Martinique
Our time in Martinique was short and the anchorage was just as rolly as all the reviews said it would be. What we found a little frustrating is that it rained everyday and often each day. We still had wet stuff from the last scary sail to get there that we wanted to dry out, but in the constant rain our stuff remained wet.
We were anchored off the beaches of the Fort Du France bay near the cruise ship piers. What we just love about the french islands down here, which is what makes them the most popular, is that they are all cruiser friendly and easy and cheap to check into. The French are so relaxed about things.
We set the hook and slept and ate and relaxed and the next day we found our way into town to figure out how and where to check in. The feeling of the place is wonderful, very old world European feeling to it. The old streets are lined with close together small buildings, restaurants and shops of all sorts. The check in is a little walk into the maze at the marine chandliery. A simple 5 minutes later with no cost or fee at all we were all checked in and good with the local government.
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Facing the Fear
As the Captain I was struggling with the next passage. I had good internet access on my DigiCell SIM card on my phone in Martinique, so I had great access to information. I also had my shore support teams helping me with this next leg. What was clear is that I was trying to find the least bad time to make the passage. There was no way the next passage was going to be a good one. I was really trying to find the least punishing way for us to do it.
That last passage a few days ago to get here had really kind of emotionally stung me. Sailing thru the dark night in nasty storm after storm, getting hit by that 38 knots of dark menacing winds that wrecked another boat nearby in the dark really shook me up. Even though that was 2 days ago the weight of it was still sitting heavily in my soul. I was afraid. I think I have lost my nerve…!
Here is the thing about what we are doing, sailing out here in the big nasty ocean, IT IS DANGEROUS. Every time we set out we are risking our lives. Every time there is a chance things will go wrong, in fact nothing ever goes to plan. Every sail we face unexpected challenges and constant hardships. Sailing life is, in reality, despite how much YouTube lies to you, very hard. It is very dangerous. It is often rather scary.
So to keep doing this, facing the danger, I have to keep my nerve. I have to look the danger each time in the eye and just not get spooked, just face it bravely. Well… the thing is… I think I am losing my nerve… and that’s a very bad thing out here. I am afraid. The fear is creeping into my soul. I have a feeling of dread inside. I don’t want to feel afraid again. I do not want to be in danger. I do not want to have to make perfect life and death decisions for me and my crew while sleep deprived and taking yet another beating from mother nature. I want to feel safe and secure and clean and comfortable, and this sail will be none of those things.
There have been average 3 meter waves outside the protection of the island chain that we have to face next. Our plan is to make this jump Friday (Dec 13th ) to Sunday (Dec 15th) because this weekend is the best available weather window we have available in our time frame. Elena’s US Embassy appointment is Tuesday Dec 17th at 9am. This should get us to Barbados on time to check in, figure out where to go, get checked in, and have time to rest.
To get to Barbados we have to jump out East. East into those waves. East into that wind. East close hauled and taking a beating. East with no shelter or protection we can hide behind if things go wrong. East just open and exposed and face mother’s mood head on.
And I don’t want to. I am afraid. I am losing my nerve.
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Being Brave Anyway
So we set out Friday afternoon at around 3pm, I was waiting for the bigger storms to pass. I wanted to get out around the corner of Martinique into the Saint Lucia channel before dark. Under grey skies and in gentle enough winds WildChild sets out. The waters of the bay are brown, the rains have washed muddy fresh water into the bay along with much debris. There is garbage and tree branches and logs and even some trees floating in our path. Elena and I take turns standing on the bow calling back course corrections to the helms woman to steer the yacht safely around the larger logs. No need to crack our hull now.
The winds start out good in the big bay, we are actually comfortably running with winds behind us. That doesn’t last long though. Once we get out of the brown waters and into the turquoise waters of the open ocean again I deploy the fishing lure. I put Elena on the helm and instruct her to just keep following around the mountains until you can set a course straight for Barbados. I lay down to rest in the cockpit.
The mountains have been distorting the trade winds and Elena needs my help several times to make sail adjustments and figure out how to setup the yacht. Before long we are again close hauled into the winds but, as the sunsets, Elena notices we are slipping 30 degrees sideways. Although we are facing tight to the wind, there is an unseen strong current in the Saint Lucia channel. It actually become a very frustrating sail for the first half of the night. If you look at our map you can see I was forced to tac 4 times just to get out of the channel currents and into open waters. It took half the night. I made like 10 mile tacs and it took 4 of them to get out. So we sailed 40 miles to make 10 miles of progress on our course. We have lost a lot of time.
Slowly and painfully we struggle our way out past the currents and into the open ocean again, the lights of the islands in the dark fade away behind us. The waves are big enough, but they are also far enough apart. We are rolling up and down in 7-10 foot waves. This is not as smashy as the last sail, so that is a relief. As we get clear of the mountains we get cleaner winds, the winds get more stable, so the sailing gets easier. We get WildChild setup a reasonable 45-50 degrees to the wind and just babysit the autopilot. The big waves are rolling us around a lot so it appears to the wind instruments like the wind is swinging from 30 degrees off the bow to 70 degrees off the bow as the yacht pitches and rolls around. So it is a little hard to close haul any closer to the wind, we cannot get tighter to our course, but at least we are not slipping sideways anymore.
The sail that first night is basically fine. Very uncomfortable, there was no way we would dare go down below to try and rest or get food because she was getting tossed around a lot. WildChild was sailing Port tac and starboard rail in the water most of the time. We were also sailing first reef in the main and running only 70% Genny for safety. I didn’t mind sailing a little slowly if it meant it would be safer and calmer. We could have sailed faster if we wanted to, I didn’t want to.
The next morning as the sun rose it revealed nothing but water as far as the eye could see in every direction. Neither one of us had slept that night so we were both getting worn down. We were tired but okay. Of course with the heat of the sun the winds would pick up that day.
Saturday was one long boring sail. Not much happened. It was too rough to even try to sit up. We were shifting off every 3 hours. Either we laid down at the helm or laid down on the cockpit benches. The sea state was only building. It is hard to describe sitting there all day getting tossed around like a rag doll. The feeling in your stomach as you rise and fall with the waves. The waves are not steady, there is no rhythm to them. It is not crossing seas… and it is not confused seas… it is just… hmmm… the usual constructive and destructive mathematical interference of the wave harmonics. Sometimes it seems for a few seconds like it is almost calm, then sometimes the yacht is wildly heaving up and down.
I freely admit I was having problems with my heart condition. I was having trouble maintaining blood pressure in my brain. Sometimes I would go light headed after a particularly big wave set, see white speckles in my vision, and feel funny in my limbs. I also vomited. I puked probably once every 2 hours or so. Not seasickness, just with low blood pressure I would suddenly lose control of my tummy. For a minute I would be heaving over the rail then in a moment it was gone. The bad thing was each time I woofed Elena would hear me retching and she would then hurl too. Sympathetic vomiting, super fun, you should all try it someday.
Sometimes very large waves would suddenly rise out of the ocean and just slam into us, bringing WildChild to sudden halt, waves splashing into the cockpit. It is uncomfortable and un-fun to speak gently and kindly about it. It is brutal on the boat. It is brutal on our bodies. The ocean was big and wavy and un-fun. We suffered it all day.
I always try to take pictures to show you. Waves never show up on camera. Somehow the camera can never do the waves justice. Waves are not a visual thing, they are a visceral thing. They are an experience. Waves are something you can only ever understand thru direct experience.
Think about these pictures… this wave is on the high side of the boat. This means that the starboard rail is in the water so the port side is lifted an extra 3 feet in the air. That side rail you see is normally 4 feet above the water, the top of that lifeline is normally 6 feet above the water when the boat is flat. On the heel that lifeline is 8 feet above the water. That wave is still higher than the rail. It obscures the horizon when I am standing to take this picture at the rail.
Wave after wave is washing over the bow. Salty ocean water is washing the decks of WildChild constantly. As we climb up over the ten footers and sometimes smash down the backside the boat slams down and shudders from the enormous force. The mast and rigging shaking. I am glad I have solid rod rigging and running back stays for extra mast support.
We are both starting to starve. We are both dehydrating. We are not drinking water, we are not eating, and every few hours we are both vomiting. Our physical state is only declining. We are not having fun. We are just suffering again, we are taking the beating like warriors. Maybe we really are tough sailor chics. I don’t know.
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Second Night Horrible
So we sailed on and on into the second night. Things on board were not great but they were basically manageable. We were both suffering and not having much fun. Elena told me that this was for sure the worst sail she has ever done. I have been getting beat up by the ocean for so long I am pretty sure this has not been my worst sail ever… but I will admit it was up there in the top 10 worst sails.
Originally I had thought we could do the sail in 24 hours. Simple math 120 miles divided by 5 miles an hour meant 24 hours. BUT we lost so much time tacking out the saint Lucia channel against the currents. Also we stayed reefed and kept the sails reduced. So we were not trying to fight for fastest speed possible. That of course AND we were sailing upwind, which is the slowest point of sail. Though I will say for most of the second day we did average 5 knots all day.
The sunset for a second time on us at sea and we were still about 50 miles away from Barbados. There was no moon so it was very dark as we sat there taking our beating from Mom. There would be a full moon rise around midnight so we knew eventually we would be able to see again. The waves were bigger from the stronger day winds and the dominant wave period was shortening just enough to make the waves steeper. She kept getting washed with huge spray in the cockpit. Grrr… I hate getting wet at the helm.
It was around 11pm when it happened. Elena was at the helm and I was laying down nearby. We got hammered by some invisible huge wave on the side. It slammed into our high side hard and the boat shuddered to a stop, Elena got soaked at the helm with spray. Then she said… “its gone”… I sat up… what’s gone… she said “the instruments…” with a crack of fear in her voice.
Holy crap what does that mean? In the bucking cockpit I struggle to un-clip myself and rush to the helm to figure out what is going on. The chart plotter is still on but the alarm is going off… “No Autopilot”. The autopilot controls are dark. The B&G VFD display is off, we have no wind information. The instrument panel on the side bar of the chart plotter shows no readings coming in from the NMEA bus. We are blind. We are now sailing in the dark, unable to even see the water, with no instruments. HOLY CRAP THIS IS HUGELY BAD…!
Something has broken or changed… something is very wrong.
I flick on the cockpit red lights which also light up the compass. I command Elena to manually steer the boat. Grab the wheel. Elena stare at the compass… look at our heading… you have to keep it between 120 degrees magnetic and 150 degrees magnetic. Listen to the sails… I know you cannot see them but hear them… do not get disoriented… do not cross the wind… do not let the boat get rolled on her side by the huge waves.
Panic in her eyes… Oh my God we are in serious trouble here.
I need Elena to just control the boat so I can try and solve this problem.
I start running thru the diagnostic information I have in my mind. I run down and check the breakers to see if maybe we overloaded a circuit… they are all on. There should be power. Why has only the NMEA bus and VFD died? Why does the auto pilot computer still have power but is not there?
I am scrambling in the dark still getting tossed around in the ten foot waves trying desperately to get my autopilot back. If we have to hand steer in total darkness the rest of the way (50 miles), as tired and run down as we are, we are going to be in big trouble.
I AM TERRIFIED… AND SO IS ELENA.
We both just swallow the fear and fight to survive. Elena is doing great.
I know my boat… and I am a berry berry mart girl… Eventually I figure out that somehow the inline car fuse at the NMEA bus power source (inside the dash panel after the switch) must have blown. While Elena steers I get my tools and start removing the autopilot computer from the console. By the light of the headlamp and in pitching waves I get it apart. Yes the fuse is blown, I replace it, the NMEA bus comes back on. YAY…. YAY… and super YAYY…
We get the autopilot back and steering…
I put everything back together. A minute later Elena says there is no wind information. Weird… but the autopilot is still working..? yes.
Eventually I figure out I had a short circuit in the wire going up the mast to the wind instrument, it must have shorted out. Its going to make a fire. My mast is now electrified. I get that bad wire off the bus and everything else is working again, we just have to sail without wind information.
Side note… the NMEA wire for the wind instrument at the base of the mast was coiled between the mast and the bathroom wall… that wave hit us so hard the base of the mast shifted into the wall and squished right thru the wire causing the short.
Slowly we close the distance on Barbados and as the sun rises we are inside the wave protection of the coast, things are getting calmer. I notice that the low side solar panels are getting washed so often and so hard by waves the zip ties are tearing off the toe rail.
As we are approaching the cruise ship terminal, commercial port and I call in on the VHF radio as we are supposed to. We get directed to go inside the cruise ship area. I look up in the daylight at the front sail and gasp in horror… its torn. About 6 feet down from the top I have a large 5 foot tear in the sail. Holy crap that is super bad. When did that happen? No wonder I could not get the genny to stop flapping in the dark last night. I could not get it to tighten… its ripped…! Crap CRAP and SUPER CRAP….
We furl it up to protect it and switch to motor now. We get checked into Barbados. We are safe but in rough condition…
Now to rest, eat and sleep, recover physically…
and get Elena to her VISA interview Tuesday.
That was a rough sail…
It was truly hard.
It would have been difficult for any sailor to get thru but we girls did it. Go girl power..!
Tired now…
Will write again later… gotta go find solutions to problems.
Cheers sailors…
. Captain Lexi….
. the exhausted scared worried and very frustrated.