Dear Marge,

DATE: 2002-11-13
POSITION:
WEATHER:

Well the action has really started now. I was sitting eating pork chops with aubergines in Hollandaise sauce and thinking that this was something between a trip to space and a luxury cruise. Our captain used to be a chef, and its the one thing he does well. Then the autopilot failed. Flashing red and green lights, and all the crew running to the cockpit. The boat broached violently. The winds had been increasing all day and where at about 22KN. This isn't much wind (about a force 4) but the swell is quite violent and we are running down wind, rolling around in the waves. This is the most dangerous point of sailing, and an inadvertent gybe could cause a demasting, or worse, a 90-degree knockdown.

With that under control there was a bit of a disagreement about the amount of sail we were carrying. We have the genoa of another boat, because they wouldn't give us our spinnaker (wise I think!). Our self-furling gear is broken so its either all or nothing. Yesterday Bart and I had the huge genoa up, using the two spinnaker poles. It was a lot of sail, and we got the boat doing 15kn! That is more speed than the boat was designed for. But quite rightly David said this was too much sail and we should get it down. I agreed and offered to do it straight away, but in the end it was put off until after dinner. By that time it was dark, the waves had built up and the wind had increased.

Earlier I had heard a slopping noise from the bow. I knew that I had checked my hatch earlier. Someone else had shut it, but the handles were still loose. I couldn't see where water was getting in, but Fred and my bunks were soaked, and I mean really socked. Half of the Pacific had come over the cabin. Luckily the electrical stuff was in my dry bag! So our beds are soaked and we have to sleep in the saloon. Not so much a luxury cruise now.

The head sail had to come down. For some reason it was decided to try the broken furler. There was a lot of straining and shouting, and then the sail ripped out of the track. More shouting and the decision was made to pull the sail into our bunk. I really wonder at this. I have always been trained to drop and raise sails to the guard rails in a situation like this. It's one of the many things that makes me wonder what experience these guys have. This time I put my idea forward and it was accepted with amazement. Of course we didn't have enough sail ties. So in the dark, in pitching waves and heavy winds, we went on to the fore-deck, and hand-over-hand pulled the sail into the guard rail. To me this is a standard procedure, clipped on to a pitching deck, tying the sail down. Racing crews do this sort of thing every few hours to change their sails. But the first-mate got upset. At one point, with Phil on the wheel, we tacked. The genoa flew across (it's about twice the size of the main on Wilfa, and is loaded with about 4 tonnes of pressure) and I ducked just in time, still getting my ear thrashed by the sheet. This was sloppy, the helmsman should be able to hold a steady course, and there was a lot of debate about starting the motor. Finally Phil started the engine. Phil's fishing lines (which are permanently over the back) got caught in the propeller, so we now can't use the engine. He tried to blame us, saying we had dropped the sheets over the side, and even when we had counted them all back in and pointed out the straining fishing line that was still attached to the boat, and by now pulling forward underneath, he still humphed and harred about how it was our fault. It wouldn't have gone under the boat if he hadn't tacked violently in the first place.

After all this commotion David came to seek my advice. He is all for turning back to Mexico or heading into Hawaii (costing the owner $140k in tax) and turning the skipper in. Or mutiny - he wants to take over the boat and get us to Samoa. I didn't know what to say. I don't think any of those three can sail for toffees. I might be a lowly Coastal Skipper but I recognise bad seamanship when I see it. They don't know the basics of sail trim and when I ask for an explanation I get the most patronising lecture that sounds like it's coming from a beginners' book. I believe I know as much meteorology as they do, and the two of them constantly argue about the most basic things such as the symbols on a weather chart (yes, they really can't read a weather chart). There is a cyclone over Mexico and they can't decide whether we are in danger or not. Phil ripped up last nights weather report declaring it was bullshit (he says that about a lot of things). He thinks he knows more than the NOAA!

Equipment is failing left, right, and centre. The batteries have flattened again, and we are now down to just the generator to charge them (we can't run the engine due to the fouled line). This bit of kit broke and has just been fixed. It's my worst fear, trusting all this technology, but the only reason things are going wrong is because of the attitude of the people. On the one hand we squander fuel and power, something I would never do, and on the other hand people try and impose there own cranky little rules. Nothing strikes me as being thought out, and no-one has any real ocean-crossing experience.

I have thought about what David said, and I really don't see the situation is that bad yet. He is an uppity ex-naval type that computer prints duty rosters, and Phil is a gun-ho kiwi with a loud, brash attitude that is inclined to the dangerous. You couldn't have two greater opposites. But I think for us to be safe, the most important thing is that we stick together and show each other respect. Nothing too bad is going wrong, and I still feel pretty positive and up-beat. Last night was fun, and ultimately we each take responsibility for our own safety. I might have to go and dive under the boat later and free the fouled propeller. There is much discussion about how to stop the boat. I wouldn't mind if I had my dive kit, but this is going to be a breath-holding skin-dive.

I'm suffering from lack of sleep. The autopilot kept kicking out last night, so there was a lot discussion around my bunk all night, and a few times I jumped awake as the boat broached, not trusting the others to be awake or in control anymore.

No text message from you last night. I live for those little snippets from you. I am hoping these emails find their way to you.

Work is not going well. I am having problems on this computer that I can't diagnose and know nothing about, because it's Windows. Progress is really slow. I am still waiting for those reports from you, but to be honest, working in a pitching sea is very challenging, and now we have a power restriction as well. I think all I can do is really urgent stuff. The skipper reckons we'll make Tonga on the 30th Nov, but this is the computer's calculation based on our current speed, which is very fast. David reckons more like the 15th Dec, as we have to cross the doldrums and the North Equatorial current. It bothers me that the people who should know this stuff don't and David only knows because he read a book! Oh well, blind faith and a big grin is all I can offer. The cracks are showing this morning, even silent Fred is in a grump, he's just opened wine at 6am!

I have to send this now. Hope there is a message from you. I have re-read even your test message about 10 times.

Send my love to everyone.

Ben.

PS just got everyone's messages. Really nice to hear from you all.