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Rain, rain, rain. Heavy, light, straight, sideways, short lived, or like now, everlasting. That’s been on the menu du jour since my last report. Little by little, by riding baby squalls, this morning, it felt like I had escaped the doldrums. Not so, I’m not sure what you call what I’m stuck in but it’s wet and slow going, with heavy banging in swell on the bow, and the sails slatting. Maybe by tomorrow we’ll be in better sailing conditions. I’m still trying to figure out my next step wrt the boom damage. For now, we’re sailing under-canvassed, if that’s even a word. Things are also slow going inside the cabin as the skipper is being adjusted to the reality of what he’s signed himself up for. There’s been a lot of work done to get some real sleep. I sleep with the hatch open so that if wind picks up or it rains, I can hope that it’ll wake me up, and I can try to harvest some forward momentum from the baby squalls. Quick note: I’m not asking for monster squalls! Just came back from a few trips outside. The wind is gone again. I took a reef out of the mainsail, and discovered a batten cap stud had come unscrewed. So I had to fix that. Then I noticed that the batten of the genoa was lying on the foredeck. So I’ll have to look at that later on. I’m just hoping to get out of the doldrums now. Really.

How funny I should end my report of yesterday with forecast of light wind in the approach to Torres Strait. As it is I am becalmed since mid day I think. As night came I abandoned all hope of wind: no wind during the afternoon, one short lived squall to get us a little further South, and no wind pick up as night fell. There’s a tiny amount of wind, which I could work with in a flat sea but we’re stuck in swells from multiple directions, which roll the boat, shake the sails, and all but make forward progress in any direction impossible. What else is going on CaB? Well, on the positive side, we fixed the secondary autopilot by swapping two wires (still no idea as to why we had to do this). During the squall, I managed to collect 5 gallons of water off the fold of the first reef. I finished repairing the masthead spinnaker halyard. And since we are becalmed I used the engine to charge the batteries, and the engine started! Now, on the other side, the primary autopilot froze the tiller when disengaged again. A hit with the hammer worked just like last time. I spent the whole afternoon butt naked outside, thinking I was clear of the sun, trying to fix the autopilot and make the boat move. Not so, I have sun burn in many places. But the winner for the day is the boom. I noticed a fracture on the side, where I use the boom downhaul. I’m not sure what to think of it as I thought I was being careful not to apply too much pressure there. I don’t think it was there before. It’s not like I have a spare boom. I’ve asked Cree and Ruben for their opinion. Maybe I can make a fiberglass sleeve to strengthen the area. Regardless, I am marching on. That is, if the wind shows up. In truth, it’s been a bit of a downhill run since Saturday. I don’t feel great about it all. I’m not even through 10% of the distance. Maybe it’s par for the course. Let’s hope it’ll all work out in the end. P.S.: there should be two pictures with this blog post; they may be grouped in a slideshow …

That’s the best sunset so far. It looks like the crown of the sea. Was that Neptune then, hiding behind those clouds?

Are we going to make it?

I captured his reflection in the hatch … It looks like a ghost sail, a premonition of things to come. Maybe I’ll write about it. He certainly deserves an epitaph.
Big, you were always quiet, lying low in your bag in the forepeak. You barely had any scar from your previous battles on the French racing circuit. In fact, you are a hand me down from Class40 #115. We struggled to get to know each other. I didn’t know how to handle you. But Sylvain made a few adjustments to your sock, certainly not an ATN sock, and then you were ready, looking fit for a trip to nowhere. Your sock! She had trouble, and was the cause of your demise. That and of course bad luck, and a novice skipper. For that I’m sorry; it didn’t have to come to this. But while we sailed together down to the doldrums, you gave me my best moments of sailing. Such a beauty it was to see you pull Changabang away from land and into the vast Pacific Ocean. Such pleasure it was to steer CaB under your power. You sent us clear of Marie. And now you rest in tatters. May your efforts not have been in vain. I’ll miss you. And the lost spinnaker sheet. At least I didn’t let you out to soil the sea. Although tempted to cut you off as you were desperately trying to hug on to CaB, being torn apart by the weight of water, I mustered all I had to get you back aboard, like I would have for my best friend. You belonged to the air element. Not water. You were great. You were “Big”. And now I mourn your retirement.