You can call us by her name…

O2 ! In the second month of the year 2020, it took her exactly 20 days to sail the 2797 nautical miles that separate Tenerife from Antigua. 

Ever since I was a little girl, “boats, trains & planes” (long distance buses should be added to this list) and their respective travel vocabulary have triggered my imagination and a yearning to be on the move. 

Ah, the Trade Winds, les Alizés, los Alisios, how they satisfy my wanderlust to the full! In Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, we had paid our respect to good old Christopher by visiting the museum dedicated to his voyages from the Canaries to the West Indies( = the Carib) before setting sail to pretty much follow in his wake. 

And unlike the experience of  our first transatlantic crossing 3 years ago, this time the Trade Winds were steadily blowing at a  forceful 15 to 25 knots for the major part of our passage. The ocean was breathing in majestic long & high swells and O2 was running down wind at an average 6,5 knots on the dolphin highway. Yihaa !!!  .  

But at times the ocean started to hyperventilate, probably due to the storms raging up north. That’s when chaotic waves came rolling in from all angles to slam into O2, without mercy, over and over again. The noise was rather terrifying and in bed my ears kept ringing the first 30 minutes at every shift change. 

In the old days, when my Captain and I traveled potholed African dirt roads on hot dusty buses without decent shock absorbers, we used to rate our level of feeling miserable on a scale from 1 to 5, the latter being a tad below general self-loathing & despair. I never reached 5 not even 4 on this passage , but a hefty 3 definitely came in sight during the COLD night watches in the higher northern latitudes with a whole lotta water crashing into us from all directions. That’s when I lost all interest in food for several days. 

A shame really. As we caught a beautiful mahi-mahi again and this time we proceeded with deadly efficiency. No OMG’s and panic this time. My Captain steadily reeled it in, hooked it, dragged it on board, whacked it twice with a winch handle and I spurted the gin right into its gills while  throwing a cloth over its eyes. It was all over in a matter of seconds and my Captain felt very pleased with himself. The mahi-mahi less so. But after thanking it profusely and sincerely for its contribution, we vacuum packed its white meat in neat daily portions. We still have some in the freezer. 

And then there was our new  “parasailor” : a sail of 155 square meter which is used to run down wind. 

A wind force between 12 to 18 knots is perfect to release it from its cage: it opens up like a gigantic butterfly wriggling itself free out of its cocoon – which is called a “snuffer” – to carry us on its wings at a speed of 7 to 10 knots. 

The whole idea is to get it down again before the wind gets too strong. In the beginning, we waited too long out of sheer exhilaration. It was so thrilling to ride on the wind and so beautiful to behold. But suddenly  O2 accelerated to 14 (!) knots and she started to behave like a skimming stone, jumping from wave to wave rather than following the swell. 

We realized we had made a mistake. The butterfly had to come down. ASAP !  My  Captain took his position at the bow to pull the “snuffer” back over the butterfly, I took hold of the ropes at the stern to guide it in. That’s when all of a sudden the butterfly changed into a Jurassic beast with a vengeance. The beast was resisting with all its brutal force to be caged in again and the “snuffer” was trashing on the foredeck like a runaway boa constrictor. 

As my Captain was desperately trying to wrestle the beast down with his bare hands (rookie mistake to forget to put the gloves on) I heard an out-of-breath scream into my headset: “I can’t hold it much longer! Come and help me. I CANNOT HOLD IT !” 

So I secured the ropes, hurried over to the bow, launched myself onto the beast with all my weight and together we finally managed to cage it in again. My Captain with a 2 degree chafe burn from the “snuffer” rope, the butterfly/Jurassic beast with one minor scale loose and me in total shock for the next 4 hours. 

This happened twice. The second time, one of the ropes fell into the water and got caught up on the propeller. My Captain had to take the plunge again: in the dark with me holding the torch and O2 wildly rocking up & down on the ocean swell. “ Be sure to check once in a while that I am not knocked unconscious by the boat”, my Captain told me reassuringly.  

But we are on a steep learning curve. 

I guess there is no need to explain  how pleased we are to be anchored in gorgeous Freeman’s Bay, Antigua. So if you’ll excuse us now, we have to go and relax some more.