We arrived at the Northeast trades last night, the wind coming around to the Northeast and occasionally making excursions into the mid 20ish knot range. After a bit of contemplation, I went ahead and set reef #2, knowing that Isabel would insist on it anyway. She’s got a lot more common sense about sailing that I do, always has, likely always will. Good thing too, as she saw gusts up to about 30 knots and would have had my tired butt out of the rack to help. I don’t mind reefing on my own, as I’ve worked out a pretty good system, and I like to take my time about it, so everything worked out just fine. Isabel prefers a more team oriented approach.
I awakened her around 0045 and hit the rack as soon as I had briefed her. When I awakened around 0600 we swapped places and she want back for more Z’s. Today the wind has been up into the mid to high 20’s at times, and with reef #2 in when it creeps up there we steer a more downwind course to reduce the apparent wind, reducing loads on the sails and rig. It’s a good shortterm solution, but given the forecast for a lot more of this wind and mess waves over the next 30 hours or so, we’ll likely reach sunset with reef #3 in. That’s a serious storm setting, offering somewhere around half the main sail area to Mr. Wind. We’ll wind in part of the jib as well to balance the boat aerodynamically, and although it’ll slow us down a bit it should improve ride comfort and eliminate the need for any late-night antics on deck. We don’t need that danger.
A couple of nights ago I head a loud “BANG” back in the cockpit area followed by a load of racket before a return to normal creaks and groans. The overhead cockpit light revealed nothing, so it must have been a flying fish that made an "arrival” then decided it would rather live in the sea than die on deck. Isabel had something similar last night but she had to physically grab the darn thing and toss it overboard. They’re stinky and slimy, and the only way she could get a grip was to use an old cleaning rag like a potholder. Mission accomplished.
We’ve got cruising friends who had a flying fish find its way into the cockpit and down the companionway into their saloon. Sounded like a pretty wild time trying to round the darn thing up and eject it overboard, but a great story at a party and provider of those big belly laughs.
There are all kinds of other things that make a load of racket when we’re underway in lumpy seas and gusty wind conditions, and you just get used to them over time. My first passage crew gig on a Swan 62’ from Antigua to Newport, Rhode Island my bunk was located well forward of midships, and as we pounded into seas going upwind towards Bermuda the noises the boat made had me convinced the darn thing would self-destruct any second. That was a strong boat, and the lesson was that the best deal is to sleep as far towards the stern as possible, and to develop a load of confidence in the structural integrity of the boat design.
We know JollyDogs is a well found boat, and she’s strong enough to take us where we want to go. Right now that’s somewhere selling tropical cocktails decorated with little paper umbrellas. Only 1054 miles to go – we passed our halfway point this morning around 0830.
Onwards and upwards! Northwest, that is.
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