Across the Ocean Blue

Crossing the Caribbean Sea was our most ambitious sail yet.  It was the longest by miles, and difficult because it was upwind.  Our journey from Curacao to Saint Martin was about 498 nautical miles with no land and no stops in between, and we were heading North and East to get there.  Unfortunately for us- the trade winds in the Caribbean come from the east, which makes going east quite difficult, if not properly planned.

I won’t get into the nitty-gritty (see the addendum below).  I think it’s best to let Paul explain the sailing bits, because he is my captain and my sailing pro, and I tend to agree with his decisions because I don’t have as much experience.  But I will tell of our experience while underway.

I’m glad that we had our guest/sailing friend Craig on the boat for this one.  Because this was a multi-day journey with active sailing, our four-hour watches translated to an 8 hour rest period each, which was much needed.  We could sleep, eat a hot meal, and recharge in between watches.  I used most of my down time to sleep, cook meals- clean, and read (I read 4 books while underway, including The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which felt appropriate).

We made the decision not to do a dog watch, which I think we would change for our next voyage- a dog watch would have changed our schedule daily, instead of having us on the same watches for five days- which looked like this:

0000-0400 Paul’s watch. Absolute darkness (very little moon on this passage and only after 3am).

0400-0800 Craig’s watch. The sunrise shift, the first pot of coffee was put on, occasional squalls.

0800-1200 Lindsay’s watch. I usually made a hot breakfast during this time, and after breakfast both guys went back to bed.

1200-1600 Paul’s second watch.  Sometimes lunch, but usually snacking.  The hottest part of the day

1600-2000 Craig’s second watch.  I cooked during this time, although Paul and Craig both made a meal.  One time I even baked a cake.  The sunset shift-occasional dolphins.

2000-0000-Lindsay’s second watch.  Sometimes active sailing and sometimes squalls. Sometimes dolphins.  I would shift from lights on to lights off during this watch and sit reading in the dark at the helm.

With this schedule, I was asleep from midnight to 6 or 7am if I was able to rest (sometimes, especially when the swell picked up, sleep was evasive, and the waves on the hulls can be very loud), and sometimes would steal a quick nap after my daytime watch.  Sailing and vigilance can be tiring- and we each used part of our watch to turn off the autopilot and hand sail, which requires a lot of attention. Although having the same shifts every day helped make a schedule, it was also a bit boring.  And Poor Paul took the midnight watch, which meant sleeping before and after. I think he wouldn’t have minded a change.

The hardships we faced on this passage weren’t too extreme.  We had some squalls and hatch leaks on board.  We got cold and salty- and hot and salty.  We got banged up a lot from boat bruises- banging our heads, elbows and hips into things because the swell was large.  We got tired of the view (endless water, no ships), and tired of waking up every few hours, and tired of being jostled while we were sleeping, or called up out of a rest to lend a hand.  Paul hurt his back before we left, so he struggled with having to go easy and not strain himself.  I struggled with some kitchen burns, intent as I was on cooking hot meals and keeping morale up regardless of being jostled. 

But we saw dolphins, we chatted and could see the stars, and we felt like we were on an adventure-which we were, sailing across a sea in a small boat with just us, and our abilities to keep us moving forward. 

And when we dropped anchor in Simpson Bay, we popped a bottle of champagne to break our dry spell and toast the victory of our small triumph.  We set out to Saint Martin, and we made it- on our own. 

A note from Paul about some of the details of the crossing.  The rhumb line (shortest distance between the start and finish) was 498nm.  It was at 43 degrees compass heading which is almost exactly northeast.  Check out a map and we are crossing from the top of South America to the top right tip of the Caribbean. The BlueBelle is not a notoriously good upwind sailor so we can sail about 60degrees off the wind and often have “leeway” which puts us even farther off the wind than that.  (leeway is when the boat is pointed straight ahead but we are going a bit sideways, almost always in the wrong direction).  This meant that with the Trade winds usually blowing directly out of the east we would need some favorable winds to help push us north and allow us to go east instead of being in our teeth the whole way.  This weather window is what we were looking for in the weather projections for a week or two before our departure.  According to my calculations we would make an average of 5knts (5 nautical miles per hour) which is 120nm a day.  You can rarely sail the exact rhumb line so I calculated 600nm of total sailing to get us the 498nm distance to Sint Maarten. 

According to the weather model we would have just enough south in the wind for the 5 days to get us there, but if we were late or slow on the 5^th day, the wind would snap back to its usual east and we would be stuck having to tack back and forth, making no headway and into 6 foot seas.  The first 4.5 days went well although there was a significant ocean current mixed with surface current that sometimes ran as high as 3.2knts.  We also reefed and double reefed our sails at night (reduced the amount of sail for safety).  These contributed to our being farther west than desired when the trades inevitably snapped back into place.  We were 80 miles from our destination, but this final 80 miles of distance would take us 30 hours and involve motor sailing for the first time during this passage as well as banging the boat upwind into 2 meter seas.  Overall, our crew and boat handled this crossing very well.  No injuries and nothing broke.  Moral remained high to very high for almost the whole trip with only a little, understandable, dip in the final hours as we were so close but yet so far, so uncomfortable and slow.  That changed as soon as the anchor was set and the champagne popped.   Lindsay and I were using this crossing as a sea trial for a potential Atlantic Crossing.  I’m happy to report that we have not yet been disinclined from our future crossing.