Panama to Tahiti in only 49 days

Tahiti, 25/3/2019

Crossing half of the Pacific Ocean in one go was never my intention, but, as always, Nature dictates, and I merely follow. In my last blog, I mentioned the possibility of being 2 -3 months at sea, but I think I was secretly hoping that was an exaggeration.

As it transpired, it took exactly 7 weeks, or 49 days and 49 nights (just to make the point that I didn’t sleep through half of it) to do the 5,000 nautical mile passage from Panama to Tahiti - which is not too shabby really, making the customary average of 100 miles a day.

So how did it go? Mostly, frustratingly. Two things contributed to this – one, it was a bit early in the year so the Trade winds hadn’t fully developed, and two, the El Nino influence meant lighter winds in general, with the occasional reversal of direction. Nooo! Well, yes – I saw far more days with northerlies, northeasterlies, and even, in the last week, northwesterlies and southwesterlies. So much for the SE Trades!

I left Las Perlas on the 2^nd February, bound for Gambier Islands in French Polynesia, 4,000 miles away. It began as it was to end – motoring. Of course it’s not possible to “drive” that distance, with a tank of only 70 litres of diesel, plus another 80 in jerry cans.

So a lot of demands were made on me to use what little wind there was and keep the boat moving. This was to become my mantra – just keep the boat moving – no matter how slowly. And only turn the key when actually stopped – assuming of course there’s still some fuel left.

On day 2, I had 18 – 20 knots of wind, dead astern. It was a beautiful day with the Las Perlas pelican convoys paragliding en masse. A perfectly proportioned, solitary dolphin arced across the bow, always a good omen. That night I set my timer for 30 minute intervals but didn’t get any sleep, there being plenty of fishing boats and ships around. Despite the slow start I covered 115 nautical miles in 24 hours. It helped enormously to have up to 2 knots of current with me.

My best day’s run on the passage was 133; my worst, 60, at which stage both wind and current had gone.

By day 4, the wind had dropped to 8 knots and I had the kite (spinnaker) flying. Thanks for the courage to try, the energy to dig it out from under the V berth, and the memory how. It was to become my best ally over the next few weeks. 

Initially I used the smaller “ whisker pole”, but eventually had to muscle up to manhandle the big pole - not so easy on one’s own (nothing is).

Over the next few days a new danger appeared – massive cut logs, presumably fallen off a ship, still with big metal staples in them. The fifth one passed within a metre of Shanti – about 2 metre diameter and 10 metres long, with a forked branch of similar size, which could easily have been a game ender.

The price of sleep is high. I lay down for a half hour nap on day 6, only to wake to blissful silence. The kite (which I never leave unattended) had an almighty “wine glass” wrap around the furled headsail. I started the engine and drove slowly round in circles to unwrap it.

Day 7, a very special occasion – once again, crossing the Equator. Back into the South Pacific. It was a magnificent sunny day and Shanti was slipping along smoothly. Party time!  A few South Pacific dolphins joined in. I did the laundry and had a salt water shower with fresh water rinse; put on my best dress, made a Pina Colada, listened to David Isom’s music, sang and danced. Topped it all with fresh home made bread and cheese. Perfect.

Three white birds, amazingly iridescent, lit up as if in a night club, stayed with me all night. They match the glistening phosphorescence in the water.

On Day 9, I was approaching Jimmy Cornell’s “exclusion zone” where others have reported adverse conditions. Do I avoid it, at cost of an extra day, or take my chances and blunder on through?

A couple of large Galapagian Booby birds have made their roost on my pulpit. I guess they know to avoid the rear solar panels, (usually a favourite) as Blewy made mince meat of some poor hitchhiker a few days ago. Just left a few feathers and visceral smear as a deterrent.

Don't know if these hitchhikers had their sights set on Australia.

Sadly I had to evict the squatters on Day 11.  They squawked in loud protest as the spinnaker billowed toward them. They may return later, or find another free ride to wherever.

I don’t know if I was feeling bad about evicting the birds, but for some reason I was having more trouble than usual with the kite. I noticed one of the birds circling Shanti and lining up for a landing. Coming in on a perfect windward approach, she made it, only to have a sudden flap of the kite scare her off. This was repeated three times and it seemed as if she had no intention of giving up.

Just then, on her third landing, the spinnaker halyard gave way at the top of the mast, and the whole kit and caboodle fell into the water. I could hardly believe my eyes, but was very glad to have been watching as it happened.  I raced forward and began grabbing great handfuls of the waterlogged cloth, pulling it back on board before it disappeared any further under the boat. I couldn’t believe the weight of it, especially the fibreglass yoke of the still scrunched up sock.  Another pair of hands at this point would have been very welcome.

All the while, Madam Booby sat watching from her undisturbed perch, as if saying, “well, glad that’s out of the way.”

Poled out headie worked almost as well as the spinnaker.

I had some land-based weather watchers, Mark Goodall in Queensland, Pandora Hope and Andrew Watkins at the Bureau of Meteorology in Melbourne, and John and Becca on the yacht “Halcyon”. All advised heading further north to avoid a “dead patch” en route to Gambiers, so sadly, that destination was missed.

None saw anything untoward in the near future (I think weather forecasting is a bit like soothsaying of the past), so I sailed blithely into a huge electrical storm.  Around midnight I woke to torrential rain and Tilly 2 squawking her resignation. Just as I stumbled into the cockpit to relieve her, lightning lit the entire world around me and the deepest, most visceral boom of thunder shook me to the core. The word scary is a gross understatement.

I won’t continue with a blow by blow account of the entire journey (those interested can wait for the book.)

Suffice it to say, I was to experience several more of these storm cells interspersed amongst the calms over the next few weeks, the last being two nights before arriving in Tahiti. I had been watching the thick black clouds and dark curtains to the horizon, wondering what it might bring, when it suddenly hit with full force. Winds well over 35 knots, driving rain and the same terrifying lightning and thunder. I took the helm and ran with it for several miles due south, before realizing I was going with it, at which point I hove to until it passed. Then I had 2 knots of wind. There was nothing for it but to turn the key again and motor continuously the last 24 hours in to port.

I had already motored all the way through the low lying atolls of the Tuamotus, so was getting low on fuel. I spent a lot of time doing ridiculous calculations, which at the end of the day meant nothing.

On two occasions earlier on, I had attempted to change course for the Marquesas, but again, was thwarted by the wind having other ideas. It was just as well, because a few days later I noticed my rig failing, again. The new lower shrouds, which had been replaced in Cape Town, were rusting badly at the base, where they are swaged to the rigging screw. I hadn’t taken too much notice of this, until I saw one of the wires actually break and begin its curly pig’s tail unwinding. Ai yai yai. Not again!

Luckily, this break was at the bottom, not the top, so I could get some clamps on it.

Everything was conspiring to direct me directly to Tahiti. Well, it was certainly an interesting challenge, spending that much time alone at sea. I’m still not sure what it’s done to my head. I guess the main thing I’ve learnt is patience and acceptance of what is. It all takes as long as it takes, and lady luck has a big hand in it.

I was certainly lucky in regards to breakages, compared to some. Apart from the shrouds and spinnaker halyard, the cheek block on the side of the cockpit (that the headsail sheet runs through) sheared off with an explosive crack. Also Blewy has become decidedly unbalanced since munching a bird, causing the targa, bimini and solar panels to vibrate wildly whenever there’s the odd burst of wind. But the main things – sails, engine, autopilot, Shanti, me – held together, and the food, water and fuel proved sufficient.

Approaching the passé de Papeete entailed circling around waiting for various ships to come and go; likewise transiting the several airport runways which cross over the inner lagoon, only this time waiting for planes, not ships. All rather nerve-wracking, exacerbated by not having slept for the previous two nights. Port Control would call me and say you have 5 minutes to get past the next runway, but with her barnacle-encrusted hull, Shanti was moving very slowly.

A pleasant swim for me each day, scraping these suckers off.

When I finally dropped anchor (for the third time, in an approved, not-too-deep, nor too protected spot) I felt absolutely done for. I arrived with about 5 litres of diesel left, about 50 litres of water, and half a pumpkin. Plenty of pulses, so it’s lentils again.

My  fresh produce lasted surprisingly well for about 3 weeks. After that, pulses, dahl, beans, chickpeas or lentils formed the basis of most meals, the pressure cooker being invaluable for this. I grew sprouts of various kinds, made yoghurt and bread. I developed a routine of cooking every second day, which gave me a break from the rocking, lurching, bucking galley. My body is a gymbal and quite adept at keeping plates of food and cups of drink on the level – mostly.

Communications became my greatest concern, as the Inmarsat Satphone and Spot Tracker both failed to connect to satellites for about the last 2-3 weeks. It made me feel very vulnerable, having no way of contacting anyone if anything (other than a total sinking) went wrong. The solitude I didn’t mind.

On Saturday 23^rd March, after not having seen a soul for 7 weeks, I woke to the mayhem of an outrigger canoe paddling regatta, with literally hundreds of people all round me. Fortunately none wanted to chat.

April is a big month in Melbourne, with a few birthdays, Shoni’s PhD completion, and Misha’s headlining gigs, so Shanti will get to rest in Taina Marina here in Papeete, while I fly back home for a month to see family and friends. Hope to see some of you soon.


Shanti over and out.....