ARC Blog

Below is posted, in its entirety, the entries posted to the World Cruising Club ARC Log during our transatlantic crossing. Enjoy!

ARC Blog posted Oct. 22, 2013

Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself

Hello.

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jack Hoopes, (a.k.a. Captain Jack) and I am Skipper of the Windleblo, a Hallberg-Rassy 40. I hail from Golden, Colorado, where I have made my home for 16 years. My wife, Jocelyn, and I have sailed Windleblo around Europe for the past five seasons, having taken delivery of her at the Hallberg-Rassy Yard in Ellos, Sweden, in 2009. We spend our winters in Golden where Jocelyn practices accounting and I work in the ski industry.  It is now time to sail Windleblo to the U.S.

Three characters will join me on the ARC.

First, son John.

At 23, John graduated Tufts University in 2010 and has become somewhat of a world traveler since. He works for Backroads, an active travel company based out of Berkeley, California, leading cycling, hiking, and kayaking trips in some of the world's most beautiful places. Always ready for adventure, aboard Windleblo John will serve as Chief Steward, Voyage Photographer, and Lead Fisherdude.

Next, Martin Neumayer.

Martin and I first met in 2008 aboard the Mahina Tiare III, as trainees in John Neal's bluewater sailing program. He and his American wife, Dawn, make their home in Vienna, Austria. Jocelyn calls Martin one of the most caring, considerate men she has ever met (probably in part to point out contrasts with her spouse), and I would have to agree Martin is certainly sophisticated, but more importantly solid as a rock when it comes to sailing. After Mahina, Martin went on to earn his Yachtmaster ticket and recently bought a Hallberg-Rassy of his own, Kind of Blue. His assigned roles aboard are as Quartermaster, Tactician, and Assistant Steward.

Then there's John O'Riordon, a.k.a. The Coach.

Trapped for a week by back-to-back-to-back gales on Bere Island, around the Mizen Head deep in West Cork, the crew of the Windleblo had ample time to bond with the crew of the few other sailing vessels that shared the same plight. Among them was the boat belonging to John O'Riordon and his lovely wife, Moya. Since that fateful week late in the 2011 season, John and Moya have become good friends. John does construction contracting from his home outside Cork, but his real passion is sailing. A veteran of many crossings, John helped move Windleblo across the Biscay from Baltimore to La Coruna in 2012. He returned earlier this year to help me move the boat far and fast from Malta to Dubrovnik. So he knows the boat well and will serve as XO, Lead Trimmer, and Assistant Fisherdude.

Back home in Golden, Jocelyn will monitor our progress as Shoreside Coordinator. She and Dawn will come to St. Lucia in December to help celebrate our arrival in the New World.

As Chief Communications Officer, I'll attempt to share our ARC experience with you through these blog posts, with emphasis on shipboard life and crew relationships, raw and uncut, both intriguing and mundane. I invite you to return often.

It's great to make your acquaintance.

ARC Blog posted Oct. 31, 2013

Hello Goodbye

The Austrian and the Irishman have arrived in Gibraltar, bringing ARC crew strength to three-quarters.

We spent our first 24 hours together with final boat prep and provisioning, plus getting reacquainted. The skipper asked each man what he wanted to see happen before his time aboard Windleblo ended. The Irishman said he wanted to build strong friendships. The Austrian seeks achievement of a lifelong dream -- to cross an ocean.

As for me, my goals, beyond the obvious safe delivery of boat and crew, are to use the passage as a time to practice seamanship and work towards being a better shipmate, husband, and father.

As we say hello to each other, we say goodbye to Mainland Europe. We shove off early tomorrow. Our first stop -- Madeira -- is 600 nautical miles and 100 hours away.

ARC Blog posted Nov. 2, 2013

On Our Way

36 hours in.

Crew bonding well. No issues there. 

I asked the crew what they like most about sailing.

The Irishman likes the self-reliance element of ocean passage-making. The Austrian likes being away from it all, out in the wilderness.

So far, we've tried broad reaching, 130% genoa only, and gennaker-ing with the main. Each has its down side and its virtues. Tomorrow we will rig dual head sails and try that without the main. Then we'll have a basis for choosing whichever seems best.

ARC Blog posted Nov.7, 2013

Madeira

Six hundred downwind miles and four nights from Gibraltar, we landed on Madeira. Windleblo led us here, seamlessly surfing the three meter swell as we practiced watchkeeping and arranged the sheets for best downwind effect.

What's more, Martin is now Jules. His ARC alias revealed itself about 300 miles offshore as a consequence of a misheard monologue. Martin asked, "Who is Julie?" as the Coach told a story about a friend with a totally different name. Somehow Julie morphed into Jules, and Martin's new handle.

That settled, we pushed on to Madeira, taking a berth in a marina on the island's west end. Our two layover days were spent with a windshield tour of the island's spectacular north coast and populated south, then prepping the boat for on next push, a 300 mile hop to the Canaries.

Force Six winds just behind the beam are forecast starting tomorrow night, promising a fast crossing. Las Palmas here we come.

ARC Blog posted Nov. 10, 2013

Approaching the Canaries

Land Ho!

The next time we hear this cry, it will be St. Lucia, not Gran Canaria, that we approach.

Our two night crossing from Madeira is nearly done. Force 6 winds on the beam, sometimes touching Force 7, propelled us here. The seas mounted to four meters along the way, making sleep elusive. Windleblo seem to revel in the sporty seas. As I've said many times before, the only thing holding this boat back is captain and crew.

The rough conditions did nothing to dampen the good spirits aboard Windleblo. We even practiced our sea shanties mid-passage.

Moments ago, we held a passage debrief. The only complaint I heard was that we did not do enough to pay homage to Neptune as we departed Madeira. All we did was share a dram of cheap gin while hearing a few words uttered by Joules in German. We will improve on this with a proper ceremony when we leave Las Palmas in two weeks.

Very soon we make landfall and our ARC experience begins.

ARC Blog posted Nov.11, 2013

Leave No Man Behind

We've had our first tiff.

It was the Coach who returned to the boat with his feelings hurt.

We were at the Sailor's Bar having a couple of beers in the name of crew unity. A couple more turned into a couple more, and the Austrian and I had had enough. It was time to go back to the boat for dinner.

But the Irish kept buying for us. After first relenting, then politely refusing, we finally had to get up and walk away.

Well, when he got back to the boat a bit later, the Coach said he had felt abandoned by his mates. "Leave no man behind," should be our creed, he declared.

Though we weren't obliged, we apologized once again, in the hope that the Coach would forgive us. We went on to have a delightful meal prepared by John Hoopes.

If our apologies weren't enough, the new ARC Windleblo pride wear I distributed seemed to lift the Coach's spirits.

ARC Blog posted Nov. 18, 2013

Preparations Well Along

The Windleblo crew has been working pretty much non-stop (OK, except for the evening sundowner parties) getting the boat ready for departure. Food planning, buying, re-packaging and stowing was today's drill. Tomorrow, we take in ARC seminars on rigging, communications, and tips for downwind sailing, the return to the boat for sail handling drills.

The shot above shows the crew, complete with our ARC polo shirts, assembled after yesterday's Welcome Ceremony where ARC, Las Palmas, and St. Lucia officials formally kicked off ARC 2013.

The final countdown is upon us.

ARC Blog posted Nov. 21, 2013

Final Provisioning

Today, John Hoopes and I rode our bikes to the best fishing shop in Las Palmas to buy some deep sea fishing gear. 

John has taken command of provisioning as the voyage's Chief Steward, and he has been doing a marvelous job of ordering food for delivery and going on shopping ventures around town.

Now, with our new fishing gear, he promises to augment our diet regularly with fresh sushi.

We will soon see if he is able to keep this promise!

ARC Blog posted Nov. 24, 2013

The Start

Luna cast us off at 11:45 am local time and thousands of spectators cheered us on as we departed Las Palmas harbor, with a brass band adding atmosphere.

At the start line, the committee boat was hard to miss. It was a large Spanish navy gunboat! We hove to for a brief lunch, then edged toward the starting line with dozens and dozens of boat jockeying for position. We crossed as the start gun sounded under a broad reach. A squall then enveloped us, cheating us out of our last glimpse of land as the clouds thickened.

All the boats are now slowly spreading out, with two groups apparent as darkness gathered. Group 1 is starting to head west around the bottom of the island and Group 2 (the one we're in) is heading south to avoid the island's wind shadow. The forecast calls for 20 knot winds for the next day or two, then a problematic calm patch north of the Cape Verde islands. The boat is in tip top shape and the crew is in good spirits. Our toast to Neptune implored a safe passage.

So far, so good.

ARC Blog posted Nov. 25, 2013

Day One

I asked the crew for their impressions of The Start and our first day at sea. Here is some of what they said.

The Coach -- "The most emotional time for me was as we were leaving the marina and the brass band was playing and the crowds were waving to us from the north and east breakwaters. That's when I fully realized that we were actually going to cross the Atlantic."

John Hoopes - "For me, the start signified the beginning of the end of my passage into adulthood. I see this voyage as the completion of the process of coming of age. When I land in St. Lucia, I will be a man."

Turns out both siblings view this voyage as an important moment. Luna could not stop the tears as she cast us off, the sight of Windleblo, her European home, leaving Europe was too much for her. She sees this moment as the end of her transition into adulthood.

Joules -- " The spirit of saying farewell to our new friends on the dock, and then watching them waving from the shore was remarkable. I will remember those moments for the rest of my life."

As for me, I found fascinating the sight of 230 ARC boats surrounding us as we crossed the start line. So many boats, so many different ensigns, so many colorful head sails, all beginning a transatlantic voyage. This truly was a "once in a lifetimer."

After so long on the dock, we are finally under way. The preparations are over and we are alone on a vast sea. As I write this, we enjoy a broad reach with 20 knot winds as dolphins play on our bow.

Life is good.

ARC Blog posted Nov. 26, 2013

Day Two

Dolphins joined us today on several occasions. First, a pod of eight or ten played on our bow. A couple of hours later we were intercepted by about 100 of them, dancing and jumping all around the boat. At first, we were enamored and stopped what we were doing to watch. But by afternoon, it became so common that we kept on with our duties rather than gawk. Their presence augurs well for our voyage.

I mentioned duties. Among them is galley master. We rotate the galley work a day at a time, with each crewman responsible for all cooking and cleaning on his assigned day. Then, he is off for three days. (That's the bonus.) So far, so good, and the job has been made easy by all the prep work last week. In a Las Palmas AirBNB rental we cooked several passage meals, then vacuum packed them using a "seal-a-meal," and finally put them in the freezer several days. Now all we need do for a delicious meal is put the sealed bag in boiling water to heat the contents. Tonight, the Coach prepared a delicious chili with baked potatoes.

Another duty is as Single Side Band radio net controller. John Hoopes volunteered for this duty in Las Palmas, which involves facilitating a discussion among ARC participants over the radio. Every day at Noon on an assigned SSB frequency, we tune in with our fellow ARC boats for a role call and exchange of information. There are three other net controllers, so John is responsible as controller every fourth day.

We've got our brand new deep sea fishing rod attached to the pushpit, with lures deployed. No luck so far, but we were encouraged by another boat who boasted on the radio net of catching a tuna almost immediately upon putting in their lure. Hopefully, soon that will happen to us.

ARC Blog posted Nov. 27, 2013

Day Three

We caught a fish!

It was a five pound dorado caught using a magic lure. The lure is magic because it was given to us in Cavtat, Croatia, by the captain of a Dutch boat who said it had been given to him with the caveat that as soon as he caught a fish, he had to pass the lure along to another cruiser, which he faithfully did, and we were the beneficiaries. Martin prepared the dorado as a starter for our evening meal.

So now that we have caught a fish we will have to pass the lure along. But probably not before we catch a few more as we have about 2,300 miles to go before we are stopped near another boat. Perhaps the lure will then continue to make its way around the world.

Other highlights today:

John Hoopes put in his first service as SSB radio Net Controller for the Noon ARC radio net, Group A. He did a fantastic job leading the roll call, position and weather reports, then opened it up for questions and discussion.

At the end of the session, he introduced a quiz offered by another ARC boat, the Finnish boat Defyr, inviting all listeners to send their responses to Defyr. The theme of the quiz is music pop culture. The quiz questions are as follows:

1. What artist is to blame for the infamous Gangnam Style?

2. What was the last studio album the Beatles made in 1970 before quitting?

3. Who sang the song Respect, released in 1967?

4. What is the link between Nirvana and Foo Fighters?

5. What is so special about the drummer in Def Leppard?

6. What band was made up of the following brothers Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, Marlon and Michael?

7. Nancy Sinatra made famous the song “Bang, Bang, (My Baby Shot Me Down)”, but who performed the song originally?

8. In what band did Beyoncé Knowles perform before going solo?

9. Name two known Australian artists or music groups.

10. Who British rock singer-songwriter released an album in 1975 called “Atlantic Crossing”?

How many answers do you know?

We continue to be escorted by dolphin pods, with no fewer than a dozen sightings today. This is a very good sign.

ARC Blog posted Nov. 28, 2013

Day Four

Overcast dawn! Where's the sun we were promised?

No wind! Where are the trades?

We hear this refrain several times today, spoken among ourselves, on the ARC SSB radio net, and in our thoughts.

Not that we are complaining, mind you. Spirits are high on the Windleblo this Thanksgiving Day, as we dream of football and turkey. We make lemons out of lemonade by stopping for a mid-ocean swim. The water is fine! Some hang off the stern swim step while others, more daring, do laps around the boat to get the heart going. (All this sitting is doing nothing for our fitness.)

To add to the excitement, we sight two whales swimming laconically about a quarter mile of our starboard beam. The dolphins seem to be taking a break today, but the whale sighting more than makes up for it.

We're hearing on the radio that a lot of boats are thinking of diverting to the Cape Verde Islands to refuel. We haven't made that decision yet, but each motoring minute brings us closer to reckoning with it.

Coq au vin for dinner is as close to the traditional turkey as we can get. We'll have a proper thanksgiving dinner, complete with all the trimmings, once we make landfall.

ARC Blog posted Nov. 29, 2013

Day Five

Our high on catching the dorado has sunk to a low over losing two lures. The fish that took them must have been big as the lines were bit clean through. Undaunted, the fisherdudes (John and Coach) are responding with stronger wire leaders. We continue to troll.

Based on the latest weather info, we've turned south to go around a stubborn low trough to the west. The current strategy is to keep south until closer to 15 degrees north, then curve west and go around the bottom of the trough. Our fellow Coloradoan, Steve of the boat Aspen, offered some longer term weather forecasts on the SSB net today, which supports this decision. We also sent an email to Chris Adams, our sailing buddy in the UK, requesting his assessment of the weather situation. We hope Chris can act as our informal "weather router" going forward. Many thanks to Steve and Chris for sharing their synopsis of the weather forecasts.

Despite all this strategery, we continue to experience calm, overcast conditions. We pass the time with reading and crafts -- Joules is reading a book about an energy black out across Europe and John is teaching Coach Calligraphy. Motoring into the night, we again made the best of it, turning the cockpit into a sort of drive-in theater by setting up a movie on the laptop perched atop the companionway slider, complete with Bose surround sound. Tonight's feature? World War Z, a story of zombie apocalypse. Tomorrow, Joules will confess to nightmares.

ARC Blog posted Nov. 30, 2013

Day Six

"What a difference a day makes."

So said the ARC Net Controller to those ARC boats listening on 4149 kHz at 1300 November 30th. In only 24 hours, the skies and seas had turned from clear and glassy to grey and tempestuous. Average wind speeds in the high 20's and gusts to 49 knots were reported among the boats giving their positions to the net. Suddenly, this ARC had dealt us Irish weather, as the Coach likes to put it.

Windleblo and crew rode it out gallantly, pushing southeast toward the Cape Verde Islands. We decided to put in for a "touch and go" stop for refueling given that we have burned so much fuel motoring through the calms of yesterday and earlier days. It seems only prudent to take on fuel given the distance yet to travel and the prospect of more calms.

Yet all aboard are a bit daunted at the notion of seeing land so soon. We signed on for a 2,700 hundred mile ocean crossing, not two passages of 700 and 2,000 miles. Eschewing the call the join the ARC+ -- the option to leave the Canaries early and stop by the Cape Verde Islands for a week-long visit on the way to St. Lucia -- we are now six days out and well into the rhythms of watch keeping and life at sea. To stop now seems too abrupt, too disruptive to our shipboard routines.

But as is always with sailing, the wind and weather have made the decision for us. We are simply accepting the hand we are dealt. Last year's ARC had so much wind the start had to be delayed. The ARC 2013 will go down as one with light air, at least for those choosing the safer "south 'til the butter melts" route. Refueling is a logical consequence of this reality.

For now, we ride out the big seas and strong winds. Tomorrow, we will see land and stop, but only briefly. For the next landfall after that will be St. Lucia.

ARC Blog posted Dec. 1, 2013

Day Seven

We had just finished a scrumptious Shepherd's Pie prepared by Coach when it happened.

Sounding a bit like the raw whir of a dentist's drill, all of a sudden the drag on the fishing reel sounded off. In a flash, John jumped from his cockpit seat and grabbed the rod. A strong force bent the rod and fought with him as he worked the reel. Less than ten minutes later, the winner of the wrestling match between man and fish had been decided. John and Coach held big grins for the cameras as they hoisted their trophy, a ten kilo tuna. We hastily filleted the fish and stuck him in the fridge, wrapped carefully in plastic, wishing we had caught him just a few hours earlier. Tomorrow's menu was clear. Tuna for breakfast, tuna for lunch, tuna for dinner.

The lumpy seas gradually diminished as we approached the "canal" between the Cape Verde Islands of Sao Vicente and Santo Antao, actually a five mile wide channel. We turned into a broad bay and found Marina Mindelo, with the kind help of two fellow ARC boats who guided over VHF radio as they had better pilot information than we did. Fortunately, the route was devoid of hazards and we soon found ourselves at the fuel dock for the planned "touch and go" refueling. Afterward, we took the opportunity to anchor in the calm bay for a short while for a lunch of, you guessed it, tuna.

Just before departing, we conducted another routine rig check and found a small tear in the foot of the mainsail. The repair slowed our departure just a little bit, but we were soon on our way, guiding Windleblo across a flat sea into the setting sun, two headsails leading us and Force 3 winds at our back.

ARC Blog posted Dec. 2, 2013

Day Eight

I had the 4 - 6 a.m. watch last night (UTC). At this longitude, that was well before dawn. There moon was new, the sky cloudless, and the sea glassy. I took the bimini down to open the cockpit to the sky. The Milky Way was as dense as I have ever seen it. Several shooting stars crossed the sky. Priceless.

As dawn came, the wind remained elusive. We motored on. It was my turn as Galley Master, and I fixed the guys walnut banana pancakes with syrup, sausages and coffee. Afterwards, we killed the motor and coasted to a stop. Then, we dove over the side for a swim. The water was perfect -- not too cold and not too warm and perfectly clear. It was weird knowing the bottom was 4,000 meters below. A few laps around the boat got the heart going. It felt good to get a bit of aerobic exercise.

The forecast is for northeast winds to fill in to 10 knots before sunset. I surely hope so as we continue to burn diesel at a steady clip. By its nature, bluewater cruising requires careful conservation of resources, and we are certainly using more than our share for the first half of this crossing. Soon, a reckoning might come, when we have to use the motor only for charging the batteries and sit still waiting if the wind disappears. But for now, with our Cape Verde refueling stop just behind us, we feel we can afford to motor.

Another precious resource for the cruising sailor is fresh water. Our water maker has proven worth its weight in gold. I fitted it last summer in advance of this crossing. It is an EchoTEC 260DML and so far, knock wood, it has performed flawlessly. The crew has dubbed it "Windleblo Springs." To conserve power, I run it only when the motor is on so as not to deplete the batteries. With all this motoring, we've made plenty of water. I worry that we've gotten a bit lackadaisical about our water consumption, with showers and even some clothes washing. When the wind picks up, hopefully soon, we will not run the motor so much and will make less fresh water. I'll have to remind the crew to be careful to conserve water and power when the wind comes.

ARC Blog posted Dec. 3, 2013

Day Nine

"Last night I had a dream," said Coach upon waking in his Irish lilt.

"It was you and me, John, and we got into a fight against a Polish crew," he went on. "We were holding our own, but the tide was turning against us when the Slovenians arrived to help us. With their help, we ruled the day."

With that odd confession, the crew was up and running.

A bit earlier, I had the dawn watch. As the sky brightened, the first boat we had seen since the Cape Verde Islands appeared on the horizon. It was another ARC boat, Queen Frederica, a 50-foot Beneteau Cyclades. We looked her up on the ARC boat list and noted she carried a German flag. About that same time, we unfurled the gennaker to increase boat speed in the (still) light air and pulled away.

We waited until the sun rose in the sky a bit, and then Joules hailed them in Austrian-accented German on VHF Channel 16. A brief but cordial conversation ensued in German. Theirs is also an international crew, with a German, Swiss, and Austrian aboard. Some time later, we turned the engine on to charge the batteries and our boat speed increased yet again. The German boat receded further to our stern.

The VHF radio crackled once more. It was the Queen Frederica. "We are watching you on AIS," their skipper said in accented English, "and we are raising our gennaker, but we cannot keep up. How are you doing it?"

"Well, we are an American boat, after all," I replied.

"Ha, ha," came back. "But really, how are you keeping seven knots in this light wind."

"Let me give you to our German speaker," I said, "and perhaps he will share our secret."

Joules then took the microphone and confessed to our engine status. Both boats had a bit of a chuckle together.

We played with sextant around midday, attempting to time a noon sight in the bright sunshine. Working the sextant was one thing. Reducing the resulting sun angle was quite another. Celestial navigation can certainly get rusty quickly. We'll practice again tomorrow, perhaps.

As galley master, John prepared a spectacular fish taco dish with the still-fresh tuna. We must be making some headway as the sun did not go down until well after 7 p.m. on the ship's clock, which is set to UTC.

ARC Blog posted Dec. 4, 2013

Day Ten

They say events come in threes. Today was no exception.

We were cruising along on a broad reach with 10 to 12 knot winds filling our gennaker. The wind veered further east, pushing our point of sail ever deeper. Perhaps we weren't paying enough attention, but the next thing we knew the gennaker was wrapped around the forestay. Event number one was upon us. Suddenly, all hands were needed on deck to recover the sail. Everyone responded well, but none-the-less the sheets and the tack line got away from us and we were forced to turn the boat into the wind to bring them back within reach. Several stressful minutes ensued but eventually we got the sail to the deck, through the hatch, and into the V-berth.

We next decided to rig the dual head sails so the easterly wind could pull us due west towards St. Lucia. We had just about got the whisker pole rigged when the pin on the uphaul shackle popped open, dropping the pole. Event number two had occurred. Quick reactions kept the pole out of the water, but the uphaul line found its way out of reach up the mast. A trip aloft was necessary to retrieve it. John quickly donned the climbing harness and started up the mast. The roll magnified the sway as he ascended, but he reached the misbehaving line in short order and brought it down.

To make matters more interesting, as he descended we heard the shrill zing of the fishing reel. This could only mean a fish was on the hook. John and Coach bolted to the aft deck and worked the fish to the boat. It was a medium sized Dorado and would make a great starter to share for dinner.

When it was all over, we held a debrief. We castigated ourselves because not everyone donned their life vest immediately upon coming on deck in response to the wrapped sail. Rushing forward to assess the situation was our first reaction. It took a minute before the vests were passed from the cockpit to those who needed them. We had had a knife on deck at the start of the voyage, but somehow it got moved below. The sail wrap made us realize we needed to put the knife back in case lines needed to be cut away in an emergency. We recognized that of all our sail plans, the gennaker takes the most attention. It is not a "set and forget" sail and should not be flown deeper than 150 degrees off the wind. We pledged to keep to these rules the next time we use it.

Later, we were in the cockpit as dinner was to begin when the third event occurred. A flopping jib sheet knocked the Coach's shorts from the pegs that held them out to dry on the port lifeline. From his reaction, it was clear these were not just any shorts. Just like in practice, we snapped into a man overboard drill. The MOB button was pushed on the Furuno, the genoa was furled, the jib was sheeted in, and the motor turned on. In no time, we were turned into the wind to drive the boat back as Coach kept his eyes on his favorite shorts. They hadn't had time to sink more than an inch or two before he retrieved them with the boat hook. Chalk up another one for the finest crew in the ARC.

Joules used the occasion of our 2,000th mile since Gibraltar to offer a delicious bottle of red Canarian wine as an accompaniment to our pasta dinner. We toasted our progress and looked ahead to a slower pace of events, and perhaps a bit more wind, in the days ahead.

ARC Blog posted Dec. 5, 2013

Day Eleven

I had the 2 to 4 a.m. watch last night. The stars were out in force. The only problem with the 2 to 4 a.m. watch is that it ruins any chance of a good night's sleep.

With four on board, we have it relatively easy, compared to double handers or other shorthanded crew. We adopted two hour single handed watches, with a dog watch from 4 to 6 p.m. so no one gets stuck with the same watch every day. Plus, the watch schedule stays on UTC so while we move west the solar day moves with us, creating even more variety to the watch times. With six hours between watches, each guy should have ample time to rest.

None-the-less, I have started to find that after the 2 to 4 a.m. watch, despite the star show, I am more depleted than after any other night watch. No amount of cat napping or afternoon siesta renews me. Only a night or two of better sleep seems to cure the fatigue.

So I was a bit groggy as I emerged from my berth this morning.

At my initiative, we had made a habit of "checking in" every day or so as our voyage began in Gibraltar. Knowing that communication among the crew can help keep spirits high, the idea was to get everyone together for chance to talk. The format was open -- each man could take a turn to talk about whatever they wanted -- but typically we would cover "highs and lows" since the last checking in and "aspirations" for the next 24 hours.

For the first part of the voyage, we did a good job keeping up with our checking in practice. But any rhythm we attained was interrupted by our time on the dock in Las Palmas, and we never quite got back into the groove since then. And while no news is usually good news, the lack of communication perhaps contributed to some thoughts and feelings being bottled up.

This particular morning, the cork came out of the bottle.

It started not as a "checking in," but rather as a discussion about the need to conserve resources -- power and water -- in case we would need our diesel to motor through possible calms ahead. The logic was if we conserve our resources, we won't have to burn so much diesel to charge the batteries or make water and more of it could go to propulsion.

The conversation then took a different turn. John started by observing that we were nearing the halfway point of the voyage. He wondered if each crewman was getting out of the experience what he wanted.

Before we shoved off, I had asked the crew what they wanted to see happen by the end of their time aboard. The Coach had said he wanted richer relationships. Joules wanted to get to St. Lucia safely. John saw the voyage as a rite of passage into manhood. I wanted to practice seamanship and work on leadership skills.

Now, John suggested we assess our progress. As the conversation turned, one thing became clear. The entire crew wanted to get to St. Lucia and say they enjoyed the experience to the fullest extent possible. Just like any "first time," none of us would ever cross the Atlantic for the first time again, and it needed to be done right.

A consensus emerged that more fun was the missing ingredient. The atmosphere on board was too "tight," what with watch schedules, radio nets, weather forecasts, and duty rosters. "Perhaps a five percent relaxation of rules would result in a 50 percent increase in enjoyment," was John's synopsis. Everyone concurred that fun would never take precedence over safety.

To up the fun, I appointed John as "Head of Extracurriculars," which everyone welcomed. As we coast along on our 1,500 mile run to St. Lucia, we'll work on loosening up, relaxing, and keeping it light.

ARC Blog posted Dec. 6, 2013

Day Twelve

Close your eyes and imagine.

You're out in your sailboat on an endless sea. The sun is shining. The wind is at your back. A warm, gentle breeze wraps around you as you gaze into the middle distance as if in a trance. Nothing breaks the rhythm of the boat's rocking with the ocean swell, first to port, then to starboard, again to port, again to starboard, over and over and over. The water gurgles past the hull as the miles drift beneath the keel and behind you.

Now open your eyes.

The dream described above is an apt description of Day Twelve. We are approaching mid-passage and have fully adjusted to life at sea. We wake up, we check the rig, we eat, we take our watch, we trim the sails, we eat again, we doze, we read, we doze again, we do isometric exercises, we check the rig again, we eat, we take our watch, we sleep. Nothing, it seems, disturbs this cycle. We imagine sailing endlessly past St. Lucia, around and around and around the world.

But of course such imaginings are simply our minds wandering with the motion of the ocean. Today's ARC Fleet News email announces that Caro is the first ARC 2013 boat to arrive at Rodney Bay, having broken the ARC record held since 2006 by eight hours and seven minutes. We plot the positions of the boats around us, taken during today's ARC SSB radio net, and find that we are part of a convoy of boats that also chose the "south 'til the butter melts" route. Despite the emptiness, we know other boats are just over the horizon.

Out here, you can feel pretty lonely. And at mid-passage, you are as far from land as you can be. So it's comforting to realize we are not alone.

We sail on.

ARC Blog posted Dec. 7, 2013

Day Thirteen

Food -- its storage, preparation, and consumption -- occupies a large share of the time on an ocean voyage.

Just before shoving off from Las Palmas, we filled Windleblo's holds with all kinds of food. We ordered some meats for delivery to the boat frozen and vacuum packed and we got the guy at the deli counter at the "HiperDino" (the Las Palmas grocery store) to vacuum seal the lunch meats and cheeses we bought there.  We managed to fit all the meats and cheeses in the two on board refrigerators, plus the ten or so packs of frozen pre-cooked seal-a-meal dishes. To keep things fresh, we try to open the fridges as little as possible. One is opened several times a day; the other only once every other day or so. So far, so good, as we've had very little spoilage in the meat and cheese department.

Fruits and veges are another story, however. The docks at Las Palmas looked like a vegetable market during the days leading up to departure. One by one, each boat displayed their fruits and veges on the dock as they prepped them for storage. The procedure is to wash and dry everything to get rid of dirt and pests before being brought on board, plus to help conserve water once under way.

Our spread was no exception. We ordered so many fruits and veges that passersby on the dock quipped that they thought we were running a vegetable market. With a bit of ingenuity, we found a place on board for everything, using previously undiscovered nooks and crannies below the floor boards and fruit hammocks swinging from the salon hand holds. We've incorporated as many fresh fruits and veges as possible into the menus early in the voyage to eat them before they spoil. At this point, though, we're finding more and more that need to go over the side instead of into our bellies.

Eggs present their own challenge. Following instructions from the experts, we are not refrigerating our eggs. They are supposed to last a good long time outside the refrigerator even in the tropics. The only catch is that you need to turn them every other day or so. Like with the meats, so far, so good, as the eggs seem to be hanging in there just fine.

We bought a fairly large amount of canned and cured goods for our recipes and as "emergency meals." Overall, we have enough food (and bottled water, just in case the water maker breaks and the fresh water tank empties) to last 30 days, 50 percent longer than our expected voyage duration. The canned and cured stuff is resting comfortably below the floor boards.

Along with checking the rig and cleaning the head, the daily regimen includes taking a peek at all the stored food. The idea is both to rotate the stock as often as needed, bringing new ingredients from storage to replenish those used in the galley, and to watch for any spoilage and cull out the bad actors before they have a chance to infect their neighbors.

As Chief Steward, John has taken the lead on most of this, though each day he is assisted by the Secretary of the Interior (i.e., the person who has responsibility to keep things clean below decks that day).

We've been eating really well, "restaurant quality," according to the Coach. While each of us can cook, John and Joules are particularly talented. We are lucky to have such chefs aboard.

ARC Blog posted Dec. 8, 2013

Day Fourteen

Seasickness. Coming from the Rocky Mountains, I have often likened this dreaded sailor's disease to altitude sickness, at least in one respect. Just as altitude sickness is only cured by coming down to a lower elevation, for coastal cruisers seasickness is only cured by returning to calmer waters.

I've never fully understood how, but apparently it’s the inner ear that's the culprit with seasickness. Somehow, the random motions of a sea tossed boat cause the inner ear to get mixed up. The consequences are the signature symptoms of seasickness -- lethargy, headache, nausea. As I said, for the day sailor the only cure is to head back to port. But for the blue water sailor, happily there's another solution. Time. After a few days at sea, the inner ear adjusts and, mysteriously, the symptoms of seasickness subside.

We've been at this for long enough that we are well adjusted to the motion of the ocean and any seasickness that might have touched us early in the passage is now long forgotten. But there's a new affliction at work: sleep deprivation.

You'd think that with a crew of four working a two-hour watch schedule -- two hours on watch, six off -- there'd be plenty of time for sleep, perhaps even too much time. After all, that works out to a total of six hours on watch and 18 hours off in each 24-hour period. But it doesn't quite end up that way.  The demands of sailing across an ocean mean that often a second hand is needed on deck to help with sail handling, and quality sleep is often elusive when the boat is rolling and pitching and you know your alarm will go off soon for your next watch. Plus, the constant exposure to the elements takes its toll.

The net effect is a kind of continuous dull exhaustion that stays with you day in and day out. Before the voyage, we talked about it as an inevitability and discussed its impacts in terms of the potential to affect judgment and morale. It can even cause delusions.

Take, for example, the following exchange I overheard between the Coach and Joules this morning. They were sitting in the cockpit together, blankly staring out into the middle distance, nothing but an endless sea surrounding them. 

"I'm going for a walk up town to buy some eggs," said Coach in his Irish English. "Do you need anything?"

"No," replied Joules. "I have to catch a bus uptown myself later on. Perhaps we can meet for a beer."

"That would be lovely," said the Coach.

If I didn't know better, at this point of the voyage I would think these guys were suffering from sleep deprivation induced delusions. But I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt and chalk it up to a bit of playful fantasizing perhaps induced by a touch of boredom.

Time will tell. But, who knows? Could it be that the lack of sleep will win out in the end and one of them will catch that uptown bus after all?

ARC Blog posted Dec. 9, 2013

Day Fifteen

Gozwoz, ARC 2013 boat number 165, is an Elan Impression 434 owned by David Gozzard of Great Britain. David volunteered to be an ARC SSB Radio Net Controller for Group B, whereas our John Hoopes volunteered as a Net Controller for Group A. The ARC organizers set up the groups by boat size, reasoning that boats of about the same length would move along at about the same pace, therefore staying within SSB radio range of each other.

Despite this logic, as the 2013 ARC rally has evolved the fleet has become more and more dispersed. While some Group A boats have moved ahead of the Group A pack, some Group B boats have settled toward the rear of the Group B pack, mingling with the Group A boats. Consequently, some boats are having more and more difficulty receiving SSB broadcasts from their assigned group. Just like at the pre-rally Sundowners, a friendly mixing has occurred, and now many boats have jumped to another group that is within closer range.

The same has occurred for the Net Controllers. Capricorn, a German-flagged XC 42 owned by Ralf Kindermann, has kept up a great pace and is now ahead of the A boats. Ralf volunteered as an A Net Controller, but he is now well out of range for most of Group A. We solved this problem by “transferring” him to serve as a Group B Controller.

Which brings me back to Gozwoz. While Capricorn raced ahead, Gozwoz conveniently idled behind. Convenient, at least, for the Group B Net Controllers, as Gozwoz’ owner David has now taken over Capricorn’s slot as Group A Net Controller. Meanwhile, ARC boat number 213, Aspen, owned by our fellow Coloradoan Steve Siguaw, has settled at the rear of all the boats. We can now no longer pick up Aspen on the SSB radio.

It has been quite a learning experience for John and me as relative SSB newbies to work through these arrangements “on the fly” so to speak as we confer with the other Net Controllers on the radio. John has done a marvelous job as a quick study of all the pertinent SSB radio protocols and disciplines.

While all this may seem a bit obtuse, it’s actually quite a bit of fun and the ARC Radio Show, as we now call it, has become one of the days’ highlights. Today, for example, after the weather report and roll call, Gozwoz chimed in with a set of riddles for everyone to ponder.

Here they are:

What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries?

What goes around the world but stays in a corner?

The man who invented it doesn’t want it. The man who bought it doesn’t need it. The man who needs it doesn’t know it. What is it?

I am weightless but you can see me. Put me in a bucket and I’ll make it lighter. What am I?

If a man carried my burden he would break his back. I am not rich but I’ll leave silver in my track. What am I?

How many can you solve?

ARC Blog posted Dec. 10, 2013

Day Sixteen

We greeted this new day with Mimosas in celebration of crossing the line leaving 1,000 nautical miles to go to St. Lucia. A bright sun was rising in the east as we toasted our vessel and ourselves. With this moment behind us, an air of finality pervades on board. Just a few short weeks ago, a voyage of 300 miles, much less 1,000, would seem daunting. Now, with the strengthening trade winds pulling us faster and faster toward our goal, the six days separating us from St. Lucia seem trivial. Windleblo has become a steed galloping downhill, the barn in sight.

The Mimosas made the moment significant. For safety's sake, Jocelyn and I have always kept alcohol out of the picture whenever we are under way. Once the hook is set and the transits are steady, the beer and wine can flow, but beforehand sobriety rules.

This ethic has extended to Windleblo's passage making. But to listen to tales told in Las Palmas, among ARC boats we may be the exception. There, many references were heard to perpetual sundowners at sea, leading us to believe that more than half the ARC boats were steered by a besotted bunch veering their way across the Pond, hoping to arrive at the correct Caribbean island. We even heard the highly dubious claim that crew members on the Volvo Ocean Racing boat were to sustain themselves on a ration of "one sandwich and two beers" per day.

Though probably just pre-rally bravado, these stories left the Windleblo crew with the impression that we were one of the few boats with a heartless Skipper who wouldn't allow his crew their daily grog. To their credit, they have not mutinied over this (yet), but the tea-totaling certainly hasn't help counter the crew's claim, referenced in an earlier blog post, that this Skipper's ship is too "tight."

So loosen up we have, this morning with Mimosas. And as the giddiness over being in Neptune’s good graces continued, the Coach posed a question to the crew.

“Now that I’ve tasted tropical sailing, lads, how am I going to go back to wearing shoes and socks?” he asked.

As one the crew replied, “Well, maybe you don’t have to.”

Instantly, a look of resolve crossed the Coach’s face.

“Look, here’s the plan,” he said without hesitation. “You guys go back to Ireland, fetch Moya and my boat and sail them both to St. Lucia. I’ll wait for you on the beach. Tell my sons they can have all my other stuff.”

It’s not the first time an Irishman has left the Emerald Isle to make his way in the Americas, and it won’t be the last.

Postlude

Here are the answers to Gozwoz’s riddles, posted yesterday:

A towel.

A stamp.

A casket.

A hole.

A snail.

John Hoopes offered this riddle on today’s ARC SSB Group A Radio Net:

“If I have a bee in my hand, what is in my eye?”

The answer will be given at the end of tomorrow’s blog post.

ARC Blog posted Dec. 11, 2013

Day Seventeen

There’s something about sailing at night that arouses the senses.

During the day, we keep the bimini, our canvas cockpit “roof,” over the cockpit to shield us from the sun. At sundown, the bimini folds away, opening the cockpit to the night sky.

Just after sunset today, a waxing moon hovers directly overhead. The sky is clear. The moon shines like a big spotlight, bathing the boat in soft light. Soon, my evening watch is over and John starts his. I turn in for a couple hours sleep as one by one the planets and then the moon follow the sun over the western horizon.

My next watch is at 6 a.m. on the ship’s clock. But that’s 6 a.m. Universal Time. We’ve now moved more than 37.5 degrees west of the Prime Meridian, which means my watch starts at 3 a.m. local time, well after moonset and well before sunrise. The sky is at its darkest.

The rest of the crew is fast asleep. It is only me, the boat, the night, and the sea. There are 20 knots of following wind and six foot waves on top of six foot following swell, all combining to move us forward at eight knots with a moderate, steady pitching and rolling.

Looking up from my cockpit perch, first I see the shadowy shapes of the mainsail and genoa spread before me on each side of the mast. Higher, the tricolor navigation light shines reassuringly at the top of the mast. Beyond, no clouds obscure the stars.

Stars shine vividly across the sky. Several constellations jump out at me -- Orion, Cassiopeia, Andromeda, and, of course, Polaris – the North Star. The Milky Way spreads thickly from horizon to horizon as if flung from a giant seed spreader. I glimpse a shooting star out of the corner of my eye, but before I can shift my gaze it vanishes.

As I take in the night sky, the mast sways back and forth in the foreground. I take out the binoculars to study the sky more closely, but only for a moment. The constant motion makes stargazing with binoculars difficult. Never mind. Even the briefest magnified view of the heavens inspires awe.

Returning my attention to the immediate surroundings, I note that we still seem very alone out here. A watchman is trained first and foremost to follow the ColRegs – the International Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea. I scan the horizon for lights from other ships and see none. I study the waters immediately ahead for floating or partially submerged objects and see nothing. (It is very dark after all!)

I examine the chart plotter screen. I see one Automated Identification System (AIS) target more than 10 miles north, the sailing yacht Ishbel, a Trintella 47, but this is not unexpected. She and Windleblo have become mid-ocean buddies, as we’ve paced each other for more than 400 miles over the past three days. We’ve spoken by VHF radio with the humans aboard her, three Spaniards on a British-flagged vessel headed for Martinique on a NARC (not ARC) voyage. We even got close enough to take photographs of each other under way, exchanging email addresses by radio and promising to send off the photos once we reach Internet.

Tonight, though, Ishbel is well over the horizon, nowhere to be seen, not least because her skipper has the nasty habit of running at night without navigation lights, presumably to save power. This practice has been berated no end by the Windleblo crew.

So it’s only me, the boat, the night, and the sea.

I open my senses again. I hear the creaking of the hull as the boat rocks and sways. The wind whistles through the shrouds and spins the whirring wind turbine blades. The sheets slap as they strain to hold the sails. Beyond the deck, whitecaps crest, the sound reaching my ears as a constant whooshing and splooshing, with the occasional hard bang as a wave smacks against the topsides. Phosphorescent sparkles light up the boat’s wake, spinning aft with each roll of the boat over an ocean swell. I feel the warm breeze against my neck and smell the salt in the air.

I look up once more. Stars extend to infinity.

Postlude

John’s riddle from yesterday was “If I have a bee in my hand, what is in my eye?”

The answer?

Beauty.

(Beauty is in the eye of the “bee” holder, get it?)

ARC Blog posted Dec. 12, 2013

Day Eighteen

Trade wind sailing is the perfect time to experiment with different downwind sail plans. On this voyage, we’ve tried three.

The first is simply reaching as deep downwind as possible on a port tack, then jibing the boat and reaching deep downwind on a starboard tack. The end result is a zigzag downwind course.

The second is a twin headsail arrangement.

Many boats fly two headsails from a forestay furler with two headsail luff slots. Windleblo is equipped with such a furler, but we choose not to use it based on lessons learned at the pre-ARC downwind sailing seminar.

There, the presenter compared twin headsails to a parachute. The first parachutes were solid cloth. As the parachute descended, it filled with air. But the air had nowhere to go once inside the canopy and piled up until finally spilling back out the bottom of the chute, causing the parachutist to swing wildly.

Parachute designers came up with a solution. They sewed a reinforced hole in the center of the chute to allow the air to escape out the top. With this improvement, the descent was smoother and safer.

The same phenomenon occurs with twin headsails. If both are attached to the forestay furler, there is nowhere for the air to go once the sails are filled. As with a descending parachute, the air piles up until it spills haphazardly out the sides of the sails. This causes the boat to roll and yaw, making the ride uncomfortable.

Our answer on Windleblo is to pole out the furler mounted genoa to windward and fly the 100% jib like a gennaker with the tack attached to the bowsprit and the sail raised using the spare halyard. Both sails are controlled by a single sheet running outside the lifeline to a block on the aft quarter rail.  The mainsail is completely furled. By flying the two headsails separately, a gap is created between them for air to escape, reducing roll and yaw.

The last downwind sail plan we have used on this voyage is the mainsail in tandem with the 130% genoa poled out to windward. A preventer is required on the boom and, as with the twin headsail arrangement, a whisker pole is held by a topping lift and two downhaul lines attached near the outboard end of the pole.

Both the dual head sail and wing-on-wing mainsail/genoa plans allow a heading directly downwind, whereas the deep reach & jibe approach, while resulting in higher boat speeds, requires a longer zigzag course downwind.

Of the three sail plans, we have found the wing-on-wing mainsail/poled out genoa to be the most effective. Its virtues include better stability, greater ease of sail handling (reefing, furling, etc.), and higher net boat speed vs. the other two plans. While the dual head sails require fewer lines, and therefore less potential for chafe, we find the performance of the wing-on-wing sail plan outweighs this benefit.

The trade wind sailing on this passage offers a fantastic laboratory for our experimentation with different downwind sailing. We are thoroughly enjoying it.

ARC Blog posted Dec. 13, 2013

Day Nineteen

Today's topic was intended to be about how we battled squalls during the wee hours the last couple of nights.

But after I told the Coach about yesterday's topic and today's plan for the blog, he said, "Nobody wants to read about that stuff. Tell them about the mermaids we've seen, or the fact that you've taken to wearing women's underwear."

It's not true that we've seen mermaids. I won't lie about that. I've written about the Coach's delusions in past blog posts, so I wouldn't doubt that he may indeed believe he's seen mermaids. But other than dolphins early on, we haven't seen much sea life, imaginary or real, on this voyage.

It is true, though, that the other day the guys did see me in women's underwear.

In my defense, the further south we've gone, the hotter it's gotten. The boxer shorts I was wearing up North have become unbearable. John Hoopes unwittingly provided me with an alternative.

In Las Palmas, he was collecting women's underwear from his friends on the "GirlsForSail" boat down the dock (see girlsforsail.com for more) to haul up into the rigging along with the decorative flags encouraged by the ARC organizers to create a "festive mood." His reasoning was that if we spiced up the display, we were sure to win the "best decorated boat" award.

In Colorado, it is common to see trees adjacent to the ski lifts adorned with mardi gras beads, women's bras and panties, and all manner of signs and symbols of a good time. John thought a similar display would be effective for the ARC.

Somehow, he got sidetracked and the panties never ended up in the yard arms. But they did get mixed up with my clean clothes when they came back from the laundry, providing just the alternative to boxers I was looking for.

Then it rained. Spontaneously, I stripped down to enjoy a natural rain shower on the deck. For whatever reason, none of the other guys joined me. There I was beneath the mainsail getting a good rinse in nothing but my "girly panties" with the guys looking on from the cockpit. Now I will never hear the end of it.

Unabashedly, I pranced back through the cockpit to the aft cabin. I took off the panties and put on a pair of "mankini" style swimwear I had bought in Italy last year when it was similarly hot. Modeling them for the guys, I asked what was the difference between the male swimwear and the women's underwear?

Laughing uproariously, they admitted I did have a point.

After Rodney Bay, I'll return to Denver for Christmas. On my Christmas list is a few pairs of proper men's bikini underwear to use upon my return to the Caribbean.

By the way, John has started growing his hair long. He now wears a women's hair clip to keep his bangs out of his eyes. Should I tease him about it?

ARC Blog posted Dec. 14, 2013

Day Twenty

First there was Pollux. The 8.5 meter Pogo had broken her mast more than 600 miles from St. Lucia and was requesting nearby yachts to deliver any available diesel so she could continue on her way.

Then, there was Koa. The catamaran had a 20 in crack near her propeller shaft and was taking on water. A rope had caught in the shaft during the night, causing the leak. Bilge pumps were keeping up, barely, with 480 miles to go.

And finally, Texel. The 35 meter Classic Schooner had a fire in her engine room and needed assistance just 100 miles from St. Lucia.

These were fleet advisory messages issued by ARC Rally Control in the past 24 hours. We woke up to find these in our SSB email inbox. That, plus a look at the porthole at the rough seas, did not augur well for the day.

By days end, our premonitions were borne out. We are now sailing along happily again, but for an hour or so today, things were not good.

We had been wrestling with several passing squalls all morning. The standard procedure is to furl the headsail, jib to a port tack and sail out of the squall’s path.

That’s the theory anyway. In practice, the squall often overtakes the boat, bringing stinging rain and gale force winds. Once these hit, all you can do is reduce sail and ride it out on a broad reach until it passes by and the winds diminish.

We were in the midst of reckoning with one of these beasts when the headsail furling line parted. Suddenly, our huge genoa was flogging wildly. It was all hands on deck time. With Joules on the helm, John, Coach and I went forward and managed to bring the sail to the deck. We lashed it to the lifelines and returned to the cockpit to lick our wounds.

Later inspection revealed that a plastic piece inside the furler had broken, causing the line to release. We are now sailing with a staysail and deeply reefed main as the winds have risen to a steady 25 to 40 knots with gusts to 38 knots.

It looks like the ARC 2013, while coming in like a lamb, may yet go out like a lion.

Only 250 nautical miles to go.

ARC Blog posted Dec. 15, 2013

Day Twenty One

Seventy-five miles to go.

Tonight’s dinner, a mélange of sweet potato, raw peanuts, and tofu in a thick garlic, ginger, curry sauce, was assembled by John Hoopes, now called Hans by his Austrian shipmate. Around the cockpit table, you could sense the anticipation of landfall.

Someone posed a simple question, “What’s the first thing you are going to do once we hit land?”

The answers were equally simple.

“Give my wife a hug.”

“Go for a cold beer.”

“Take a long walk.”

And, jokingly (I hope), “Polish the boat.”

Not spoken, but hidden just beneath the answers were the emotions held by each crewman. Among them are

Gratitude to the Almighty for a safe deliverance;

Pride at having completed such a significant accomplishment;

Admiration for his fellow shipmates for their strength and endurance;

Sadness at reaching the conclusion of an enjoyable pursuit, and

Gladness for the chance to be reunited with loved ones and for the celebrations ahead.

Joules has taken to the habit of using the ship’s VHF intercom to address the crew. It’s kinda funny. When he calls from the cockpit command mike, his voice will boom from the speakers below decks, “One gin and tonic, please.” Or, “shuffleboard will begin at 2 p.m.”

Tonight, we await the call on the intercom, “Land Ho!”

Just like the simple question, these words will bring a rush of thoughts and emotions to mind. They will mean that the end of an epic voyage and the beginning of a well-deserved celebration is very near.

ARC Blog posted Dec. 18, 2013

Day Twenty Two

They told us later that the wind was the most wicked Sunday night. Like a hurricane, they said. They worried about us all night long.

Out on the Windleblo, we were oblivious. Yes, the seas were rough. Yes, the winds were strong. We surfed down big waves, the knot meter reading 25.7 at one point. (OK, this must have been an instrument glitch, but the 13.7 was certainly legit.) But this was the "new normal" and we thought nothing of it.

I took the 8 to 10 a.m. watch, UTC. At just past 60 degrees west longitude, the sky was still very dark. They had told us in Las Palmas that the eastern shore of the Windward Islands can be difficult to see at night because the lights of all the towns are on the leeward western side of the islands.

But then, out of the gloom, I thought I saw a light.

At first, there was only one and I thought perhaps it was an oil platform. But there are none of those in these waters. I studied longer and slowly a few more lights appeared out of the haze. Then a faint outline of some hills became apparent and I was sure.

I grabbed the VHF cockpit mic. The big moment had arrived. I pressed the intercom button and said, "This is the Captain speaking. LAND HO!"

Nothing happened. All three of the crew were fast asleep in their bunks! I left them to their slumber.

By the end of my watch, the sun was almost up and the coast was clearly visible ahead. One by one, the crew stirred. We worked our way toward the St. Lucia-Martinique Channel and around Pigeon Island on the island's northwest tip, hooting and hollering at the howling wind. Once around the island we started beating toward the finish line, receiving instructions on VHF from ARC staff.

At 11:11:45 UTC, Monday, December 16, 2013, 21 days, 22 hours, eleven minutes, and 22 seconds after starting, Windleblo crossed the ARC 2013 finish line. We had done it!

We started the engine, furled the sails, and motored slowly into the marina. We were directed to slip Foxtrot 26. There was Jocelyn to take our lines.

I stepped onto the dock and took her into my arms. Nothing ever felt so good. We were handed cold rum punch and a basket of tropical fruit by some friendly St. Lucians. Moya appeared out of nowhere to surprise the Coach. She had kept secret from him that she would be in St. Lucia to greet us. The look on his face was priceless! Jocelyn and Moya offered champagne, which we immediately shook up and sprayed all over each other. Shortly, we gathered together back on board for the official Austrian "manoeverschluck," the first of many toasts to our accomplishment.

The last 48 hours have been a bit of a blur. The ARC parties are in full force and every other minute, it seems, we must help toast a newly arriving boat. That, plus the poor Internet, are my only excuses for keeping this final ARC 2013 blog post from you. My apologies. From now on, I will resume blogging on our Windleblo.com site where some photos should appear soon.

Thanks for your support and friendship.