The Passage
It was in September 2011 that Anne and Paul invited me to join them on their Trans Atlantic trip from the Canary Islands to St. Maarten. They are heading off on a 6 year/ open ended voyage around the world; I envy them not so much for the trip, I have no desire for such an adventure, but for the fact that they have the gumption to actually do it. They will be fulfilling their dream and living the life books are written about. There will just be the 3 of us on board this trip, another fellow was to come with us but he couldn’t get a visa for St. Martin and had to back out at the last minute, leaving no time to find a replacement.

Nov. 25, 2012 Departed Tenerife at 10:40 AM, casting off the lines which we won’t need again for another 3 weeks. Seventh Heaven is a Trintella Oceans 49, a Dutch built yacht designed for passage making. It is a center cockpit model, the area you sit in outside is in the middle of the boat rather than at the end, they are said to be better for long ocean passages because if a wave breaks over the back of the boat in won’t flood the cockpit. In the rear is a huge master stateroom, another advantage of the center cockpit style, with a head and shower. Coming forward the galley is to starboard (right side) with the stove and sink along the hull and the refrigerator and freezer opposite. The salon is set to port (left side) and is quite cozy with a three sided settee and folding table, a spacious navigation station is to starboard with a desktop large enough to unfold the many charts they will need. The keel stepped mast is encased in wood veneer adding to the classic look that is accentuated by Anne’s fine decorating of the saloon area. Going forward still there is a head and shower to starboard and a cabin with two pilot berths (like bunk beds) to port. At the front is my cabin complete with queen berth, there are two supports that run from the cabin sole (the floor) to the ceiling giving the look of a poster bed; just my luck, a poster bed, lockers of line on board and my honey is home in Buffalo. The seas were choppy as we left the harbor and we made slow progress in the lee of the island. I started feeling a little queasy.

Nov. 26: Sea still rough, but we are making good time. I’m still not feeling well, it gives me a little lift to think how Kim will react when I tell her that I was seasick for two days; she will smile that cute little smile and laugh a sympathetic laugh and say “oh baby”. I took some Sturgeron and it is starting to work.

Nov. 27: Woke up feeling better, dolphins were swimming off our port quarter in the morning. A wind shift late at night forced a course change to just north of west we are moving along at a good speed.

Nov. 28: Still heading WNW, haven’t seen another boat since leaving Tenerife. The view is always changing with different cloud and wave patterns, each instant is different than the next in the way no two snowflakes are alike; but it always stays the same, just us in the middle of a round patch of water. Rain and squalls rolled through all day and night, some with gale force winds; it is hard to sleep with all the motion.

Nov. 29: Still gloomy with showers, making good progress of about 150 miles a day. We check our position at 3:00 PM, ships time, each day and determine our progress by how much closer we are to our destination as the sea bird flies rather than how many miles of water have passed under our keel; the overall trip in 2340 miles.

Nov. 30: The weather cleared and it turned out to be a nice day. We started heading south under just the genoa (the front sail). Saw our first ship, a bulk carrier, she passed to port near the horizon and then we were alone again.

Dec. 1: Still heading SW, it was a nice sunrise this morning. The weather is clear with some clouds. Hooked two fish, but they got off before we could get them to the boat. The sailing this night was fantastic, maybe the best night on the water ever for me. I had the 8:00 PM to midnight watch and the moon hadn’t risen yet. There was a hole in the clouds above the boat, about half the diameter of our little patch of sea, through which I could see the stars. We were roaring along at 7.5 -9 knots, the big Atlantic swells following us unseen, their presence only felt by the gentle lifting of the boat and the sound of the water rushing under the hull as they passed leaving a large patch of froth alongside .We were running under autopilot and I took a seat behind the wheel, there are no real handholds there, and I could feel the power of the boat moving through the water like it was being pulled through the heavens by team of ghostly horses. In the darkness I couldn’t see much beyond the deck, the feeling of vulnerability was exhilarating, and I felt alive. This is where I was meant to be, at some point in my life, on a small boat in a large ocean, it’s a dream I’ve had for over two decades.

I returned to the cockpit seats and my thoughts turned somberly to my good friend Scott. I learned to sail and developed my love for the sport with him and his dad, Bob, on their Shark, a 1962 Hinterholler 24’ club racer. It was narrow in the beam and solid fiberglass, the way they built them then, it could take just about anything Lake Erie or a couple of full hardy young twenty somethings could throw at it. I wouldn’t be on this trip or have taken my many previous sailing holidays had I not been introduced to the sport by them. Scott always wanted to sail the deep blue, but it will not be; he has recently been given a death sentence, one no Governor can commute or no President can pardon. I stopped by to see him 3 days before I left; he had just started his chemotherapy and radiation treatments that day. He was in good spirits and has accepted his fate, he told me “ Sammy, I go to Roswell (Roswell Park Cancer Institute in Buffalo) and I see kids 6, 8, and 10 years old, sick and dying right before their parents eyes; how can I feel sorry for myself after 54 good years on this earth when these children haven’t even begun to experience life”. I brought a bottle of 10 year old single malt whisky with me, something we always had on the Shark or Griffin, my boat. We drank and reminisced about the great times we had and the near tragedies we avoided, and made plans to sail together in the spring once the marina opened. After a while I got up to leave, I wished him good luck and he told me to have a great time and add him to my Spot locator contacts, which I did. We shook hands and hugged, and then I walked out the door not knowing if I would ever see my friend again.

Dec 2: It was clear in the morning, got gloomy and then turned clear again. We lost 2 more fish, but we did make good progress for the day. We raised the main with two reefs and steered a more direct course towards St. Maarten, having been avoiding some reported areas of light wind on our original route. I have a good friend at home with a beautiful O’Day 27 that he restored, from a forgotten yard boat. His wife like to sail, but she doesn’t like the boat to heel over so when he is with her he must stay inside the breakwall and can only fly the genoa, no mainsail. I’ve taken great pleasure of kidding him about this over the years and have nickname him Capt. One Sail. I won’t be able to do that anymore once he reads this and sees we sailed a quarter of the Atlantic with just our genoa, oh the bitter irony. We’ve been at sea for 8 days, this is my longest time on a boat non-stop.

Dec 3: We continued along at great speed, we made 171 miles in 24 hours, a near record for Seventh Heaven. We are firmly in the trades and it’s the first day the sun has felt really hot. The water has taken on a deep shade of royal blue, with a purple hue when the sun hits it right. Still no other ships sighted; but we did hear some chatter over the radio, a square rigger passing through the Bequia Channel, the signal bounced off the atmosphere much the same way you can hear New York cab drivers in London. When we left we decided to make this a dry trip, no alcohol consumption. I prefer it that way too many things can go wrong with disastrous results. I don’t miss it a bit, and have not even though of “how good that first beer is going to taste”; however since both Anne and Paul don’t care for spicy foods there isn’t a bottle of hot sauce, jar of chili paste, or even a dry pepper to chew on to be found, and I didn’t even bring any of my Cajun spice blend with me. Oh do I have a need to feel the heat! All I can think about is what my first meal in St. Maarten will be, a double order of wings, extra hot, from Pineapple Pete’s (they taste just like home) or a large order of jerk pork from The Jerk outside of Philipsburg.

Dec 4: The wind came around behind us so we set a twizzler rig, an assortment of poles, lines and miscellaneous temporary blocks and shackles placed around the boat, which leaves our genoa and staysail poled out on either side like wings. The whole thing takes about 20 minutes to set up requiring adjustment to nearly every line on the boat. When people say sailing is hard work this is what they are talking about. In the afternoon another wind shift from an approaching low pressure system required us to take down the twizzler rig (another 20 minutes) and reset the main and genoa. The night turned out to be fantastic. The moon hadn’t risen during my watch (8:00 PM to Midnight) and the sky was ablaze with stars, you could even see the Milky Way. The boat moved through the moderate seas at about 7.5 knots and I spotted a satellite pass overhead, I love nights like these.

Dec 5: The day started quietly enough, kind of boring really, we are better than halfway there and in the middle of the ocean. Being that all we can see is the area out to the horizon, you don’t really get a feeling of the vastness of it all until you look at our position on the chart. I came on deck at 1:00 AM, the start of my night watch to find a lightning storm raging nearby. Anne and Paul had already taken the usual precautions of turning off the unneeded electronics and placing a handheld VHF radio and GPS in the microwave which would act as a Faraday Cage should we be hit. I observed that other time honored sailors’ tradition, I prayed. The night was pitch black, lit up only when the lightning flashed in the clouds with the occasional bolt coming right down into the water; I hate nights like these. Soon the poop hit the fan and all hell broke loose. The wind picked up and backed until it was right on the nose, tossing Seventh Heaven about and making the sails flap wildly. Paul immediately came on deck and took the wheel to get us pointed in the right direction. He then began scurrying around the deck, releading the lines so we could tack away from the storm. He reminded me of Scott at that moment, knowing exactly what needed to be done and doing it methodically and with precision, with no concern of the peril he would face if he went overboard. We had the boom tied back with the preventer, so while we may have been able to do a quick stop, the figure eight (both standard man overboard maneuvers on a boat under sail) would have been impossible. More than likely we would have ended up stalled , in irons, being blown away from him while Anne and I got the lines sorted and the motor started. Finding him in these conditions would take a miracle, and help is a long way away. But he knows this boat like the back of his hand and in a short while he was back to steering us along fighting the wind and seas. After about three hours of intense conditions things settled down and we were on our way smoothly again.

Dec 6: I woke in the morning and the wind was under 5 knots, we motored all day in the moderate waves. We saw two other yachts at the outer edges of our small watery world, heading off to their own destinations. I briefly caught a glimps of a whale off our port quarter as it came up for air; I looked intently for about 10 minutes but didn’t spot anymore. The wind picked up at night and we were able to resume sailing again, the light from another two boats passed us in the distance as the night wore on.

Dec 7: We continued along at good speed and on course for St.Maarten, we made 176 miles in 24 hours, our best day yet. We have under 1000 miles to go and the routine is beginning to get monotonous. I look forward to my shift on night watch, it is kinda like when you are home and head for bed, the day is behind you and there is one less to go. The skies were clear but the wind was fluky requiring many small course changes to keep the sails full so I wasn’t able to gaze at them as I would have liked. Paul and Anne busy themselves during the day by studying guide books and such for the places they will be visiting as they continue their journey. I have no such distractions and just read, steer, or stare out at the sea. I am looking forward to arriving in St. Maarten, with all the sights, sounds and smells of civilization. Pain Au Chocolat and fresh brewed coffee, not instant, for breakfast; anything I want and as spicy as I like it for lunch. The cars driving along bumper to bumper up Welfare Road, the chatter on the morning bus as the local gossip is spread amongst the women, the sound of music emanating from the various bars. I plan to go to Philipsburg to do some people watching as the cruise ships discharge their passengers, wearing their wide brimmed hats, Hawaiian shirts and sundresses, their milky white skin slathered in sun block; listening the different languages and dialects. I will probably stop at that Canadian bar for a couple beers and chat with the owner. We live right across the river from Fort Erie and many Canadians visit our side of the border so I know their distinctive accent very well; it is different from our Buffalo accent, but it will still sound like voices from home. And I will rent a phone to call Kim and Nick to let them know I’m OK and to see how everything is back home. I will also have to call my mother, even though she is certainly calling my sister everyday to see if my Spot message came through, she won’t feel relieved until she hears my voice tell her that we made it and I am on dry land.

Dec 8: The winds remained moderate and have come around behind us; we set our sails wing and wing and are sailing along smoothly at 7 knots. We made 168 miles yesterday and are that much closer to escaping our little sphere of blue. I have also started my third book. It was a beautiful night, the stars were out and the wind stayed steady so I was able to star gaze. I think I finally spotted the constellation Gemini, Kim’s sign and also saw five shooting stars.

Dec 9: The monotony of the day was broken up by setting a reef in the main downwind and also repairing the jib sheet that parted due to chafe at the pole. In my mind I am planning my meals in St. Maarten, looking forward to visiting some of my favorite restaurants. We made 182 miles during the last 24 hours and should arrive in time for the morning bridge opening on Thursday morning. It was cool and partly cloudy tonight during my night watch, I saw a few more shooting stars but keep under the dodger to avoid the breeze so didn’t do much stargazing.

Dec 10: And the routine continues, we are still running wing and wing, but under the smaller staysail as the winds piped up last night. I usually follow the logs of the boats I know in the ARC when they are crossing. They all have full crews and there is a lot of talk of card and board games, cooking contests and odd wagers. They seem to have a lot of fun. I don’t have much to do but sit and stare at the sea, a study in solitude. I started my forth book today, a snorkeling guide to reef fish. The kind of book where they show you a picture and tell you what to look for to differentiate one type from the other; yes it has gotten that boring. Night watch was fun again, the wind was up and the moon wasn’t out yet, so it made for an exciting ride. The waves came out of the darkness, and standing at the helm I felt like the Silver Surfer as we rode down them.

Dec. 11: It was a clear and sunny day, we made 167 miles leaving only 227 to go. The wind picked up again at night, so Paul switched to just the genoa. This will be my last night watch since we hope to arrive between 11 & 1 tomorrow night, and I have the last shift. The sky was clear and there was a meteor shower above. I spotted about 2 or 3 every hour. The boredom is getting very tough to handle, I hope I don’t end up as one of those guys that talks to himself after this trip.

Dec 12: The winds are brisk, 25–30 knots and the seas moderate. We switched from the ocean chart, to the one for St. Maarten and the nearby islands, yippee! Around 7 pm I looked to see if there were any ships nearby and in the distance I could finally see the glow of the island, with something on the horizon we would finally escape the middle of our patch of blue. It was pitch black as we approached the gap between St. Maarten and St. Barths. Occasional squalls rolled through as we headed for our long awaited destination. I came on deck to help Paul keep a lookout for other boats around 9:30. As we came closer I strained to see ahead in the darkness, the only light being the ambient light from the islands. I didn’t want to hit any of the rocks between these two islands when we were so near to finishing our voyage. About 7 miles out I got a phone signal and called Kim to let her know we were almost there. We entered Simpson Bay and dropped the anchor at 12:10 am, for a time of 17 days, 17 hours and 30 minutes. I went to bed anticipating being back in civilization tomorrow.

Photos here:
http://photobucket.com/Sailing2012_2013