Waiting on weather makes me feel a range of emotions.
Indifference, what do I care, I am in no hurry. Impatience, I am ready to get moving already! Joy, another fun day of snorkeling and relaxing behind the protection of the reef as the waves look brutal to be battling against. Frustration that all the weather predictors are grossly inaccurate. How can it possibly be 25knots of wind straight out of the east (the direction we are wanting to head) EVERY day for weeks on end? And then finally gitty with excitement when we decide to leave.
I usually have no trouble passing the time waiting on weather. I read, snorkel around, nap, clean, bake, explore in the canoe, play with the dogs, and have fun with Conor. This time, however, was even easier because we got unexpected visitors on Gualby. My aunt Christine and cousins Laura and John were in Honduras! They were on a medical mission in mainland Honduras and they took several flights and a confusing water taxi ride to come meet up with us on the boat. It was so wonderful to see them, a piece of home and family. We went to some great snorkel spots, swam at night in incredible phosphorescense, talked, laughed and just enjoyed the short time we had together. The few days my family was on the boat was short but very special. We hope to see them again. Pictures soon to follow, hopefully. No pressure, Laura.
A few short days after my family left, we got a change in the weather. The weather report was not perfect and far and away anywhere close to ideal but its not completely blowing like hell out of the east and the waves are less than 8 feet and if we ever want to make it to Panama, and at this point its the promised land, we need to leave. Otherwise the farther we get into hurricane season the higher likelihood we will have to tuck our tails and head back to the Rio Dulce for protection from mother nature and her potential wrath from June to November. (and its already July 5th) So we pull anchor at 6:30 in the morning full of excitement and anticipation of the journey. We have been stuck in Guanaja for five days shy of a month and I am itching to get moving. Gualby heads out the reef pass with wind guru promising us light winds out of the southeast and calm conditions. Wind guru is a liar. The seas are a mess, not huge, about 2-3feet but short, choppy periods and the winds is a strong 15 knots out of the E-SE. We are going to have to tack and motorsail the 130 miles to Vivarillos. We hate motorsailing. Gualby is a sailboat and we perform far and away better sans the motors. Sailing is quieter, more peaceful, its free, better for the environment and we don't feel like crazy people from hours of listening to the motors cavitate every 30 seconds. Its not good for the motors and its not good for our psyche. The motors are cavitating badly and the ride is miserable and rough. We slosh through these conditions for about 45 minutes and then make the decision to call Salty Dog and tell them we are headed back to wait and see if this afternoon brings better conditions. Deflated and frustrated we turn Gualby around and re group, trying to figure out what will be the best plan for us.
At noon, the conditions are looking a pinch better. I was performing my self appointed duty of very grumpy first mate and keeping my eye on the ocean past the reef looking for a more encouraging forcast to tell my captain. Conor and I discuss that this next trip is just going to have to suck and we are going to have to go into it as a team and make it there and then rest. Conor and I each put a hand in, the dogs each throw in a paw, we yell a "Go Gualby" as we throw our hands, and paws, defiantly into the easterly wind and then we pull anchor, again. We head out the reef pass and the conditions are a bit better, not much but definitely not worse so we take a deep breath, look at each other, I manage a smile, and we start tacking. The day is filled with tacking, avoiding storms, increased wind, out of the east of course, and the motors cavitating. The day flows into a very long night of the same conditions but with little sleep. The next day seems like an even longer day of tacking, cavitating, rough seas, increased wind right in our faces, and extremely slow progress. Beating into the winds is the pits. That night even in the face of extremely slow progress we double reef the main because we can see storm lines in the distance and tons of lightening. This slows us down but keeps us cautious, even though we are very ready to get to Vivarillos and drop the hook. In the log book i wrote "slow and steady and slow." At 9:20 the next morning a very happy Gualby crew dropped anchor in the protection of the uninhabitated island of Vivarillos. Salty Dog stayed with us the whole way, tacking and motorsailing, even though with their diesel they could have just powered straight through to Vivarillos. We are exhausted, the boat and its crew took its first real beating on the ocean. We broke two batten slides and ripped the top mast sail slide. Trying to help us along on our slow and frustrating journey, we used all but about 10 gallons of gas. Our mindset was to get here because this is supposedly the turning point when you can turn and head more southeast, instead of due east, which lightens up the conditions and reduces the tacking. We all paddled the canoes and dinghies to shore and high fived Ted and Shannon, congratulating each other on finishing our worst passage yet.
Indifference, what do I care, I am in no hurry. Impatience, I am ready to get moving already! Joy, another fun day of snorkeling and relaxing behind the protection of the reef as the waves look brutal to be battling against. Frustration that all the weather predictors are grossly inaccurate. How can it possibly be 25knots of wind straight out of the east (the direction we are wanting to head) EVERY day for weeks on end? And then finally gitty with excitement when we decide to leave.
I usually have no trouble passing the time waiting on weather. I read, snorkel around, nap, clean, bake, explore in the canoe, play with the dogs, and have fun with Conor. This time, however, was even easier because we got unexpected visitors on Gualby. My aunt Christine and cousins Laura and John were in Honduras! They were on a medical mission in mainland Honduras and they took several flights and a confusing water taxi ride to come meet up with us on the boat. It was so wonderful to see them, a piece of home and family. We went to some great snorkel spots, swam at night in incredible phosphorescense, talked, laughed and just enjoyed the short time we had together. The few days my family was on the boat was short but very special. We hope to see them again. Pictures soon to follow, hopefully. No pressure, Laura.
A few short days after my family left, we got a change in the weather. The weather report was not perfect and far and away anywhere close to ideal but its not completely blowing like hell out of the east and the waves are less than 8 feet and if we ever want to make it to Panama, and at this point its the promised land, we need to leave. Otherwise the farther we get into hurricane season the higher likelihood we will have to tuck our tails and head back to the Rio Dulce for protection from mother nature and her potential wrath from June to November. (and its already July 5th) So we pull anchor at 6:30 in the morning full of excitement and anticipation of the journey. We have been stuck in Guanaja for five days shy of a month and I am itching to get moving. Gualby heads out the reef pass with wind guru promising us light winds out of the southeast and calm conditions. Wind guru is a liar. The seas are a mess, not huge, about 2-3feet but short, choppy periods and the winds is a strong 15 knots out of the E-SE. We are going to have to tack and motorsail the 130 miles to Vivarillos. We hate motorsailing. Gualby is a sailboat and we perform far and away better sans the motors. Sailing is quieter, more peaceful, its free, better for the environment and we don't feel like crazy people from hours of listening to the motors cavitate every 30 seconds. Its not good for the motors and its not good for our psyche. The motors are cavitating badly and the ride is miserable and rough. We slosh through these conditions for about 45 minutes and then make the decision to call Salty Dog and tell them we are headed back to wait and see if this afternoon brings better conditions. Deflated and frustrated we turn Gualby around and re group, trying to figure out what will be the best plan for us.
At noon, the conditions are looking a pinch better. I was performing my self appointed duty of very grumpy first mate and keeping my eye on the ocean past the reef looking for a more encouraging forcast to tell my captain. Conor and I discuss that this next trip is just going to have to suck and we are going to have to go into it as a team and make it there and then rest. Conor and I each put a hand in, the dogs each throw in a paw, we yell a "Go Gualby" as we throw our hands, and paws, defiantly into the easterly wind and then we pull anchor, again. We head out the reef pass and the conditions are a bit better, not much but definitely not worse so we take a deep breath, look at each other, I manage a smile, and we start tacking. The day is filled with tacking, avoiding storms, increased wind, out of the east of course, and the motors cavitating. The day flows into a very long night of the same conditions but with little sleep. The next day seems like an even longer day of tacking, cavitating, rough seas, increased wind right in our faces, and extremely slow progress. Beating into the winds is the pits. That night even in the face of extremely slow progress we double reef the main because we can see storm lines in the distance and tons of lightening. This slows us down but keeps us cautious, even though we are very ready to get to Vivarillos and drop the hook. In the log book i wrote "slow and steady and slow." At 9:20 the next morning a very happy Gualby crew dropped anchor in the protection of the uninhabitated island of Vivarillos. Salty Dog stayed with us the whole way, tacking and motorsailing, even though with their diesel they could have just powered straight through to Vivarillos. We are exhausted, the boat and its crew took its first real beating on the ocean. We broke two batten slides and ripped the top mast sail slide. Trying to help us along on our slow and frustrating journey, we used all but about 10 gallons of gas. Our mindset was to get here because this is supposedly the turning point when you can turn and head more southeast, instead of due east, which lightens up the conditions and reduces the tacking. We all paddled the canoes and dinghies to shore and high fived Ted and Shannon, congratulating each other on finishing our worst passage yet.
M.
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| Some little guys resting on our life lines |
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| Vivarillos is uninhabited except for a few Honduran fishing boats that exchange their traps on the island |
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| The crew of one of the boats gathering more traps |
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| We are pretty sure this chair on the back is their head |
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| The red boat is attached to the main fishing boat and to a spot on land. The boat is loaded to the maximum capacity, then loaded a little more, and a crank on the fishing boat pulls the boat and traps back |
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| Checking out our new location |
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| Torn top mast sail slide |
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| Broken sail battens. The black stuff is the striped threading from the inside on the battens |
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| Squid Conor caught that we made into delicious calamari |
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