Richard

Dear King Neptune,

Thank you for allowing me into your playground full of fickle winds, waves, currents and surprises. It was a thrilling, fun, educational and exhausting experience. I hope after reading of my adventure, you will allow me into your Blue Water Society.

Saturday, November 23, 2007 St. Georges, Bermuda (L 32° 22.8’ N, Lo 64° 40.5’ W)

I had never done a blue water sail before and I jumped on the opportunity to crew on a leg on a friend’s sailing journey from New York City to Auckland, New Zealand – I would sail with them from Bermuda to Saint Martin. Approximately 1,000 NM. We anticipated eight to ten days at sea with no land, no bail outs in sight. Three-hour-on, 8-hour-off shifts. A working and learning experience. My expectations matched my gear: foulies, tether, head lamp, insulated boots, fleece, wool, shorts, t-shirts, and plenty of sun screen.

I arrived in Bermuda at 3:30 PM by plane after learning too late that if one intends to arrive with a one-way airline ticket and sail off into the blue waters, one must arrive with a letter signed by the skipper identifying oneself by name and flight number and the sailing vessel by name and registration. It took my skipper three days to get such a letter printed and faxed to airport immigration.

‘Bandit’, a beautiful Saga 43, skipper Tom Buchannan and able seaman Greg Larsen were waiting for me at the White Horse Tavern, where they were picking us vittles Greg had cooked on board and the barkeep had surprisingly offered to freeze.

We set sail at 4:30 PM.  My wonderful visit to Bermuda lasted only an hour. A weather window was about to open; a cold front was due to pass in the morning, and we wanted to use it to get south and east, but also to be sufficiently south when it hit so that the impact would be light.

Five-thirty PM, just as we turned south and began to be beamed by 6-8 foot rollers, I threw up breakfast, lunch and dinner. Greg laid me down on the lazaret, gave me a pillow, and laughed with understanding. It only took me an hour to finish that ordeal and then I was good to go for the rest of the journey.

We didn’t like leaving in darkness, but it's worked really well. We sail very fast in reaching breezes. The three of us change gears, reefing and shaking reefs, constantly to keep the boat carving along at top speed. By Saturday night, 24 hours later, we had clocked up 188 NM. Tom is pretty sure it’s a record for his boat.

We continue fast through Sunday and Sunday night.

Nights begin black and squally and foulies are necessary. I’ve never seen such darkness: You hear the boat carving through the water, but nothing can be seen outside of the cockpit. Then the full moon comes out and seems to dry the sky. You can see for miles. I feel like I’m riding in a roller coaster, roaring down the faces of big ocean rollers catching us from the north. I’m happy to be aboard: I love driving, navigating, trimming, and I am trying to learn about the elusive weather. I have also develop a good friendship with Otto P. Lot, our tireless autopilot.

By Sunday night, after slightly less than 48 hours sailing, we realize what a great passage we’re having. We’ve already traveled 377 NM and are almost a full day's run ahead of our plan. We're now 26 degrees north, around 120 NM north of the North Easterly Trades, so all going well we can use that for a fast reach into St Martin. We'll see how that goes, but that's the plan.

Winds during the day have been consistently between 20-25 knots and have us traveling frequently in the 8's and 9's knots. Monday they are down to 15 knots. The chop is all gone, and we're left with long ocean swells from the NE, and a beautiful sunset among high cumulus clouds. The rollers are probably 8 footers, but the wave period is so long we just slide up and they pass underneath us without any major motion.

The days are getting warmer and t-shirts and shorts come out during the day.

We're now abeam with the top of the Bahamas, or southern Florida, and it feels great. Dark blue water that's 29.1C! But we're also 900nm from the mainland, so it does feel very remote out here! We've only seen two freighters since leaving Bermuda.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007 – Atlantic Ocean, reaching in the NE Tradewinds

We just changed course, from due south, to a more westerly course towards St Martin. Our current position is 22N, 61W, or 257nm from St Martin. We picked up the trades at around 24N, and we're now in 25 knot north easterlies under a beautiful, warm sky with Simpson's like clouds. The boat is reaching nicely, but for the last couple of days we've had too much wind and it has led to large seas; somewhat uncomfortable sailing. As a result we have had a triple reefed main up for much of the last 24 hours; this morning we shook out the reef and we've accelerated back up to a respectable 7.8 knts. We have the fishing line out: we've decided our lure only causes amusement among the local fish; even the seaweed won't hook on it.

For the last 24 hours it has been too bumpy to sleep. We've sailed well below the southern tip of Florida, and we're now close to the latitude of Cuba's southern shore, Guantanamo Bay in fact, albeit it is 800nm to our west. Directly south of us, through the Caribbean, is the Rio Delta in Venezuela (790nm south). On my midnight to 3:00 AM shift, 20-foot rollers are coming at us from two directions: north and north east. On two occasions, when two of these rollers combined, they lifted the port side of the boat and dropped the starboard side into the water. Each time more than a 1,000 gallons of water passed through the cockpit before she righted. Wow! Thank goodness I was tethered in on the opposite side!

We've seen one sailboat (at night, which we tried to hail unsuccessfully) and two freighters. Otherwise, absolutely nothing: no birds, no fish. It feels like just us, sliding down the ocean swells, on our own little disk of the ocean, with water from horizon to horizon.

Weather reports come through on our single-sideband from Southbound II, a service run by Herb Hilengen out of his house in Canada. Pretty fun listening to him providing wx and routing advice to snowbirds sailing south, and boats coming in from Europe via the Canary Islands. We sense the Caribbean is going to have a lot of sailboats in this winter!

Thursday, November 29, about 4:30 AM. I sight the lights of St. Martin and call ‘land ho’ down into the cabin to my two sleeping mates. Greg, without waking, rolls over and mouths the sound of an opening bear can. A boat tradition: he gets to call the drink of choice for celebrating once we are anchored in St. Martin’s Marigot Bay.

We arrived in Marigot this morning, after slowing down a bit overnight so we would arrive at daybreak. Still amazes me that after sailing 1000nm, suddenly two islands appear where you think they should, and suddenly you can hear the sound of frogs and crickets, and a loom from the islands light.

We had a fast trip. Tom estimated 8 days; I thought potentially up to 10-12. We ended up getting here in five and a half days. It was a great run (albeit a little uncomfortable at times).

It's warm and fun and the water is pristine. It doesn’t take long for us to dive in.

Saturday, December 1, 2007.

After two day of recuperation, it’s time to sail again – to explore the beaches of St Martin/St Maarten – but we find we have a broken boom. A fitting failed where the vang attaches.

It took us the best part of a week to get the boom off, repaired in Simpson Bay, St. Maarten, and then rerigged. Instead of sailing the Caribbean Islands as expected, we swam, drank beer and cocktails, and ate out (but we got our best meals aboard as Greg and I traded efforts in the galley).

Saturday, December 8, 2007

It’s time for me to fly back to New York City. I say a sad to say goodbye to Tom and Greg. They’re good guys and good sailors and I’ll miss them dearly, but I’m already thinking that ‘perhaps I’ll join them on another leg on their trip to Auckland!’

Respectfully submitted by Richard Jesaitis – December 2007

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