Log #38j Canaries to Cape Verdes, Another Horrendous Sail Written at: Baia de Mordeira, Ilha do Sal, Cape Verde Islands Jan 18, 2006 Hi Folks, We are still stuck in this bay with 35 to 45 knots for the sixth day now, fearful (or prudent) to weigh anchor for another location on Sal or the next island. It has not let up! In the lulls, it may go down to 25 knots and in the gusts to 55 knots. Is this what we are going to have in our crossing? This is the last log of the Canaries and the next series will be on the Cape Verdes. However, with this weather we will probably cut our travels here short to start our crossing. I have been able to get caught up on my logs and Judy has been able to read 10 hours a day during these six days facing such winds. More about them in my next log. I am still having problems with the power cord and it is shorting out. If it goes, I will not be able to send any logs until I replace it or the computer in Antigua some time in February. Both Judy and I are getting tired of these heavy winds. Maybe it is time to take a break? All the best, Aubrey Log #38j Canaries to Cape Verdes, Another Horrendous Sail After a few hours sleep following that exhausting sail from La Palma, we were directed to a mooring on the hammerhead (the outer end of the pontoon) of G dock, on which our friends Sue and David on Suerte were docked. It was now Dec. 29 and we enjoyed our few days before the New Year in this pleasant town of San Sebastian, meeting other cruisers, exchanging books, renting DVD movies, and shopping in the local market. I had Sue cut my hair as I saw her doing David’s, and a good job she did too. New Year’s Eve there was a big gathering at the plaza across from the marina to which we went about 2230 to see what was happening. Not much. People were milling around, many in long dresses and tuxedos, drinking (not heavily but happily), wearing party hats and streamers from earlier parties. Apparently the New Year is welcomed in by family meals late New Year’s Eve, and celebrations don’t start until after midnight. Sure enough, there was no music before midnight, but a band was getting set up. Judy and I had drinks in our hands (there were several stands at the edges selling drinks, but no food) and without any fanfare, I noticed on my watch that it was midnight. I quietly said “Happy New Year” as I kissed her. There was no announcement from the bandstand and people gradually became aware it was midnight, then belatedly started kissing and hugging each other. A few minutes later the band was organized, and loud music followed, continuing until 0800! However, rather than staying on the plaza Judy and I wandered over the quiet streets of town before returning to Veleda, with our Christmas tree lights still shining inside, to sleep, in spite of the music. We had been visited by the Brit boat behind us, Star Swan, the day before and we were invited over for drinks next day. Their boat was an old (early 1970’s) Swan 44, a good solid vessel, but quite austere inside, with quarter berths and main salon berths for a racing crew of 6 to 8 people. We felt Veleda had more living space in our main salon and was far warmer and more homelike. People are frequently surprised at the space and comfort of our Ontario 32, even though periodically I wish we had more storage space and easier access for things. We are fortunate to have such a good, solid, comfortable, seaworthy home as we have in Veleda. The Horrendous Sail Jan. 2, 2006:  after checking weather forecasts we decided to leave, as nothing above 20 knots was forecast for the next several days. After saying goodbye to David and Sue, we slipped our lines at 1230 for the 800 mile passage to the Cape Verde (Cabo Verde) Islands. It was a clear sunny day with light force 1 east and northeast breezes through which we motor sailed until about 1830, when the wind picked up enough to shut the engine off. We had left the double reef in the main from our previous voyage, but had the full genoa out until the breeze stiffened and we felt it best to reef the genoa as well for night cruising. Shortly after midnight the wind was blowing a strong force 7 (25 to 30 knots) and we were howling along at 6.5 to 7 knots, well above hull speed. The waves were increasing from our port quarter again, much as they did on our sail from La Palma to La Gomera. However, our new Raymarine autopilot seemed to be handling it OK and so we let it and Veleda take us for a very fast heavy sail as the wind crept up to force 8 by sunrise but eased off to force 5 during the day. During the night our wind indicator broke and was flogging around at the masthead. I was afraid it would get caught in one of the main or genoa halyards and create problems in furling. However it wrapped itself around one of the upper mast steps and stayed there for the rest of the voyage. It was a heavy brisk overnight sail and by 1230 next day we had traveled 152 nautical miles for an average speed over the first 24 hours of 6.2 knots, well over our hull speed. When passage making, I use the target of 100 nautical miles a day under sail as adequate. Over that is good, and under that is not so good. So, 150 was excellent! The wind was not quite strong enough from our quarter to have the wind generator keep up with our electrical demands and so we had the engine on for an hour the third day out to charge our batteries. We were still going faster under sail power in force 5 and 6 winds than our engine would move us, and so we left it in gear just at a fast idle to charge batteries. Our course was 215M and the wind was NE, almost directly behind us, and so the third day out I rigged the whisker pole, flying the reefed genoa by the lee, and our main out to starboard. It was a risky evolution as the seas were heavy on the quarter with about 3 metre swells. This second 24 hour period (our third day out) we had done “only” 140 nautical miles. However, sailing at these speeds in a quartering sea is not comfortable! The auto pilot was doing a good job correcting, but when a swell hits our port quarter it pushes it to starboard swinging the boat until self steering corrects as Veleda slides down the overtaking wave, and hopefully rises up for the next swell. In addition to the swaying of the boat, the speeds increase and decrease depending upon whether going down the front of a wave, or falling behind in the trough of a wave. I have seen the speed surge from the trough of a wave doing only 4 knots to surging ahead on the next wave within a four second period up to 12 knots! This makes for moving below, using the heads, preparing meals, eating, and sleeping very difficult! We left the genoa wrung out over night and sailed along at a great, although uncomfortable rate, doing 159 nautical miles this third 24 hour period. However by mid afternoon the wind had increased to force 8 and we thought a third reef in the main would be a good thing. The time to reef is the FIRST time you think of it, not later when the wind may have increased even more. But, we still had the genoa wrung out! Could we haul in the main enough to put the third reef in? Should we drop the whisker pole? The swells were increasing to at least 4 metres by this time, and the wind was at 35 knots, gusting to 40. Let’s heave to! Veleda is a good sea boat and heaves to in heavy weather quite well. That is the manoeuvre where (with the main and genoa out the same side) the boat crosses the direction of the wind but backs the genoa which is still lashed to windward, pushing the boat down wind; but the main is hauled in and the helm lashed upwind to move the boat upwind. These two forces tend to cancel each other out, and the boat stabilizes just off the wind into the waves without making headway, and perhaps blowing down wind at a knot or two. The boat can stay in this condition for a period of time to give the crew a rest from the heavy wave action and the crashing speeds of the boat. After taking down the whisker pole, we steered into and across the wind, heaving to in a remarkably stable attitude to the heavy winds and 4 to 5 metre waves. Judy then went forward to put the third manual reef into the main, now that it was midships instead of well outboard, while I adjusted the helm and mainsheets to keep us properly hove to. Once the reef was securely tied in, I cheated by using the engine to power us around to port thus filling the reefed genoa and the main, now both out to starboard, back onto our original course of 215 M with the wind and waves again lashing us from the port quarter. We decided not to wing out the genoa and continued on a very broad reach. Whew, we were glad that risky evolution was complete! It is always a bit risky with the genoa wrung out with a whisker pole as it restricts your maneuverability, especially when heavy weather sets in, as it did. We had force 7’s, 8’s, and 9’s for the next three days. Veleda and our selfsteering handled it very well, and we were just along for the ride. And what a ride it was! Trying to make coffee or tea, let alone cook, were major chores and risks. I spilt both the coffee and tea pots as I was trying to prepare them. I broke my coffee thermos. In heavy weather, I do all the cooking and Judy, as she says, may or may not eat. She wasn’t too bad on this trip, not as bad as coming across the Atlantic; she threw up only three times. I was thrown off the starboard cockpit locker once when not holding on, and slid to the cockpit sole, bashing my ribs on the opposite locker and bruising my side. I don’t think I cracked any ribs, but it was sore for a couple of weeks. So often I am amazed at how well Veleda takes on the waves or recovers from some very heavy slapping as a wave crashes on her quarter. She seems to dance on top, pulling her bow up, or lifting her stern to bob on top of them. Often a 5 metre wave will threaten her, a moving wall of tons of surging water bearing down on her stern. This gigantic swell may have one or two waves riding atop it (see attached picture), being pushed by the wind and getting ready to topple in a foaming crest, accelerating into a white mass, then subsiding back into the mother swell. However, sometimes the wave will crest just before it reaches Veleda’s hull, in which case the foaming crest slaps Veleda’s side sending spume and spray over the deck, sometimes soaking us in the cockpit from a few drops to a solid drenching. Twice these side waves slapping at Veleda inundated the cockpit with a few inches of water, but nothing serious. We had removed Sprite from the DinghyTow before leaving and had it stored on the cabin top; otherwise Sprite often would take the brunt of the breaking waves, be slewed sideways, or just dance on top of them. One afternoon with monstrous following seas, one swell was overtaking from dead astern with a frothing wave on top getting ready to crest and crash in on itself, except the speed of the swell overtook Veleda and the crest crashed right in to the cockpit! We were soaked and there was six inches of water swilling around on the cockpit sole. We were royally pooped! This was the first real poop experience we have ever had. In our sail from La Palma to La Gomera we had two waves bash into our quarter sloshing a few inches of water into the cockpit, the first for even that much. But this time it was an honest pooping where the wave crashed right over our stern, washing into the cockpit. In uncontrolled conditions, this can be very dangerous, for if the cockpit floods, it can affect the stability of the boat, and if the boat swings down the next wave and it too washes into the cockpit, the boat may broach, and possibly capsize. However, Veleda kept her stern to the seas, rising up over the next waves and swells, while Judy and I laughed and acknowledged, “We were pooped!” Night sailing in these conditions can be … interesting! Most of our nights were clear with stars and moon overlooking our progress. I could not see the size or conditions of the swells or waves. I could see the waves after their crests broke into a wash of frothy luminous spray, spreading in silver fusion across large swaths of water. Often I would hear the waves starting to break before being able to see them. I would hear a babble of falling water that increased in volume, turning into a loud swishing noise, then a surging roar as tons of water crashed down beside or ahead of Veleda. The phosphorescence in the water accentuated the whiteness of the froth and crashing waves on the ink black sea. I always find it fascinating to look aft, to where our speed through the water leaves a Tinkerbell trail of sparks from the rudder and the propeller as Veleda glides through the seas. Farther astern, the wake creates sheets of phosphorescence that spread out like a frothy silver-white bridal train, sometimes with luminous veils undulating beneath the surface. Night sailing can be intimidating, but also fascinating with its own stark beauty of the stars, the moon, even the clouds against the obsidian black sky, as well as the sounds of the surging waves and the whispering or howling of wind in the rigging, the phosphorescence playing across the water, the total isolation on the empty sea. We saw absolutely no ships or other boats from the time we left La Gomera until we entered the harbour at Palmeira on Sal in the Cape Verdes (16 45.28N, 022 58.78W). We saw a pod of dolphins the first day out, and I saw a couple of flying fish; otherwise, nothing! We had some beautiful clear starlit nights until the three-quarter moon came up. The wind speeds of force 7 to 9 and the 3 to 4 metres waves kept up continuously from 1800 the first day, Jan. 2, until we arrived at Palmeira on the island of Sal in the Cape Verdes by 1800 Jan. 7. Five solid days of winds from 35 to 55 knots and 3 to 4 and 5 metre swells! None of this was forecast. The conditions were constant. It was not a specific storm. Just consistent, heavy NE trades, far heavier than anything we have read about in our pilots. We averaged over 150 nautical miles a day over the five day (and 5 hours) period it took to sail the 777 miles from La Gomera in the Canaries. This too was just a foretaste of what we were to experience on Sal! Next log