Trip Log: 3694 Nautical Miles. 0 to go!

A large flying fish got lucky last night. It ended up flapping away on the side deck by the cockpit, so we took pity and tossed it back in.

By nightfall, we were still some distance from the point at which we needed to switch the sails to change direction, so we continued with the same setup, gradually moving south of the rhumb line (the direct line to our destination). The issue was now whether we should wait until we had passed south of the island of Fatu Hiva before making the change, or change to past just east of the island. If we were to change to pass east, the spinnaker drop would have to happen in the dark, otherwise it could wait until morning.

When I got up to relieve Sal at the helm at 4am, it was decision time. The winds were gusting over 20 knots, and when I took over I had a tremendous battle keeping the boat on course --- go to far to starboard and the main backwinds with a crash, go too far to port and the spinnaker pulls you way over and then collapses with a great flapping roar. The snap-bang when it refills makes you cringe---just how much of that can the sail handle? Just the action of the waves themselves can swing you from one extreme to the other in a second, so the better part of the effort is just avoiding the extremes. I marvelled at how Sal had come with her hand steering, managing all this in the dark.

The decision wouldn't have mattered much except for the fact that if we left our turn too late, we would add just enough time that we'd arrive at Hiva Oa too late to enter the harbor and anchor. It's very small, and we'd heard there were at least 21 boats packed in with bow and stern anchors. Being too late would mean spending the night bobbing around in one place in a holding pattern, a very unpleasant proposition.

In the end, the thought of trying to do the sail change in the dark, and of running up the weather coast of an unknown island in the dark, made the decision for us and we decided to wait until morning. At 5.30am we were all on deck and set up to lower the spinnaker. The wind was now gusting up to 25 knots and the ride the wildest yet. We moved the pole to the center to set up the drop, and this put us on a reach. In these winds, we leant way over in a near broach, making the whole thing much more dramatic. I pulled on the sock to douse the spinnaker --- no luck, it was jammed --- not surprising after four days and nights. Now what? The only alternative was to get it down in the standard way, without the sock. With the sock, you turn downwind to blanket (collapse) the spinnaker, then pull down the sock so that the entire sail is contained in a long tube about a foot in diameter. This completely tames it, so the process of lowering it is very easy. Without the sock, you blanket the sail and then lower it, pulling in the acres of material that is trying to fill with the wind. Quite often, the sail ends in the water, fills with water, and then, with the boat rushing forward and the sail attached at the top of the mast, things get extremely interesting.

We regrouped, with Tane at the helm, me ready to pull in the sail, and Sal at the mast ready to lower the sail. Tane turned downwind, and as Sal lowered, I began stuffing the sail into the forward hatch. In moments we were done, the sail was dry, and we felt like pros.

Fatu Hiva, at first just a black shape in the night, emerged with the dawn. Steep cliffs, jungle covered mountains, and a huge cloud to cap it all.

We turned for Hiva Oa, set the jib, and were off on a wonderful beam reach (the wind coming from the side). We saw another sail for the first time in weeks, a boat leaving Fatu Hiva and going in our direction. In no time, it was clear that at the speed we were going, we'd make Hiva Oa in plenty of time. It was a wonderful day, with Fatu Hiva receding, Hiva Oa gradually appearing, and running between Motutane and another island. All of the islands are dramatic shapes, chunky, green, and very alien in the sea haze.

We entered the harbor at Hiva Oa and circled around the anchored boats. Crowded indeed! We had to get the dinghy into the water in order to set a stern anchor. Our paperwork will be dealt with in the morning. We celebrated with a glass of wine, and went ashore. All three of us staggered about, the effects of the wine and the weeks of rocking at sea making it extremely difficult to walk. At a little store, we found an entire shelf of Arnott's biscuits! Sal couldn't resist. Tane thrilled to the local polynesian owner of the store describing the freshness of her baguettes at 8:30 in the morning when they arrive---the very French gestures and sounds most incongruous.

The tiny harbor is dominated by the hills, but in particular by a massive peak with sheer cliffs disappearing into the clouds above. An abrupt change from the weeks at sea.

The passage was 25 days. From the Galapagos, at the same pace, it would have taken 19 or 20 days, an extremely fast passage. We've learned that one of the boats here, a single hander whose autopilot also failed, took 50 days.