Offshore from Vavaâu to Tongatapu
26 August 2023
Teddy
Title: Offshore from Vavaâu to Tongatapu
/Safe and sound and home again, let the waters roar Jack,/
/Safe and sound and home again, let the waters roar Jack/
/Long we've tossed on the rolling main/
/Now we're safe ashore, Jack/
/Don't forget your old shipmates/
/Faldee raldee raldee raldee rye-eye-doe!/
//
Weâve made it! Weâre securely anchored off of Pangiamouto Island in the
Tongatapu group as of around 10:30 this morning, just about 48 hours on
the dot from when we left Port of Refuge in Neiafu. The passage went
smoothly: I was only a bit seasick for the first six or so hours, and
the weather was chill.After setting the anchor we spent the day
recovering, had a nice chorizo scramble for dinner, and are all turning
in for the night.
I remember back when I was working dockside tours on the Hawaiian
Chieftain that every so often a guest would come on board, the boat
would be gently rocked by the wake of some passing dinghy, and the guest
would say âwoah, Iâm starting to feel a little seasickâ, and Iâd just
roll my eyes. Not a lot of folks are familiar with seasickness or what
life on a boat off-shore is like, so I figured Iâd take this blog post
to shed some light on the matter.
Being at sea on Rover isnât so much a gentle swaying so much as like
being in a clothes dryer with a malicious deity starting and stopping
the tumble dry setting for a few seconds every 10-15 seconds.
Belowdecks, the crew is like dice in a cup during a particularly lively
game of Yahtzee. There is nothing gentle about the motion of the boat at
sea, and the seasickness comes more from being on a rollercoaster you
canât see the tracks of and are unable to get off of for the duration of
the voyage (two days, in our case).
Even if one can weather the assault on their sense of
balance/equilibrium and avoid the nausea, thereâs still the matter of
navigating the vessel, which acts like itâs been possessed by the spirit
of a bucking bronco. On the Lady Washington we used to call them âbrig
bitesâ: the erratic and violent motion of the boat means that sometimes
the boat will seem to reach out to punch you when youâre least expecting
it. Pete experienced this phenomenon on one of our watches: he was
coming up from belowdecks with two mugs of coffee to keep us warm on our
watch and had both of his hands occupied when the boat suddenly rolled
hard to starboard, slamming him into the side of the companionway. As we
say onboard âone hand for yourself, one hand for the shipâ: always leave
one hand free to steady yourself on the boat or to fend off its sudden
assaults.
âHow can you possibly do anything in such a hostile environment?â one
might be asking. Well, there are little tricks or tools for all of the
things. Sleeping, for example, is accomplished with the aid of
lee-cloths: pieces of netting tied up around the bunk that donât really
keep the interred sailor from being tossed around, but do keep the
sailor from being tossed entirely out of their bunk. Cooking (if a
sailorâs nausea allows them to stomach the thought of food) is
difficult, but possible because the stove is set on a gimbal and remains
mostly upright as the boat rolls. Myself, I managed to boil water once
on the passage and it was a terrifying experience. Heading forward of
the safety of the cockpit is made safer with the aid of tethers,
carabiners attached by a lanyard to your lifejacket to clip into safe
attachments as you move towards the bow (where the pitching and rolling
is the most severe). Everythingâs a little harder off-shore, but with
enough sleep deprivation, sea sickness medication, and adrenaline, the
time flies right by!
So! That was what we were up to for the two days from Vavaâu to
Tongatapu, and weâre getting ready to do it again in just shy of a week!
Morale remains high!
--
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