Bobbing to the Galapagos

“Wakey, wakey Dillyfaces. Its your watch”

“Anything to report?” I asked in a half hopeful tone.

“Nope, still bobbing backwards at 2 knots” - came the reply I was expecting but secretly hoping was not the case.

After 2 days of writing our names in cursive on the chart plotter, the atmosphere barometer on Orion had moved decidedly from “fair” to “stormy”. This was not what we had signed up for. Adrift with no sails up mid way between Panama and Galapagos.

I recall but only a few days prior scoffing at Alan and Jean's log of their previous trip to the Galapagos 25 years ago where it had taken them 11 days to do a mere 960 miles. We left Panama City shunting along at 7 knots. How did it come to pass that we were now barely managing 46 mile days (of which not all of that was in the right direction). As an aside, our worst day was probably a mere 20 miles.

Mother nature can be a cruel mistress. Although we were prepared for spots of “light and variable” winds mid way into the journey, we were not prepared for the 2 knot northerly current that seemed inexplicably intent on dragging us back to Panama.

I ran my fingers over the callouses I had acquired at the end of each day. I had done more sail changes than I care to remember – and this is with a roller furling headsail. At the slightest puff of air, we were pulling out canvas to, if anything, stop our retreat north.

Light winds saw us moving at slightly over 2 knots with the actual speed over ground very near to a single knot. We began to rejoice if the speedo went into whole numbers and the compass pointed anywhere south.

We had been studying GRIB files for weeks in the build up. We knew that there is a wind hole en route. We had taken the advice of Jimmy Cornell and others and headed as far south as we dared before bearing off towards the Galapagos. How had this all happened?

Flat calm

Our morning routine of listening in to the Pan Pacific Net was punctuated with lats and longs from other sailors on the same course, experiencing similar conditions. We plotted them each day as they slowly crept up on us and then over took us. Damn them and their engines and deep diesel pockets.

One night, whilst sail-less and adrift steaming briskly further from our target, we spotted a light. A fellow sailor! Except they were moving. We watched them motor past us and then stop (probably ran out of fuel or had to do their 4^th oil change or something I thought). The wind picked up and our sails appeared and we started scooting towards them but their tricolour was now an anchor light and they were completely stationary. As I went zooming by (...at 2 knots) I hailed them on the VHF so that we could share our misery at the current wind conditions or perhaps they had a more recent weather report than the one I had from a week ago.

There was no answer from the ghost ship and we speculated as to if it had been one of those on the morning net checking in with their position. There was also this mental image of them having dropped the anchor and gone off to bed after a hard night motoring...

We got very frustrated with the conditions. The 'no wind' we can deal with, it was the sense of despair at going backwards that had us shaking our fists at the sky. First cursing, then pleading, then resorting to just plain old begging. One night as I lay in the cockpit on watch staring at the stars an unfamiliar alarm started to sound. Leaping into action I discovered that the depth alarm was sounding. We were in sub 10ft of water! How the bloody hell... Either Sally's navigation skills were deteriorating or there was some imminent volcanic activity threatening to create a new island right beneath us. It was neither. A large fish (or shark) was having a lovely time swimming under our depth sensor and setting it off. After my mild heart palpitations had subsided, I disabled the depth alarm and continued my vigil of counting stars.

After a few days, we became rather stoical about it all. Wind will eventually find us. We will eventually get out of this wind hole and be on our way. There was enough food and water on board for a good few months, so why worry. Sure most of our friends will probably be in Fiji by the time we enter San Cristobal (Galapagos) but hey, the only plan we have is to have no plan.

Once we had started to accept our state, we began to appreciate everything that was. One still evening, sails down and sitting in the cockpit watching an amazing sunset, we saw movement in the dark blue beneath us. Sure enough a turtle came plodding along and inspected our hull. It seemed to whisper a brief blessing before the 2 knot current swept us away from him.

With a full main and jib out and pointing as high as we can to maximise the apparent wind we were still puttering along very slowly. This however meant that there was barely a sound as we made our way through lake flat water. Suddenly a mighty “whoosh” was heard that had us springing to life. A large humpback whale no more than 20 metres away had come up from the depths for a spot of air.

Camera out we tried desperately to pot a few shots. There is always that dilemma of – do I go below and grab the camera and maybe miss something, or stay and just appreciate the experience. So we share this responsibility. Sally goes below to fetch the camera and I keep her informed about what she is missing!

A friend of ours recently wrote a blog post / article about how no matter how crappy a sail you are having, dolphins will always make it better. How true it is. Those playful little rapscallions seem to delight in coming over to boats and surfing alongside for a few minutes to say a cheery “hi” before scampering off to find their next feed. On this trip we saw no shortage of whales and dolphins. Dolphins that would leap 8 feet out of the air and once we saw the whole pod leaping out of the water and dive back in multiple times as they scurried away.

Even 400 miles from the nearest land, we saw various interesting birds. Some tiny finch like looking species rested briefly on Orion before heading on its way. It was by no means a sea bird and could not land on the water. What it was doing out here was anyone's guess.

Eventually the wind did find us and the current did abate. We were making 5 knots through the water with only 9 on the beam. The shitty part in the middle will be relegated to our list of many sailing anecdotes to regale (read 'bore') friends and other yachties with over a beer.

Galapagos Islands, here we come!