We’re now almost two weeks at sea on a Pacific Ocean crossing that we expect to take 4-6 weeks. Since we left Panama, we’ve sailed more than 1,300 miles of our 4,000 mile journey.
At the Equator
Our biggest event so far the happened at 11:16am on Saturday, March 14. At about 87 degrees west longitude, about 100 miles east of the Galápagos Islands, we crossed the equator!
That’s a big milestone for a cruiser, especially after spending so many years in North Atlantic waters.
It’s a change in geography. It’s a change in mindset. Start with scale. Distances are vast in the Pacific. Our sail across the Caribbean Sea was a little under a thousand miles. That’s only a quarter of the distance to French Polynesia. Once you’ve arrived in French Polynesia, you’re still only half way to Asia. The scale just within French Polynesia is enormous. The island nation is comprised of four distinct archipelagoes spread out over 1,000 square miles. By comparison, sailing from one end of Panama to the other covered the 400 mile length of a country barely 50 miles wide.
Southern hemisphere weather is different. As our friends in the American Northeast look forward to spring, we’re planning our arrival in French Polynesia for the beginning of the austral winter—not coincidentally also the end of the South Pacific cyclone season.
Weather systems work differently too. Northern winds blow in a clockwise pattern out of a center of high pressure and counterclockwise into a center of low pressure. It’s the opposite south of the equator. That’s a big mental leap for sailors who need to be able to do their own weather forecasting in remote areas of a vast ocean.
The big psychological change for me, though, as a lifelong East Coast boy, is just getting used to being home in a new ocean and a new hemisphere. The sailing lifestyle means embracing continuous change, and this feels like a big one.
Passage Weather
It’s been an easy passage so far. These past two weeks have been about as good as it gets on the ocean. The superstitious sailor would ask whether it’s been too easy. “Have we earned this, or have we yet to pay for it?” For now, we’re grateful for an easy start to this voyage.
The weather has been nearly perfect. Sunny skies, a few clouds but only a handful of light rain showers. Temperatures remain narrowly in the low 80s by day and upper 70s at night.
We had moderate winds the first two days out of Panama, as Caribbean trade winds funneled across the isthmus into the Gulf of Panama. Winds slowed as we approached the equator. We expected much slower going through the doldrums, including possibly long periods with no wind. We were happy to get light but consistent winds.
South of the Galapagos we picked up the trade winds that will blow us all the way to French Polynesia.
It’s been slow, uneventful sailing. We’re not worried about speed. We were becalmed for several hours on two occasions early on. Both times favorable currents kept us moving in the right direction. We haven’t turned on the engines. That makes us very happy!
Life at Sea
Watchkeeping is usually easy. We take turns standing 4-6 hour watches. Each watch begins with a briefing from the previous watch. Then we review the rigging and other systems to check for any issues. We review current weather conditions and the forecast. Then it’s just hours of looking out for vessels and other hazards, making sure the autopilot is doing its job correctly, making hourly entries in the logbook, and trimming sails as needed.
Notably missing from the watchkeeper’s responsibilities is any actual steering. Four fully redundant autopilot systems ensure that the boat steers itself nearly all the time. For that matter, the helm station is probably the least used place on the boat when we’re offshore.
All of the systems at the helm can be monitored and controlled from apps on our phones.
The preferred place to keep watch, in mild conditions at least, is from an oversized beanbag on the foredeck. From there we can see the sails and the horizon around us while we enjoy the shade of the headsail.
There are chores when not on watch—cooking, cleaning, laundry, organizing. French lessons on an app are our fallback when we feel the need to do something.
Occasionally the off-watch crew gets called up to help with a sail change.
We’ve learned the importance of not getting behind on sleep. We each sleep roughly four hours at night and four hours during the day. Not being able to sleep during one of those sessions creates a deficit that’s hard to recover from. We’re fully aware that a recurring sleep deficit is a safety hazard offshore. That awareness doesn’t make falling asleep any easier!
People ask if we get bored. No. It’s never boring. We are content spending hours gazing at the stars or watching the slow undulations of the ocean swell. We sit together for sunrise and sunset—sacred times at sea. For as long as the list is of little things we do every day, living on a boat while offshore is mostly about being still. Good therapy for two lifelong workaholics.
The Things We See
We don’t see much out here. A huge pod of dolphins early on. Some enormous schools of jumping fish. A few birds fishing far offshore. Boobies have been occasional visitors, sometimes landing on the bow for hours or days. Their antics are the closest thing we have to live entertainment on board. It’s all fun until one of them poops. Then it’s a huge mess to clean up.
We’ve seen a few fishing boats, especially near the Galapagos. Once we saw, far off on the horizon, the sails of another sailboat headed across the ocean.
Tracking
We have a new tracking page on the blog site. You can access it through the navigation links on the home page. The page shows current location, along with boat and wind speed. Updates are in real time every fifteen minutes when we’re connected to the internet via Starlink. We often turn Starlink off to conserve power—it’s our biggest electricity consumer onboard. When offline, updates are stored for uploading when Starlink is connected again.
In Other News
Tally Ho posted a Part II video of their Panamá Canal transit featuring the Windhorse crew serving as volunteer linehandlers. Captain Leo does a great job of showing how the canal works and covers some of its fascinating and dark history.
No News is Good News
We hope for no excitement and no drama on our long ocean passage. There will be plenty of adventure when we reach the Marquesas.
We’ll continue posting our updates here as well as brief video updates on Instagram, Facebook, YouTube and X (see links on our home page).
Thanks to everyone who reads and watches. Thanks especially for comments and notes. They really brighten our day.
Day 4: 85 miles
Becalmed for several hours after sunset; drifted at 2 knots in a favorable current.
Day 5: 85 miles
Continued light, easterly winds. Took down the mainsail. Sailing slowly with Code 0 sail only.
Day 6: 95 miles
Passed a cargo ship and several fishing boats. Continued slow sailing in light easterly winds.
Day 7: 122 miles
Crossed the equator! Winds light but better than expected.
Day 8: 100 miles
Winds clock to southeast at 8-10 knots.
Day 9: 105 miles
Reaching consistent southeasterly trade winds. Continued fair weather. Light wind chop over larger, long period Pacific swell.
Day 10: 111 miles
Spent a few hours retensioning the rigging. Sailing with main, genoa, and staysail.
Day 11: 129 miles
Good sailing at 5-6 knots in east-southeast winds around 10-12 knots. On a direct heading for the Marquesas.
Day 12: 95 miles
Lighter winds. Flying main and Code 0 sails. Overnight, occasional rain in scattered light squalls.
Total to date: 1,337 miles
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