Barbuda..ahhhh

[Maryanne]Antigua and Barbuda were lumped together on independence from Britain. Just 30 miles of ocean separate them, but they are worlds apart. From the little I had read of Barbuda, I really wanted to go.. I used my wifely charm to finally convince Kyle to take us there. It was certainly worth it.

Of course, I had never heard of Barbuda a few months ago, now I am becoming an expert on Caribbean geography. Barbuda is NOT Bermuda (of the triangle fame) and nor is it Barbados (much further to the South East) - although all were (once, or still are) British colonies.

[Kyle]Almost everything we had read about Barbuda said things like "the last unspoiled Island in the Caribbean", or "real desert island". Only half the size of Antigua, but with just 2% of the population, there is reportedly vast areas of the island to explore that remain wilderness. It's 1400 residents have so far managed to avoid the enticements of developers, and the island remains simple, communal (no land ownership) and independent minded, even though it is tied with Antigua.

We got up very early, left Indian Creek in the dark (nerve racking, and thankful for our radar and previous plot of our route in) and immediately turned into the teeth of both the trade winds and the equatorial current - which made for a rather unpleasant three hours trying to get around the East side of Antigua (while trying to be gentle on our rig). Once we were clear of Antigua, we made good time the rest of the way to Barbuda. Unlike mountainous (well, hilly) Antigua, which can be seen from many (up to 50) miles away, Barbuda is low and flat country (125') - only becoming visible about 5 miles out. The entire island of Barbuda is surrounded by coral reefs, and every guidebook we had admonished against approaching the island in the dark or in poor lighting (now you realize why we left so early) - we wanted to enter the coral studded anchorage with the sun behind us and in good visibility. With Maryanne up on the bow she guided us through the passes and around the coral heads into 4.5' of water over white sand.

We found a spot as close to the beach as we dared (so the dingy row would be short), and marveled at our location - again we were the only boat anchored in sight, on the south of the island, protected by the reefs with a nice breeze (no bugs, plenty of electricity). The most AMAZING thing was the water; it really is the colour portrayed in the magazines - like the sky turned upside down, the boat floating above it just 5' (or so) above the surface. We could see our anchor chain stretching away from the bow and disappearing into the sand ahead of us. The water just screamed "Jump in!" and with much haste we broke out the snorkel gear and swam to the nearby coral patch to explore. We were told later that tropical storms had destroyed much of the reef - this was evident in the many large broken corals covered with sand, but even so, the sea life was much more varied and interesting than it had been at Indian Creek. We spent the rest of the day hovering over schools of angel fish, watching timid parrot fish guarding their caves; puffer and box fish; and so many more. The whole thing was fascinating to float over and watch. Eventually the sun moved low in the sky and we returned to Footprint, where we realized we hadn't eaten since breakfast! That was soon rectified!

The night was magnificent. There were no lights ashore and the only signs of human habitation apart from the distant glow of Antigua was a lonely street lamp about 5 miles away. The stars were brilliant, there was a nice bug free breeze to keep us cool (and batteries charged) and in the background, the soothing sound of the surf.

Indian Creek - 19 Nov

[Kyle]Since someone can only be expected to live in one place for so long, and since we'd already been in English Harbour for a week, we decided a little change in scenery was in order. Our first stop (2 nights and one full day) was a little harbour about 2 miles east: Indian Creek.

Unlike the hustle and bustle of English Harbour, Indian Creek (apart from us, and the goats on the surrounding hills) was completely deserted; we had the whole anchorage to ourselves. Like English Harbour it is surrounded on all sides by high, green hills. It was reported to be very tricky and difficult to get into and shallow once inside, so we felt our way in carefully and were rewarded with all the solitude you could need.

We arrived late afternoon (after numerous errands in English Harbour), and the first evening we were able to lay on deck and enjoy the stars for at least half an hour before we retired with exhaustion (mostly we sleep when it's dark). The next day, fully rested, we cracked open my new snorkel gear for the first time and took the dingy to one of the reefs by the entrance where we spent a few hours simply enjoying the different corals and fish. This was the first time we had used the Portland Pudgy as a snorkel platform, which worked well, although we were not graceful when climbing back in and I have a few new scars to prove it. After snorkeling we took the dingy high into the creek, into the mangroves, out of sight of Footprint. It was beautiful, but as soon as we were out of the sunlight and in the shade we were besieged by "teefs" (Flying teeth, or no-see-ums, or sand flies!); the discomfort was immediate and unbearable, so we found ourselves performing an emergency evacuation back into the sunlight. Lesson learned! Shade BAD!

Low Mileage, One Previous Owner

[Kyle]What do you do if you are in Antigua, and too cheap to rent a car, or even a scooter; Go to Grab an Ass! where "Our Assess have been thoroughly checked over by certified Ass-nitions".

Seriously, we didn't have much of an interesting day. We trudged miles in the hot sun with various minor chores. We went to a local rigger, only to be told that the items we ordered last week, were not actually ordered yet, they weren't sure if the part numbers that we double and triple checked on ordering were correct - did we still want to place the order? We purchased new dinghy oars (for 4x the quoted price), and returned to the rigging place to be told the guy we need to deal with is out for the day, Propane fills were delayed a day,etc, etc, etc. We are certainly (forced to be) on Island time; all part of the experience.

On our long trudge back to English Harbour we spotted this poor animal being harassed by an over energetic little dog who had chased her into the street. Maryanne, being the good samaritan that she is, dove into traffic, picked up the line that was trailing behind, and led the donkey to safety. We continued our walk with the poor animal in tow, trying to establish where she had come from. After repeated blanks we found a guy who seemed to know where the donkey belonged and directed us to the appropriate gate, from which we assume she was able to wander her way back home. Fortunately, she was very tame and had a sweet disposition. She seemed happy enough to follow Maryanne wherever she was led. Luckily there was no stubborn ass scene in the middle of the local road and traffic.

[Maryanne]This was such a cute donkey, she really did seem pleased to be rescued from the dog, and in human hands. It was a nice sidebar to our otherwise dull day. We thought of a number of headlines for the picture, perhaps you can think of others.
My number 1 choice was Does my ass look big in this?


[Kyle]As for the legs, they are mine, covered with mosquito bites. They mosquitoes here don't actually seem so bad, we don't feel swarmed by them, etc. But they do come out at night when we are trying to sleep. The problem is that it is too hot to sleep with the hatches closed, or even with a sheet on. Unprotected, you get mauled. We usually try to stay protected by keeping a sheet up to our chins, but every couple of hours it gets unbearably hot and you have to throw the sheet off until shortly thereafter you hear the buzz of the mosquitoes about you. They know that you know, you know!

[Maryanne]Now! First of all we have a ton of bug spray, and citronella candles, but Kyle either thinks he does not need these, or is being environmentally safe and doesn't want to use such chemicals (I have no qualms). We also have mosquito netting / covers for the boat and the hatches - but for the last week, we have had constant short rain showers, and the hatches can't be opened and closed if the bug screen is on (poor design!). So we need to invest in a mosquito net for the bed, AND I need to design and make rain/bug covers for the hatches so we can leave the hatches open in the rain and still be protected.

Oh joys, more jobs!

Shirley Heights - Take 2

[Maryanne]We loafed around most of the morning. We were intending to collect our new oars later in the day. Much of the communication on the island is done by VHF rather than phone, so we were able to contact our supplier who told us the oars were in, but he was out for the afternoon; advising us to come tomorrow. No problem!

So we decided instead to try a new trail, that Kyle had noticed on his "Swallow's and Amazon's" dinghy trip the other day.

As Kyle and I have discovered trails in the area, we have followed them. For the most part they seem to be (so far) managed by the an informal club known as Royal Navy Tot Club. We have taken to calling them the "Dot Club" as we follow the white painted dots, for which we have been very grateful many times. The trails pass through various National Parks, and some are quite hard going. After taking a 1/2 mile trail from Freeman Bay to Shirley Heights, gaining 148m (485') to reach the top, we had assumed the 1.5 mile trail with the same start and end would be a more leisurely, and gentle climb. WRONG! this just looped further around the cliffs, took us up AND down, passed some spectacular rock ledge formations scrambling in places like goats, slipping around WAY too close to sheer drops, while all the time avoiding the prickly cacti and other plants. We deserved a drink when we arrived at the top.

This time we had Shirley Heights to ourselves, and it had such a different feel to it; we were able to take some time to admire the scenery, and reflect on our hard earned elevation. Finally the weather was clear enough that for the first time we could see Guadeloupe in the distance. We took the 1/2 mile trail back down, one that we had previously considered steep was now an easy walk! (Or maybe we are simply getting our land legs back?).

We finished the day with a drink at the Galleon bar, and a swim in Freeman Bay to cool down and refresh us.

Shirley Heights

[Kyle]For today’s excursion, Maryanne and I slept in a bit so that we would be able to stay up late partying at what is pretty much billed as THE thing to do on the Southern end of the island: Sunday night at Shirley Heights.
Shirley Heights is on a high hill just to the East of English Harbour. During the British Navy’s occupation of English Harbour, it was used as a strategic lookout and gun location opposite the harbor entrance from Fort Berkeley, much lower down. Now it is occupied by the ruins of those structures plus some covered picnic tables, a bar and a big patio used as a barbecue area, all with sweeping views of pretty much the entire country.

We (That’s the Royal ‘we’) rowed to the dinghy dock on Galleon Beach at Freeman Bay (The Cheap Bastards Guide to Antigua that lives in my head and has yet to be written says it’s a good way to avoid the $5 cab ride). We climbed the steep ½ mile trail from the beach to Shirley Heights, occasionally popping out of the dense forest for an ever expanding view of the local area.

Antigua has very strange forests. They are very green and the undergrowth is very thick, which is to be expected in a tropical rainforest, but almost all the flora is of the dry climate variety. It looks as if someone took all of the plants from a square mile of Arizona desert and replanted them on an acre. Since there’s so much moisture, these plants are all huge, particularly the Aloe Vera and many of them are hosts to various giant bromeliads (air plants). It’s a bit schizophrenic but very pretty.

Anyway, the appeal of Shirley Heights on Sunday (and to a lesser degree, Thursday as well) is that they have live music.

We arrived via the footpath just as AMP Halcyon, who aptly call themselves a steel orchestra, were starting to play. They have two or three members playing traditional western instruments but the bulk of the large group were each playing huge sets of steel drums.

Since things were obviously not yet in full swing and we weren’t hungry yet, Maryanne and I went for a walk around the ruins and along the cliffs to take some pictures.

By the time we returned about thirty minutes later, the parking lot was filling up fast with mini buses. The main area was shoulder to shoulder with tourists shouting loudly at one another to be heard over each other and the music. It reminded me if an over crowded bar on a Saturday night. There was virtually no hope of getting to the edge for a view. It seemed that every tourist on the island was here. We bought some food and managed to wedge ourselves onto a corner of one of the tables long enough to eat it but by the time we were through, the place had become even more crowded. We decided we couldn’t take it any more and headed back down the footpath, rushing to get to the bottom before it got too dark to see (our original plan was to get a cab back). There was a nice open air bar on the beach that had maybe half a dozen people enjoying the view. The acoustics of the Harbour are such that we could still hear the music well and we had a nice relaxing drink with some very nice cruisers who gave us some good tips on how to avoid ‘tourist prices’.

On the way back in the dinghy, we stopped on the other side of the harbor at Nelson’s to dump our trash and have another drink at the Galley Bar – the place that served us that horrible food the first day. We figured that if we didn’t eat and stuck to rum, it would be okay. It was such a beautiful warm evening. The Dockyard was deserted except for a nice cruising couple and a couple of locals having a drink at the bar, one of them varnishing one end of the bar.

Oh, what fun we had! The poor guy doing the varnish, a rasta man called Flute, had all of us sailors standing over him watching him varnish while interjecting our own varnishing experience. We all agreed that he did a very nice job. “The trick,” He said in a thick West Indian accent, “is five rum punch, maybe ten rum punch!” (are you listening, JD?) It broke the ice, though and after the other cruisers left, we had a good time talking to the Antiguans about pretty much everything. We finally felt like we had started experiencing the culture and the people we had come so far to see and feel like we have made some new friends. One of the things we were proud to learn was that on November 5th, the Antiguan government renamed Boggy Peak, the highest point in the country, Obama Peak.

After staying up as late as we could, we headed back to Footprint feeling good. We were almost the last out of the bar. Just as I was falling asleep, I looked at my watch. Only 8:30!! Man, are we a couple of geezers.

You Drop Someting?

[Kyle] Having had a day of brisk tourism, we set out to find a place to buy a sim card for our phone (not open weekends) and orient ourselves further. We walked the half mile to Falmouth Harbor to the main shopping area and were amazed to find real stores with actual stuff. The grocery store was well stocked and reasonably priced, as was a bookstore upstairs. There were a couple of cafes with tables spilling out on the deck full of people on laptops having conversations with each other. We bought a couple of delicious Rotis (a nice portable Indian dish) from a woman selling them out of a basket in front of the store for something like four bucks each. Walking back, we were trying to be inconspicuous while perusing the drink menu through a window of a local bar when we were spotted by Zola, The Jamaican barmaid who insisted that we come in, sweeping us in her arms like old friends. Contrary to what Maryanne has been saying, I had not managed to have any actual rum since we've been here. I almost did yesterday. When we sat at what turned out to be an unacceptably snooty restaurant (well, now we know), Maryanne ordered a rum and a beer and then handed me the beer! Back to today. It turns out that rum here is cheaper than beer and I finally got to try a couple of different things for practically nuttin'. Now that's more like it! We had a couple of games of fooseball (bar football) and pool and returned to English Harbour in good cheer. We had a nice amble around the museum and grounds right after the cruise ship people left on their buses.

Shops were all starting to close and the place was shutting down, but it was still early, so I set up the sailing rig on the dinghy and thought we'd go sailing around the harbor. Maryanne said she was tired and didn't want to risk too much sun, so I dropped her off at the boat for a nap and went a-dinghyin'.

Since the harbor is so well protected from the tradewinds by the high hills, the winds at water level are very swirly and with all of the moored boats, it makes for some very challenging dinghy sailing that was a lot of fun. I eventually made my way into Freeman Bay just inside the entrance to English Harbour and landed on a nice, white beach shaded by palms under lush, green hills for a walk around and to take some pictures.

I had been tacking back and forth in the shifting winds for the better part of an hour trying to make it past the boats to the beach, which was directly upwind. I would think I was going to clear a boat, and then the wind would shift and I'd have to tack. Then it would die and shift again so I would have to tack back. It was a real struggle to get to that beach. Meanwhile, I was providing the entertainment for the people on the boats and the few on the beach. Often, I would spend several minutes and several attempts getting past a boat. My hands were full, with one on the tiller and the other on the mainsheet but every time I got within hailing distance, I would make a point of giving a nod and saying hello or good afternoon. In every instance except one, this was met with a cold, blank, Deliverance-like stare from the occupants. Up until now, the sight of someone sailing around the harbor in a distinctive orange dinghy with a distinctive orange sail tended to bring people out to their rails to ask what kind of boat it is or say that it looked like a lot of fun or just to say hi. Here - nuttin', just the stare.

I landed on the beach and walked to the other end towards a trail leading into the trees. On the way, I passed a few of the tourists who had been watching me. As I went by, I would smile and say hello. One woman completely ignored me and went about composing a text message. A couple at the far end, who had been watching me with great interest half an hour before, returned my hello by silently turning over onto their fronts to tan the other half.

I scrambled through the forest to another small beach. There were two guys launching a dinghy into the surf who gave me a brief glance of recognition. I waved and said hello. They climbed into their dinghy and sped off without any further acknowledgement of my presence. I was starting to feel like a cop in a land of fugitives.

Still, I don't get it. After Maryanne and I arrived, I was so glad to finally be in this beautiful place that I wanted to go around saying hi to everybody. Even considering that the land tourists came by a short plane ride and that most of the boats probably made much shorter sails from a nearby island, the beauty of the place seems incongruous with such anti-social behavior. I get up in the morning and breathe in the unpolluted air and look at the lush, green hills and think "Aaahhh! This is nice." I want to smile and wave at everybody.

I suppose this could be a cultural misunderstanding. Most of the boats here have British ex-pats on them or other Europeans to whom I may seem much too forward as the American going around saying 'hi'. But the British I know in Britain are some of the loveliest, most polite people I have ever met (I even married one of them).

Maryanne said the locals here are indifferent. I disagree. All of our guidebooks say that West Indians don't smile out of politeness or courtesy, only if something is funny. I get a feeling that there is a long-standing tradition, sad as it may be, not to bother tourists unless they address you first or to engage in frivolous conversation. Nevertheless, almost every time we have come within earshot of West Indians, they will say good morning, good afternoon or hello. The etiquette around here is that you don't go into a store and just start ordering things without first exchanging pleasantries or thanking and wishing a good day on the way out.

Perhaps most of the boaters have been here so long that they all know each other and thus know that we're new. Rather than welcoming us as fellow travellers, they have been here long enough to feel like a tribe that is threatened by newcomers, so we get treated like the new kid in class. Whatever. They're jerks. [Maryanne] One guy so far, John, on a large motor yacht, has been helpful - for John we are grateful!

[Kyle] So... Maryanne and I, in a unilateral attempt to change the status quo, have decided to start saying a friendly 'hello' to everyone we meet (wear them down!), as is West Indian custom.

Which brings us back to the title of today's rant. "You drop someting?" is an Antiguan saying that translates to "Excuse me, you seem to have forgotten to say hello." I think it's derived from the 'ting' you dropped being your manners.

Anyway, enjoy some nice pictures from my excursion.

Pictures from Galleon Beach - English Harbour Eastern Shore (Antigua)

Itchy Feet in Antigua

[Maryanne]Today, Kyle and I managed to be tourists in English Harbour, Antigua. English Harbour is a very small hamlet, and is the historic location of an early (18th century) port for the British Navy. Many of the early buildings still exist, and are restored and in regular use. There is also an original fort (Fort Berkeley), and several buildings on the hills surrounding English Harbour and the neighboring Falmouth Harbour.

We took the trails from town to Fort Berkeley, and then along the coast towards Falmouth Harbour. The trails involved plenty of elevation changes, and so lots of great views. Kyle and I got a good dose of exercise after so much time stuck on the boat. Once back in English Harbour, we sampled a few more rums, and finally managed an almost rain free day! (We also picked up our fixed Genoa and installed that back on the boat!)

The day was great, and the trails we took were reasonable (but not suitable for flip flops). The coastline trail was well marked with white paint dots every once in a while (although it certainly seemed longer than the 1 miles advertised). We met plenty of wild goats, but no other tourists on the trail! The plant life was a wonderful mix, and there were plenty of small lizards rustling out of our path as we tramped through the trail. We spent some time at a beautiful Pigeon Beach (took a dip to cool down), and had great views of English Harbor and Falmouth Harbour from the higher peaks.

For the journey, we packed a small picnic and supplemented that with pasties and turnovers from the local baker - we'll definitely be back to sample more of their wares.

A great day, well apart from Kyle's conflict with a fire ant compound - he still has itchy feet this evening!

OK - what broke?

[Maryanne]Yesterday Kyle finally made it up the mast to inspect the rigging in the safety of a calm anchorage. This gave us a little additional insight into what may have happened during the trip - especially our day two storm issue.

So here we write about the various failures (or anything negative discovered) on the boat during the 1800+nm journey. We are still piecing together clues for the major rigging failures - but naturally are glad to be safe and well. Both PCI and Selden are helping us determine what happened and what might need replacing of the standing rigging. I'll post more as we discover more info. (FYI our boat is Gemini 105Mc, hull #976, 2007)

• Genoa base Furler unit – cap came unscrewed, lifted on luff. We surmise it then somehow caught and unlocked/opened the tack quick release shackle. Caused jib to unfurl from double reefed to fully open in a storm, genoa got twisted around screacher halyard, and took some thought process to recover to deck! In fact we think this led to a whole slew of related incidents... (See Day 2 report for the actual event
  
  
  
  • Need to replace 2x bolts for cap – parts on order
    
  • Subsequent inspection (1700 nm later, once at anchor) of the upper stay rigging shows severely distorted metal up there – need to consider unstepping mast to repair / replace items. We had no idea of this distortion or we would have turned around / or found harbor earlier. – to seek expert help
    
  • Subsequent inspection of the lower stbd spreader shows both bolts have sheared - need to understand how we can replace these (i.e. how to remove the old bolt parts now in the mast! - to seek expert help
    
  • Stbd flag halyard broke away (cable tie failed and it dropped to deck) – fixed.
    
  • Later in the sail the lower genoa furler unit broke free (see Day 14 report. A split pin failed, the clevis pin slipped out and left the unit swinging on the deck. We managed to recover and reinstall this, however the whole unit seemed shorter (we assumed we were imagining it). Eventual refitting involved removing the backstays to allow the forward stay to reach its fittings. – Fixed, but to review with expert help
    
  • Mast Head light stopped working – day 2 – replaced with spare bulb – need to order new bulb
    
  • Jib sun cover stitching broken – Repaired at local sailmaker in Antigua
    
  • Radar reflector skew – leave bent or fix when mast issues addressed
    
  • Gelcoat by anchor roller chipped, needs patch (I assume from attempts to restrain the flailing jib using the anchor hook) – To fix
    
  • Mainsail head slider failed – Spare parts on order - also need to email Selden with details
    
  • Holes / stretch areas in Genoa – presumably from battle on day 2 – repaired with sail tape – need to find extra sail tape when possible
    
  • Latest find - we are seeing slight rust stains on the starboard side shrouds, just in one strand (of the 3) in each shroud. I assume this is a sign of the stress the shrouds were under at some point.
    
  
  
• Ring pin on stbd preventer pulled free – replaced
  
• Still to check for water in rear buoyancy tanks – to check
  
• Water in tool locker – to identify where coming from and resolve
  
• Water in bilges (pumped daily- about 10 manual pumps per bilge) - to identify where coming from and resolve
  
• Water in Port step locker – 3-4” drained at end of trip to identify where coming from and resolve
  
• Water in sail locker – 12” – removed plug and drained while at sea (should not have left plug in for this trip – added to check list) fixed.
  
• Leaking galley hatch – can’t find any obvious reason why, luckily leaks to floor, not on sofa area – turned out to be a small (peppercorn size) seed stuck in hinge area – which prevented full /proper closure - but now removed, all seems well – whew!
  
• Leak in Port q berth – beneath wind generator support pole mount – need to rebed.
  
• Galley light fitting – loose connections – fixed
  
• Stb Jib winch playing up – to service - to service
  
• Oar sheared while rowing Portland Pudgy – new oars on order at local store.
  
• Wall between Stbd Q berth and fridge – bolt/nut came undone/loose – glue useless– to replace / reinforce attachment points
  
• Loose lifelines – mostly on stbd side. Not heat related? Still trying to understand why this happened. To adjust in the mean time
  
• Stbd bulkhead (galley – masterberth) – more noisy than usual, door trim loosened. Investigate for any issues
  
• MOB Pole – flag stitching – to fix / replace
  
• Stanchion mounted furler line roller – pin lost – to replace
  
• Mag compass – needs adjusting (never done this, tried at sea, unable to adjust correctly) – research manual / info – possible issue with compass
  
• Galley sliding door – handle broke free (“glass” cracked off on handle end) – try superglue for now.
  
• Rear Nav light – internal corrosion noticed – clean / have spare bulb to hand – possibly new unit
  
• Star finder – 2x15 degrees charts, no 25 degrees chart! – contact Weems & Plath for replacement
  
• Autopilot acting up once we passed 1000nm on trip log – reset to zero – autopilot ok again – quirk noted.
  
• Cockpit locker bungie lost – to replace
  
• 4x cockpit throwable cushions lost – to replace
  

I hope to do a more positive "What worked" post once we have settled down a little.

We Made it

Kyle lowers the Q flag (used until we clear customs and immigration) and hoists the Antigua & Barbuda Courtesy Flag - officially marking our arrival
[Maryanne]I'm not really sure how I feel. Arriving somewhere (anywhere) after a few days at sea is not exactly like arriving on a plane for your vacation/holiday in the tropics. You don't throw your suitcase on the hotel bed and get out to explore - there are immediate chores to do, sleep to catch up with, and eventually even emails and blogs :-). I suspect it takes several days to really feel that you are on holiday. I'm not sure I'm ready to recommend it. I'll let you know in a few days.

We have been overwhelmed by the emails and blog comments from friends, family and fellow boaters that have clearly been following our progress, and this has given us a wonderful feeling of warmth and community. We don't feel as though we are taking our travels alone at all. Thanks for all of you who commented in any way. We were really glad (and surprised) to know the communications we put in place were both working, and used by so many.

We posted daily position reports on Yotreps, along with a small text update (a yotreps postcard), We also posted a couple of blog updates from off shore, and emails so our immediate family knew we were making progress. We did this using our Satellite phone. We also were able to receive regular weather updates from NOAA (using Sailnet email subscription system); getting a text weather report, and a GRIB file - all these made us feel that we knew what to expect from the weather and the day(s) ahead. We were glad that these communication systems never failed us, even if the weather forecasts weren't always as accurate as we would have liked.

We had several really scary moments on the journey. Kyle's climb of the mast was not a success. The genoa (head sail) coming unfurled in the storm and it's subsequent recovery, and of course, the worst, the forestay disconnecting. We were lucky it disconnected at the base of the stay, and that it was furled, and that we were in calm weather at the time. All these problems we resolved, and I guess they add to our salty-ness as sailors. We also had some wonderful and fun moments too: Sunsets and sunrises, dolphins, sun sights, reading, flying fish landing on the boat, and just hanging out with the man I love.

And of course the world did not stop without us. There were birthdays, "Fireworks Night", and the big election. We were ecstatic to hear of the Obama win, and are looking forward to catching his acceptance speech and hopefully see a new order to civilization where America is once again seen as friend to the world. Thanks to everyone who shared their own emotions on the news; these were great emails to receive on our arrival.

For now, we take a few days rest before exploring our new found paradise. Here are pictures from the bay where Footprint is anchored - not too bad eh? (you can click on any of the pictures to enlarge them and see more details).



Finally - you may notice the new map of our position over on the side bar - well this is thanks to a fellow Gemini owner and blogger, Scott. He is a bit of a wiz with technology and did this after following our route for a while. Thanks Scott

Last Few Days of Passage

Maryanne gets an easy turn at the wheel - Sun at last
[Kyle]Day 15
Marvelous weather! Fair winds and following seas. We finally left 60 degrees west to head for Antigua. The day was clear and the night was warm. We had a pod of about 20 dolphins playing at the bow at sunrise. Suddenly, the weather was so nice and conditions so serene, that I felt a tinge of melancholy about our impending arrival. Sure, it will be nice to get there, but I'm going to miss the wonderful solitude and the stars on the clear nights. If it were like this, I could easily spend a month out here with the clouds and the waves on my thoughts. I knew when we got to shore it was going to be very busy. We were finally getting close enough to need to slow down to avoid landfall at night - this takes the strain off the boat and us. We had not much to do, but watch the sky and wait for a big green piece of land to appear.

Day 16
Well we are really closing in on it now, we have less than 100 miles left and have slowed down to avoid arriving at night. The wind is now behind us and we are going slow with relatively little sail up. The day was so hot that sleeping inside during the day was difficult (we keep the hatches closed underway to prevent waves getting in). I wish it had been this way more of the time. Just after sunset, Maryanne spotted some lights on the horizon, looking through the binoculars showed them to be the very top blinking lights from two different radio towers on Antigua - "Land Ho!".

Day 17
Our first day in Paradise. I came on watch at midnight after sleeping fitfully with anticipation. By then, there were lights from a couple of towns clearly visible and the once empty horizon was busy. Maryanne had shortened sail further and we were now scheduled to arrive just after sunrise. The bright moon was a day from being full, and in the light I could see squalls approaching from the east (now we have to look East to see what weather is headed towards us). The wind had slowly started to die so I decided to wait until the squall passed. As it arrived, the wind, rather than increasing, stopped completely and just poured buckets of straight down rain for 30 minutes or so. Afterward the wind never came back up. I shook out all the reefs from the sails and was able to start moving at a speed between zero and almost zero (bloody hell!). After an hour or so, it did finally come back up again and with full sail we seemed to be back on schedule.

Wet Kyle Arrives in Antigua - Or is it Scotland?
Another squall passed with no wind and then blocked from view the whole island until it passed over that too. I woke Maryanne at 5:45 just as it was getting light out, we could only see the outline of Antigua's hills in the heavy rains. Just as we were getting ready to make the turn around the SE corner of the island, yet another squall hit. The wind rose to almost 30kt, and I got drenched. Ordinarily we can carry full sail up to 18kt. Wind force increases by the speed squared so we suddenly had way to much sail up. I turned downwind to reduce the relative wind speed, but that heading was directly towards shallow water. I had to hope the squall would run its course before we got to the rocks. Otherwise, Maryanne was going to have to get wet reefing while I steered (as opposed to hiding out inside as she prefers in the rain). The squall did run out before any risk of hitting land, but we could see that there were more and more lined up behind. Looking at the island and the heavy rain, Maryanne remarked that it looked and felt like we were about to make landfall in Scotland, not tropical Antigua.

English Harbour is approached from the SE by heading right at what looks like a high rocky shore. Only at the last minute does a gap open up and allow us to see the masts nested within. As soon as we got in, the protection of the surrounding high ring of hills stopped the fierce wind and the water flattened. The place is actually pretty small, and filled with boats from all over, many of which seem to have been here for quite a while ([Maryanne] Many look as though they have been abandoned to the elements, but we noticed lights aboard in the evening so I guess we've seen some exotic boat bums now!]) [Kyle] We searched for a spot to anchor and managed to find one just big enough in the North end of Ordinance Bay, but the anchor dragged - twice. We went around the corner to Tank Bay, just in front of Nelson's dock yard (as in, of course, Admiral Horatio Nelson) and found a spot between another catamaran and shore, close enough that we could almost jump to either.

The rain stopped for a while, and the sun came out. It got HOT. I'm talking Houston in the summer HOT. Everything which had been soaking in the rain started steaming - man was it HOT. I put on some long pants and a long sleeve shirt (torture) to look respectable for my visit to customs. On the way it rained hard again, and I was drenched again. My glasses were useless for seeing through. At customs and immigration I managed to meet what so far had been the only 4 people on the island in a perpetual bad mood (It's universal isn't it? The official role of all officials?) I had to return to the boat after clearing customs so that Maryanne could present herself to Immigration, she was in the process of tidying the boat for a possible custom's inspection and was rapidly loosing her cool. Everytime the sun came out she would open the hatches for some air, then it would rain and she would have to run around closing them and sweat in the still heat of the boat ([Maryanne] I never did get around to making those rain covers for the hatches - my own fault)

[Kyle]We went ashore, cleared immigration and paid our port fees, then went for a stroll around. Nelson's dock yard was surprisingly small and trim and very quiet. We had expected that a place so big in the sailing world would resemble Annapolis or Newport, but busier and more touristy (like Martha's Vineyard?). Not so. The place has the atmosphere of a sleepy little backwater. We decided it must still be off season. The few locals were friendly and spoke in Caribbean accents so thick that we could barely understand them. Fortunately, like the Scots, they can tone it down to a tourist English that we can just make out.

Our goal for the day though was not tourism, but to quickly dispense with some pressing "non fun" jobs that needed doing. We spoke to a sail maker who said to get in today in order to avoid a line for fixing our salami. We also desperately needed to do laundry. We had wet clothes and some bedding that really needed refreshing.

We rushed back to the boat in the heat, packed everything up and headed to shore with our laundry and sail. On the way, one of our oars broke - just broke in half - it wasn't even a tough row! Exactly 3 seconds later, a squall came through and we found ourselves just making headway with me using the working oar and Maryanne using the stump as a paddle. We didn't make it to the dinghy dock, but manged to pull ourselves ashore using dock lines from a couple of boats we were being blown into. Nobody seemed to mind much - after all it must have been good entertainment.

I shouldered the sail bag and Maryanne got the laundry and then it rained, again! Maryanne's 25lb of laundry probably had 40lb of water in it by the time we made it to the laundry facility. The laundry attendant (Elizabeth. Antigua seems to have an attendant for everything) explained that she would do our laundry for us and we could collect it at 4:30. Lovely, we thought, that will free us to go to the Chandler (boat store) to find the other stuff we wanted from our list. Then she said it would be $36US for 3 loads (note it would have been $30US for us to do it ourselves). Are you freaking kidding me? we didn't pay that in NY city! She is the only game in town, and we REALLY needed clean laundry (which did come back clean smelling and nicely folded). Feeling ripped off and hungry, we decided to go for a quick bite and a coldie at the local cheap looking waterfront bar. $40 later we had two Carib beers each and two flavorless, greasy sandwiches - no bargain here.

The rumor was that we could find a good chandler in the next village over (about 1 mile). We had some time to kill, so we took a walk over. The chandlery was odd. It was very large, the shelves were full, yet it contained almost nothing of any use. They did have gallons and gallons of varnish and varnishing supplies; I guess when the mega-yachts arrive, this is what the crews get to do - know your customer eh! We were directed down the road another mile or so to another place. More varnish. The procedure was: you went in, they immediately asked you what you wanted, and if they thought they may have it, they would send an attendant to go and get it, the attendant would come back and say they didn't have it. We would then be asked to join the attendant and confirm for ourselves that they didn't have it. (no oars, no float cushions, no sail tape, no not'ing!) As we continued to try "the next place down the road", eventually this devolved into a mad walk in the hot sun down the main road trying to find the next option in time to turn around and still collect our laundry. Eventually at our last option, on the other side of the next harbour over, we found a rigger in an empty office who said she could order the parts for our main sail and genoa furler (head sail). We happily agreed and handed over our credit card without daring to ask how much. We went to a final chandlery that also had no parts we needed before we eventually came across a inflatable/liferaft shop who told us he had oars on order (come back Monday). In the mean time, he lent us an odd oar that would work "for now". So so far, during the long hot day, we had accomplished one thing, and our dinghy now rows in much bigger circles.

On the return to the dinghy with our loaner oar and our fresh laundry, we stopped by the local wireless (wifi internet) provider who explained we were anchored in the one place in English Harbour with no signal. Back at the boat we were exhausted, and defeated by lack of progress - we decided to move the boat so at least we would have internet access. We upped anchor and headed for a couple of likely spots, only to find we were too close to other boats, or the shore, or we dragged. During this, of course, it rained heavily; hard cold rain, and it was starting to get dark, adding urgency to the situation. Eventually, we found a less than ideal spot in Ordinance Bay that at least had a wifi signal. By the end of the day, Maryanne had put down and hauled up the anchor about 7 times, mostly in the heavy rain. Safely anchored, we dove inside to the dry of the boat and decided to at least tidy up before finally going to bed. We were actually feeling pretty miserable. So much for Paradise. We ended the day feeling hot, wet, broke, and disappointed that we had not accomplished more. The rumor is that this weather is caused by a trough going through, and that it does not normally rain here 5 minutes out of every 10 - we are looking forward to the trough passing.

Our sails are with the Sailmaker, our clean sheets are on the bed, the critical parts are on order. We have a few minor things to fix on the boat, so as soon as the rain is over, we plan to be serious tourists and really explore Antigua. We expect subsequent updates to be a lot more exotic and fun.

Kyle Writes on Week 2 Sea

[Kyle] Day 8
In the wee hours of the morning the wind started to increase again, until it finally leveled off at about 30 knots. The seas grew increasingly large and once again we found ourselves in rough, strong conditions, this time from the East. It seems that the very air that had pummeled us so badly realized it had passed us, stopped and came rushing back for another swipe at us. This made any further easting difficult and we shaped a course that slowly, grudgingly turned South. I wanted to have about a degree and a half of longitude East of our destination so that it would not be necessary to sail close to the wind once we finally hit the trade winds. So far we were about 100 miles West of that goal.

The wind was forecast to turn against us and we needed to get as far East as we could before the window shut on us. This made for some very uncomfortable sailing, we sailed at about 75 degrees to the wind and waves which is as much as we could tolerate in the 15'+ seas. The boat got slammed hard by waves that had many times her mass, in response she bends and flexes and distorts, she will come off a wave and slam down hard and the mast will oscillate back and forth sending the vibration through the rigging, and also sending my mind through everything I know about metallurgy and stress fatigue. I also find myself thinking of all of the dozens of people involved in the manufacture of this boat and her many components, only one had to be disgruntled or lazy or incompetent or careless to really mess up our lives out here.

Later that evening Maryanne and I were at the table just getting ready to eat some very hot soup when a wave made the table jump and throw Maryanne's soup into her lap. She ended up with 10 square inches of 1st degree burn on one thigh, and 2 square inches of 2nd degree burns. When the soup hit her she leapt up to keep the rest off her, and threw the soup everywhere, the boat was already getting to be a shambles from all the pounding, this did not help either of our moods. [Maryanne] Burn was not that bad, and we have a medical kit aboard to save an army, so no need to worry about me! The soup was good. Luckily there was plenty more in the pot).

[Kyle] Day 9
More of the same. We needed to stay as far east as we could in order to not beat against the trade winds later. We were crossing a stationary front and the winds were in the mid to high 20's (knots). We were getting as close as we could to it but the chop was miserable. Both of us were getting sick of all the pounding and were in pretty bad moods - fortunately not at each other. The weather is also gloomy, overcast and gray, which does not help. Neither of us were looking forward to our watches. Not 10 minutes after Maryanne went on for the night watch, just as I was climbing into bed, it started to pour, then the wind came up and she had to go on deck to reef - poor woman.

Day 10
Well the forecast looks like we'll have to sail close to the wind all the way there. These islands had better be nice! We were at the latitude of mid Florida, it was warmer but so far nothing seemed very tropical with gray clouds and rain on and off. It did calm down a bit during my afternoon watch so I took the opportunity to give the inside of Footprint a good clean and tidy. It was especially good to get all the salt we had been tracking in off the floors (Footprint alternates between having a perpetual coating of brine in most weather, and big grains of salt everywhere like a margarita glass in the sun). In the afternoon the wind started veering to the South, requiring us to turn a little west (wrong way). If it did not fill in from the East again soon we would have to tack and go NE to keep from being pushed too far West - we'd worry about South later.

Day 11
Here is pretty much how it went: King Neptune (as the Sarge) "All right, you lilly liver'd .. Um .. Lilly livers! Enough with the insults! Today's drill: Shortening he sail. YOU! Go put a reef in that mainsail". "Right away Sarge". I go up on deck and work through the methodical process of putting a reef in the mainsail (which actually reduces its size) I'm back in just under a minute. "How was that Sarge?", the Sarge, mocking me "how was that Sarge? That, son was the worst job of reefing that I have EVER seen! I've seen barnacles grow faster than that! What were you doing reading a book?! Plus you were looking the whole time, hardly any sport in that. Next time I see you looking, you are going to get a wave in the face - here comes a gust - go put another reef in and this time LETS SEE SOME HUSSLE!! Go! Go! That's it, faster, faster! Did you just eyeball me?, You'll get a wave for that. What ARE you doing? Stop sliding all over the deck on your back! Grab hold of something! NOT THAT! Grab hold of something useful! You are supposed to be reefing and it has already been 12 seconds - what is WRONG with you?" I arrived back in the cockpit, soaked and panting. "How's that?" I dared to ask. "Well son, that was a little bit better, but it was still the 2nd worst job I've ever seen behind your first attempt. Have you noticed that the boat stopped moving, now get up there and shake out those reefs, get back here, trim those sails, you'll never get anywhere if you don't trim those sails". I was about to plop down, exhausted when I noticed Sarge with a mischievous look on his face, gazing East: "Swabby" he says without looking away "what's this I see coming?....."

And so it went on like this over and over for 24 hours. As soon as either Maryanne or I would sit down, something would come up and we'd have to get up again. Neither of us got to sit still for more than 3 minutes at a time.

There is one good thing though, we can now reef or un-reef on a wildly bucking boat with little traction as waves crash over us, in the dark, in less than 15 seconds, without even waking up.

Day 12
After yesterday we are naturally very suspicious of the weather. The intensity of the wind has stabilized but the direction was all over the place. Must be trimming drills day. Today had us the furthest from land we would be for the trip: 450 miles from Bermuda and St Croix respectively. It has been a long time since we have seen anything other than seaweed, we have not even seen a bird in several days. Just as Maryanne came on for her evening watch the wind shifted South (South?! not good for our course) then died, then it started pouring - where is the nice Weather - I thought we were supposed to be in the tropics?

Day 13
I was quite pleased when I came on at midnight to see that Maryanne had coaxed about 10 miles east out of the light south winds before heading back south on the east side of the 60 degree west longitude line that we have been struggling to stay over since Bermuda. This area is supposed to be known as the NE trades but so far we have been bashing into 900 miles of SE winds, so every bit of east helps our approach angle. We don't want to find ourselves struggling up wind to clear reefs as we approach in the night (rather downwind in daylight!).

Towards sunrise, the sky cleared up and the wind picked up, slightly from the ESE. I unfurled the screacher and we were able to sail fast on relatively flat seas. In the morning we saw our first blue sky in a week. It was calm enough that I decided to have a go at fixing some of the damage up the mast from the day two storm.

I only got about 5' off the deck in the bosun's chair when the light swell had me swinging wildly. Maryanne attached another line to me to help control the swinging and determined to do the job, I continued on up. By the first spreaders, 15' up, I was pretty much completely out of control. I had my feet clamped around the baby stay, one arm on my hoisting line and one on a shroud - leaving none for work.

Maryanne was at times getting pulled completely clear of the deck trying to hold me down. Every now and then I'd lose grip of something and go swinging in huge wide arcs; occasionally just getting my head out of the way as I would slam full force into the rigging, which would the send me spinning wildly the other way. I had to use all of my strength to try to regain control. I finally got into position, hanging sideways from the chair with my feet clamped on the baby stay and both arms around the spreader. I was so tired from fighting to stay in position that I found I could not control my hands well enough to do detail work. I was not about to go back down until I'd done something, so I spent several agonizing minutes holding on for dear life and trying and failing to fix the part. Eventually I was successful (in 1 of the 3 planned jobs) and started down. The ride down was worse than the ride up, because I was totally knackered and could not get through it with brute strength any more. When I got back on deck I could not do anything but just lay there mumbling over and over that that was awful and I was NEVER going to do that again. Fatigue and the calm conditions meant that for the first time in a week or so, I slept like a rock through my whole off watch.

The weather has been improving - definitely shorts weather now - if only the NE trades would stop blowing from the SE.

Day 14
I came on watch to a gibbous moon lighting up the boat so well it seemed like just after dusk. The sky was clear and the seas were relatively mild. Maryanne mentioned as she went off watch at midnight that she had been waffling for 30 minutes over weather or not to switch to the screacher. After she went to bed, I went about my usual settling in routine; oriented myself, tidied up a little, pumped the bilges, and then decided I would roll up the genoa and unfurl the screacher (the boat was moving along nicely). Once done, I was just on my way inside to straighten up a bit, when I heard a scraping on deck. Usually this I caused by slack line on one of our preventers, but I had just re-secured those. I grabbed a flashlight and poked my head over the cockpit roof to see what was making the noise and was horrified to see our furled genoa swinging around the deck. The forestay it was furled on had either come undone or had broken, leaving the mast with nothing to keep it from falling backward except from the force of the wind from behind and (since we were using it) the luff wire in the leading edge of the screacher.

I called for Maryanne, who had just stirred because of the noise and had also noticed the same problem - she was already half way out of bed.

The genoa/head stay combination weighs maybe 100lb and was flailing around the forward deck like a loose hose, scraping and banging along the way. I was able to tackle it and eventually found the most stable position was to put the furling drum at the bottom in a leg lock and hold on tight to the rail with both arms. I was still getting thrown around a lot and was using all of my strength to keep it from hitting anything (that combined with yesterday's trip up the mast has left me bruised all over). Maryanne loosened the backstay tension, turned the boat down wind, grabbed a bunch of shackles and spare line and joined me on deck. The first priority was to get a line on the furled Genoa and keep it from flailing around. We were lucky that the forestay had not broken, but just disconnected, and that all the pieces of the connection were simply sitting on deck; including the busted split pin that has caused the problem in the first place. Normally the head stay/back stay tension on the Gemini is set so loose that there is noticeable sag in both when the boat is at rest. The tension is adjusted by the backstay tensioner(s) for what is required for sailing conditions. We expected because of this, that all we would have to do was manhandle the forestay back in place and reconnect everything - simply adding a new split pin. When we tried, though, we were about 3" short (probably because of the sag of the furled genoa stay?). We loosened the genoa halyard, cranked down tight on the screacher halyard, sailed directly downwind (no, not west!), yet we still needed 3 more inches. Maryanne made a chain of heavy shackles and connected the forestay temporarily back to the deck - but I was not satisfied.
There were supposed to be 300 more miles of downwind sailing to port, but what if we had to go upwind? I didn't trust the rig with 3" of shackles pasted on it.

By now the moon had set and it was dark. I reluctantly decided I needed to loosen the back stays and check stays (all holding the mast back) as much as I dared by unthreading the turnbuckles as far as I could without actually disconnecting them. 30 minutes later, we had narrowed the gap to 2". It was as if suddenly the boat grew.

After thinking about it for a while, we eventually came to the terrible conclusion that the back stays would have to be disconnected completely. We were both so frightened by the idea that we considered just leaving the rig patched with the shackles. We were still more than 300 miles from the nearest land, though, and had no way of guaranteeing we would not encounter rough seas or strong winds along the way. We HAD to do it, but the thought made our skin crawl, like deliberately taking all the lug nuts off a car and trying to make it to town on a windy road. Disconnecting the backstay is disconcerting enough in a quiet boat yard - we were in the middle of nowhere.

We pulled down the main sail, centered the boom and cranked down on the main sheet. It and the topping lift from the back of the boom to the top of the mast, once the backstays were disconnected, would support the mast from falling forward. Once the stays were disconnected (yeesh!), we gradually eased the mainsheet until the gap was bridged and we could get the forestay back in place with its original hardware. I connected one half of the backstay (it is in an upside down Y shape) but found the other half 3" short. We cranked down on the mainsheet until I was certain the topping lift would snap (It's ¼" rope - not meant for this role) and we were still an 1" short. Luckily there are two holes in the plate that attaches the back stay to the stern. We used the spare, and ran a small piece of line (small to fit through the hole) from there through a lead to a genoa winch - we cranked that sucker until we thought it too might snap - eventually I was able to get the threads on the turnbuckle - connecting the back stay back to the boat - the boat was back together - it was 4am.

With no more 2 person jobs to do, Maryanne went back to bed while I went around re-tensioning and securing all the stays and lines properly. By the time I got the last of the tools put away (apart from the one wrench dropped overboard) the sun was up. I had let Maryanne sleep in a couple of hours but I was fading fast. I had to get some sleep.

When Maryanne woke me up for my afternoon watch, she reported cheerfully that she hadn't broken anything and that absolutely nothing happened, and that the trade winds were now from the NE - yay!

Just before she went to bed, we saw our first bird in over a week, a lone frigate bird, flapping gently up wind up at about 200'. The nearest land to us, still over 300 miles distant, is the island of Barbuda, which has a frigate bird nesting colony which we hope to see soon.

Kyle Writes on Week 1 Sea

[Kyle] Day 1
We left Morehead City at just after 1am. Our weather window had opened up the previous day at around noon with a cold frontal passage, but I needed to submit my vacation bid to work, and their system wouldn’t let me place my bid until midnight central time, so we had to wait for that.

Well, as you can imagine, we had the place to ourselves as we headed out to sea. The distance from the dock at Morehead City Yacht Basin (who, by the way were petty enough to insist on prorating our partial day, even though we were told repeatedly that our dockage was peanuts compared to the daily fuel purchases of the fishing charters.) was only about 1.5 miles so we quickly found ourselves in ocean swell. We had a nice (light) west wind but the chop getting out the channel was pretty miserable. The winds hadn’t been strong for days so I imagine it was just left over ocean swell interacting with the shallows near shore.

Once clear of the entrance channel, we hoisted sails, shut down the engine and were able to head due east pretty fast. The coastal part of North Carolina is so low that by the time Maryanne came on watch at 6am (still dark), only the tops of the radio towers and the lighthouse at nearby Lookout Point were still visible. By the time the sun came up an hour later, those were gone too.

The winds picked up during the day and we were able to put in good miles to the east in conditions that were nice, if a little cold from the passage of the front. Even though our initial course was to the southeast, the trade winds, which go from East to West were well established only about 60 or so miles to the south of us, so we had to take advantage of the west wind by heading initially due east for 600-700 miles before turning south and following the winds.

[Maryanne] We deliberately set out after a front had passed, this ensured we had good winds from the West to help push us as far East as possible before we would finally turn South. Forecast winds were all good for us (in direction and strength for several days, passing behind several fronts - perfect

Day 2[Kyle]
As the front passed, the wind continued to build and the seas increased. We actually went in stages from full sails to 2 reefs in each, which is about 40% of our total sail area. The seas grew and grew and eventually became so mountainous that I could see how blue the water was by looking up at the sun shining through the crests above us.

Conditions on the boat remained livable, although we were both becoming, necessarily, more queasy in the worsening conditions. Near the end of Maryanne’s watch at 11pm she woke me up and said she needed help. I was kind of awake anyway, as the conditions had become so bad that neither of us was able to sleep for more than a couple of seconds at a time before the next BANG as a wave hit us. We did this 100s of times a night, which meant we were both exhausted. This combined with not being able to keep any food down made anything ten times as hard.

I threw on my life jacket and came on deck, not wearing anything else, into the cold, stinging rain. Maryanne said the winds were gusting up to 40 knots and she needed me to steer downwind while she furled the jib. It jammed, so she went forward to find out what the problem was, crawling along the jack line she was tethered to as the waves threw the boat around and occasionally broke on top of Maryanne.

When she got back, the prognosis was not good; the Jib had become unshackled at the bottom, and had become wrapped around our screacher line so that the sail could not be furled on the stay, nor unfurled and dropped to the deck. She tied the bottom of the jib to the hook normally holding our anchor chain on in order to keep it within reach. The boat was careening wildly with all the sail up, so I told her to go back and pull the main sail down. When she got back, we still had most of the jib out and I was worried about losing control of the boat. I was shivering from the rain and spray; Maryanne said she would take over from the steering until I could dry off and get some foul weather gear on. When I came back out she reported the winds were over 40 at times. I hooked onto a jack line (the jack line is a webbing strap running along the length of the boat - we can hook on to these as we move about the boat to prevent us from falling overboard) and went forward.

The foredeck was gyrating wildly and every few seconds a wave would hit and put it under a foot or two of water. Once I got up there, I started working on the problem; the jib sheets needed to be unthreaded, and unwound from the head stay in order to free the tangled screacher lines. After that the only way to get the jib unwound from the stay would be to turn the boat in slow circles. I crawled back close enough to Maryanne to shout my plan: She would have to get the engine running and steer in circles through the huge waves, I would pull down the jib. After a couple of minutes she got the engine started and was able to get the boat turning. I lay on deck, face up, while the jib flogged wildly over me sounding like machine gun fire. The jib sheets (the lines that control the jib) had tangled into a flailing ball, trying to smash everything in its path. After two turns of the boat I was able to get the jib down on the deck. I laid on top of it to keep it from blowing away, and lashed it down as securely as I could with some spare anchor line.
When I got back to the cockpit we were both wet and exhausted, we could not point into the wind to get our main sail up and there was no way I wanted to figure out what was wrong with the jib at night in those conditions. This left us with the choice of steering downwind under bare poles, or lying ahull - leaving the boat to handle herself. The boat had seemed relatively stable through the turns and we decided to lie ahull, holding the rudder full to one side. We both went inside and stripped off our wet clothes, dried off and fell into a fitful sleep. Each of us took turns to watch out for shipping from inside the dry boat. Occasionally both of us would jolt when a wave would break on us broadside and roll us 30 degrees or so - frightening in a catamaran.

[Maryanne] In hindsight here is what I think happened. I was sailing under double reefed main and jib, in winds appropriate for that, when I suddenly found I was having difficulty steering. I checked the rudders (the usual culprit, sometimes they pop up) and they were good. The winds were getting stronger, towards the top of my reefing range, so I decided to wind in the jib completely - I could not budge it. The winds continued to gust stronger and stronger and this is when I called Kyle for help. It seems that the steering difficulty was due the fact the jib had unwound itself after becoming unclipped at the base. I don’t know what caused that - but we did also discover over the following days, that the black cone shaped cover on the roller furling had become unscrewed, and was floating freely on the stay - this may have been the cause (?). The furler works without this screwed down, but is certainly stiffer to manage. It took us at least an hour to bring down the sails, secure them, and decide we were better off not trying to sail until daylight when we could fully inspect the rigging, at that time, we still didn’t really know what had happened, nor how badly damaged the sail might be.

NOW - leaving a boat without a watch while out in the middle of the ocean is definitely not a good idea. I am not proud of myself for that. One of us should have remained on watch. There is no excuse for that. We WERE both tired, and definitely pleased to be inside and in shelter, and have some time to calm down. I have a TON of new admiration for solo sailors, but I never want to be one on a journey of any length.
Finally, from the master berth, the sea conditions appear highly exaggerated any pounding is at its worst, and the noises and roll (when laying down) all seem to increase the effects of the seas. I’m not sure if Kyle’s 30° is anything like correct, but it was certainly an interesting ride!

[Kyle] Day 3
At daybreak the wind was 35 knots, gusting to 40 or so, Our wind indicator recorded a maximum of 44.5 (just over 51mph) during the night. I went forward again to have a look at the jib. I was sure that it must have been partially shredded during the half hour of flogging it went through the night before. It appeared to be intact. There was some stitching gone from the sun cover, but no damage to the sail itself. The wind was still way too strong to hoist the full sail and roll it up, so we decided to leave it lashed to the deck. The flogging of the previous night had jerked the mast around enough that it appeared to have shaken our tri-color masthead navigation light either apart of out of its mount, although the anchor light still worked. Our flag halyard was pulled off the spreader and our radar reflector was bent about 40° on its mount. The car attaching the main sail headboard to the slot in the mast was shattered, but we could live without that (would have to for now!).

We put up the main sail with two reefs in it, and headed downwind, which was fortunately due east. The boat flew along in the howling wind, surfing fast down the huge waves. I saw 17.3 kt over ground - more than twice our usual sailing speed. A big wave would approach and as we crested it, we could see that it was really just a small wave on the face of an even bigger wave in the background. Every now and then, a steep one would break from the side, sending water clear over the boat. Just before I went off watch, just before sunset, one of them hit us, breaking right into the cockpit. I only had enough time to turn halfway and take one step away from the helm when it completely submerged me, slewing Footprint around dangerously side on to the weaves. Damn, I was almost dry too!

Day 4
Maryanne and I pretty much had the same miserable experience steering Footprint downwind in 35 kt of wind and in 20-25 foot seas. Occasionally, a squall would come through drenching us in rain and pushing the wind up another 10 knots. Sleeping off-watch was nearly impossible for either of us. Because of the noise, the banging and the occasional scary roll, neither of us slept for more than a few seconds at a time. This weather was getting really OLD. Both the boat and us were holding up surprisingly well though. Throughout the storm the weather had made us miserable but not terrified. Footprint seemed completely in control the whole time (apart from when way too much sail was up) and held up really well when we lay ahull all night in 40kt winds.

Day 5
The wind eased a bit but the rain increased. We were still sailing east fast on double reefed main only down seas that were setting steeper and starting to break more. Our bodies got used to the motion and we finally stopped being seasick even though the wind was still howling and we were getting thrown around just as much. Maryanne even managed to start cooking in the gyrating galley so we could get our strength back up; she is amazing, I can’t even stand up in there.

Day 6
Well, the storm finally broke and high pressure moved in, we got the jib on its furler and left a scrap out to help pull us east. Eventually we gradually increased sail until by evening we had the full mainsail up and the screacher pulling. Last night as we passed 125 miles north of it, we could hear marine broadcast from Bermuda, the first thing we’d heard on the radio for days.

By just before sunset the seas had flattened and the wind had died to the point that there was no point in even having the sails up, other than to listen to them slap back and forth - a noise that will drive a person completely insane in 30 minutes - guaranteed! So I put them down and we had a nice meal together at the table, neither of us at the wheel. It was a strange sensation, not as if we were sailing anywhere specific, but rather we had sailed through a five day storm just so we could have a nice dinner to our own private sunset on a flat calm sea 500 miles from the nearest continent.

Day 7
With no wind to move the boat, Maryanne spent most of her 6pm - midnight watch reading a book and looking out for ships (none). She woke me at a quarter to midnight for my six hours of pretty much the same. I did a few odd jobs and tidied up a bit, then spent most of it being amazed at the night sky; with no moon or city lights to wash it out, the sky is really an amazing place. We think of moonless nights as being very dark, but I could see well enough to walk around on deck and trace the outlines of the clouds in the starlight. I looked out at the flat sea and was amazed that this was the same sea that had seemed determined to crush us in a mad rage just a few days before. Except for a long swell that was only perceptible as an occasional creak on a silent boat we had no indication of how far out we were; we could have been anchored in a pond.

The wind finally started brushing the back of my ears around 5am and seemed to persist. I put up the mainsail and the screacher and we very slowly began to creep away from our little spot in the North Atlantic. We had a beautiful clear sunrise and started bending our course South-East to avoid more of the calm to our North. As the day wore on we were able to gradually accelerate to normal boat speed and our GPS finally said we’d make it to Antigua by the end of the year!