A Pacific Challenge.

We missed our perfect weather window because of March 21st. March 21st is not only the start of spring, but also a Mexican national holiday celebrating Benito Juarez’ birthday, so immigration was closed. Normally, we never sail on a schedule, but always according to Predict Wind’s route planning. But this time we wanted to get to Hawaii in time so that friends flying in from Belgium wouldn’t have to stand waiting in vain. Only a predicted tempest could have changed our mind.

March 22, we spent the entire morning until 2 PM checking out of Mexico. This is fast, since checking in a year ago took a day and a half. Fast, but still rather confusing if you don’t use an agent. And we hadn’t. But we were lucky enough to meet such an agent waiting on the couch at the counter of the Capitanía of Cabo San Lucas. We were trying to explain to the Capitanía that we had been sent there by Immigration in the first place. But the Capitanía was telling us to get back to Immigration before presenting ourselves to them again. The waiting agent on the couch who happened to be there to check in for his client Disney Cruise immediately came to our rescue. He balanced his laptop on his knees, he overwrote a template with our O2 data (but forgot to delete the box about sailing under the flag of the Cayman Islands) called his contact at Immigration, explained the situation, mailed the document straight to her and sent us on our way. The whole waiting room friendly waved us out, wishing us good luck. Immigration welcomed us back with open arms, allowed us to skip the waiting line which had grown to considerable proportions during our absence, requested pictures to be sent from Hawaii and stamped us out. 

Back to the Capitanía we rushed (they close at 2:30 PM) with the stamps in our passports AND on the agent’s document, only to be sent to a bank first to pay 341 Mexican pesos. “Casi listos “, the officer apologetically explained. At the bank- queuing for half an hour – My Captain’s name caused serious confusion. I had to convince the lady that Luc Achiel S. really was his name as written on the passport and NOT his surname, and no, name and surname (nombre e appellido) had not been mixed up. Crazy name, right? I was also politely requested to please lower my sunglasses while doing business in a bank. “But they are bifocal and without them I can’t decipher what you want me to sign. I’m practically blind.” “No te preoccupes entonces.”

The patient taxi driver we had hired for the morning rushed us back through maddening traffic to the Capitanía with the proof of payment in our pocket and my sunglasses on top of my head and ready for whatever obstacle that could possibly come our way next. Which was another payment. Earlier on that day, we had also presented ourselves at the Office in the Marina of Cabo San Lucas to pay the administration, but the proof of payment had stayed with Immigration, and we hadn’t brought a copy for the Capitanía. The latter needed one, too. This time, the Capitanía had mercy on our souls. They phoned the Marina office and requested them to fax our proof of payment. Which they did 30 minutes later. “Ya mandaron su pago”, the officer shouted out to us from behind the glass counter, triumphant. And that was it: when the Capitanía stamped us out with a friendly “Listos! Bien viaje” we could hardly detain ourselves from jumping up & down for joy. We can only imagine how paperless refugees must feel while being stranded at some border with no friendly agents or officials in sight. 

At 4:30 pm the same day we left los Cabos for Hawaii, motoring. But wind picked up once we rounded the cape (whales!) and we sailed at an average speed of 6 knots. The windy night was wild, and in the morning, we had to clear the deck of 3 dead squid and 4 flying fish. Another 2 squid lay rotting in a nook. A fact we only discovered the day after when an intolerable stench started to permeate O2. 

The first 6 days on the ocean felt like we had blundered into the doldrums. It was quite pleasant, to be honest.  Were it not for the fact that we had to motor (-sail )90% of the time. But there was ample time to read, to bake bread so that we could dip it in the real Swiss Cheese Fondue which we had bought in La Comer together with the Serrano Ham. Oh, what delightful decadence.

The deep blue ocean looked vast and empty. But during this first week out, we were never alone. Next to the dolphins and a few birds cruising alongside O2, cargo ships carrying lyrical names kept popping up on the horizon and on our screen: the Shimanani Queen, the Hyundai Hope, the Ever Ethic, the Dongbang Giant number 1, etc…. Also, the US Coast Guard kept broadcasting loud but not always clear on channel 16 of our VHF. 

At 7 am of the first full day out on the ocean we noticed a motionless helm although the ship was on autopilot. Normally, the helm moves along with the autopilot which is controlling the rudder. 
The helm’s steering cable had snapped. Of course, without steering cable, we wouldn’t be able to take the helm should the autopilot also decide to give up the ghost. We would be acting very much like a “bateau ivre “. And it would also complicate the maneuvering in a Harbor. In the crisis meeting that ensued we unanimously decided against turning back to Baja, (1,5 day of sailing) against checking into and out of Mexico again (2 days at least) against ordering a spare cable and wait for it to arrive (at least 2 weeks but probably much longer). After all, didn’t we have such a spare steering cable (previously ordered out of precaution when everything was still in working order) coming in the luggage of our friends? Why not take the risk? We took the risk. 

Before deciding against a U-turn despite the augmented risks, we did assure ourselves of a well-functioning emergency tiller. The emergency tiller is a simple metal rod which can be clicked on top of the rudder shaft, which is located inside the starboard engine room in the back of the boat and below deck. Awkward place from which to be steering a boat, of course. But after a power nap, My Captain came up with a temporary solution. A construction with ropes and blocks would allow us to manually steer using the tiller and see where we were going at the same time, should circumstances dictate it. 

My Captain also fabricated a make do steering cable, so that helm maneuvering in a Harbor belonged again to the possibilities. It involved a cutting disc, a plastic tube, clamping rings, 2 sturdy shackles and general bricolage skills. As it turned out, this bricolage would save our asses. After another power nap he even came up with an idea of redesigning the steering mechanism as a whole to get rid of steel steering cables altogether. I here refer to the technical report My Captain himself will post in a future update. 

On March 28, at 1:18PM Honolulu time we could finally cut the engines. With an apparent wind speed of only 9,5 knots, we managed an average GPS speed of 5 knots at an apparent wind angle of 45 degrees. With our 460-liter diesel tank – refilled on the way with 110 liters from our jerrycans- already half empty and still 1880 miles to go, it wasn’t a moment too soon. From then on, it was a very bumpy sail all the way to Hilo. Instead of the long steady ocean swells we had hoped for, we were presented with chaotic waves wildly crashing against our beam combined with a steady counter current running against us at 1 to 2 knots. The crazy waves were probably the outliers of the storms that were still raging in the higher latitudes of the NE Pacific. 

In the night of March 30th, we got spooked by the increasingly crunching noise the rudder seemed to produce. My Captain feared the top of the rudder was scraping against the bottom of the hull and wanted to assess the situation before carrying on and causing problematic damage. So, in the dead of the night with a wind force of 18 knots and water crashing all around us, we did a “heave to” to stop O2 in her tracks. (“Heaving to” is setting the sails so that the smaller front sail wants to sail in one direction while the main sail wants to sail in another direction) which is a tricky maneuver on a catamaran, and even more so without a functioning helm. But we made it. We then used the satellite phone to discuss the situation with our dealer in Oostende who contacted the Fountaine Pajot factory in La Rochelle to get their advice. In the meantime, with our underwater camera firmly lashed to a broomstick with expert sailor’s knots, my Captain lowered the contraption into the ocean in order to film what was going on with the rudder. Nothing. It all looked perfectly normal and amazingly spic and span. Both the dealer and the FP people got it right: the alarming noise was made by the hydraulic pump of the autopilot, not by the rudder. So, we tried to grease the pump. The noise remained. We said a little prayer and continued on our merry way. 

In the morning of April 2nd, the ocean calmed down, a 14-knot trade wind pushed us 270 degrees west. We calmly rose and fell on the following waves as our asymmetric spinnaker pulled us forcefully in the right direction. Although the sky was cloudy, the temperature rose and so did our spirits. But it only lasted for the day. Before long, the confused waves coming from the NW came crashing into our beam again as they got whipped up by the ENE trade-wind. Some of them even gathered momentum when they met the swell rolling in from the opposite direction. Together they built up into impressive rolling walls of water from which O2 surfed down in a way that recalled white water rafting rather than sailing. The fickle ENE trade wind ranged from 8 to 30 knots all within the hour. But the rollercoaster ride kept rolling in the right direction and the autopilot kept grinding along. And so did we.

April 6th was a glorious day filled with joy. The sun peeped through the clouds, 3 chirping terns and a majestic white bodied shearwater with black rimmed wings swooped and swirled next to us for hours, wind and waves finally agreed to team up with each other and O2. And out came the Butterfly for the first time on this passage. It didn’t last long. The wind built up and we had to rely on our regular sails again, zigzagging downwind towards Hilo. 

At 3 AM on Saturday night, April 9th, we could release our Butterfly for a second time. But contrary to what had been predicted in the weather forecast which we had downloaded via satellite connection, the wind didn’t gradually decrease. It suddenly increased with peaks over 30 knots. This made the twin hulls of O2 cut through the water at a scary speed of +12 knots, not unlike 2 orcas whose bellies were being high-pressure washed to a shine by the ocean swell. This was bad. Very bad. The Butterfly had to be locked up in its cocoon. Asap! Another battle ensued which had My Captain all tangled up in the lines for a moment as I was holding on for dear life. A sudden wave against the side caused O2 to swerve out of course, which caused the madly flying Butterfly to jerk suddenly to the side as well which caused the ripping off of a line guiding block from the mast. This could have turned into a regular nightmare with the huge sail which the Butterfly, aka the Parasailor is, collapsing into the ocean while O2 was racing at full speed ahead. It didn’t happen. But it was a narrow escape.

As we were leaning back and trying to relax a bit, so did the autopilot. It simply stopped working all together. And so it was that 48 hours away from Hilo, we had to take the helm and manually steer O2 with the make do steering cable My resourceful Captain had fabricated out of plastic tubes and clamping rings. We took 2 hour shifts and during the night I was equipped with an emergency vuvuzela to toot My Captain back to my side in my moment of need. I only had to use it once.

Of course, it also started to rain, and it was getting dark, too dark to see. Vaguely, the contours of land appeared through the drizzle and mist, with an orange glow radiating from the middle. Lava! The volcano was active, and we stared at it in a sort of hypnotic state. Now O2 lies anchored in Hilo Bay and we are being drenched by the first tropical downpours after months of desert dust. Tomorrow at 9AM, we have a rendezvous with Immigration to get officially checked in. We have arrived alright. Not only in Hawaii, but also in The United States of America.