Hi Folks,
We have been in this volcano decimated island for a couple of days now, and will be departing tonight for Guadeloupe. This will also be the first log sent out on our new computer that Judy’s Dad got us when she visited with him in Panama City Florida last week. To preserve the keyboard of our new computer from dust, I have stretched and taped a layer of Saran Wrap across it, as I have not been able to buy a keyboard dust cover. This log gets us well into our passage and the glorious wide open trade wind sailing. We have done more sailing in the past three months than in the past five years in the Mediterranean. The winds here in the Caribbean are great!
Note - we are combining Logs 39D through G on this page.

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Log #39e Passage Notes 2, Days 2 to 4

Day 2
By noon of day 2 we were at 17 02.74N, 027 07.70W, cruising along wing on wing in brisk force 4 (15 knots) winds. By early afternoon, the wind had dropped to about 10 knots, and so we shook out the second reef from the main, so that along with our full genoa we were cruising along at 5 to 6 knots for the rest of the day and the night hours. It was a beautiful clear sunny day with steady force 4 trade winds and 1.5 to 2.0 metre swells on the quarter. Our new Raymarine self steering system handled it and all the heavy seas throughout the passage quite well.

As our Windex wind direction indicator at the masthead was destroyed during Storm Delta in Tenerife, and our Signet electronic one broke several years ago, we had no wind direction indicator whatever. Our Signet wind speed indicator worked well, but not the direction component. In order to see the wind direction we used two ribbons as tell-tales on the lower shrouds, and our Canadian flag flying on the aft stay. We lowered the Cape Verde courtesy flag (as we were well offshore) from the starboard spreader to avoid wear and tear on it, but hoisted flag "N", November, in order to have a visual indication of the wind direction forward of the bimini that we could see from the cockpit. We didn’t care if it became frayed, as we only had to use it once, going from the North Sea to indicate we did not have a pilot aboard while going up the Kiel Canal into the Baltic Sea in 2000. It was crucial to see the direction of the wind in order to avoid backwinding the main, to avoid an accidental gybe with the wind so fine abaft, and the heavy following seas knocking our stern off course. So from the cockpit steering position I could see the tell-tales and flag November through the open bridge between the dodger and the bimini to identify the relative direction of the wind.

We do not have a single side band short wave receiver and transmitter; only a short wave receiver. This has allowed us to listen to Herb each evening as he gives weather information for a boat, "Imaginess", a day astern of us. He calls them up and asks where they are and the weather conditions they are presently experiencing. Then he tells them what to expect and suggests any course changes to take advantage of weather systems. Since he did not predict any heavy weather other than the trade winds (which often blow at near gale force, 25 to 30 knots) we decided not to reduce sail overnight, and continued along at 5.5 to 6.0 knots all night, wing on wing; a fantastic sail!

Night Sailing
 Night sailing is a high experience! The second night out was a clear starry night, with a silver sliver of the new moon which set about 2000, leaving a glorious diamond-studded sky through which we were silently gliding with only the whish of the waves as Veleda surged up and down the swells, and the occasional mechanical clicks of the self steering system as it corrected the course steered. The ink-black sky with the cold white points of the heavenly bodies eternally in their allotted orbs made night sailing an exquisite experience of gliding through an eternity that always has been and always will be.

Looking into the sea can be a disturbing uncertainty as one cannot see the black waves or anticipate their effect. The overtaking quartering swells arrive announced only when a hiss and sound of falling water washes along the stern and broken crests surge alongside and forward of the boat in frothy phosphorescent washes of white water. I enjoy looking over the stern to see the phosphorescence streaming from the agitation of the off-centre free-turning propeller and the rudder, like Tinkerbelle’s slash of white diamond dust behind her magic wand, as we glide through the water at a brisk 6 knots. Every once in a while in the quiet wash of the wake, there will be a silent explosion of white as a large phosphorescence bloom blossoms astern in our wake. The monochromatic universe of night sailing is magnificent.

It is fascinating after sunset to watch the individual stars and planets as they make their way on the stage of the celestial orb. The two end stars on the bucket of the Big Dipper constantly point to the North Star as the Earth rotates around its fulcrum. It is lower here at 17 degrees north latitude than in our home in Toronto at 45 degrees north latitude. Throughout the night I can watch as the Dipper swivels around the North Star emptying its ethereal contents towards the horizon. This far south we have been able to identify the Southern Cross. The constellations of the Pleiades, Orion, Cancer, Sagittarius, parade in fixed order across the sky as well as the individual cold blue and diamond white pulsating stars of Sirius and Arcturus. Our planetary silent solar system sentinels of Jupiter and Saturn solidly transiting the now moonless black sky gave way to the last celestial body, as Venus held out longest in the paling blue sky, before the sun came up for a new day.

Day 3
 We had the engine on for an hour to charge the batteries, and left the water maker on for three hours to ensure adequate fresh water. Our tanks only hold 50 gallons, and our water maker produces 6 litres (1.5 gallons) per hour, so we have a good supply. We make good use of our overboard water foot pump to reduce the amount of fresh water we use by rinsing and washing dishes in salt water and then giving them a rinse in fresh water before drying.

For cooking fresh vegetables we use half sea water and only half fresh. Also we have to be careful about the amount of garbage we can carry on board for a three week passage. Vegetable, meat and biodegradable scraps go overboard. Tins and glass go overboard. Paper and cardboard are torn into smaller pieces and thrown overboard. However, no plastics, aluminum foil, foam cartons, or plasticized cardboard are thrown over. This procedure allows us to have to keep a minimum of garbage on board with a minimum of ocean pollution.

We turned our clocks back an hour as we were going westward into another time zone. One red-hulled fishing trawler was the only other vessel we saw today. Our 24 hour noon to noon run was 130 nautical miles, but today’s winds dropped, with our speed down to 4.5 knots for long periods at a time in light force 2 to 3 winds, and so our next 24 hour run will probably be less. However the seas were quiet, allowing Judy a good sail without being seasick. She is doing better this trip as she is wearing a Scopolamine patch which seems to be helping.

Day 4 (Judy’s Birthday)
We are superstitious about sailing on Judy’s birthday, as the two previous times we have sailed in this winter month have been plagued with problems. (Most winters we have been in marinas from November to March or April, and not at sea) Our first winter we were heading from Cuba to the Bahamas on her birthday (1999) and were hit by a force 8 gale, with wind against current (the Gulf Stream) causing 15 foot steep-sided waves. Judy was very seasick, and continued to be unwell for the next couple of days in Cat Key.

The second time was at night on her birthday in 2001, during our 150 mile crossing from Barcelona to the Balearic Islands during which our forestay broke in another force 8 gale, leaving us without any forward support for our mast. It could easily have snapped, creating major problems. As it was the keel stepped mast held until I could alter downwind and we then used the spinnaker halyard and pole lift halyard as temporary forestays for the last half on the trip to Andratx on Mallorca. The genoa and roller furling system were destroyed, So we are a bit anxious about sailing on her birthday.

After another beautiful night’s sail we found a couple of dead flying fish on our side decks. They were too small to be bothered cleaning , and besides, we did not know how long they had been there. They were quite rigid. It is fascinating to watch these fish shoot out of the water and using their pectoral fins like wings, skim hundreds of yards across the surface, even changing direction as they frantically try to escape larger predators. I put out a couple of trolling lines in a vain attempt to catch some fish, but with no luck, and I hauled in my lines before dark.

I have not been very successful at fishing. Since we left Toronto almost 8 years ago I have lost more lures than I have caught fish. I think the score is Fish 4 (lures), me 2 (fish, too small to bother eating). The only seafood I/we have been successful in catching have been a few good meals of mussels, found on rocks and pilings in Scotland, and two dozen conch collected from a shallow conch bed in the Bahamas. Oh well, hope springs eternal.

The wind started to pick up today, but our 24 hour run to noon was only 120 miles, still much better than my estimated average of 100 miles a day. The wind went from force 3 in the morning to 5 in the afternoon, and by early evening it was blowing force 6 and 7 whisking us along at 6.6 knots. We put the second reef back in the main, and just before supper reefed the genoa in preparation for night sailing.

We listened to Herb at supper time to find out no storms were expected, just the standard strong trade winds at 25 knots. Imaginess was about 150 miles astern of us, and we also heard Owen on the Naomi J., getting ready to leave Mindelo for the Azores, and trying to determine the best weather window for his departure

Judy’s birthday wasn’t over yet, and before midnight the winds went up to force 8 (35 to 40 knots), giving us a very fast ride all night and next day. The winds were consistent, and from a good angle allowing us a safe fast sail. So we survived her birthday at sea with no mishaps. Happy Birthday Judy!

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Terre-de-Haute, Les Saintes, Guadeloupe March 26, 2006

We are now in a pleasant anchorage at Terre-de-Haute, here in the Saintes, a group of islands that are part of Guadeloupe which is a department of France. [See the picture of this tranquil protected anchorage below.] From here we will head down to the next island, Dominica as we slowly work our way south to get to Trinidad by mid June. See also the map of the Lesser Antilles which indicates the islands we will be visiting.

This log gets us up to day 6 of our passage across the Atlantic, and expresses some of my frustrations with the constant corkscrewing motion experienced most of the way across. However, the crossing was still a good one, much better, faster and enjoyable than our crossing from Florida to England in 1999.

Aubrey

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Log #39f Passage Notes 3, Days 5 and 6

We survived Judy’s birthday OK, but the winds were increasing to force 8 by the end of it. We were on a broad reach all night with the double reefed main and 50% genoa both on the port going along at 6.5 knots. However by 0730 next morning, (Day 5, Feb. 2/06) the wind had shifted from NE to ENE so we were no longer on a broad reach, and the genoa was flogging, blanketed by the main. The wind was still a strong force 7, and so we furled the genoa and went along at hull speed on double reefed main only. The noon to noon distance for Day 4 to 5 was a remarkable 153 nautical miles! Force 7 and 8 on a broad reach will do that!

However, the heavy 3 to 4 metre following waves do not make for comfortable living on board. More about living conditions in heavy following seas later. By mid-afternoon (1500) the wind had eased a bit to force 6, and so I gybed the genoa, bringing it out on the starboard side but with a 50% reef, and set up the pole, to maintain our speed in excess of 6 knots going now wing on wing. By 1600 the wind had eased to force 5 (about 18 knots) and so we unfurled the full genoa. By 1840 the wind had shifted again to the NE causing us to drop the pole and set the genoa reefed 50%, to port on a broad reach, a safer sail set for the night. These sail changes happened several times a day, frequently causing the debated, “Do we change the sail plan or do we modify our course?” In most cases we changed the sail plan, but maybe after a bit of procrastination.

At 0530 while we were gybing the main, we saw the loom of light from a ship, but were not able to identify its course, and shortly lost sight of it as dawn arrived with rain and light winds. About the same time the wind shifted and caused the main to backwind. We put the engine on to power out of that situation and left it on for an hour to charge our batteries. Shortly after sunrise (0655), as the horizon cleared, we saw a tug with a long tow to an oil rig a couple of miles north of us. This was the light we had seen earlier that morning. It was to be the last view we had of any other human life on the sea for over 12 days. We were truly on our own.

This isolation caused me some apprehension, as I thought if we were in serious trouble, such as a rigging failure, bent rudder post, or mast fracture, help could be days away, even if we used our EPIRB. For this reason, I did not want to put any undue stress on our rigging or our sails, as a major difficulty could be life threatening if we had to resort to drifting helplessly or in our life raft, so far out of shipping lanes.

Coming across the North Atlantic from west to east in 1999, we would see a merchant ship at least once a day, but not on this passage. In mid-ocean we would be a minimum of 1000 nautical miles from the nearest land. We have supplies on board to last for a few months if we have sufficient propane for cooking (e.g. pasta and rice), and can charge our batteries for refrigeration and our watermaker. Without such, it would be interesting to see how long we could last; probably at least a month or two of helplessly drifting across the tropical Atlantic. Such thoughts are not comforting.

Day 6 continued with at least four more sail changes finally achieving another wing on wing configuration throughout the night to make a more southerly course as Herb recommended in his report to Imaginess at supper time. The night was another glorious sail through light force 3 breezes beneath a star studded sky, but with increasing swells from the quarter. At midnight we set our clocks back another hour as we passed into time zone +3.

Even though the winds were a good force 4 (about 15 knots) the swells were mounting from the starboard quarter at 3 to 4 metres. Such waves would hit our quarter and push it to port, with accompanying increase and decrease in acceleration. As we fell into a trough, our speed would drop to 3.5 knots, and as the following wave overtook us, we would accelerate to 7 or 8 knots in the space of three or four seconds. The Raymarine self steering system did well, dealing with these stresses all the way across.

I (with Judy’s help) calculated some of the stresses imposed upon Veleda with such quartering waves. For example, using a conservative estimate of the top two metres of a cresting wave bearing down on Veleda’s starboard quarter with a base of two metres (so we are looking at a triangle two metres high with a base of two metres), and a section, say, of two metres wide, would provide a wall of water weighing four metric tons (over 8,000 pounds) crashing onto Veleda’s quarter at whatever speed the waves were surging ahead, usually in excess of 8 to 10 knots, while we were doing 5 to 6 knots. Wow! Thank heavens for the naval architects who designed this boat to withstand such regular stresses while crossing the ocean; including the mast, keel, sails, rigging, rudder and the self steering mechanism.

However, enduring such stresses and corkscrewing motion does not make for comfortable living or working below decks on a small 10 metre (32 foot) boat displacing only 5 tons (10,000 pounds) in such conditions. I do most of the below decks meal preparations and clean up, as Judy starts to feel unwell when below. Working in our small galley preparing meals, bracing myself against the constant rolling and pitching motions of the boat is a masochistic bruising exercise of wedging myself between the galley sink and stove and the companionway steps, my hip pressed into the galley sink while my feet are spread amidships so I can stand up in most wave tossed conditions. Cooking is another thing altogether!

This morning (Day 6, Feb. 3) I lost it! I was preparing some beaten eggs in a stainless steel bowl for French toast (with the last of our stale bread), and turned to get the salt and pepper when a sudden roll toppled the bowl along the counter, spreading egg over everything! Arrrggghhh!!!

I cursed, picked up the bowl and hurled it into the sink, denting the bowl. I was really getting fed up with this constant and unpredictable motion of Veleda through these quartering seas. Nothing can be set down for even a split second without the risk of it sliding across the counter. Even sticky pads on the counter do not prevent things from tipping over and spilling their contents over the counter and onto the cabin sole. Each morning I make tea for Judy and coffee for me. This simple activity is fraught with problems and danger. Pouring boiling water into a mug or thermos is risky. I haven’t been scalded yet, but the potential problem exists every morning and at the watch change when I make tea for Judy. The constant motion in these quartering seas was getting to me!

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Log #39g Passage Notes 4 Days 7 to 9

In addition to the frustration on Day 6 of spilling the beaten eggs all over the galley counter, I had trolled all day with two lines out, and no luck. Day 7 dawned with steady force 4 winds moving us along at hull speed, wing on wing. After a few rain showers during the night, the lightening sky was still fairly cloudy, but a couple of rainbows gave a pleasant feeling to the dawn. The day was warm, but the wind shifted directions by 15 to 30 degrees several times during the day causing us to lower the whisker pole and go from wing on wing to a broad reach with both the genoa and main out to port.

The First Fish
However the frustration of yesterday and all the sail changes we had to make were forgotten in the late afternoon, as I had a fish on my line! The first fish I have caught at sea! The kind of trolling I do is not sport fishing with a rod and reel, but is more grocery collecting, as I use about 100 feet of 1/8th inch cord wound onto a Cuban reel. I had put on work gloves to protect my hands. Hauling in the fish was not heavy work as I just heaved in hand over hand, letting the cord pile up at my feet in the cockpit until the fish was at the waterline beside me. Now the problem of landing it, lifting it over the double set of life lines without it getting off the hook or flopping out of the cockpit. I held the line over the lifelines, pulled straight up, and flipped it into the cockpit. It thrashed around furiously. I could reduce its thrashing by lifting it up still hooked to the line, and holding the line around one of the steering pedestal supports.

Now what? I didn’t have any club to bash its head to kill it. It was a large (for us) bluefin tuna, about 27 inches (78 cm) in length and weighed about 12 pounds (6 kilo). It was a beautiful specimen, and I felt badly at killing it, but it was food to supplement our fresh meat on this ocean passage. I had Judy go below to get some “rot gut” rum we got in the Cape Verdes. It was too vile for us to drink, but it would anaesthetize the fish and let it die with a drunken smile on its snout. I held it by the tail while Judy poured the rum into its gills, and it was dead in a minute or so. (I have attached a picture of this first fish to this log.)

Now what? By this time it was dark, the wind was increasing, Veleda was still corkscrewing through the three metre swells, and we had to clean the fish. Judy volunteered. We took the cushion off the lazarette, and got a large cutting board and sharp knife ready. We activated the cockpit light and the deck wash pump, while Judy stripped down to a bathing suit, ready for the bloody work of filleting this catch. It was difficult as the boat was heaving back and forth and both Judy and the fish would slide from one side to the other as she proceeded to cut off the head, gut it, and slice fillets from each side, enough for two meals and a nice feast of sashimi (pieces of raw fish dipped in wasabi and soya sauce, accompanied with thin slices of pickled ginger) for lunch next day. We threw the head, skin, and bones overboard and I hosed down Judy and the aft part of the cockpit.

This was the first serious fish I have ever caught. I thought the lures had to go deeper, and that trolling speed had to be slower. However, we hooked this tuna with a blue plastic feather-tailed lure that would look like a flying fish, while doing 5.5 knots. I had a great sense of relief and pleasure at catching this first fish. I caught a couple of small catfish in the Everglades in 1998 and threw them back, and have caught nothing since, other than some conch in the Bahamas and mussels in Scotland. The score is now me 3, fish 5 (lures lost).

Winds and Clouds
Back to sailing, as now the wind was up to force 6 (25 knots) and we reefed the genoa as we sailed through a few rain squalls before midnight. Next morning the scattered clouds, some, fortunately not on our course line, with rain showers, provided a few rainbows to brighten the day. Out at sea the sky is clear of haze or pollution so that the clouds seem lower and have greater depth, definition, and clarity. It is interesting to watch the cloud cells as they scud westwards, their cotton wool cumulus convection rolling above their bases.

Herb had not forecast any storms and so we knew the few rain squalls that came over were just that, rain squalls. As a cloud cell approached the fluffy white edges gave way to deeper gray configurations, and the wind would freshen, and start to shift direction, usually about 30 degrees to the south, causing us to either alter course or change the set of the sails. The wind would increase from force 4 up to force 6 or even 8 for a half hour or so, then would resume its NE or easterly trade wind direction. Sometimes we would experience light rain beneath or downwind of these formations. We were getting used to this pattern as these convection cloud cells passed over, and we weren’t apprehensive, as the direction and increased wind speed could be dealt with for these short periods of time, usually by altering course to keep the same sail set.

We don’t carry enough fresh water to be able to shower or even wash with any great frequency. Our tanks hold only 50 gallons, and our watermaker makes only one and a half gallons (six litres) an hour. The wind and waves would not permit us to stop to go into the ocean for a swim, and so we showered with salt water in the cockpit using the deck wash pump and rinsed off with a small amount of fresh water from a garden pressure spray we carry on board. It was good to feel clean again.

The Beauty of Night Sailing
Night sailing can be awesome. At night, clouds are often black masses creating concerns of storms. However during this passage most of them were scattered and back lighted by the stars and moon. It was interesting to see the moon through the gossamer threads of scattered clouds, its halo increasing and decreasing as the clouds passed under it, blanketing it out, but the sky glow still illuminating the billowing white fringes. Stars would peep out between the clouds, sometimes misty and other times diamond clear and strong, showing only parts of their constellations, as if to say, “We are still here.”

Night sailing can be beautiful, gliding along in the sheltered cocoon of Veleda, the ink black sea alive with phosphorescence in our wake, and the cold icy glitter of the wavelets illuminated by the faint cone of our navigation lights, or reflecting the moonlight. I often stand on the companionway just forward of the bimini to listen to the reverent hushed swish of the water as Veleda relentlessly continues her course; gaze out at the undulating sea with its occasional silent crashes of white foam from the scattered cresting waves, and up to the obsidian celestial sphere, sprinkled with points of reflecting crystalline stars and the few clouds, their white fringes illuminated by the suspended pale moon. Such encounters with night sailing are high, mystical and reverent experiences, more of the joys of the cruising life!

During one of my night watches, the genoa was flogging badly, blanketed by the main. Judy was asleep. I was concerned that the flogging could damage the sail. So I changed sails from a broad reach to wing on wing by myself. That meant foredeck work without Judy to help hoist the whisker pole or to haul in the genoa sheets. I had on my safety harness attached to jack lines running the length of the boat. I furled the genoa, and went forward to pick up the whisker pole, attach it to the leeward genoa sheet, and the mast fitting, returned to the cockpit and hauled out the genoa to complete the wing on wing configuration. It worked.

February. 6, day 9, had heavy force 6 winds all day. That morning we found a couple more small dead flying fish on the side deck. The 24 hour run that day was 153 nautical miles! During the day we passed the half way mark as we had traveled over 1100 nautical miles of the 2200 mile passage. We were over 1000 miles from the nearest land.

The waves were increasing to at least 4 metres (about 15 feet), and we just had to deal with them. Veleda would surge from 3 knots on the back of the waves to over 11 knots surfing down them. The waves were so high I had a sense of depth as we surfed to the top of a wave, and looked down 15 to 20 feet into the trough of the next one. Many of the waves would crest in front, beside and behind Veleda with swirls of white water rushing onwards, or at times slapping the side to throw a few droplets into the cockpit. These waves were not as bad as those we experienced in the Canaries between La Palma and La Gomera, or as bad as those from the Canaries down to the Cape Verdes. Those two heavy trips (see Log #38i A Horrendous Sail, and Log #38j Canaries to Cape Verdes, Another Horrendous Sail) made this passage “a piece of cake”. In those passages the winds were 35 to 45 plus knots most of the time. On this passage the winds are a manageable 15 to 25 knots with some gusts up to only 35 knots.

The waves were playful and intriguing. Veleda was in her element, dancing over the waves, gracefully sliding down into the troughs, but never burying her bow, raising her stern to bob over oncoming surges, swinging her behind from side to side as the waves tried to pound down on her. Veleda is a dry boat and does not bury her stern or bow. Only once were we ever pooped, on the way from the Canaries to the Cape Verdes (Log #38j). The waves were beautiful to watch. The tops would often become translucent, changing colour to crystal aquamarine blue showing glittering sunlight through their heights. Then, there would be almost a mysterious pause as the wave decided whether to froth and crest in a crashing wash of white foam, or to quietly subside onto its back, sliding passively into the trough. In addition to the major waves and swells there were smaller waves from different directions. These are the ones that would periodically slap Veleda’s side as if to say,”We got you that time!” They pranced around the surface of the larger waves reflecting the sun in a shimmering undulating blanket of sparkling lights. I never tire of watching the moods of the sea.
 

Cruise Plans 2006	Les Saintes Anchorage

Portsmouth, Dominica, March 30, 2006

Hi Folks,

This log gets us across to Antigua, where we arrived at English Harbour at Nelson's Dockyard. We are presently enjoying this tropical paradise of Dominica.

All the best,

Aubrey

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Log #39h Passage Notes 5 Problems on Days 10 onward

Because we don't like running our watermaker when the engine is not on, we reduced our fresh water supply to the extent we were washing our dishes in salt water and only rinsing in fresh. The winds were so good, we didn't need the engine except to charge the batteries. We were wing on wing for over 24 hours (Feb. 6 to 7)completing 140 miles in the last 24. In spite of the heavy seas and corkscrewing motion, this was a fantastic sail! We had force 8 for a while last night which helped move us along nicely. (Only force 8 while wing on wing!)

Listening to Herb in the late afternoon, (Feb. 7, Day 10) we heard Rod on Glenlyon indicating they would be making their landfall in the Caribbean next day, and thanking Herb for his weather info. We crossed with Glenlyon from Bermuda to England in 1999, and have met Rod and Susie several times in the Azores, Brighton, the Medway, London, Paris, Turkey, Rome and a few months ago in Tenerife in the Canaries. We hope to meet up with them again in the Caribbean or maybe back in the US. Good sailing, Rod and Susie (and Trini, their small dog). We have many fond memories of places shared with them.

My sleep was disturbed at 0200 Feb. 8 (Day 11) by heavy banging on the foredeck. In force 6 winds (25 knots) I came up to find the genoa flogging away with the whisker pole still attached, but not attached at the mast. Judy indicated the mast ring had fractured, and we had nothing on the mast to secure the whisker pole. I went forward to get it under control and lowered it to the deck. At that time of the middle watch we did not want to try a jury rig and so we altered course a bit to allow us to fly both the genoa and main on the port side. However we had to go too far off course, and so about 0600 I furled the genoa and continued under main only. (These things can never happen in daylight or in light winds; they always have to happen in the wee hours of the morning in heavy winds.)

After Judy woke up later that morning, we evaluated the situation, as without a mast ring we could no longer go wing on wing and this would reduce our speed and lengthen the passage. We had a spare "D" ring which Judy lashed to the mast with multiple turns of rope. Then I suggested a secondary wrapping to protect the basic lashings. It worked! We were able to fly the genoa wing on wing, although the fitting was wedged at an awkward angle giving a half twist to the pole. This in turn made it difficult to advance the pole fitting along the genoa sheet to the clew of the genoa. It held the genoa out OK, but several feet from the clew. Oh well, we could live with that.

We saw several rain showers, a few of which hit Veleda with attending wind shifts. However we also saw a few rainbows and for the first time in several days saw some tropic birds flying overhead. The sky had scattered clouds and in the afternoon often cleared up totally. Later that morning I noticed a tear developing in our main at the luff. It was a five inch slash giving way from the luff seam. Oh boy, I thought, are things starting to break down? In the early afternoon, Judy put on a safety harness and went up to the mast (see attached picture - Note how the full batten is wrapped around the aft shroud, as we have the boom strapped in. Note also the genoa wung out to starboard by the whisker pole) as I partially lowered the main, and then as I helped her match the sail tear to the seam, she stitched it up and put sail repair tape on it. I constantly evaluate the sails and rigging for weaknesses; we don't want any major breaks.

Feb. 9 the cumulus convection cells cleared up and we had gorgeous clear weather for the next 36 hours. Night watches were cool, causing us to put on sweat pants and our fleece jackets. The days were warm and sunny, needing only shorts and short sleeved shirts. I trolled for two more days with no luck until late morning of the 10th.

I caught our second ocean fish that day, a 35 inch (90 cm), 15 pound (7 kilo), beautiful iridescent green and yellow dorado. Same routine with the rotgut rum to anaesthetize its gills, and Judy sliding port and starboard, cleaning it in the cockpit; except this time she did so totally nude. Why get a bathing suit dirty? Lots of good fish dinners! I like plain pan-fried fish, lightly floured with only salt and pepper and a few spices. Judy likes more ornate fish menus. So we had enough to do it my way for one meal and hers for a couple of others, plus a feast of sashimi. Mmmm!

At noon we set the clocks back another hour as we crossed into another time zone at 17 34.79N, 052 36.66W.

Feb. 11 doing over 130 miles in a 24 hour period, we had an energetic day because of the frequent sail changes, but next day, Feb. 12, was to be a busy breakdown and repair day. It started at 0300 when once again in the middle of Judy's middle watch I was awakened by severe clattering at the mast. On deck we saw that the whisker pole had fractured in the middle, and part of it was flogging still attached to the genoa sheet, and the other part swinging in the wind supported by the pole lift, but still attached to the mast. We started the engine to reduce the windage on the genoa. I was afraid that one or other of these two flogging parts would separate and be lost overboard. I scrambled into my safety harness and went forward on the heaving deck, while Judy lowered the pole lift from the safety of the cockpit, so I could detach and secure the inboard end on deck. Then I had to go to the bow, heaving up and down in 3 metre swells, to wrestle the outer end of the whisker pole off the genoa sheet without being hit on the head by the flailing pipe. I passed both ends into the cockpit and indicated we would look at them in the morning. We furled the genoa and went along under main only.

Before I went below again to get my last hour or so of sleep, I noticed another tear developing at the aft reef point of the main Upon further examination we found the pad eye to which the reefing line was secured had come off the boom. This meant the pressure of the wind was concentrated at the reef point on the sail, rather than the missing pad eye on the boom, putting undue stress on the fabric of the sail and causing it to tear. We put the engine on for a few minutes so we could bring the boom in, allowing Judy, suitably secured with her safety harness, to tie the reefing line to a different fitting. The stitching of the reef point could wait until we reached Antigua. Oh well, we we're still afloat!

Later that morning when we examined the two parts of the pole we found we could slide the outer end into the inner, and the plunger pin still worked to lock the sleeve in place. However we had lost about three feet of the sleeve when it broke, and so our pole was now unable to extend to its original length, and could not hold the full genoa out completely. OK, we can live with that. At least we still had a working whisker pole that could be secured to our jury-rigged "D" ring at the mast, and extended to 80%. The whisker pole is scarred, and the insert flange is bent a bit and has a small break in it, but we were still seaworthy, although we still had 270 miles to go.

Feb. 13, our last full day at sea was quite pleasant. A beautiful sunrise, clear warm sunny day, and at 0700 I saw the first ship in two weeks, 150 miles off Antigua. To add to the enjoyment of the day, I caught my third fish that morning, a 27 inch tuna. Mmmmm!

Feb. 14 Judy saw two ships on her middle watch. At 0815 the plunger on the whisker pole came off, causing further concern that for the last 30 miles we might not be able to use it. However we were able to reinsert it, and screw it in (the original reason for the problem was it unscrewed itself because of the twist on our jury rigged mast fitting). At 1000 we sighted land!

At 1200 we started motor-sailing to charge the batteries; at 1400 we furled the sails, just off the entrance to English Harbour. By 1500 we were anchored off Freeman Point, a half mile from the historic Nelson's Dockyard in Antigua (17 00.33N, 061 45.68W). We had sailed 2196 nautical miles from Mindelo in the Cape Verdes, in 16 days and 7 hours (adding the three hours we put back the clocks through the three time zones). This gave us an average speed of 5.6 knots (above hull speed for our 10 metre, 32 foot boat) over a period of 391 hours.

It was a great passage with good winds. Veleda did well. Judy even enjoyed this passage contrasted with the seasickness she had on our way across the Atlantic in 1999. Our mainsail held out with only a minor stitching here and there necessary, impressive considering it is the original main that came with the boat in 1978, and has now done two Atlantic crossings and is still holding up well. And I caught three fish!

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