June 17, 2010 - Newport, Rhode Island

In all the miles we've done these past three and a half years there is one challenge we hadn't had to face: fog. We've been talking about heading up to Maine later this summer to do some cruising "Down East," but one concern we have about it is getting caught in the fog. The other worry is getting our propeller caught up in the lines that attach buoys to lobster pots.

We've never encountered fog while sailing Mata'irea. And we've certainly never had to deal with the triple-whammy of making a landfall at night through waters strewn with lobster pots in the middle of a fog bank. But wouldn't you know it, as soon as I climbed back into the cockpit after posting my last blog post the fog closed in. Within seconds visibility was down to a few meters. It was almost like the sea didn't want to let us go quite so easily.

The wind slacked off and we slowed down to around 4 knots, but we hesitated to turn on the engine for fear of catching a lobster pot in our propeller. So we ghosted into the Narrows past a series of red buoys, each named for the tone it makes. The Whistle was the first to loom up out of the fog. As we approached Brenton Reef, we heard the Gong striking off our starboard side. And then as we approached Castle Hill, the Bell began ringing in front of us. Between the distinctive buoys and the radar overlay on our chart plotter, we knew exactly where we were. And so we were surprisingly relaxed about the situation. Suddenly an August cruise in Maine seemed much less daunting.

Sailing past Fort Adams we hailed Sten's mom, who had come out to witness our 1am arrival, on the radio. "Mata'irea to Mata'irea Shore Party. Do you copy?" Suzy could hear us, but couldn't see Mata'irea's lights. We were only a quarter mile off the rocks, but we coudn't see her headlamp either. As we rounded the tip of Fort Adams we heard a voice very close to us shout "turn right, turn right." It was another sailboat, lost in the fog.

We continued on to the fuel dock at Goat Island where a Customs officer was waiting to clear us in and Suzy was waiting to catch our docklines. Once we were legal, Suzy dug into the tote bags she had brought aboard and proceeded to put the "party" in "shore party." We drank champagne and feasted on roast chicken, the first pea pods of the season and strawberry shortcake. Around 3am we called it a night even though all of us were buzzing with energy.

Four hours later we were woken by the news crew from the local NBC affiliate. Sten's sister, Ingrid "Dee Dee Myers" Levin, had sent out a short press release about our return to a few of the local media outlets. WJAR scooped the competition (if there was any) by sending a cameraman down to the dock as soon as it was light out.

Between the fact that we'd just finished a 12 day passage and the party the night before, neither we nor Mata'irea were ready for our close-ups. So I threw on some eyeliner and lip gloss and shoved the dirty dishes in the oven and the laundry in the bathtub while Sten tidied the cockpit. We walked up to the parking lot and found Conrad from WJAR preparing to interview us.

Things started ramping up pretty quickly after that. Goat Island Marina wanted their fuel dock back so we untied and motored over Alofsin Pier at Fort Adams. As we were tying up Conrad arrived. We spent the next hour and a half with Conrad talking about our trip. As we spoke with Conrad, the fog slowly burned off.

As Conrad was leaving, Sten's Uncle John and Aunt Carlotta arrived for brunch along with Suzy. It was such a pleasure to show John and Carlotta around our home. Over more champagne and croissants John shared wonderful stories with us about his 11 or 12 Bermuda Races and his long partnership in a Concordia.

After we cleaned up we headed over to Suzy's house to see if our cat still remembered us. Lenore was a little uncertain about who we were, but at least she didn't run in fear at the sight of us or the sounds of our voices. Soon Ingrid was home from work and there was more reuning (I really think that should be a word) to done. We took long, hot showers and changed into long pants and fuzzy jackets before heading over to Jamestown for dinner at John and Carlotta's house.

It felt like we'd been celebrating non-stop since we arrived in Newport. And the party continued at John and Carlotta's home where they were hosting the crew of s/v Zest, an entry in the Newport to Bermuda Race. The company and conversation were entertaining, and the food was delicious. Carlotta laid out a beautiful spread of chicken mirabella, huge bowls of fresh salad greens and brown rice, and blueberry compote and ice cream for desert.

Over dinner Sten and I shared our recent Gulf Stream experience. Another major topic of conversation was the recent rescue of Abby Sunderland, a young single-hander whose boat was dismasted in the Indian Ocean. It seems that everyone we've met since we stepped foot on land has asked us what we think about her situation, which is just kind of funny since we haven't had any media access in two weeks and so we know less about what happened than most of the folks asking us our opinions.

We were having a wonderful time with John and Carlotta and the crew of Zest but we were fading fast. And so we said our goodnights, swung by Alofsin to make sure Mata'irea was okay, and then we headed home to Suzy's for our first sleep on shore in 6 months.

June 16, 2010 - Enroute to Newport

As soon as we cleared the Gulf Stream everything changed. We exchanged the heat, humidity and cobalt blue waters of the tropics for the cool, crisp, air of New England and the marine blue of the North Atlantic. I traded in my bikini for long pants, three layers of fleece, a heavy offshore jacket, and a hat with earflaps, prompting Sten to comment "I don't think I like this new look."

With the Stream behind us our thoughts and hearts turned towards home. We've spent the past two days talking about all the things we want to do when we get home. On the top of our to do list is spending some quality time harassing Lenore, our chronically seasick kitty cat who jumped ship back in Aruba.

And of course there are those local foods we can't wait to dig into: an Awful Awful, a Blue Cow from West Main Pizza, and two big bowls of chowder from the Moorings. We can't wait for Saturday morning to roll around so that hit the Aquidneck Island Growers Market and fill a market bag with all those tasty local fruits, veggies, cheeses, and baked goods. After three and half years in the tropics I've had my fill of mangoes, papayas, and bananas. What I really crave are those high latitude fruits - strawberries, blueberries and raspberries. A trip over to Sweet Berry Farm is definitely on our itinerary.

But first, while lobster pots are still sliding past Mata'irea's hull and the lights of the Newport Bridge are twinkling in the distance, first I need to take a moment to say thank you.

This blog started out as a way for us to keep our friends and family back home informed of our whereabouts and to provide them with an idea of how we were spending our days in this new lifestyle. When I published the first posts a few months into our trip I realized that we weren't taking all that many pictures. So we started to take more photos. And better photos. And now we have a hard drive full of incredible images from around the world.

As the blog's audience grew, I began to feel a responsibility to keeping you all entertained. Posts became more frequent and I stretched myself to try different things with my writing.

You all helped me find my funny bone. Turning bad situations into humorous stories helped us get through some trying times. Sitting on deck during night watch as we battled yet another squall I would look for the humor in the situation in anticipation of writing about it. I would start cracking jokes and Sten would respond with some goofy one-liner. And suddenly we'd be smiling at each other. Because we knew you all were going to be reading about it, we were able to keep our spirits up in some atrocious situations.

There have been times these past few years where we would find ourselves taking risks and trying new things with the reassurance that if nothing else, they would at the very least make good fodder for the blog. And now we have this wonderful collection of tales from our travels. And for that I thank you.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for writing to us. Thank you for being on board for this adventure.

June 15, 2010 - Enroute to Newport

As we approached the Gulf Stream the wind filled in from behind. We spent Sunday night flying along downwind across flat water. We were making over 9 knots for hours with the assistance of a knot of current, and occasionally the speedo slipped into double digits. It was brilliant.

By morning the wind had been blowing long enough to build up the seas. As we approached the shelf waters of the Gulf Stream contrary currents crashed into the building seas to produce a confused sea state. We were still hauling the mail, but it was through a sea that had more similarities to a washing machine than a pond. It was pretty rough, but nothing we hadn't seen before.

Mid-afternoon on Monday the current switched around again. For a while the water was moving the same direction as the wind and the seas smoothed out. We had a favorable boost of a knot and the wind had begun to clock around to the west as we checked our Gulf Stream entrance waypoints with Herb Hildenberg via the SSB. By the time we hung up the mic, we had 2 knots with us and were clearly in the Stream.

Overnight the wind continued to clock forward to the Northwest. Beating into 20 knots of wind with an additional boost of 2.5 knots of boat speed from the north-setting current cranked up our apparent wind (the real feel) to the high twenties. Sten found it exciting, at least until we started slamming. I just slipped into my siege mentality - 'this too shall pass' - and hid behind the dodger.

Shortly after midnight we had gone far enough north to tack to the west. The current was still pushing us north so our angle after the tack was pretty good. We weren't laying Newport, but Atlantic City was just 250 miles away.

Around 4am Tuesday morning we exited the Stream after 10 hours of rough and wild conditions. Shortly thereafter the wind began to back and ease as we sailed into a high pressure system. We were both exhausted from the rough night so we didn't mind at all when the wind died and we needed to turn on the engine, destination Newport.

June 13, 2010 - Enroute to Newport

We have been underway from Anguilla for over a week now. The days have been gorgeous. There hasn't been much wind (the engine has been on 66% of the trip), but the light breeze has made for blissfully calm seas. We began the passage sweltering in the heat and humidity, but as we've reached higher latitudes the air has become cooler and crisper and we've dug out sweaters and blankets. We had some mild squalls during night watch the first few nights out, but the last few night watches have been beautiful. There is no moon, so the stars are just brilliant. The big dipper is poised just above the horizon as though it is about to take a scoop out of the ocean.

Each day Sten has been setting out a veritable pu-pu platter of lures and teasers to try to entice the fish to bite, but other than one small mahi (which I turned into a tasty Thai green curry), we haven't been catching anything. Because we are motoring at a fuel-conserving speed, we probably haven't been going fast enough to fool the fish.

But all that is about to change. The wind is supposed to fill in this afternoon. Tonight we should be making fast miles north towards the last big challenge of our adventure: the Gulf Stream.

The Gulf Stream has been likened to a river running in the ocean. It is more like an overflow drain. The prevailing currents in the southern half of the North Atlantic are westbound. Those currents push a massive amount of water into the Caribbean and up against the east coast of the United States. All that water needs to go somewhere. The Gulf Stream sucks a huge portion of it back out into the North Atlantic. At times the Stream can be 100 miles wide and run at speeds of up to 4 knots. It is not a thing to be trifled with.

During periods of unsettled weather the prevailing wisdom is to cross the Gulf Steam at right angles to minimize the amount of time spent in the Stream. But in settled weather a ride in the Stream can cut hours off of a trip. The last time we crossed the Stream, southbound to Bermuda three and a half years ago, we spent an entire night riding the Stream. Mata'irea's speedo was pegged at over 11 knots for several exhilarating hours. Next week the Newport to Bermuda Race fleet will be attempting to do the same thing.

Similar to when riding the Agulhas current around the east coast of South Africa, the key is to not be in the Stream when the wind is blowing against the current. Light breeze blowing against strong current can cause short choppy seas, which are unpleasant, but not dangerous. Stronger winds can stir up standing and breaking waves, which can be dangerous.

There is currently a big eddy bending the Stream and creating a northbound section of current between 66 and 68 degrees west. We can either ride this eddy or divert 200 miles west to cross the stream at a right angle. We've decided that the weather looks settled enough to take a ride in the Stream. We expect to enter the Gulf Stream Monday night and be through it by Tuesday morning. We'd better be. The winds are forecast to clock around to the north and begin blowing against the Stream early Tuesday.

June 9, 2010 - Change of Plans

I live for this color - this iridescent cobalt blue only found offshore in the tropics

This is kind of embarrassing, but I have to retract something I wrote in my last blog post. Remember that whole "we can motor most of the way to Bermuda" line? Well, actually, that's not quite true.

During the past three and half years of sailing around the world and doing a fair bit of motoring (see, e.g., Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand) we never really figured out how far we could motor on our tanks. Mata'irea has some pretty big fuel tanks (620L). And at any time we carry between 40L to 100L more in jerry cans. So we have made conservative guesses, such as assuming that we could motor 1 mile per liter of fuel, and that's worked for us thus far.

But with so little wind in the forecast for this passage we've been keeping careful track of our fuel consumption these past few days. As it turns out, we actually get 1.668 nautical miles (this is where it pays to be married to an engineer) out of each liter of fuel when we are motoring at 5 knots, in light winds, flat water and with a clean undercarriage. Which means that with our current fuel capacity we can motor 1035nm. Which means we don't have to stop in Bermuda.

Now, I don't have anything against Bermuda. But if we stop, we're going to be stuck there for at least 10 days. Unless we touch and go (clear in - refuel - clear out) we risk being underway when the Newport to Bermuda Race starts on June 18th. There are a lot of things that I want to do with my life, but that list does not include dodging 200 small boats with poor radar signatures in the middle of the gulf stream.

So our new plan is to skip Bermuda (as we get closer to the island we'll make the final call based on weather reports and our daily HF radio conversation with Herb Hildenberg, the weather guru). Which means we could be home as soon as next Thursday or Friday. Which is just a crazy, exciting, overwhelming thing to think about.

June 7, 2010 - Enroute to Bermuda

Cooling down with a bucket shower

June 1st marked the official start of hurricane season. Although our insurance would cover us for storm damage incurred in the Caribbean through the end of June, we were starting to get itchy to get north. Already this year at least one system has popped up between the Caribbean and Bermuda that had it occurred after June 1st, would have been labeled "tropical" by the meteorologists. But since it went through in May, it didn't get the tropical designation. These past few weeks the local papers and conversations at cruisers happy hours have been peppered with reports that it is going to be a busy year for hurricanes. So it was time for us to get out of dodge.

The route from the Caribbean to Bermuda passes through the Horse Latitudes, a region known for its calms. The name for the region hails from a time (before combustion engines) when becalmed seamen were forced to eat the horses on board to keep from starving. These days it might as well refer to horse power (as in Mata'irea's 64 hp Yanmar) because one expects to have to motor through the calms (dallying and waiting for a tropical storm to develop just isn't worth the fuel savings). Unfortunately, there hasn't been much wind at all between the Caribbean and Bermuda for the past few weeks, and what there has been has been associated with unsettled squally weather. We carry enough fuel to motor most of the way there (an expensive way to go, but cheaper than repairing storm damage), but not quite enough. So we were waiting for a window that would give us at least a few days of sailing.

Since we can only stand being anchored in the cesspool that is the Simpson Bay Lagoon for so long, last Thursday we motored up to Anguilla to enjoy our last few days at anchor in the warm, aqua blue tropical waters of the Caribbean. Anguilla has a bunch of rules in place that make it very expensive to explore any of the island or its outlying reef by boat. So we resigned ourselves to hanging out in the only free anchorage, Road Bay, which has clean, clear water, free wifi (so handy for downloading big weather files), several beach bars, and is within walking distance of one of the best restaurants on the island. Even with all that to keep us entertained, we still were anxious to get going.

We've been watching the weather, waiting for the Atlantic High to set up to give us some decent wind south of the High. But it just wasn't happening. So on Saturday we had lunch at one of the beach bars, disassembled the dinghy and, just as the charter boats were returning from their day out at the out islands, raised the anchor and headed north.

During the first few hours of the trip we had terrific sailing. The wind was well forward of the beam but it was light and the water was pretty flat, which are awesome sailing conditions for Mata'irea. We were flying along at 7 knots, slicing smoothly through the water, which also made for great sleeping conditions. And then the wind began to slack off. By morning we were doing 2.5 knots, and then eventually we had to turn the engine on to keep moving. It is still running.

Ever since we cleared the reefs north of Anguilla we've had another sailboat within visual or radar contact. There is an adage that any two boats headed in the same direction constitutes a race. That first night, while we were still sailing, having another boat ahead of us did make us more attentive to sail trim as we worked all night to whittle away the distance between us. We had a little more speed, but they were able to point higher. By morning we were abreast of them, but a few miles to leeward. We think the other boat might be Trond on Maryam (the boat we met in St. Barths) but we haven't been able to raise them on the VHF. If this calm persists much longer we might just have to motor over and see who it is.