Dolphin playing in front of "Solitude". Caribbean Sea, February 2011
Gearing up before the journey. Spanish Water, Curaçao, Dutch Caribbean, 31. January 2011
The sky was clear and black, dotted with a trillion stars from horizon to horizon. We were day and a half out of Curaçao towards Cartagena in Colombia on my 44 feet sailboat "Solitude". My two mates, Kenneth from Denmark and Brian from Canada were passed out below and I was in control at the helm on Solitude. The autopilot could not take the two and a half meters waves coming from behind, so I had to steer by hand. The wind was between 20 and 25 knots with gusts going over 30, and we were flying. Rather I was flying since the two mates of mine were asleep. It was just me, the southern cross I was following to my port side, the wind and waves and the angry samoans. Angry Samoans, a California punkrock band from the 1980's, helped me stay awake by blasting a screaming guitar out of the speakers in the cockpit. On the GPS the speed read, 10 knots and we had an average of 7,2 knots. And for you landlubbers and shore-huggers, that is very fast on a sailboat!
I was thinking - something you do a lot of when you are sailing - back on the island I had just left behind. Curaçao, I had been there on and off, for about 5 years and it was time to leave. A sad thing to leave since I had lots of very good friends there but, when you have traveled the world for 18 years, like I have, I can't stay too long in one spot and 5 years, on and off, is a long time for me.
The propeller - which turns when the engine is off and you are under sail, caused by the water passing under the boat - on "Solitude" was going even faster when ever I was surfing down a wave hitting speeds of 14 knots. The samoans were still angry and raging, I was feeling very good but I had no idea what was waiting for us.
The last week on Curaçao had been very hectic. I was working on my boat to get it ready for the high seas, that was easier on Curaçao, since I knew where to get everything. And saying farewell to friends with the only ritual best known for goodbyes, beer drinking and lots of it. My dad and his wife had been visiting me for two wonderful weeks and I had shown them a great portion of the island.
A light appeared to my port side in the night. I had just passed a cruise ship three miles away from "Solitude". The light came closer and closer but was still about 10 miles away and going the same direction as us. Out of nowhere it came even closer to us and sort of stopped. "What the hell is this guy doing?" - I asked my self, since no one else were around... I could still not see what it was but when I got closer, I realized it was a huge tanker. Since we were under sail, the tanker had to steer around us, that is the international rule. However, if the captain on the tanker was a drunk Russian or a half a sleep Phillipino, he might have forgotten this international maritime rule. It has been seen before.... I steered "Solitude" trying to get in front of the tanker but change my mind, thinking of the drunken Russian or the Phillipino half a sleep. Turned "Solitude" around and sailed behind the tanker. I realized that he had actually stopped and waited for me to pass in front of him but what are the odds? one out of 50 that will happen? I mean, you don't really want to get hit by a trillion tons of steal, now would you. And he wouldn't not even notice if he it us, just another cat to run over.
I wasn't even tired even though I had only slept 2 hours in the past 35 hours, this feeling of being alone with only the sea around your small sailboat, boosted my moral. Brian came up after I had steered for a couple of hours and took over while I rested in the cockpit. I must have been a sleep for 10 minutes when a wave broke over the side of the boat and into the cockpit, soaking me and the mattress, at least I had put on my foul weather gear. Brian, that wanker, was laughing out loud, he didn't get hit by any the water. 10 minutes of sleep was better than nothing but the water made it a bit cold and the samoans had left the cockpit. I went below to get some more sleep and Kenneth went to help Brian.
The sun rose and the wind was still hauling. We were alone on the vast Caribbean Sea, no other boats, birds or land could be seen 360° around us, just waves, waves and more waves... I had slept 1 hour but it made such a big different. The mates were using the autopilot but had to correct it every ten minutes or so because the waves coming from behind us, were pushing "Solitude" out of course. A freighter passed way out on the horizon, a thing you normally wouldn't pay any attention to but since we had seen no boats for hours and hours, we all stared at it for a long time... it disappeared behind us and we went back to sitting in the cockpit. Bottlenosed Dolphins appeared out of nowhere and stayed with us for 10 minuts. We were going around 10 knots and they were swimming pass "Solitude" with twice that speed.
To our port-side we saw some clouds that were really pointy and they didn't move at all. After consulting charts and the GPS we realized it was not clouds. It was the problem that cause this area of the world, to be the fifth worse place to navigate in the world. Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, the 5721 meter high mountains. We could see the snow on the very top, what a sight! and land we had not seen for a while.
So what do you do on a crossing....? Good question (Thanks, I'll write it down for future references...) We were listening to music, taking care of the world situation by swapping stories and viewpoints. Sometimes you read a book and sometimes others are trying to fight not to get sick. There are loads of things to do....
I, myself, use the computer to write stories, I navigate, I use the toilet, read a book and look over the sea and the most important thing to do, cook food. On land where everything is steady and not moving around all the time, cooking food is an everyday thing that you think about, but not really thing about. Every meal you eat on land are enjoyable, most of the times, and you look forward to it. On a boat, crossing a sea, every meal is like a Christmas dinner - not that I believe in celebrating a long haired hippie with Birkenstocks that ate too many mushrooms and all of a sudden walked on water - but you really can't wait to sit down and stuff you face with food. Even doing the cooking is nice. Well, for me, because I can stand below deck with out getting seasick when "Solitude" is rolling to an angle of 45° and the onion you just put on the table to cut, is now sitting at the navigation table, trying to look at the GPS and charts.
Breakfast on this trip was, an apple, some bread with jam or chocolate and a glass of juice and sometimes nothing at all. Lunch was the left overs from the dinner last night and the the grand meal, dinner...
First night I cooked Shepherds Pie. Spiced ground beef with lots of HP sauce covered with mashed potatoes and in the oven for about 20 minutes. Easy to eat out of a bowl with a fork. The conditions of the sea and boat does not allow you to put up the cockpit table, get the candle lights out and eat from a plate with knife and fork while you have intelligent conversations, no way. Bowl it is and bowl it is for the entire journey. Knife....? NO, fork or spoon will be your tools, NOT a knife!
Next day I cooked again, the crew was unable to go below again, but they did a fantastic job on the look out post. Pasta with bolognese spiced up with Bajan Pepper Sauce straight from Barbados. And the third night was chicken curry with rice. The curry straight from some random supermarket in the Caribbean....
For a dude like me, that think food is a never ending problem returning to you three times a day, every day, your entire life, tell you about the food we had on the trip..... that would give you an idea how important it is.
After dinner the sun sunk into the horizon and it got darker and darker, the shifts started and so did the bigger waves. From three meters they began to get to around four meters and still coming from behind "Solitude" and the wind went from 25-30 knots to steady 30 knots. We had the 155% Genoa out with the whisker pole to keep the sail from flapping too much. It was too much sail to have out but we were flying between 8 and 10 knots and when ever, like every 5 minutes when a huge set of 4 meter waves would push "Solitude", we were going around 14 knots. It was fast, very exciting and lots of fun.
The autopilot couldn't keep the course and a out-of-course situation could be very damaging, so we had to hand steer. Brian started at 19.00 with me sleeping in the cockpit in case something happened. At 21.00 I took over with out getting any sleep. The sounds of the waves and the wind kept me awake on the now fairly dry mattress.
In some way I was glad it was only the stars and the tricolor in the mast lighting up our world, because the waves were huge. When a wave came rolling from behind, I could see nothing but a wall of dark water and foam on top. Once one of the waves crashed over the aft deck, flooding the entire cockpit and splashing water into the galley and saloon. After that we kept everything closed.
Kenneth came up to me around 23.00 putting on more music, giving me chocolate and coca cola to keep me awake. The waves were even bigger now, topping around 5 meters, I think. I couldn't really see in the dark but when we were going down the wave with a screaming propeller, the GPS read around 15 knots. Kenneth had just gone below to look at charts when and enormous wave pushed us. I have never seen that much water spraying up from the sides of "Solitude", and I have never heard the propeller scream like it had just won 60 millions in the lottery. I even shouted out loud, WOOOOOOOOH!!!! and laughed even louder. I yelled through the wind down to Kenneth at the navigation table - "how fast were we going?" He came up with the fasted speed ever on "Solitude", 17,6 knot on the GPS.
Through the waves and night and under the star-covered sky, I sailed by hand. More waves pushed "Solitude" into the 15 knots range during this time. I was fun but hard work. My hands were sore from holding the wheel all the time, trying to go the right way down the waves. At 5 o'clock in the morning, still being very dark, Brian took over and I went for a sleep. If we wanted to get to Cartagena and not pass it, we had to get the whisker-pole off to get another direction, but Kenneth and I didn't feel like doing it in the dark. As soon as it was light out, I told my mates to wake me up.
In the saloon on the starboard side, is a bed. I have made some lines into a net so you can't fall out when you sleep. I lay down with a pillow and a backrest into the net so I was keeled in. After 6 hours at the helm, straight, I was out, dreaming wonderful dreams about being on land, eating with both a fork and a knife at a table not moving at all.
I jumped up, it was beginning to get light out and the waves were still huge. I must had looked like a boxer in the 11th round, but we needed to get the whisker-pole off. Harnesses were put on, Kenneth and I clicked into the safety line on deck and started to winch the sail in. We crawled up to the mast and with lots of power, more balance and skills, we took the pole of and placed it on the deck in the holders. Crawled back to the cockpit after securing various lines and put out the headsail no bigger than a pair of panties from a medium sized Danish farm girl. And we were still flying around 7 knots but now with a better angle towards Cartagena. The waves were still enormous, peeking at around 6 meters and the wind gusted up to 50 knots. Foam was forming on the water and we were now in a gale or on the Beaufort Wind Force Scale, force 8. A few too many times, the railing of "Solitude" and the deck was totally submerged and the three of us just looked at each other with out saying anything and then breaking into laughter. This had been the worst weather we had ever sailed in.
We still had around three hours to Cartagena and the wind was hauling, almost taking of the spray-hood of "Solitude". The visibility was around 10 miles so we couldn't even see land. I went below to check charts again. Kenneth pointed a head saying he saw some hills. I could see them but only barely. The waves had come down a bit, now being "only" 4 meters and the hills we saw were not hills, but the skyline of the tall buildings of Cartagena. We smiled to each other, we had made it to the top of the South American continent.
The waves got smaller and smaller and the wind dropped to around 20 knots, nothing in our world. We took more sail out and cruised the last miles in to Bahia de Cartagena and our anchor spot. Local fishermen, sitting in their small boats doing their living, were waving to us just outside the mouth of the big bay. When a huge container ship were getting out of the bay, we rolled in the sail, started the engine and motored the last hour to the anchorage. All the wet clothes, harnesses and mattresses were put out in the sun, making "Solitude" look like a gypsy boat. But we didn't care what she looked like, we had just survived the roughest trip ever.
500,2 nautical miles in 72:07:28 hours makes an average of 6,9 knots. Topspeed was 17,6 knots and I have sailed 6468,6 nautical miles with "Solitude" so far....
I had the fullest confident in "Solitude" before I set out on this journey, and I have been in big waves and lots of wind before. On a trip to Puerto Cabello in Venezuela coming from Curaçao, we were hit by a tropical storm lasting all night. That night the wind was hauling and we were flying with "Solitude". However, after this trip, me and "Solitude" can take on the world, come hell or come high water. We have already seen it, tried it and been in it.....
Thanks to Kenneth Plesner and Brian Zinn for coming on this adventure, sailing "Solitude" and being such a good crew.
Brian stealing the captain's food :-) .... Caribbean Sea, February 2011
Kenneth chilling in the "Kenneth spot". Caribbean Sea, February 2011
Mister Zinn in a relaxed moment. Caribbean Sea, February 2011
The sun is high and the captain has a beer in his hand.... it must be noon on "Solitude"! Caribbean Sea, February 2011
Kenneth looking like a beduin that fell over in a tattoo shop. Caribbean Sea, February 2011
Dolphins crusing the bow of "Solitude". Caribbean Sea, February 2011
Brian calling our friend Alex to get him to take a photo. Curaçao, Dutch Caribbean, 31. January 2011
Dolphins in the waves. Caribbean Sea, February 2011
Brian using his new toy. Spanish Water, Curaçao, Dutch Caribbean, 31. January 2011
