June 10, 2010 -Departure did not have the fear and reticence that I expected. I just HAD to leave and it was long past time to go, for sure. So preparations that day took longer than expected but did not include any of the foot dragging that I would have expected to tell you about. I departed the Dutch side of Sint Maarten, Simpson Bay, at 4:11 pm, after a long day of stowing things. AF was a mess before I bought the 4 cases of beer, 3 cases of gin, a case each of peanut butter (can you buy it in Guatemala?) raspberry jelly, cocktail nuts, and a few other things like that - oh, how about this? - a case of ketchup and a case of mustard! Am I a bad shopper or what? Stacking the beer and gin on the aft berth’s mattresses put some more weight to the stern, and I had been warned that for downwind sailing, I should have the bow light, or the sails press the forefoot into the water, slowing you. Later on, I moved the gin and beer to the bathtub, but that was after a few hard rolling seas almost put it all on the sole (floor). I am seasoned enough now, not to be scared prior to departure like this, which kind of surprised me, as I only have 2 other legs of experience, and one of those was a disaster. Is a resignation I feel, that time has come to depart and I must press forward and get what needs doing, done.
This will be my longest passage yet - about 1500 miles total, but 1300 to Roatan, and should take me about 12-14 days at sea. I am excited but resigned to a long time alone.
The day was beautiful, sunny, with the trade winds almost perfectly aligned, blowing from the east. I weighed anchor, and motored out a mile or 2 and turned back to the wind, set sails, (main double reefed, mizen, and about 80% jib), turned back to my heading, and after checking that all was well, shut down the engine for what would be days. For about the first 24 hours, I sailed south west to a point I had picked on the chart where I would then sail as due west as possible, but I recall that several islands would lie in my way, if I did not go far enough south.
I find in my notes that I mentioned all of the things that were not working that day - the SSB was down and had not worked for several months, I guess, so I could not communicate with friends enroute, or get current weather. But the morning of departure I had downloaded a 5 or 7 days GRIB file - which is a program for sending wind, wave, sea state, and rain conditions projected out as far as reasonable in time, which overlays on your navigation charts, and you can scroll through each days projections to see the overall picture of the weather. The radar was ‘iffy’ for sure, sometimes displaying nothing, but more often than not, in some queer data mix-up, would display everything exactly in mirror image. So, I had to use a bit of common sense to deduce that that storm on my left was THAT storm, over on my right.
Day 2 showed that I had sailed 124 miles on the rhumb line, but because of jibing, had actually sailed through many more miles of water than that, but 100 miles a day is a standard that you hope for and plan on, when passage making. The rhumb line is the straight line between the 2 points you are navigating. Sailing upwind means you will tack back and forth across the rhumb line, and for me, the same applied to sailing downwind, as I just couldn’t get AF to stay sailing directly before the wind.
I sleep in the cockpit, most often, looking astern. The first few days were difficult to sleep and more difficult to wake when my alarm sounded. I was setting it for 1 hour, but know that over the course of the first few days, slept much more than that at one time, until I set up a rhythm of life, and also decided where to put the alarm so it would be close to my ear. I had discovered that my chart plotter has an alarm clock, as well as a timer, and the warning tone is something that my ear is more tuned to, so I started to use it when I was particularly tired.
What is actually going on, from day to day, is this. The sails are set, and the boat is proceeding to a waypoint I have chosen, steered by the autopilot. AF is moving anywhere from 1.2 knots to 7.5 or even bursts of speed close to 8, but mostly about 5 knots. When the waypoint is nearing, an alarm sounds and I can choose a new waypoint, either jibing to another point of sail, or extending the route I am on 5 or 10 more miles. I found it impossible to sail straight downwind, so sailed almost the entire trip, zig zaging across a straight line - the rhumb line, which is the straight line you draw from Point A to Point B (St Marten to Roatan, Honduras, in this case.) So, I am free to sleep, cook, eat, bathe, or do small chores.
I have friends that I made just after buying Annah Foster, and who helped me re-name her. Their blog is entitled something like: Life At 5 Knots, and I thought of them so many times during this leg. Life is slow but relaxing. I cherish this time at sea, and this long voyage, alone, and on my first day out remembered how much I love the smell and taste of the salt water and air, and the feel of the boat pitching and rolling with the quiet and slow passage of miles of water under her keel.
Day 3 - I write that I passed a cargo ship, or rather he passed me, and I saw a Wright whale. But he was moving around in the water a lot, showing up here and then, there, and I assumed pursuing a school of fish. He paid me no mind at all. But 20 minutes later, I look out and there he is back, only it is probably 8 or 10 whales, and they just came by to give me the eyeball to see what I was about. Came within about 30 feet, flying past me, but each surfaced just abeam to scope me out.
The night before, I had opened a CD case and ripped every CD in it onto my new HP laptop, and then onto an external hard drive, and then copied them onto my little Acer, which I am using as primary computer. It uses less power, and I have bought a cigarette lighter adaptor to keep it charged, so I don’t have to use the small inverter. I have the new navigation software running full time, with the Furuno GPS talking to it, and I plug it into my sound system and listen to music playing on 2 sets of speakers, 1 in the salon, and 1 in the cockpit. I write that it bothers me that I have not found my ‘sailing knife’ which I am sure has a name, but I don’t know it. The knife has one blade which has cut outs for opening shackles, and then a fid of some kind. It was on a lanyard in St Marten, and I am afraid someone pocketed it when aboard. I hope I find it. At sea, it is something that you should keep around your neck, close at hand in case a shackle fails or a line jams and must be cut quickly to prevent a broach. I drank a beer that day, and write that I slept thru several alarms, so I think the stress of departure has finally caught up with me, sleep wise.
At about 3 o’clock in the hot afternoon sun, I was sitting in the cockpit, sewing extra reinforcemnt into 2 courtesy flags. I did the Honduras first and was half way through the Guatemalan when the world went crazy. With no loud bang or crash, suddenly AF slowed to a stop, with an alarm screaming at me. I threw down the sewing, and jumped to the helm where I saw that it was the depth sounder, and it was reading 4.3 ft. AF has a keel depth of 5.25 ft, so, in about 4,000 ft of water, I had run aground! Didn’t make any sense. I looked over the sides quickly, and ran forward to see if I had dropped an anchor accidently. We came to a complete stop from about 7 knots, in about 5 seconds, and then we swung 90 degrees to port. With the sails up and locked, the wind was heeling me over, and the waves were banging against the side, and tossing me up and down hard. I was so confused in the first few minutes, trying to figure out why I had run aground, that I never really looked carefully over under the boat. I release all the sheets, to let the sails flap freely, and then took each one down. Now, just adrift, and seemingly dead in the water still, I wondered what could be holding me there. Eventually I rigged up the underwater camera I have, and dropped it overboard, looking at my rudder, propeller, and what I could make out of the keel, and saw nothing, trying from several angles. The profile of the rudder looked good, as did the prop and keel. I was afraid to start the engine and motor in case I had done some damage to the shaft or prop, and eventually, after several hours, I think, hoisted the sails again, and continued. Had I hit a sleeping whale, I think the water would have churned a lot as it thrashed about to get away from me, so I think I hit a long fishing net that perhaps had broken loose and was adrift. My keel is only 5.25 ft deep so it was really just below the surface, whatever it was.
Day 4 - I write that storms are chasing me all day, one finally catching me and catching me with my pants down. The winds change from direction and force in just seconds, it seems and I am not used to this at all. But you learn how complicated weather prediction must be, since as the rain falls at sea from a big thunderstorm, the rain drops absorb the heat in the air, evaporating on the way to the surface, chilling the air. That air can rush by you, cold and you know that something is up. It gets so cold so quickly.
I started the engine after one storm killed the winds so that I could motor-sail, and found that the bearing at the stuffing box (where the propellor shaft exits the hull) was chattering, and getting hot. I assume that hitting whatever had bent the shaft in some way, and since damage here to the boat would allow water in faster than I could pump it out, I shut down the engine, and never put it in gear again for the rest of the trip. I ponder at this point, turning around and going to Puerto Rico for repairs, where I know no one, or continuing to at least Honduras. I write that I know I will not be able to motor up the Rio Dulce, so how will I get to Mario’s Marina? I list the troubles aboard at that time - throttle cable broken, prop shaft bent, SSB down, and radar questionable, but decide to continue on.
Red at night - sailor's delight! This is probably the most colorful sundown I have ever seen. 
Day 5 - AT this point, I have travelled 1/3 of the miles on the rhumb line for this trip. I played with the SSB quite a while and got it to download a Weatherfax. It is a current weather picture, but for the entire US and Caribbean, and it gets fuzzy from bad reception in the Carib area, so I cannot read it. But is a good thing that I can now receive. Now, what about transmit? I made 121 miles on the rhumb line today.
Almost every day, I walk out to the bow, and sit on the - let me call it a bowsprit - and watch the water go by. I have sat there for over an hour at a time, to kill time. It is a long day, each day, so reading becomes boring, as well as eating what I have aboard. I DO eat a couple tiny, bite-size candy bars I bought in SXM. Is a nice treat.
Day 6 - I only calculate that I made 125 mile on the rhumb line but take the time (I must be bored) to do some trip mileage. 1200 miles alone, from Tampa to Chesapeake. 660 miles to Bermuda. 1000 miles to SXM, and 520 miles so far on this trip. So I have soloed this boat 3386 nm so far, since I bought her.
I got the SSB to transmit and emailed Paul and Bart, telling them about my trouble off Puerto Rico. I have decided to keep it secret from family and friends and dont want them to worry. Unfortunately, I try to download very large GRB files for my weather. They are too big - SSB downloads at about 160 Bytes/minute and these will take hours to download. Exchanging emails with Paul - he frantically asking folks he knows in front of me where I can get help with the propeller shaft - explaining my predicament - and we decide that I will go to Fantasy Island Marina on the island of Roatan, Honduras, where there is a ship yard that repairs the Honduran Navy ships and shrimp boats, and should be able to haul me and determine what I need and fix it. I learn of a tropical storm that might be forming east of SXM from a passing boat. SailMail writes that I am using too much time on emails.
I sailed 123 miles on the rhumb line.
Day 8 - 100 miles on the rhumb line.
Day 9 - Seas are rough and big and skies are grey. I counted 4 storms that hit me. I ran out of propane, and I am hesitant in these seas to go astern and change the tanks. I realized at this point that I must traverse a very large shoal area off the coast of Nicaragua, called the Nicaraguan Bank or Rise or something like that. The seabed rises from 4 and 5 thousand feet, suddenly to 100 and 50 feet in a large area between Nicaragua and Jamaica. At some places it shoals to the surface. Currents are tricky, and I don’t know HOW to traverse them. It will take days to cross, as is a very large area. So I start pondering that, at this point.
Eating for me at this point is limited to cans of Bush beans, Cup o’ Noodle soups, and packs of peanut butter or cheese crackers. The last bread I made a sandwich from was moldy and I ate 2 days more off the loaf. I still have baloney and cheeses, so will eat them with no bread. I try to drink several liters of water each day, sometimes flavoring it with the concentrate from the Soda Club machine, but often just drinking the water straight.
Day 10 and 11 - I only write that I was making about 5 knots and that the wind had died over night, and I had had trouble sleeping. I had caught at this point 1 small baracuda which I did not bother to clean, but tossed back overboard, and today I caught a small tuna called a skipjack, I think. I have a cookbook for crusiers aboard, and she writes that the meat is not tasty, and full of stringy tendons, or the like, and she never eats them. I was reading this after filleting the fish, so, I sliced it thin, and ate it raw. The whole thing. Was not very tasty, but was protein and I really hate catching a fish and not eating it. The meat was bloody and really not very tasty, but was REAL sushi, as it was 45 minutes out of the sea.
Caught 2 small baracuda enroute. This is one.
At some point about this time, the gen set overheated and failed. In the calm seas, I finally removed the fresh water pump to replace the impellor, but noticed that the antifreeze was low on the internal cooling system. Had trouble getting the pump splines to line up with the engine splines and left the job unfinished when the seas picked up.
Day 12 - I was hailed by s/v Wiz - Capt John, an Italian flagged boat well astern and on their way to the Rio Dulce also. I recommend Fantasy Island Marina to them for fuel. They promise to call back at 6 pm but I never heard from them again. The wind is dead at sunrise. I hauled in a few buckets of seawater and took a nice bath on the stern. Needed it.
Day 13- Reduced the jib overnight sensing bad weather. Glad I did. Sailing with reduced main and mizen, and AF is much happier.
Day 14 - 2 weeks at sea - 130 miles to Roatan. Travel 70 miles since yesterday. I write that is only 104 miles at some point. Hunted for impellors for over an hour before I found them. Land Ho! but took me several days to finally get to it. I think this is the Honduran coast line, which was about 30 miles away when I first sighted Guanaja.
Day 15 - Storms all around, and changing winds. I can see the circulation in the clouds, drawing circles around the horizon. Is not a good thing, I suspect. USCG hailed me in the afternoon. I have been trying to sail to Roatan all day and night, but the storms come and the wind changes direction after each one. Never can get a decent wind TO Roatan. USCG comes up to me, and hails. After taking all the important info from me, they inform me that 50 miles east, there is going to be a tropical storm formed and tomorrow, “this place is going to a bad place to be”. I shoot off an email to Paul and Bart, only to find one from Bart telling me the same. USMC beats the USCG - how about that! Semper Fi! I think for a few minutes, and the 1st thought is to sail east and go down to Panama. WRONG! So I start to sail towards Roatan, but after another big rain storm, winds put me going away to the north west - about 300 degrees on the compass.
Day 16 - Somebody - I think Jerry at Fantasy Island Marina, or perhaps Bart, emails me a second position for the storms center, and after I plot its course, realize that I have been paralleling the storm. Belize is 100 miles in front of me, and I am afraid to tack in these 12-15 ft seas. AF has gone into stays 4 times in the last day - must be something I am doing wrong, but I cannot continue on this course or will run INTO Belize tomorrow night, so after an hour’s study of the seas, I finally work the courage up to tack. She goes into stays but takes the seas very well. I had nothing to fear. I try again. She fails again, so this time I jibe, going back around the compass almost 270 degrees to get sailing in the correct new course, back to Roatan. But now I am heading away from what had become Tropical Storm Alex.
This was my 2nd tropical storm, and not near as bad as Ida was last November, but, regardless, when things are rough, I do not think to take pictures or film. This is a taste of it before it got worse.
Day 17 - I make no entries in my log, fighting the storm, but the winds are setting up to make a perfect sail between Guanaja and Roatan.
June 27, 2010 - Day 18 - Sailing through a gap of 6 miles even scares me, having been through so many changing winds for the last few days. But the wind is perfect and the weather mostly sunny, with signs that Alex is lingering. I sail through the gap between Guanaja and Roatan going south east, with the mainland Honduran mountains 30 miles south,, and make the big turn west, between the Honduran mainland, and Roatan. I call the marina every 15 minutes, making 4 knots. But I am off the mouth of one entrance to the marina before I finally hear from him., He knew to expect me, and other sailboats passed on messages that I was approaching, but Jerry couldn’t hear me on VHF and I couldn’t hear him. Finally, I look up and see a small dink headed my way, with 3 people and a dog. As they near me, we hail and exchange names, and Laura pulls an ice cold beer out of a little cooler and passes it up to me! WOW! I cannot tell you how good it tasted, and how much it meant to me that she brought it out to me. (I learned later that she made Chris turn the dink around and go back to their boat to get the beers.)
Chris and Laura tied up to AF, and Jerry came aboard and steered me across the shoal, and through the narrow twisting channel and we kissed the dock in the exact spot he meant. I jumped down, and tied her up and was on land and safe and happy, with another cold beer in my hand, after 18 days at sea.
I stopped jabbering and excused myself, walked down the dock to land, and onto my knees, kissed the dirt, bowed and thanked God, and Mom and Dad, for another safe passage. Up and off the knees, and back to these wonderful folks, to give Laura a quick hug and kiss for bringing me out the beers, from a very, very smelly, tired and happy sailor. Life IS GOOD!!!
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