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September 2nd, 2009 – At Sea, Baffin Bay, 70 15N, 66 47W
by Herb McCormick and Mark Schrader
(Sept. 2): Partly because, as you’ll presently see, it presents such a delightful diversion to our present circumstances, let’s begin today’s log from south of the border, down Mexico way. It was the 5th of May, 2008, in the sunny seaside resort of Cabo San Lucas. Along with such familiar characters as skipper Mark Schrader and mate Dave Logan, I’d just arrived from another sun-splashed locale, the island of Antigua.
We were all about to go sailing, on a boat called Danzante, which Butch & Sundance – er, Mark and Dave – had just brought over from La Paz after purchasing it for a dream (or was it a pipedream?) we were all nurturing, something called Around the Americas. All was right wit h the universe, with one exception. I was a day late. The lovely marina in which Danzante was ensconced cost upwards of $400 per night. Elsewhere in today’s log you’ll learn about the interesting meteorological phenomenon known as barometric pressure. Little did I know, I was about to encounter a significant low-pressure system of my own.
Now, had I arrived after some sort of errand of mercy, or through some terrible circumstances beyond my control, it might’ve been one thing. I understand that. But, in fact, much to my chagrin, I was jetting in from Antigua Sailing Week, where I’d been bobbing about racing sailboats in the Caribbean. As far as firm ground is concerned, I was not standing upon it. And, oh yes, the little sail on which we were about to embark was a delivery north to Seattle, up the coasts of Mexico and California, a passage that has earned a delightful nickname among sailors – the Baja Bash – due to the ornery and persistent northerly winds and currents that are the prevailing conditions for what has a reputation as a most boisterous and miserable journey. More on this in a moment, too.
All that said, I was in a gay and festive mood! It was May 5th, Cinqo de Mayo, a national holiday in Mexico! And we were in Mexico!!!
Soon after stepping aboard, I proposed what I thought would be a most amusing and entertaining day to my shipmates: First, a couple of margaritas, then perhaps some fresh fish tacos and a nice siesta. Afterwards, maybe a quick dip, an icy cold cerveza, then a beautiful Mexican dinner. Finally, a tequila shooter or two, then over to the nightclub called Cabo Wabo, where there would no doubt be a bevy of gringo tourists to twirl around the dance floor. Breathless, yet full of anticipation, I awaited skipper Schrader’s reply.
He looked at me as if I were stark raving bonkers.
“I’m having a shower,” he said, with what I felt was an undue and even hurtful tone of impatience and intolerance. Hey, man, I was sunburned!
But: Was that smoke coming out of his ears? Do ears smoke? “We’re leaving in half an hour,” he added, though it turned out to be twenty minutes, maybe.
The point? Oh yes, the point. Two hours later, we were getting pounded in fierce winds, adverse currents and terrible seas. Twenty-four hours later, we’d barely clawed our way a hundred miles up the coast. And that remained the absolute worst night we’d experienced aboard the yacht that became Ocean Watch in all the time and all the miles since then…until last night.
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| At one point, Dave Logan counted 33 icebergs in the immediate vicinity. |
Today, things are somewhat better, though they remain, um, interesting. At the dawn watch, at one point, Dave Logan counted 33 icebergs in the immediate vicinity. Some were large, some were small, some looked like icy representations of Stonehenge. At that moment, the multiple dots on our radar display made it appear as if it had contracted some electronic version of chickenpox. The only bright spot about last night was the beautiful moon rising over an iceberg on the horizon.
So, what, might you ask, was going on? Where was that pounding coming from?
Skipper Mark Schrader tackled that question in his personal log:
“One of the many accurately calibrated instruments on board Ocean Watch (we are officially known to the NOAA weather folks by call sign NWS0023 – as in NOAA Weather Station) is our barometer. Most ships of any size carry one – it can be a very good indicator of how comfortable – or not – you may be on your little boat and of what may happen weather-wise in your immediate area. When the barometric pressure reading is high, weather is usually fair to very good. When it is low, wind, clouds and rain are usually the order of the day. The rate of change from low to high and vice versa usually indicates wind velocity. A fast rate of change means lots of wind will happen somewhere, sometimes close to where you are.
“When we arrived in Pond Inlet four days ago the barometric pressure recorded on Ocean Watch was 1018.7mb -
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| Very large bergs are everywhere – some so immense it is hard to imagine how old they must be. |
beautiful, calm, warm conditions. At midnight last night I hastily scrawled 999.2mb in our log. It was hard to write – short, steep six to eight foot seas were boarding and breaking over our bow as we attempted to jog into a Beaufort force 7 (24-33kts) rising to force 8 (34-40kts). The vertical motion as OW was alternately catapulted over one crest and plunged into the next probably exceeded our forward motion for most of the night. Forget sleeping and eating, just standing up required some considerable effort. In the middle of it all Herb managed to put together a rather complicated and delicious pesto chicken pasta dish – with only a little of it ending up on the ceiling and floor. Great job. And we all felt like eating!
“The rapid drop in pressure yesterday morning gave us a pretty good idea that wind from the SE – the direction we’re trying to go – was going to increase, and it did. Early this morning the pressure started to rise slowly and our wind has now decreased to a polite Beaufort force 3 and is clocking more to west. The seas are down and for the first time since leaving Pond we have a sail up.
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| The small bergy-bits like these are the worry since they are difficult to spot. |
“I haven’t yet mentioned icebergs because I’ve used too many words to describe wind, waves and barometric pressure. Very large bergs are everywhere – some are so immense it is truly hard to imagine how old they must be. These are relatively easy to miss, as in they show up on radar in plenty of time for a course change. The small bergy-bits, those little pieces hiding in the trough of waves or floating very low in the water are the worry. They are very difficult to spot – it’s all eyes forward, scanning the water just ahead of OW whenever any bergs are on our direct path. We’ve had fun naming the larger bergs or just figuring out what they looked like – a house, a skyscraper, a huge duck . . . or a cruise ship.
“This morning Harry Stern saw something on the horizon that looked like a big ship. He called our collective attention to it and said maybe it was a ship. We hastily dismissed the notion and implied in the early morning hours he was confused. And then its orange stern came into view. Moments later we exchanged greetings with the first cargo ship we’ve seen since the Gulf of Alaska. Thanks Harry – nice to have you on watch.
“With a rising barometer, just abeam of Clyde Inlet on Baffin Island, I’m happy to report all are well aboard Ocean Watch.”
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| Moonrise over Baffin Bay. |
So there you have the latest from the good ship Ocean Watch, which since that ugly day off Cabo has been transformed into a first-class, first-rate expedition yacht. But that’s a story for yet another day. For now, let me add one last thing. Regarding that pesto chicken dish from last evening? I learned another lesson from my shaky Cinqo de Mayo arrival to the Baja Bash: It’s never, ever, ever too late to try and curry favor with the captain.
- Herb McCormick and Mark Schrader with photographs by David Thoreson
This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos
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