Take the Leap – Life as an Ocean Gypsy 4 - Easter Island to Raratonga
by Kristen Anderson on 13 Nov 2017
With skipper Tony Mowbray and Aceh the sailing virgin. Another front rolling in – are we having fun yet? Kristen Anderson
The weather on this leg was marginally calmer (everything is relative after all) but still threw four more vicious SW fronts our way before belatedly showing us that there are in fact following winds to be found in the South Pacific. This was not, however, before hurling the strongest winds at us that we faced on the entire crossing. Aceh our sailing virgin, was wild-eyed indeed when a particularly fierce pre-frontal system threw 60-65 knots at us on only our fourth day out! I learned on this section of the crossing that I was beginning to detest yellow-filled radar screens, that my love of the dawn watch is nearly always warranted, that I firmly believe in the “red sky at dawn sailors be warned” adage, and that ‘mi amiga la luna’ (my friend the moon) is the most beautiful of all sailing companions.
Oh, and I learned some Spanish, courtesy of my young Chilean watch-mate. As part of our language exchange, one of the English words Aceh embraced was 'bastard', which he used with Latin American passion, loving its many uses - grumpy bastard, funny bastard, fat bastard and, reserved for those nasty extra-large swells, big bastard! I joined loudly in the chorus when these knocked us off course or gave us a dousing, using the Spanish 'gran bastardo' with equal fervour!!
Aceh, as well as proving adept at furling and unfurling sails (winning!) had a valuable ability to laugh through tough conditions, and to while away the hours during rough night watches, the two of us began work on a book concept, titled “The Adventures of Aceh the Sailing Virgin”, which kept us amused for hours on end! He says the wild weather encountered so early on his maiden voyage was akin to 'losing your virginity in an orgy' – which became the title for Chapter One… There followed a chapter on learning English – commencing with 'The skipper was also an English teacher...'
I will let you imagine the tenor of the ‘English’ being taught by this salty old yachty, but suffice to say that if you are ever greeted down under by a grinning Chilean hollering, “How’re they hanging?”, be sure to say hello! This book endeavour has not yet funded our travels but perhaps those publishing offers are in the mail somewhere…However I digress…
I developed on this section of our journey a fully matured and passionate loathing of the colour yellow. Far from connoting sunshine and palm-fringed sandy beaches, it will forever more conjure up images of rain-filled radar screens, impending ‘snottings’ as fronts slammed in, and that horrid feeling as you pull on soaked and distinctly pongy wet weather gear that has been marinating in the damp humidity since its last drenching. When I flit through my journal there are entry after entry of comments such as “hateful yellow blobs”, “frantic furling activity on deck and the return of the yellow plague”, and “pelting rain and no respite from the yellow fever that has consumed the radar”. After a weather forecast that yielded a pithy “you don’t get the pie without the peas” from our skipper Tony, a particularly long and nasty run of squally, wet, turbulent weather tried even the hardiest of us, and my journal entries are telling:
“…likely to be a long night. No real sleep, waiting, waiting…front finally arrived…there followed a completely revolting watch, helming in zero visibility into the large residual NW seas and fresh SW wind…tethered on the helm, Commitment is seriously lurching in the big seas and trying her best to catapult us out of the cockpit…Squall after squall after squall, furled the headsail again and again and again, in teeming, pelting, driving rain – again. NOT having fun!!!!!!!! Completely #$&* over it! Fell into my bunk beyond exhausted, at least it’s meant to clear soon…up for 2am watch and almost cried when I stumbled blearily out to see the radar consumed once more by unending yellow”.
So you see – I really don’t like yellow!! By this stage I had begun fantasising about a warm dry cabin in the country with a velvety soft rug and an open fire - absolutely NO sodden wet weather gear and NO lurching boat! However, the ocean has many moods, and a few days later I rhapsodised, “Gone now are the angry black seas with their matching dark, stormy skies. The sea is now a stunning sapphire beneath a much-welcomed canopy of powder blue, dotted with harmless white fluffy clouds”. The mood on Commitment, of course, changes with that of the ocean and “whilst this time yesterday we were all soaked through and bone weary from fighting the weather, we are now happily rolling along, spirits lifting with every ray of sunshine and every lovely, easy, comfortable mile”. And who would want to be anywhere else??
A highlight of this passage was a dawn watch that began with a drenching, but was followed by a magnificent full double rainbow that filled our world with colour from horizon to horizon. As we gazed in pure pleasure at this simply beautiful natural wonder, over a dozen humpback whales cruised serenely by, almost close enough to touch, the last of them launching its colossal body out of the ocean in a joyous fare thee well. Good morning world!!!!!!!!!! This magic morning certainly proved my philosophy that there are always rewards for crawling out of bed to witness the day as it comes to life! Mind you, I have been forced to curtail my outward joy at some of the more outrageous sunrise canvases that we have experienced - for instance, when they’re red…
I was not particularly superstitious when I began this voyage, giving scant credence to the much fabled “red sky at dawn sailors be warned”, but can it be simple coincidence that not one but several outrageous red sunrises were followed by severe smashings?? When the next riotously flamboyant dawn painted the underside of the clouds a wildly vivid crimson and threw scarlet rays across the universe I steadfastly refused to so much as glance at it, let alone admire it, and I certainly did not photograph it, as though by failing to acknowledge it, it might cease to exist!
Rivalling that of the dawn is my burgeoning love affair with ‘mi amiga la luna’. Already a devotee of night sailing, this vast Pacific and the opportunity it provided to witness la luna night after night in her many phases, sent me into raptures. Sometimes she almost blinded us with her brilliance, at which times she out-shone even the most sparkling of stellar performances, smugly claiming centre stage as her right. At others she bathed us in a softer, more mellow light, allowing the beauty of a million glittering gems studding the night sky to take their place in the nocturnal concert.
One glorious evening she rose from the sea behind us in an enormous blood red ball of outrageous beauty, a rare treat indeed. As with the best of friends, her arrival was always eagerly anticipated, no matter how late, and she was sorely missed in her black spells or when angry weather held her captive. Certainly, there is nothing more wonderful than following her gleaming path across the ocean when she is at her most luminous, and even the smallest crescent of slivered silver afforded immense comfort on wild and stormy nights.
When comfort was in short supply, ‘mind over matter’ became a necessity. When those following winds finally found us, fatigued to the core after our battles with fronts and headwinds, they were not the gentle trade winds of our dreams. When presented with large and unruly following seas, Mittie (my now overly familiar nick-name for Commitment) bucked and rolled, and lurched so drunkenly that making your way below deck felt like swinging along monkey bars and sleep was near impossible.
The helming, steering a reluctant thirty-five tonne truck, was demanding and difficult. To cope with these conditions, my mind dispatched my wonderful man across the Pacific to join me at the wheel where, never tiring, he perched by my side for several nights, offering downwind instruction, gentle encouragement and moral support. Off duty, he promised to watch over me while I rested, stroking my face and cradling my exhausted body until I finally slept. Back in his Australian reality, he must have wondered why he felt rather drained!
After so long at sea I also began to discover that it’s not only what the ocean throws at us that makes or breaks us. My journal reads,
“So much of this calypso adventure has been understanding that, out here, the real strength lies in controlling how you react in order to deal with (and hopefully enjoy!) whatever the ocean and heavens throw at us. We can be hurled and thrown about like the tiny speck we are in this vast universe, and we can't control that, but we can keep getting up, staying positive, setting the right course, the right sails, and the best attitude we can muster, continually learning, and hopefully laughing. We choose. That's our power amongst all this might”.
And when you begin to let go, and surrender yourself to this incredible might, it occasionally softens and shows its underbelly:
“The riotous colours and backlit clouds this evening were out of this world. Behind us wild pinks splashed haphazardly across the heavens, musky muted lilacs over the islands, and the sun itself was the most outrageous liquid copper throwing glowing gold and polished pewter amongst the clouds before turning them and the surface of the sea the deepest crazy combination of orange, gold and crimson. A performance burned on my mind for all time!”
Such wonderful lessons, and surrender I did… And then, there it was! On May 18, as dawn appeared behind us, Raratonga emerged on our bow, and we had arrived at the tropical paradise of the Cook Islands. We all had loved ones flying in from home to greet us, so this was to be a much welcomed ‘intermission’. My beautiful daughter arrived to whisk me off the boat for eight glorious days in a bed that didn’t rock, with meals that didn’t hurl themselves into the air, bringing with her our favourite Mumm champagne to celebrate the achievement of the journey thus far. Serious girl time was filled with laughter and gossip (three months worth!), swimming, snorkelling and sipping cocktails until, rested and recharged, the ocean called once more.
Next stop - 2,671 nm away – home!
Life is short – Take the leap
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