Latitude 38

Christa Bashes To Windward I had another one of those fantastic days here in the tropics. My day started as it has over the past two months since I arrived in the Virgin Islands aboard Christa, my 1975 Westsail32. Naturally arising with the birthing of the sun as a rooster crows in the early morning light, I light the stove to heat some water for the customary coffee injection and a quick peek out the hatch. As usual I have a slight relaxation reflex when noting Christa had not moved overnight. Things have not always been choked with such delight, as this particular morning is since I left on a lazy circumnavigation in September 2007. I found I was woefully naive regarding the thorny path and the sheer mental strain of bashing into the teeth of the trades. If I’d known now what I didn’t know then I’d sailed to the Virgin Islands via Bermuda. However I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I purchased Christa while on active duty with the U.S. Coast Guard (USCG) in San Francisco Bay in 1998. I came across the lore of the Westsail32 in a most curious way. While stationed at Point Judith Rhode Island in 1991, I was a Motor Life Boat (MLB) coxswain and battled first hand the Halloween Storm of October 1991 that eventually gained fame as the “Perfect Storm.” While not directly involved in any of the rescues chronicled in Sebastian Jung’s excellent book, I keenly followed in real time the mirade of problems the Coast Guard had on its hands. But I especially remember reading the situation reports (SITREPS) regarding Westsail32 Satori and the plight of her crew. After the loss of the fishing vessel Andrea Gail, the Queen Elizabeth 2 being struck by a 100 foot wave in the North Atlantic and the Coast Guard Cutter Tamaroa struggling so mightily in the seaway to get to Satori, I was surprised to find out that Satori, after being abandoned washed up on the beach just fine and dandy with no damage a few days later. I thought to myself now that is a seaworthy vessel. Well fast forward a few years later, the dream of sailing around the world solidified in my head, I was thumbing through the classifieds in the back of Latitude38 when it happened. Bam! There it was, a Westsail32 for sale and I remembered that that was the make of Satori. Not long after that I was the proud owner of a 1975 Westsail32 named Christa purchased in Vallejo. I spent the next 9 years, living aboard Christa in Alameda and Sausalito in the San Francisco Bay, Woods Hole on Cape Cod and Newport Rhode Island learning how to sail her, upgrading her and generally soaking into life afloat. I took several offshore voyages up and down the California coast, gunkholing around the Cape and the jewels of Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard and the Elizabeth Islands. Coupled with all the water under my keel while in the Coast Guard, including time in the southern ocean aboard a Polar Class Icebreaker, the breaking bar of the Columbia River and several trips to the Bering Sea I thought I had a clue, but the ocean is no place for hubris. You see, I do have all kinds of valuable seamanship experience. But nothing really had prepared me for the difficulty of single-handing a 32-foot sailboat. Now I don’t want to over play the difficulty and as the younger generation likes to say, “I’m just keeping it real.” This is my experience and I’ve have come to learn it is similar and then vastly different from what others have experienced. What I can say is it is not similar to what is portrayed in glossy sailing magazines. I don’t think a magazine would really be able to capture the

experience anyway, plus it may impact sales. Can the full vibe of an intense experience, like sailing be explained? Not hardly, it must be experienced. Here is a recap of some of my travels thus far. I departed Newport Rhode Island in September 2007 where I spent the summer at the Newport Navy Base Marina taking care of last minute preparations and fulfilling my last remaining obligations to the USCG. With a continuous eye toward the tropics, ever mindful of the hurricane season I made my way down Long Island Sound. My good buddy John, whom I had been stationed with in the Coast Guard many years before, joined me for a nostalgic stop in Point Judith RI where we had been stationed together. We continued down Long Island Sound with stops in Port Jefferson Long Island and then Port Washington where we hunkered down for a few days of repairs and waiting out horrible weather. With the tide tables in hand we negotiated Hell Gate and sailed down the East River with Manhattan to starboard. A truly beautiful experience that was made more poignant as the date was September 11th and my brother and his family live just a stones throw away in the East Village. With a salute John and I left Lady Liberty to starboard and sailed under the Verranzano Bridge. The Atlantic greeted us with a fair current and a fresh NNW breeze. With the Monitor Steering Vane in charge we rounded Sandy Hook bound for Atlantic City, but as the day waned so did the wind. A sail change was in order and out came the green monster, my new cruising spinnaker. As the sunset and with the spinnaker pulling us along, it nearly brought tears to my eyes. I’m not exaggerating, it was truly amazing. Sadly John departed in Atlantic City as employment called and I continued my journey down the U.S. east coast. I sailed to Deltaville Virginia in the Chesapeake via the Delaware Bay and C&D Canal to haul out for a bottom job, replacement of the boomkin and a new seacock. As the days grew colder and shorter I meandered down the Inter Coastal Waterway (ICW) at a good clip of 50 miles or so a day. The cold fronts advancing from the west were strong and near constant, but I was able make an outside ocean passage with 18 wonderful sailing hours from South Carolina to northern Florida bypassing the very shallow sections of the ICW in Georgia. I made a two week stop in Fort Pierce Florida to visit family for Thanksgiving and to replace the wooden bowsprit with one of Bud Taplins, the patron saint of Westsails stainless steel bowsprits. I have no real reason to think the wooden bowsprit had been weakened by rot, but no full proof method to ease my worry existed. One call to Bud kind of shored things up. Knowing I was heading out for a long trip, maybe years, Bud says, “Well stainless doesn’t rot.” So with that I had myself a Visa moment. With one week of near continuous labor I had replaced the old bowsprit. A quick side note. I do not have an engineering background and this was one of those projects where I felt my limited skills would be put to the test. As with most things aboard Christa, I underestimated my skills and simply suffered from a confidence problem. The replacement while not easy was logical. I’ve found this to be the case over and over again on numerous projects. So for new boat owners, if you wonder how the fellow down the dock became so good at boat maintance. Simple: Trial and error and copious amounts of boat dollars.

With the hurricane season astern I left Miami with a west wind astern bound for Gun Cay in the Bahamas. With my penchant for underestimation now fully established, I hit the Gulf Stream with the wind just north of west. So the seas lumped up tossing Christa and I, but Christa was able to sail nicely in the 17-knot breeze. It became rapidly apparent that Gun Cay, Bimini or maybe even the entire Bahamian island chain was either moving with the tectonic plates or perhaps I had underestimated the set of the Gulf Stream. I worked hard all day trying to mitigate the set north and finally I entered the Bahamian bank several miles north of Bimini. I had read about and seen the photographs of the intensity of the water on the banks. I was not disappointed. The transition from the deep blue to the shallow hues has been a highlight of my trip thus far. With good fortune and a west wind still at my back I decided to skip Bimini and soldier on throughout the night and check in at Chub Cay. I did not particularly enjoy my Bahamian experience. I think a substantial part of my disappointment with the Bahamas can be traced to the sheer relentless wind that plagued my time in the chain. From what I gather, the winter of 2007/08 was a banner year for trade winds. They blew and blew and blew and eased up very little. I largely based by decision to head to the Caribbean via the thorny path based upon Bruce Van Sant’s guide. While I don’t want to bash the guide because it really is chock full of great information and gives one a starting point, I found it a bit optimistic. Bruce does clearly state if you do X you will receive a serious pounding, so make sure you do the ten steps that make up step Y. But in terms of the Bahamas I thought I’d just wait for a cold front to sweep through from the north and I would just broad reach my way south. Simple. Well once again my naiveté rears its head. Maybe some years that in fact is the case and just not the year I clawed my way south. I would love to lay blame on the Westsail’s legendary lack of windward ability but the fact is the Westsail is not that bad to windward and in any event everyone struggles to windward. That is just the way it is. In terms of the Bahamas you certainly can wait for a front with the associated clocking of the wind. However I found few anchorages that offered all around protection and that meant at some point during the front’s passage your going to be exposed. It usually meant riding a bucking bronco and depending on the front’s length and characteristics meant a transit through a reef at the other end in less than favorable conditions. This is exactly how I entered Nassau. A large and well-marked entrance no doubt, but with a large following sea and 25 knots of wind coupled with the shipping traffic made things a challenge. South from Nassau I continued to try and play the fronts sweeping down from the U.S. east coast to my advantage. But add another complicating factor that I never took into account prior to leaving. I met many other cruisers. Folks I really became attached to and did not want to separate from. The herding instinct is real and as a single hander I found it quiet intense. So folks sit in the cockpit and talk weather windows obsessively and I am usually leading the charge. Any conversation that is steered elsewhere is swiftly brought back to what counts, my lack of progress to windward. All cruisers have different comfort levels and obviously some boats do some things better. A window for one is not a window for another. But when the herd was leaving I surely did not want to be left behind. I certainly was not stupid enough to knowingly launch out into a full gale just to keep up, but it was more of how much of a pounding I was willing to take. The level of

pounding has a direct correlation to the amount of fixing you’ll do in the next port. And so it was for my departure from Long Island just east of the Exumas. I left with four other boats on a marginal forecast to try and make a run to Playa Cay well to the south and east. The other boats had significant waterline advantage and so they quickly pulled ahead. I listened on the radio as they started to labor as the wind increased and even worse the wind direction was shifting. We were all being headed. As night fell I decided to break off and make for Rum Cay for a nighttime landing. I pretty much did what your not supposed to do. Enter a poorly charted, coral head strewn anchorage in 25 knots of wind at night with exhaustion closing in. I had spoken with a Canadian boat that was in the anchorage at Rum and asked what were the realities of entering with out coming to grief. It was a go. I made it into the anchorage without incident and was most grateful that the anchor dug in and held. The next day I awoke to a coral head 50ft astern of me just below the surface. I was quickly gaining spirituality. While upset that my random detour severed my ties from the herd, I quickly found another herd in the shape of one boat, a 48 ft Mason with the Jansen family aboard. I had briefly chatted with them in Long Island but now here they were in Rum Cay and further more they were listening to my death defying nighttime entrance on channel 68 and illuminated the Adamo with their spreader lights. Those lights were like a beacon to a tired sailor and gave me a critical reference point on a dark night. I couldn’t have been more appreciative. As usual the wind just cranked for the next two weeks, but the time I spent in Rum Cay with the Jansen’s was truly special. I think they feed me every single night aboard Adamo. Adamo and I had a delightful transit under power from Rum Cay to the Turks and Caicos Islands. They even leant me one of their sons for the transit, 16 year old Doug. They have plenty to spare, a real baby factory aboard. My time in the T&C was spent replenishing fuel and food. After being in the Bahamas which lacked, in my opinion decent food stores, it was nice to get back to the endless aisles of food most westerners are used to. The gaggle of boats in the anchorage in Provo were all waiting for a decent weather window to stage ourselves to Big Sand Cay in the eastern portion of the islands. This required motoring across the T&C Bank that carries about 7 feet and many many uncharted coral heads. At sunrise I left with Adamo. It was a long day. I spent the majority of the time standing on the spreaders. When I sighted coral heads I rapidly made my way to the deck, disengaged the Tillerpilot and steered clear. Toward late afternoon Adamo and I had made it safely across the bank and things were generally going smoothly. Adamo and I downloaded the latest GRIB files and checked a fresh Offshore Forecast. It was at this point that I made one of the worst calls I have ever made. The forecast wasn’t to bad, east 15 to 22 knots with the wind easing halfway between Turks and Caicos and the Dominican Republic. I should have known to introduce more of a margin for error in my plan. I should have headed for Big Sand Cay as originally planned instead of continuing on. But that herding instinct again was very strong. It was one of those situations where some vessels departed for the Dominican Republic and some decided to stage at Big Sand Cay as recommended in Van Sant’s guide. It is at these times that having a strong vessel like the Westsail can become a disadvantage. You know the vessel is up to the conditions, but always the more prudent question is whether the captain and crew are equal to the task. Just as the sun was setting, the wind started to pick

up and as usual with Adamo’s 48 feet she quickly pulled ahead of me. By midnight I had my handheld wind gauge pointed into the wind and sure enough 35 knots at deck level. What the hell is this? I had tucked in a second reef in the main and with the staysail set the boat was sailing just beautifully. Not overpowered and the windvane was in charge. About halfway between Luperon Dominican Republic and T&C the seas had built to 10 feet or more, tough to say as it was a moonless night, but Christa had started to pound. The wind was coming around to the southeast and I was unable to keep to my rumb line for Luperon. No problem I thought, I’ll just take Bruce Van Sant’s sage advice that says that if you get headed ease the sheets and head for Manzanillo in the western part of Dominican Republic instead of bashing your brains out. And so I did. By the next afternoon I was very tired after having been up and managing the boat for 45 hours with little food. I was running almost straight down wind in large seas along the north coast of the DR and couldn’t get the sails balanced correctly to prevent the windvane from rounding the boat up so I was hand steering. I was now approaching the Monte Christi Shoals, a dangerous reef and the wind was screaming due to the vigorous gradient wind being accelerated by the mountainous headlands when I realized something that nearly broke me. I’d have to round the shoals and then beat to windward for 17 miles, into 35knot winds and closely spaced turbulent breaking seas. My only options to avoid were to head for the Ragged Islands in the Bahamas and give up my Caribbean cruise or head for Fort Libre Haiti. I was able to raise on the radio a Southern Cross 35 who just had plopped down their anchor in Manzanillo after the dreaded 17-mile beat. I figured if they could do it so could I. And so it was. A Westsail32 beating into 35 knots and gusting higher with breaking waves. I filled the cockpit up several times completely with seawater gushing down the gunwhale. Once I realized that the boat could actually do this I became exhilarated. I also thanked my lucky stars and Bud Taplin for having replaced the bowsprit with the stainless steel model. The strain on the rig was extreme. Confidence in the boat and its equipment become everything when the chips are down. Needless to say I made it into Manzanillo. I have more adventures to tell and lessons learned, especially about the 2008/09 hurricane season I spent in Salinas Puerto Rico and my meeting the Burton Family. But I think that is enough for now. I shall leave you with a quote from Peter Muilenburg’s book “Adrift on a Sea of Blue Light.” He writes, “ So it goes, on land and sea, that all of life’s wrecks force us to drag deep on the cup of knowledge and swallow its bitter but potent dregs. If the ocean held no reefs or squalls, if no ships sank and no one ever drowned, who would ever bother to go to sea?” Christian Allaire, USCG (ret) Aboard Christa on the Hook Prince Rupert Bay, Dominica Windward Islands March 2009 http://sailingvesselchrista.blogspot.com/