sailing by moonlight
Caribbean 600 Race (Day 5) - Guadeloupe to Barbuda
Good morning from Barbuda!
Yes, Barbuda, you heard that right. To 0 knots: so long, and thanks for all the fish. Or, at least, we wish. We did break the fishing gear out, but it turns out you have to actually be moving to trawl.
After drifting for goodness knows how many days, hours, lifetimes, Ben thought it would be an excellent idea to capture the amazing views of Guadeloupe via my drone.
Ben: “Oh, that’s interesting, you can see some wind from up here.”
Wind: “Here, have 20 knots.”
Drone: “Strong wind warning, lower altitude immediately.”
Argonaut: *heels over, zooms off into the horizon*
Drone: “Help!”
So then we had to catch my drone in sea state and 20 knots.
After the last few bungled attempts at landing the drone in lighter conditions, we handed over the controls to Richard, who suggested we use a fishing net to catch the drone in the building sea state. But, with bowmen being replaceable and fishing nets less so, Ben was volunteered to try catch it. And he did. Eventually. Most of his fingers are still in tact. ‘Twas but a flesh wound.
Drone recovered and a heart replacement surgery scheduled for myself, we began to admire the beautiful view unfolding of the Iles des Saintes. We began to regret our decision not to retire here, anchor up and eat a small island’s supply of croissants. But no, being a serious race boat, we pressed on.
Tacking inland around the south east coast of Guadeloupe was fantastic fun, James’ tactics played out beautifully and we got a nice lift as the wind bent round the islands. Argonaut was thoroughly enjoyable to helm. She was balanced, barely needed any input, and was making excellent progress at last!
“It was so nice today for the boat to actually move during our watch.” - Lieneke
A side effect of us fighting for a new course record (for longest elapsed time for the Caribbean 600, ever) is that we are running out of fresh food. So, the hottest tactical discussion onboard has been about when to braai. After several hours of intense debate, we decided to hold our final braai on Sunday when we’re not beating and tacking frequently. So, given that we will be using up the last of our fresh food on Sunday, in the meantime we are having to get inventive. Introducing two new gourmet dishes which we are hoping will secure us our first michelin star: sausage ramen (without the broth) garnished with with pan fried mouldy pepper and ramen caked in scotch bonnet sauce.
Meanwhile, a few phrases you don’t want to hear from your helmsman:
“I’m visually impaired, just bear with me.”
“What’s this chart bit for, then?”
We have every confidence in you, Richard!
We might be missing the prizegiving party because we’re still racing, but we are sailing by moonlight, so who are the real winners here? It’s our fifth night of sailing by moonlight and the stars, no torch required, and it is even more surreal in person. Talk about silver linings.
But once we rounded La Desirade (the direct translation of which is “bloody pain in the arse” according to James… there were some fairly close calls with fishing buoys), helming was not fun. Really not fun. Sam and I swapped every 15 minutes or so, struggling to hold course with the building swell coming from a really annoying angle. The next watch, Lieneke and Ben, changed tactics. They ended up sailing higher and faster, taking us above the rhumb line, and went after speed like a tart. Now we have the watch of squalls (Sam and me) and the watch of tarts (Ben and Lieneke). And we all love a tricolon crescendo, so Charles suggested we name the third watch (James and Richard) the watch of old farts.
Morning breaks, Sam takes the helm, and guess what? Another squall. Even beyond the squalls, the wind has been very volatile over the last few hours, shifting back and forth 20 degrees.
But at last, the true wind angle is sustained at 150, kite time! So I wake up James and Charles.
Tactician: Oh, fantastic! *jumps out of bed with glee*
Skipper: *sleep deprived* No. It’s not sustained. It’s not. Ugh. Can you put the kettle on?
*A few moments later*
James: It’s a nice angle.
Charles: Come up, we’re slow.
James: But we’re putting the kite up, it’s a nice angle for the kite.
Charles: But we haven’t put it up yet.
James: But it’s a nice angle for the kite.
Charles: But we haven’t put the kite up yet. I feel like we’re going round in circles here. Sam, come up ten degrees!
Of course, Sam is helming, and another squall hits. So Lieneke decides to shower in the rain.
Charles: Let’s prep to hoist the kite.
Lieneke: I’m washing my hair, can I wash my hair first?
I’d like to take this moment to reiterate we’re a serious race boat.
We then delayed the hoist to take photos of a rainbow emerging from the squall.
But now it’s time to hoist! I swap my cosy cockpit for the foredeck (see previous point about the bowman being replaceable).
Readie from Ino Noir asks us how it’s going. He started the race after us, but is already back on the other side of the world before we’ve even finished the 600 nautical mile race. We tell him about our plans to braai.
As we trundle on down to Barbuda, we consider a sail change.
Tactician: “So my suggestion is we fly the code zero.”
Bowman: “No”
Skipper: “This is the kind of mutiny we respect.”
Bowman (to tactician): “Well you can put it up then.”
For now, I’ll leave you with The Fable of the Pen and the Pin. About a year ago, the pin holding the baton to a car on the main fell out. The temporary fix was replacing the pin with a pen lid. By chance, the missing pin was found in the stack pack, and so it was decided to stash this away and keep it safe for a rainy day. The plastic pen lid worked well for a year. But, in preparation for the Caribbean 600, Charles thought that perhaps we shouldn’t rely on the plastic pen lid whilst racing, so put the original pin back in. That pin lasted a mere day, and has now caused irreparable damage to the mast. The moral of the story? If the temporary fix is working, it’s a permanent fix.