is nothing between Brava and Brazil but wide open ocean.

…and tide pools

Upon our return to the hotel I (James) took another heavenly shower and we dressed for our dinner that was permeating the local environment like a delicious dream.

They even dressed a plate up with ketchup in celebration of our 28 years together

After that incredible meal we jumped in the pool for a quick cool off, went back to the room, and fell into each others arms. Man do we love to celebrate!

Early the next morning we were up with the sun. Check out wasn’t until 01100 so we went back down to the tide pools for a much closer inspection.

A wealth of new and interesting life

After exploring the pools for a couple of hours, we stopped and said our hello’s to the local donkey…

Such a good little guy

Then it was back on the road in another totally packed aluguer…

Ah, the smell of humanity

…but the scenery was spectacular!

New mountains

From being packed in with school children to reprovisioning in Nova Sintra, thence in Ish’s aluguer again back to Tantum. We got inside seats this time and shared the narrow back bench with a woman and her infant. Thinking this might be the last time we’d see him, we got a selfie with Ish.

Not one of those where everyone looks equally excellent, but I (Dena) will live

We really got what we wanted from the second try at an anniversary celebration, a deep and profound reflection on our 28 years and a sense of hope for the next 28 together. The excess food came home with us and we stretched out the decadence another day.

We live; we love.

28 years of this…

Dena and I (James) met about 28 years ago at a performance of a play written by a friend and former band mate of mine. After that show, we made a date for about a week later. The date was set for October 25, 1996, and the occasion was the Black Dog Forge’s annual Halloween party, a Seattle hipster mainstay event for well over a decade. Dena came to the party dressed as a flapper with long black feathers in her hair and I wore a suit. Even though she had classes from 8am to 7pm the next day, Dena and I stayed up most of the night talking and we have been very much into each other ever since.

About 28 years later, we sailed into a crystal clear cove indenting the island of Brava in the country of Cabo Verde in the middle of the Atlantic flow of the Earth’s one big ocean. Still so into each other!

The longevity is a side effect of being people who made promises they could keep, promises we continue to want to keep. We continue to work at this and our intertwined adventure continues.

Our adventures since that first year in Seattle have taken us most of the way around this big blue world. From the Pacific Northwest to San Fransisco Bay under sail. From the Bay Area to Hawaii. From Hawaii to India, India to the United States Eastern Seaboard. From Florida to Bermuda. Bermuda to the Azores. The Azores to Madeira, on to the Canary Islands and down the African coast to the Cabo Verde chain, where we are anchored today. 28 incredible years of this!

S/VSN-E Cetacea at anchor far below

After we sailed into the tiny cove on the southwestern corner of the island of Brava for some much needed rest and repairs, it suddenly occurred to us that we were only about 48 hours away from our 28th anniversary. We’re never in any big hurry to get any particular somewhere so we opted to celebrate this year’s turn around the sun in this beautiful place.

Halfway up the mountain

A couple of days before, we hiked up the mountain (the only way to get there from the cove) to the village of Tantum, scoped the place out pretty thoroughly, and discovered there wasn’t really a venue for celebratory occasions. Oh sure, there was a very cool bar that has live music at night but we wanted to start our day early, before the sun pounded the mountain trail, and end it well before dark so we wouldn’t have to do the precipitous descent by flashlight. We launched the little boat and rowed in before 9am to catch a ride into the island’s capitol, Nova Sintra.

James rowing into the praia

The praia may have sand down there somewhere, but it’s well hidden by smooth rocks that slide and turn underfoot. James lined us up and I (Dena) launched myself out of the dinghy holding the painter. I ended up on my ass in the water, no big deal because I was in my swim suit, and then scrambled up so I could pull the dinghy up higher with each wave. The swell was bigger than we’d yet seen but we handled it.

Not the best footing for hauling, but the dinghy would be safe while we were away

The climb, this time, seemed less taxing. I think it’s partly familiarity, partly pacing, but also our leg muscles have been tasked with a lot of hard cycling over the years and they’re very responsive to exercise. I believe that we were actually, literally, stronger the second time we climbed that cliff.

James on an open stretch enjoying that morning shade

We arrived in good time to catch the first aluguer (hired conveyance for people and goods). The driver watched some kids play ball while folks got their orders together.

The sound of a flaccid kicked ball inspires nostalgia

The driver of the four-door small truck ended up with a bunch of lists and money, and a passenger contingent consisting of James, me (Dena), and another woman in the back seat (poor lady, having to be next to my sweaty self!) plus another woman sitting shotgun. I thought this was a full vehicle and I wouldn’t learn better until the afternoon.

We were fully halfway there before the guy got out of second gear into third. Most of the trip was done in either first gear or second. He was no slouch, either. He rocketed around blind switchback turns with breathtaking insouciance and took straightaways at breakneck pace, but we got to Nova Sintra whole and hearty.

And hungry! A little sightseeing, strolling along the monthly flea market (a sales-tax-free day that brings out all kinds of goods), got us through the too-early-for-lunch period and we went seeking sustenance. A guy who heard us talking stopped us for conversation. He’d been raised partly in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, but got deported at some point and enjoyed speaking English. We talked a while, compared notes on the whole set of towns we have lived and worked in around the Narragansett and Boston areas, and asked for advice on where to get a special celebratory meal. He said to look for the hotel that’s like a castle, so we did.

No joy. Maybe we have different ideas of what castles look like? Instead, we ended up at the Secreto.

The anniversary couple getting ready to get fed!

Though lapas (limpets) were on the menu, they didn’t have any. We got two orders of the garupa and figured we’d be overfed and happy by the end. Boy, were we right!

Detritus of a huge and delicious meal

You wouldn’t think that grocery shopping would be a thrilling part of an anniversary celebration, but we are about to head back out on the big blue, so provisioning is crucial. By the time we leave, we will have eaten an extra, unanticipated two weeks worth of food. Re-upping a bit felt good, though we kept it as light as possible given the need to carry it all down the cliff before we could get it to the boat.

Shopping done, we were still an hour early for catching our ride. We sat in the town’s central garden, drank a shot of grogue each, and admired the flowers.

And the old well pump

The same driver who brought us to Nova Sintra would be returning to Tantum and said we should meet him at the Mercado de Peixe at 2pm. We were about ten minutes early.

James testing the seat in the back of the truck

Like we said before, the driver of the aluguer had stocked up on lists and demands from the locals of Tantum and had an admirable memory to say the least. From the fish market, we loaded up humans (8 at that point), about 80 liters of fuel from the local gas station and a shit ton of various bags of fishes bound back to Tantum.

Not gonna hang out on the bench while dude fills a bunch of water bottles with gasolina, but this place is known as the island of flowers

From the stinky gas station, we went back to the fish market (!back!) to pick up the rest of the crew.

Our new most intimates, before the mom-and-child came aboard next to Dena

As we left Nova Sintra, we had a total of 11 adults, two children, 80 liters of fuel, about 60 kilos of fish, another 50 kilos of measuring equipment and two backpacks of our groceries.

…and that’s before we stopped in Nossa Senhora do Monte so that all of the other passengers could go grocery shopping and then stopped again at a school where a self-acclaimed charmer joined us four(!) on the left-side bench. All-in-all, I would say that poor little pickup truck had maybe two tons of people, food, fuel and equipment aboard…just another Friday on the island of Brava. Not only was this the longest 10 kilometer ride of our adult lives, it was a whole lot of fun. It took about 2 and a half hours to cover that distance, which we maybe could have walked faster if it weren’t often steeply climbing or descending, but we absolutely made the best of it, each and every cobblestone along the way. When we got back to Tantum, all we had to do was descend a mountain (don’t worry, this time we had both socks and water) and row our little boat back to our anchored sovereign nation, S/VSN-E Cetacea.

This dude passed us going down, then again heading up with a load!

And just like that we were back on the boat with our kitty, reveling in another incredible celebration of another turn around the sun together.

Plans Change, Cabo Verde Edition

We got the dinghy loaded aboard, everything stowed, and made big batches of tuna salad and egg salad for easy sandwiches underway. We went to bed feeling fine but when we got up, I (Dena) didn’t feel so well. I thought it might pass, but I felt worse and worse. Finally, terrible stomach cramps turned into puking.

Meanwhile, we ran out of prepaid data on the sim card we’d been using. As foreigners, we have no way to top it up without going into a store but the dinghy was already stowed and getting it in the water is no one-person job. It looked like we weren’t going to be leaving right away and we weren’t going to be able to check the weather once we could. I do a phone screen-record of the full forecast before we get out of internet range because, even though it’s swiftly out of date, it’s better than nothing. I just hoped I’d get well fast.

I didn’t. I couldn’t rinse my mouth without setting off another round of retching yellow bile from somewhere deep in my torso. Finally well after dark, the stomach cramps started easing and I tried to go to sleep. James came up to kiss me better and was startled by my temperature. I had a fever that raged through the night and broke with the dawn, but I was weak and dehydrated.

So we sat in Mindelo, incommunicado, until I was strong enough to take my turn raising the anchor. Not, of course, because James wouldn’t take an extra turn but because I wasn’t strong enough for the sailing if I wasn’t strong enough for anchor duty. We finally got underway on Sunday, October 20th, at 9:22am.

The only one of us that wasn’t thrilled to be underway – Beluga Greyfinger

James took us out under sail alone. The electric motor was on and ready, but he didn’t need it.

So long Mindelo and thanks for the teeth!

We passed some familiar sights, the hazy day mimicking the other times we’d traversed that coast.

That Japanese wood-block look never gets old

Before noon, we were on a port tack, which we suspected might take us all the way to Brazil, and under full sail.

Another sight that never gets old

I (still Dena) was in a euphoria of better. Better than sick, better than still, better than thinking about what we needed at the grocery store and whether or not to pay someone else to cook for us.

Glad to be sailing!

James, on the other hand, was worse.

Uh-oh

We worked our way down to a double-reefed main and full yankee as we lost the protection of Sao Vicente and entered the gulf between the Sotovente and Barlavente groups of the Cabo Verde island. We would pass about 20 NM west of the southwesternmost island, Brava, some time the next day.

The sun went down around 6:30pm and I had the 7:00 to 8:00 watch. I was looking around in the dark, like ya do, trying to look at the things in my field of view that aren’t exactly in the middle of my vision, and I realized there was a long smear above where the sun had gone down. I got the binoculars out and, yes! Sure enough, it was the comet Tsuchinshan-Atlas. When I called to James that he had five minutes left, I also told him that the comet was in view. When he took over, it was still clear in the sky above the horizon.

I (James) took the helm with the powerful shakes and a great trepidation that I was careful not to relate to Dena. We have always taken great pride in the fact that we stand our watches for each other. I wanted Dena to be able to get as much rest as possible before her first 3 hour dog-watch so even though I was feeling shitty it was more important to me that she rest up for the overnight.

I found the comet to be a delightful distraction and the sailing was intense with a fresh breeze in the 18 to 20 knot range. The seas were stacking up with that all too familiar inter-island acceleration chop and an ocean roller that was modulating in the 10 to 12 foot range every eight seconds or so, speeding up as it got later and darker. The moon was a little less than halfway through its waning cycle so it was black-dark with an awesome milky way across the sky for my own personal entertainment. When I say my own personal entertainment, I mean there wasn’t another boat within at least 50 nautical miles of us. On any other night this would have been my happy place. Right before Dena went below I told her that I really hoped that I wouldn’t have to do anything because I just wasn’t feeling all-in, and I was very happy that I actually didn’t have to touch anything on the helm, the trim, or the rig. All I had to do on that dreadful watch was choke down mouthfuls of saliva and stay aboard the boat. Dena had set me up perfectly to just sit back and enjoy my shakes and the universe for the next hour before we saw each other again… and I almost made it!

I gave her the five-minute call and she was in the galley brushing her teeth in three. And that was when my entire face exploded. The thought of putting a toothbrush in my mouth sent me over the top and for the next ten minutes I barfed my insides totally out of my pie-hole and snout. I thought it was never going to stop. It seemed like everything I had eaten within the past 48 hours had just hung out in my stomach for the sheer thrill of torturing me.

Dena and I have always been squicked by the whole concept of somebody holding your hair or rubbing your back while you’re in the throws of a technicolor-yawn over the lifelines so she knew that all she could do was enjoy the show. And what a show it was.

You see, I’m kind of a loud puke’r. With every hurl I do a Seattle grunge vocal from the depths of Mordor that would’ve surely gotten me an Emmy in ’91. And this went on for the first ten minutes of Dena’s first dog watch of that fateful night. I got most of it overboard and didn’t go over myself but Dena, gato bless her soul, did a miraculous clean up after I went below that left nary a chunk on the side-deck-aft.

I (Dena) did rinse the aft deck, but we were broad to the waves and getting shoved into them occasionally. That meant we were taking waves over the toerail on that downwind side. The One Big Ocean did its part cleaning up poor James’ mess.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that, whether James was going to puke for 12 hours like I did or not, he was going to need some rest and recuperation time. I set a new course for Brava, grateful that we were still pretty far north of that island. It meant beating closer to the wind and, if you read the post about getting to Sao Vicente, you know neither of us loves a beat.

While James’ health was failing, our marine-head had totally stopped pulling sea water in for rinsing. Taking that system apart underway surely sounds like hell so we added that to the good reasons to stop. Also, LoveBot had developed a new, odd slop in the system where the tipping of the air vane is transmitted to the steering gears. And after eight weeks at anchor in Mindelo all the life that had come up with the chain was making a gato-awful stink in the chain locker thus eeking into the forepeak. All in all, we could treat this overnight trip as a shakedown, let James get better, and set off again when it was good.

When I went below, I asked James, “So am I doing a double?” His response was to haul his sick ass out of the chain-rot-smelling bed and get ready for his first night watch.

I (James) had stopped shaking after two and a half hours of dream-filled, body-healing sleep. When I got up from the v-berth I noticed I was drenched in sweat but oddly feeling much better. We moved the tools from their usual stowage spot at the foot of the starboard settee to make that a more comfortable bunk so we wouldn’t have to smell the chain any longer. I donned my clothes and safety gear and headed for the cockpit. It was such a beautiful night! Cool and breezy with Cetacea clipping along at a trotting pace. I clipped in and got as comfortable as I could.

Three hours later, I (Dena) took over. There wasn’t much to do except look at the sky, where the moon and Jupiter were obscuring the Orionids. Those three hours were a sleepy, hypnotic pleasure.

Before too long in my (James’) second dog-watch we were getting tossed to the occasional 25 to 30 degree heel and doing 7 knots through the water. For me, on a 30ft sailboat in the middle of the night, that was just too fucking fast!

Now, our yankee roller-fouling rig is getting real old and it’s a little hard to singlehand in but I wanted to trade that sail for the staysail, meaning furl the yankee and then un-furl the staysail. As much as I hated to disturb Dena on her down watch I felt it was time to make that call. I looked down below and I noticed that the red light in the head was on and the hatch was open. I decided to give it another minute or so before calling down to her. Feeling the way I did earlier, it wouldn’t have surprised me a bit if it was her turn to kneel at the porcelain god. I made the call to pull the maneuver on my own. That was a bad call.

I let the sheet loose and the boat went into massive shudders, pumping hard to starboard. When I went to pull the furling line the damn thing wouldn’t budge unless I pulled with all my weight behind it…still no love! I let the sheet out all the way and it was absolute cacophony. I pulled again and the sail furled up. By that time Dena had made it out of the head and was putting on her gear to come help. Given the fact that she’d just hosed the deck of my insides, the worry that I’d taken on this big deal alone made her a little miffed…okay she was pissed and with good reason. She continued to gear up but I told her that unfurling the staysail was the easy part (it is) and that I was sorry then asked her to go back to bed. She did and the boat settled back into her 5 knot comfort zone and I spent the next two and a half hours shunting my adrenaline high. There was no doubt I was in a weakened state. I should have waited just a little while longer to furl that sail.

By the end of my watch, my buzz was gone and I was dreaming before I hit the bunk.

Land Ho!!!

Between the incessant vibration of the luff (never seen a sail that makes as horrible a noise as this one does) and the wild wind and waves coming over the top of Brava, we were excited to get behind the island’s bulk and benefit from some protection. We were also loving the green after so long in a sere place called Verde.

Very promising view coming up to the point

We came in on the electric motor doing a hot 3 knots only to see that there was already a sailboat in the cove…right where we wanted to anchor, of course. A spin around the cove revealed the best place for the anchor and we made ourselves at home.

James had to pull the chain out of the locker because the pile had fallen over and made a tangle. In the still air, 30 degree heat, and massive humidity, his whole outfit got drenched.

The cockpit in disarray with gorgeous Brava behind

That still air had a strange reverse southerly light breeze (everywhere else, including the top of the cliff, was getting a stiff northeasterly) and we sat in the cockpit, enjoying the cooling evening.

It would have been beautiful out to sea, but we wouldn’t have been nearly as comfortable

James made a hot meal and we wondered what relationship the lights on the cliff had to the path that the fishers take to bring their catch up to market.

There are only two ways out of the cove: the path and the water.

And then we slept.

Socks and water

We arrived in Ferreira with a short list of important projects from the shakedown from Sao Vicente and a strong desire to get our asses in some sea water. James needed to recoup his strength and energy after that brutal underway illness but a little labor is good for a body, right?

First things first: jump (the fuck) in the water! I (James) after setting that hook dove in and it was like all was well in the ‘Verse once again. The water was warm, clear and highly salted so we floated until the wrinkles were obvious. We rinsed, stared at shit, and slept like the exhausted sailors we were.

We started early the next morning with the head because there’s nothing good about a malfunctioning marine toilet. I mean, our head is a tiny space with barely enough room to do your thing much less deal with a repair while underway so it was good to latch open the hatch, spread out the tools, and go to work.

These Twist’n’Lock heads are inexpensive and, while the bowl and base are ceramic, everything else that isn’t a gasket is made of plastic. Anytime the intake water stops flowing, there’s a set of possible reasons. Usually, we start from the hull and work our way in. Since we’d just cleared the throughhull from the outside when cleaning the bottom in Mindelo, I began with the right-angle fitting attached to the seacock. I worked up to where the hose meets the pump and, while the water was stanky and foul, it was free-flowing, so not the problem.

The culprits

I disassembled the pump and found these (above) goose barnacles wedged under the intake flapper valve, keeping the pump from being able to create suction. Those three little shits were the cause of a whole bunch of freak-out! I started putting it back together but the head has no fan and I was running dangerously hot for a guy barely getting over a stomach flu. I (Dena) finished putting it back together but gave him the honor of priming and pumping it clear.

I (James) was thrilled to do the honors!

We moved on from there to things we’d noticed once we got underway. With the sun behind the mainsail, I (Dena again) had seen a suspiciously thin spot within what looked like a rope burn. I don’t know if it was from the reef ties or the sail ties, but somehow we chafed the sail low down near the foot. The weak spot was only revealed when full sail so it wasn’t a vulnerability in high winds but there’s no reason to ignore a potential hole. I flaked the sail to one side and hunted down what I’d seen between Sao Vicente and Brava.

Finding the problem didn’t take long

The chafed area was about a centimeter and a half long but the actual hole was barely a pinprick. I cut some sail tape into two circles and used a dinner plate as a flat surface for rubbing the tape onto the sail cloth.

I’d also noticed that, with two reefs in and the sail let all the way out, the inside edge of the second batten down rubs on a shroud. Sure enough, there’s some wear there. It’s heavily reinforced but we’ll need to keep an eye out.

The batten pocket is being pulled loose by the shroud

This sail’s design has been disappointing, to say the least.

At some point between Praia and Mindelo, we lost our mainsail telltales too. They’re thin pieces of plasticky ribbon sewn into the leech to help you know whether your sail is trimmed correctly. I was deeply unhappy about the idea of trying to sew seine twine in their places but I also want that trim assist. When I looked at the spot they’d been sewn, I realized I could use the batten pockets for attaching the twine rather than poking holes in the sail.

A very satisfying answer to the problem

While Dena was inventing new and exciting ways to observe our sail trim I took on rewiring the starboard 12 volt solar array.

…in my skivvies of course

While on the way to Brava, I noticed that the butt-connectors joining the panels to the solar support tower were so corroded that they were green on the outside of the connector itself. I did a history check on our blue-tooth observation software and, sure enough, there was a history of degradation. It was subtle but totally clear. One of the great things about anchoring in one place for while is that you can ultimately glean metrics from your data sources. Mindelo was about as steady as it gets as far as the weather was concerned. So when our daily digital solar and wind energy intake observations showed a slow drop in our solar power intake on the starboard side 12 volt panel array, that obviously denoted corrosion.

Science fucking rocks, dude!

I clipped and pulled the old heat-shrink butt-connectors and replaced them with new ones but also added a second level of heat-shrink as a redundancy then fixed the wire in the safety zone with a drip coil. When I checked our data source after turning the system back on, we had gained about 10% on solar collection. It’s important to note that we are in a totally different place on the chart so the increase in power intake can’t be substantiated at this point. That ain’t science…yet.

The last project involved the Monitor and the heat of the day was upon us. While sitting under the fans belowdecks, I (Dena) realized that our anniversary was only days away. Surrounded by crystal blue water, wanting to do some snorkeling as well as the projects on the docket, wishing we had internet access in order to get an updated forecast (we were well past the trustworthy point of the one I’d screen-recorded a week prior)…

We decided to stay put in paradise. But to make it really feel worthwhile, we’d need to try to get internet.

At the base of the cliff, an equipment shed and fish cleaning station squat behind the boats that are pulled up on the rocks every day. Above, far above, is the village of Tantum and the word was that a trail links the two. We made a plan to climb the cliff the next day after doing the LoveBot work in the morning’s cool air. Instead, we went snorkeling in the clear blue water of Ferreira.

Somehow, meaning most likely due to human error and maybe because I was using a current parts diagram instead of the one from the original manual, we left a single washer out when we put LoveBot back together way back in Lanzarote in the Canary Islands. The gap you can see below, between the black bushing and the copper retaining ring (c-clip), is enough space to allow slop in the very beginning of the self-steering process. That piece is moved by the air vane and the copper ring would have chiseled a divot into the plastic bushing that would have made the whole thing more and more sloppy over time.

Every little thing matters

Instead, we fixed that shit.

Dena leans over to align the gears before adding the repaired rod

Going ashore was a daunting prospect because the dinghy was so nicely, neatly, firmly stowed on the foredeck and the so-called praia (meaning beach) comprised a huge amount of fairly large surf-rounded rocks. We opted to fill our waterproof laundry bag with James’ backpack containing our tech and clothes and towels and shoes, then strap two type-1 PFDs in a configuration that would keep it afloat and keep the more-vulnerable mouth out of the water. We would swim in.

Water “proof”?

We’d barely gotten in the water when a fishing boat cruised on past and stopped. The guys aboard immediately made all the gestures of offer and said things that seemed to invite us to accept a ride to the praia. We took them up on it, of course!

On arrival, I (Dena) jumped out too early and everyone on the beach thought I was a goner. In my red bikini, I showed them! I also showed them this wonderful, useful, decorated, and unshaven body so there was a great deal of distraction while the whole lot of fishers cooperated on getting a different boat up the ever-shifting, always-maintained hint of a slipway. Then it was time for “our” boat, the one James was still on, to ram the rocky shore. He jumped off at the right time and assisted in heaving the heavy wooden fishing vessel up the roiling praia to a tide-safe distance. The boat’s name: Obrigato Signorha!

I’m going to make a rare self-effacing confession here. When we were packing for our “waterproof” swim ashore, we somehow forgot to pack socks and…wait for it…water!

That’s right, we were going to climb a mountain and go on an unknown interwebs search at the top of said mountain without a drop of water or a single pair of socks between us.

Then it was time to climb that fucking mountain. From the fishing camp to the village of Tantum, it is 228m or rather 748ft of gravel and rock vertical climb. Let me (James) tell you, this puts most black diamond trails in the States to shame in a big way. The switchbacks are few and tight and the inclines are brutal! We did it way too fast at first but the further we went the smarter we got, with lots of shaded rests along the way.

A view that never gets old

About halfway up, Dena asked me if I wanted to throw in the towel and head back down but looking back at the progress we’d already made just made me even more head strong (stupid) so we opted to continue on.

Self proclaimed (sock less) badasses

Now one of the best things about reading adventure stories is the fact that you, dear reader, don’t have to (get to) experience the rotten fruits of our mistakes you just get to cheer, or sigh in disbelief, with our successes. Right?

WTAFO?!

We made it of course. It was by far one of the hardest climes I’ve ever done in my (James’) life and we were being passed by fishers the whole way. They just powered right up that cliff like, oh, maybe like they’d done it a few hundred times? We followed the trail of blood spots from the dorado they’d cleaned at the station down below. All the rest of the fish traveled in plastic shopping bags or the kinds of bins folks usually put on top of their heads.

At the top, the children started making themselves seen. This is a wary batch compared to some places we’ve been. The people, in general, have a sober air about them so it’s satisfying to have one of my (Dena’s) smiles reciprocated enthusiastically. This time, I got my fix from an early-middle-aged mustachioed man who went from dubious solemnity to gleeful grin with an energetic reply to my “bom dia!”

An incredibly grateful pair of strangers were brought a large metal container full of water at the mention of agua. We tried to correct the misunderstanding and explain that we were looking for the mercado so we could buy water, but the severe man didn’t even look at us as we refreshed ourselves with his household’s excellent drinking water. Finally, another spectator got us to the market (closed) and then we found the one open space that wasn’t a school: the bar.

Outside the building is a platform where the barkeep, his parents, and assorted others play mournas every night

No wifi signals appeared on my phone. The exhilaration of topping the cliff and the relief of sweet fresh water gave way to disappointment that we wouldn’t be getting internet and therefore would be in the dark about weather. We bought three mixers from the barkeep, downed two, and saved one for the descent.

As we passed the homes on the way to the cliffside, James commented that one of the antennae on a house looked like wifi. I fired up my tech and realized that there was a wifi signal from somewhere. Some folks were hanging out in front of a house across from that one and I showed them my screen with an interrogative air. One guy yells at another guy who hollers over to a neighbor who disappears. He showed up a floor down and exited the house in order to type in the password for me and presto! Internet access!

I did the bare minimum of communication and then tried an app I’d downloaded that does esims for lots of countries. I could, indeed, get one from them at the rate of (gulp) $10 per gig. Biting that bullet was a no-brainer, and we’ve been able to check the weather from the boat ever since.

Bug’n down the mountain

Then we set off for home, still sock-less but slightly more hydrated and totally successful within our original expectations.

But there was a mountain decent and a bay swim between us and our successes.

The decent to the praia was a podiacal nightmare. I (James) burned with every step down the steep incline and switching rocks and the sun beat down on us like a Sergio Leone gun-fight scene. I could almost hear Morricone’s whistle and ‘hoo-ha’ with every step. But we made it.

Now all we had to do was swim the 607ft back out to our boat at anchor against the tide and swell. Now granted, that’s only 185 meters but please consider what our day had given us up to that point. We donned our gear, we re-secured our “waterproofed” rig, and got back in the cool clear Bravian brine.

Now, Dena is a much stronger swimmer than I have ever been, so she took the lead and the luggage strap while I backstroked and dog paddled all the way back to Cetacea. I cramped my way up the boarding ladder, pulled our float aboard, and just sat there panting as Dena dried off in the cockpit.

We did it! Not only did we make it back to the boat but when we opened our packs we discovered that it was perfectly dry within.

We set out that day to climb a mountain for some internet and totally succeeded even without socks or water. Stupid, no doubt, but we did it and without any injuries to anything but a smidgen of dignity that we didn’t even have to tell you about!

Plans Change, Cabo Verde Edition

We got the dinghy loaded aboard, everything stowed, and made big batches of tuna salad and egg salad for easy sandwiches underway. We went to bed feeling fine but when we got up, I (Dena) didn’t feel so well. I thought it might pass, but I felt worse and worse. Finally, terrible stomach cramps turned into puking.

Meanwhile, we ran out of prepaid data on the sim card we’d been using. As foreigners, we have no way to top it up without going into a store but the dinghy was already stowed and getting it in the water is no one-person job. It looked like we weren’t going to be leaving right away and we weren’t going to be able to check the weather once we could. I do a phone screen-record of the full forecast before we get out of internet range because, even though it’s swiftly out of date, it’s better than nothing. I just hoped I’d get well fast.

I didn’t. I couldn’t rinse my mouth without setting off another round of retching yellow bile from somewhere deep in my torso. Finally well after dark, the stomach cramps started easing and I tried to go to sleep. James came up to kiss me better and was startled by my temperature. I had a fever that raged through the night and broke with the dawn, but I was weak and dehydrated.

So we sat in Mindelo, incommunicado, until I was strong enough to take my turn raising the anchor. Not, of course, because James wouldn’t take an extra turn but because I wasn’t strong enough for the sailing if I wasn’t strong enough for anchor duty. We finally got underway on Sunday, October 20th, at 9:22am.

The only one of us that wasn’t thrilled to be underway – Beluga Greyfinger

James took us out under sail alone. The electric motor was on and ready, but he didn’t need it.

So long Mindelo and thanks for the teeth!

We passed some familiar sights, the hazy day mimicking the other times we’d traversed that coast.

That Japanese wood-block look never gets old

Before noon, we were on a port tack, which we suspected might take us all the way to Brazil, and under full sail.

Another sight that never gets old

I (still Dena) was in a euphoria of better. Better than sick, better than still, better than thinking about what we needed at the grocery store and whether or not to pay someone else to cook for us.

Glad to be sailing!

James, on the other hand, was worse.

Uh-oh

We worked our way down to a double-reefed main and full yankee as we lost the protection of Sao Vicente and entered the gulf between the Sotovente and Barlavente groups of the Cabo Verde island. We would pass about 20 NM west of the southwesternmost island, Brava, some time the next day.

The sun went down around 6:30pm and I had the 7:00 to 8:00 watch. I was looking around in the dark, like ya do, trying to look at the things in my field of view that aren’t exactly in the middle of my vision, and I realized there was a long smear above where the sun had gone down. I got the binoculars out and, yes! Sure enough, it was the comet Tsuchinshan-Atlas. When I called to James that he had five minutes left, I also told him that the comet was in view. When he took over, it was still clear in the sky above the horizon.

I (James) took the helm with the powerful shakes and a great trepidation that I was careful not to relate to Dena. We have always taken great pride in the fact that we stand our watches for each other. I wanted Dena to be able to get as much rest as possible before her first 3 hour dog-watch so even though I was feeling shitty it was more important to me that she rest up for the overnight.

I found the comet to be a delightful distraction and the sailing was intense with a fresh breeze in the 18 to 20 knot range. The seas were stacking up with that all too familiar inter-island acceleration chop and an ocean roller that was modulating in the 10 to 12 foot range every eight seconds or so, speeding up as it got later and darker. The moon was a little less than halfway through its waning cycle so it was black-dark with an awesome milky way across the sky for my own personal entertainment. When I say my own personal entertainment, I mean there wasn’t another boat within at least 50 nautical miles of us. On any other night this would have been my happy place. Right before Dena went below I told her that I really hoped that I wouldn’t have to do anything because I just wasn’t feeling all-in, and I was very happy that I actually didn’t have to touch anything on the helm, the trim, or the rig. All I had to do on that dreadful watch was choke down mouthfuls of saliva and stay aboard the boat. Dena had set me up perfectly to just sit back and enjoy my shakes and the universe for the next hour before we saw each other again… and I almost made it!

I gave her the five-minute call and she was in the galley brushing her teeth in three. And that was when my entire face exploded. The thought of putting a toothbrush in my mouth sent me over the top and for the next ten minutes I barfed my insides totally out of my pie-hole and snout. I thought it was never going to stop. It seemed like everything I had eaten within the past 48 hours had just hung out in my stomach for the sheer thrill of torturing me.

Dena and I have always been squicked by the whole concept of somebody holding your hair or rubbing your back while you’re in the throws of a technicolor-yawn over the lifelines so she knew that all she could do was enjoy the show. And what a show it was.

You see, I’m kind of a loud puke’r. With every hurl I do a Seattle grunge vocal from the depths of Mordor that would’ve surely gotten me an Emmy in ’91. And this went on for the first ten minutes of Dena’s first dog watch of that fateful night. I got most of it overboard and didn’t go over myself but Dena, gato bless her soul, did a miraculous clean up after I went below that left nary a chunk on the side-deck-aft.

I (Dena) did rinse the aft deck, but we were broad to the waves and getting shoved into them occasionally. That meant we were taking waves over the toerail on that downwind side. The One Big Ocean did its part cleaning up poor James’ mess.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that, whether James was going to puke for 12 hours like I did or not, he was going to need some rest and recuperation time. I set a new course for Brava, grateful that we were still pretty far north of that island. It meant beating closer to the wind and, if you read the post about getting to Sao Vicente, you know neither of us loves a beat.

While James’ health was failing, our marine-head had totally stopped pulling sea water in for rinsing. Taking that system apart underway surely sounds like hell so we added that to the good reasons to stop. Also, LoveBot had developed a new, odd slop in the system where the tipping of the air vane is transmitted to the steering gears. And after eight weeks at anchor in Mindelo all the life that had come up with the chain was making a gato-awful stink in the chain locker thus eeking into the forepeak. All in all, we could treat this overnight trip as a shakedown, let James get better, and set off again when it was good.

When I went below, I asked James, “So am I doing a double?” His response was to haul his sick ass out of the chain-rot-smelling bed and get ready for his first night watch.

I (James) had stopped shaking after two and a half hours of dream-filled, body-healing sleep. When I got up from the v-berth I noticed I was drenched in sweat but oddly feeling much better. We moved the tools from their usual stowage spot at the foot of the starboard settee to make that a more comfortable bunk so we wouldn’t have to smell the chain any longer. I donned my clothes and safety gear and headed for the cockpit. It was such a beautiful night! Cool and breezy with Cetacea clipping along at a trotting pace. I clipped in and got as comfortable as I could.

Three hours later, I (Dena) took over. There wasn’t much to do except look at the sky, where the moon and Jupiter were obscuring the Orionids. Those three hours were a sleepy, hypnotic pleasure.

Before too long in my (James’) second dog-watch we were getting tossed to the occasional 25 to 30 degree heel and doing 7 knots through the water. For me, on a 30ft sailboat in the middle of the night, that was just too fucking fast!

Now, our yankee roller-fouling rig is getting real old and it’s a little hard to singlehand in but I wanted to trade that sail for the staysail, meaning furl the yankee and then un-furl the staysail. As much as I hated to disturb Dena on her down watch I felt it was time to make that call. I looked down below and I noticed that the red light in the head was on and the hatch was open. I decided to give it another minute or so before calling down to her. Feeling the way I did earlier, it wouldn’t have surprised me a bit if it was her turn to kneel at the porcelain god. I made the call to pull the maneuver on my own. That was a bad call.

I let the sheet loose and the boat went into massive shudders, pumping hard to starboard. When I went to pull the furling line the damn thing wouldn’t budge unless I pulled with all my weight behind it…still no love! I let the sheet out all the way and it was absolute cacophony. I pulled again and the sail furled up. By that time Dena had made it out of the head and was putting on her gear to come help. Given the fact that she’d just hosed the deck of my insides, the worry that I’d taken on this big deal alone made her a little miffed…okay she was pissed and with good reason. She continued to gear up but I told her that unfurling the staysail was the easy part (it is) and that I was sorry then asked her to go back to bed. She did and the boat settled back into her 5 knot comfort zone and I spent the next two and a half hours shunting my adrenaline high. There was no doubt I was in a weakened state. I should have waited just a little while longer to furl that sail.

By the end of my watch, my buzz was gone and I was dreaming before I hit the bunk.

Land Ho!!!

Between the incessant vibration of the luff (never seen a sail that makes as horrible a noise as this one does) and the wild wind and waves coming over the top of Brava, we were excited to get behind the island’s bulk and benefit from some protection. We were also loving the green after so long in a sere place called Verde.

Very promising view coming up to the point

We came in on the electric motor doing a hot 3 knots only to see that there was already a sailboat in the cove…right where we wanted to anchor, of course. A spin around the cove revealed the best place for the anchor and we made ourselves at home.

James had to pull the chain out of the locker because the pile had fallen over and made a tangle. In the still air, 30 degree heat, and massive humidity, his whole outfit got drenched.

The cockpit in disarray with gorgeous Brava behind

That still air had a strange reverse southerly light breeze (everywhere else, including the top of the cliff, was getting a stiff northeasterly) and we sat in the cockpit, enjoying the cooling evening.

It would have been beautiful out to sea, but we wouldn’t have been nearly as comfortable

James made a hot meal and we wondered what relationship the lights on the cliff had to the path that the fishers take to bring their catch up to market.

There are only two ways out of the cove: the path and the water.

And then we slept.