Pacific Crossing Musings

Sail across the Pacific – Mexico to New Zealand. That was the objective. Actually, more of a long-held dream, decades in gestation. Years ago, aboard the original Turtlebones, I arrived in Colon on the Caribbean side of the entrance to the Panama Canal. The urge I felt to keep on going and sail into the Pacific Ocean was palpable.

A sizable contingent of our sailing friends were heading for the fabled waters of the South Pacific. I was keen to join them. But that was never part of the plan. The voyage my late wife Nancy and I had set out on two years earlier was drawing to a close. Soon we’d be selling the boat and heading home to resume our working lives in Toronto. The Pacific would have to wait.

So, twenty-three years later, as I contemplate the 7,500-mile trip Sharon and I have just completed across the Pacific, three distinct parts emerge – at least in my mind. The long open ocean passages, one at each end, both non-stop, comprise two of the parts. The big one, twenty-one days, Mexico to French Polynesia; and the shorter one, nearly eight days, Tonga to New Zealand. They neatly bookend our journey. Then there’s the third part, the big fat piece sandwiched in the middle. Five glorious, leisurely months of cruising among the amazing islands and atolls of the South Pacific.

Interesting coincident and fun fact: Turtlebones covered almost exactly the same distance on parts one and two of the trip – 3,048 vs. 3,035 nautical miles. To put that in context, the flying distance between Vancouver and St. John’s Newfoundland is 2,700 nautical miles

The second bookend, our most recent passage, from Tonga down to New Zealand, covered a little more than 1300 nautical miles. Slightly further than the flying distance between Toronto and Calgary. The shortest of the three legs in terms of both time and distance. It was nonetheless memorable for the sheer intensity of the experience.

Happily, the sequencing of our two “bookend” passages worked in our favour. The more challenging one came last, after we’d had ample time to build-up our skills and confidence in each other. And, once we better understood the boat’s systems and capabilities.

Even so, the trip south to New Zealand has a well-earned reputation for serving up gnarly conditions and complex weather patterns.  With that on our minds, we decided to avail ourselves of the services of a weather router. Meteorologist Bob McDavitt – MetBob as he’s called – is something of a Pacific weather guru, who’s been advising skippers for years. His sage counsel throughout the trip helped us adjust course in anticipation of the ever-evolving conditions.

Compared to the first leg of the journey – the Mexico to French Polynesia leg – the Tonga to New Zealand leg featured much stronger winds. Our log book records the weather conditions and boat’s performance in three-hour intervals. The log entries highlight the stark differences.

During leg-one, the winds exceeded 15 knots for just 15% of the trip, and crested over 20 knots only 2% of the time. In contrast, the winds on leg-three blew 15 knots or more 70% of the time, and surpassed 20 knots for almost one-third of the trip.

Of course, everything is relative. So, after it’s been blowing 30 plus knots for hours on end, 20 starts to feel almost calm.

Stiff winds do make for fast sailing and piling on the sea-miles. On that last passage, Turtlebones eclipsed her longest distance traveled during a 24-hour period on three of the seven days.

Windspeed, however, only tells part of the story. The stronger the winds, the bigger the seas. The longer they blow, the uglier things get. Onboard comfort, or discomfort, is all about the sea state.

In 20 plus knots of sustained wind, the seas kick up. Massive waves bash into the hulls, tossing the boat around, violently at times. The cockpit becomes a virtual no-go-zone. When we do venture out of doors, to adjust the sails, saltwater spray and breaking waves assault us from multiple angles. The noise onboard is constant.

The boat is a beast. She was designed to sail safely around the world. The rig is stout and her construction robust. The same can’t always be said for the crew, however.

We did have one serious technical issue. On the afternoon of day five, we suddenly lost electrical power, shutting down all of Turtlebones’ many systems. Our navigation screens went dark, and with the autopilot down, the boat veered sharply off course.

Fortunately, this happened during daylight, when the conditions were relatively moderate. Usually, bad things happen at night when the wind is howling and seas pounding.   

Sharon immediately took the wheel and got us back on course. I began investigating the extent of the outage. Resetting the electrical control screen brought the systems flickering back to life. But only briefly, then everything shut down again.    

Recalling that each of the electrical circuits has a bypass, I set to work to see if the boats vital systems could be revived.  All the while, contemplating the prospect that we’d likely have to hand-steer from the cockpit for the remainder of the trip – 2-1/2 more days – aka 3 days and 2 nights. And knowing the weather was forecast to turn nasty. A sobering thought.

As a test, I attempted to bypass the circuit for the VHF radio. Like magic, it lit up and stayed on. Soon, our navigation systems – the GPS, auto-pilot and AIS (the ship tracking and collision warning system) – were back online. Thankfully, Sharon’s stint at the wheel was brief.

We then ‘MacGuyvered’ functionality back to various pumps, lights and other DC power consumers.

We couldn’t, however, get any of AC current circuits to work. So, no StarLink, and no charging for our computers and other assorted gadgets. Without internet connectivity, we wouldn’t have the benefit of up-to-date weather, neither from PredictWind nor from guru MetBob. Nor would we be able to give the New Zealand authorities the required notice of arrival. Power usage would need to be trimmed and carefully monitored. Not ideal, but we’d manage.   

Then a brainwave – what if we fired up the generator? It makes AC power. The unit started immediately. But, disappointingly, didn’t power up the AC outlets. Because it’s integrated into the boat’s AC the pathway for delivering electrical power was effectively cut-off. Stymied!

New brainwave – we still had the little portable gas-powered Honda generator – stowed deep in the locker. Long-neglected, almost forgotten, our last ditch ‘get-out-of-jail-free card’. It would only work for short bursts in relatively calm conditions, and we’d need to avoid asphyxiating ourselves by isolating it outside in the cockpit.

Soon, winds and waves abated, and the trusty Honda was running. After jury-rigging a few wires, StarLink was back on line – plugged into the good ol’ fashioned gas generator! – and internet connectivity was restored. The battery charger was pumping amps into our main source of power – the big bank of lithium batteries. 

Things were looking up. We were back in business.

Although the wind increased and seas got uncomfortable, again. The rest of the trip was largely uneventful. In the wee hours, it was a weary but joyful crew who motored through the channel into Whangarei harbour, and eventually tied up at the marina quarantine dock.

Lesson learned: you can never have enough redundancy, particularly on a boat.