Lüderitz to St. Helena - Days 9 & 10

days 9 & 10

Day 9  

Miles to go: 426

Ever since David saw the green flash the other night, we've been sitting on deck at sunset trying to capture a green flash on video. We've even changed the time zone to Atlantic/St. Helena time (UTC-Coordinated Universal Time), and gained an hour, so that I'm up at sunset. So far, no luck on the flash, but we keep on trying.

It's Prime Meridian Day today ... another of those imaginary, longitudinal lines where east meets west. We crossed the line around Noon and we entered the Western Hemisphere once again. Cups hasn't been in the Western waters since our little foray to New Zealand's Chatham Islands back in 2011 at the other side of the Hemisphere.  At that time, a storm had us back and forth across the International Dateline about six times trying to get back to mainland New Zealand and the Eastern Hemisphere. Today, however as we crossed longitude 000E to 000W, there was no drama. We just floated across with no fanfare or trials whatsoever. I took a video of the GPS during the crucial seconds and we'll celebrate with cookies or a chocolate bar for tonight's dessert.

Wind? There is none.

Day 10

Miles to go: 368

Sometimes there are light winds and sometimes, like now, there's absolutely no wind...none at all. It was a long, dark, boring, windless night following a windless day. The sails are flapping and flogging...beating themselves up looking for just a light breeze to fill them, but to no avail. The rigging is clanking and banging. By noon, we'd racked up a dismal total of 58 miles to the good for the entire 24-hour period.

Why not motor, you ask? Well, you can't motor across an entire ocean and conserving fuel is always a major consideration. "Patience", says the captain, "patience. The wind will come." Just after noon, we hauled in the jib, shut down the autopilot and drifted on an ocean flat enough to see my reflection. A long period, ever-present, southwest swell was the only thing to provide any momentum, and at that we moved less than a knot an hour, in the wrong direction. We drifted and chatted, drifted and chatted. We luxuriated in the warm sunshine. Neither of us was tired enough to nap. Around 1530, the wind gen creaked and began to turn, ever so slowly. The flag fluttered and came alive. The mainsail flapped a different tune and began to fill. 5 knots, 8 knots, 10 knots ...we let out the jib and we were off again.

Be careful what you wish for. The wind continued to freshen. Just before dark, we put a reef in the main...just in case. David could see a band of ominous black clouds on the horizon, and the jib we'd so happily let out a few hours before, was hastily reefed, as we met a nasty squall line head-on. We bounced and bumped our way through the squalls for an hour or so, then settled in for a boisterous night. What a shot to our earlier in the day complacency. Yowza!

A full moon rose. The wind backed and steadied at 20-25 knots and we charged ahead. St. Helena, here we come!

Let's get there ... Arrival in St. Helena at last!

Lüderitz to St. Helena - Days 7 & 8

days 7 - 8

Day 7

Miles to go:

An absolutely gorgeous night. The sky was clear, the moon nearly full, the stars twinkled like fairy lights on a Christmas tree. What a relief to know they're all still there after so many coal black nights without them. This morning's sunrise, in vivid shades of orange and pink, was stupendous, although I envy David's green flash last night. You snooze...you lose.

In case you're keeping track , we're barely making 100 nm a day. If we could walk on water, perhaps it would be quicker, but when the sun's warming your back, the sea is glistening and you've got a 360-degree ocean view, it ain't half bad, even if it is slow. David is hoping that continental drift is moving St. Helena towards us, so we'll get there this century. Not quite that bad, but we've been at sea a week already and we're looking at an ETA of perhaps 5-6 more days ...beats 40 knot winds and 10m seas all to hell.

David worked on the jib furler for a bit...one of the new bolts is causing chafe on the headsail tack strap  and needs addressing. He put a chafe guard on the strap as a jury-rig repair and will fix it properly when we arrive at St. Helena because it will require removing the headsail. The mini-whisker is performing well considering 9 knots was our max gust for the day. I made scones with blueberry preserves which we enjoyed throughout the day.  The sun was so very welcome and we were able to shed another layer of clothes. We read and David finished up another article for publication. I'm working on a book, but it's a rough start, my muse is stubbornly resisting the new project.

Day 8

Miles to go: 529

Another beautiful night, though colder with periods of overcast skies. We're still in fleeces and sweatshirts, but moon glow and star gazing helps take our minds off the chilly temps. This morning's sunrise was a bust ...pretty blah with a thick cloak of clouds hanging heavy on the horizon and overhead. I hoped it would clear, but no such luck. The grey has returned.

The constant light winds have made travel slow, but not unpleasant. The forecast is calling for 15-20 knots in a few days from now. The current wind direction has not allowed as much "northing" as we need and jibing points us too far north and not enough west. We'll work it out, but it's a slow process getting from here to there.

We find we eat much less on passage. I cook pretty regular meals and we're not starving by any means, but our appetites seem suppressed. No alcohol and less eating and snacking make for an unbeatable weight reduction program. Hoping to shed a few pounds by the time we get to the other side of the pond. Not as much exercise as we're  used to. It comes in spurts. We're looking forward to some good walks when we get to St. Helena. I'm not sure we'll tackle Jacob's Ladder though. More on that later.

We're getting close to the Prime Meridian and should cross it tomorrow.

Days 9 & 10 await you.

Crossing the Prime Meridian

This is our third time crossing the Prime Meridian in Nine of Cups. We crossed it twice before when we crossed the Atlantic from Uruguay to South Africa in 2006 and then again, when we crossed back to the USA in 2007. It's not quite as big a deal as crossing the Equator, but it deserves some recognition and a small celebration aboard.

The Prime Meridian, based at the Royal Observatory, Greenwich, London was established by Sir George Airy 1851. By 1884, over two-thirds of all ships used it as the reference meridian on charts and maps.  At the same time the French also established the Paris Meridian. When the International Meridian Conference was held in 1884 to determine which meridian would become the world “official” meridian, the Greenwich meridian was chosen. The French did not agree and for several decades France was the only country that continued to use the Paris meridian. Go figure.

Setting our clocks to GMT (Greenwich Mean Time) or UTC (Coordinated Universal Time) is pretty irrelevant at the moment and has little effect on life aboard. Sunrise and sunset are the two most important times of the day and we probably won't bother to reset our clocks till we arrive some place where it matters. More important for us … we've just moved from the eastern hemisphere to the western hemisphere and the GPS proves it.

The point at which the Equator (0° latitude) and the Prime Meridian (0° longitude) intersect, known by sailors as the Golden X,  is in the Gulf of Guinea off western Africa in the Atlantic. It is nothing more than a point of intersection for two imaginary lines. It has no geographical significance, but if you're a sailor and you sail to the Golden X, you become a Golden Shellback. Sorry, folks. We need to settle for being non-gilded shellbacks. The Golden X is too far off our route for a diversion, I'm afraid.