ABOUT: Chris & Manuela departed San Francisco, California, on April 18th on their J-40 sloop to sail to the South Pacific and points west. We think we'll be sailing 2-3 years, and then return to our normal lives. ARCHIVES:   Saturday, January 31, 2004   After arriving safely in Australia (Bundaberg, Queensland), we began to make our way south towards Sydney. Sydney Opera I single-handed Argonaut for the initial leg from Bundaberg some 120 miles south to Tin Can Bay, a trip that turned out a bit more adventurous than I had bargained for. For the first leg, I left Bundaberg with first light at 5:00am in order to make sure that I'd arrive at Fraser Island's 'Kingfisher Bay' before dusk. The wind was blowing a comfortable 8-10 knots from the North east, permitting myself and Argonaut to settle into a wonderful broad reach south. Being alone on board, I was a bit nervous about heading below for food, drink, or personal matters. Three minutes felt like an eternity, driving me to head topside as quickly as possible. I probably kept better watch than ever before, and easily avoided the two fishing trawlers that I encountered. At some point, I thought I heard a squeaking noise from the steering mechanism below deck. I opened the lazarette (a storage compartment in the cockpit which gives access to the steering mechanism), and climbed below. While I inspected the mechanics, a rather large wave hit the boat, and the lid came crashing down. I smiled. I had anticipated this problem and had laid a 12mm (1/2'') line across the opening before crawling aft. Switching on my headlamp, I completed the inspection. Turning around in the claustrophobic space proved to be quite the challenge, made that much more difficult by the constant motion of the boat. Then a surprise: the lid would not open as I pushed against it. I pushed again. Nothing. Slowly, it dawned on me that I, alone on the ocean, was locked into a 3'x3'x8' (1m x 1m x 2.5m) space, while the boat sailed along on the preset course. I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the sailbag on which I was lying, and took a deep breath. Then another. This wasn't fun. Ok. Stay calm and think. Given course and speed, I'll be running aground in less than 2 hours. Some breathing space. I had a screwdriver with me, as well as the headlamp. The hinges were accessible, but bolted through with only the nuts visible. A difficult job for the screwdriver. I tried wedging the screwdriver between the lid and the sidewall. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. I leaned back again and took a break. I had to chuckle. Sailing 8,000 miles, through storms and reefs, we had crossed the Pacific. Now, on a beautiful day on the Australian coast, I was stuck. I mean, you really have to see the humor in this situation. Once again I banged on the lid, with once again the same results. Ok, so the latch had fallen over the corresponding hook, which was about 0.5'' long. So I needed to get the lid at least that far away from the sidewall. Maybe, if I pried with the screwdriver while simultaneously pushing against the lid with my elbow/shoulder, I could bend the fiberglass sufficiently. Screwdriver in, deep breath, shoulder slamming, and suddenly, bright sunlight. Phew, I could barely believe it. Carefully, I opened the lid further, and then pulled a few more loops of the line across the sidewall before wriggling out of the lazarette. This was nice. Neither boat nor land in sight. I was safe. The remainder of this day's sail went like clockwork. My pre-arranged waypoints to enter the narrow channel between Fraser Island and the mainland were spot on, and given the nice breeze, I made landfall at 3:00pm, and was safely anchored by 4:00, some 11 hours since starting in the morning. Given the day's excitement, I didn't bother to assemble the dinghy, but just stayed on the boat and cooked a nice dinner. Two days later I left Fraser Island, and with two day-sails, made it down to Tin Can Bay, where Manuela joined me again. There, we stayed for 4 days, waiting for a weather window to cross the somewhat dicey bar out into the open ocean. A strong northerly had come in, pushing us south so quickly that we decided to bypass Brisbane and head straight to Coffs Harbour. This beautiful little town of 5000 lies about 500km (300miles) north of Sydney, and is home to Russel Crowe. Russel, the good guy he is, was attending the Coffs Habour premier of "Master and Commander: The far side of the world". Huge crowds showed up to hear him talk, but Manu and I decided to take a trip inland instead. Then we headed north to Brisbane to meet my sister Susanne at the airport, who was flying in from Germany for the Holidays. Together, we had a wonderful time touring the temperate rain-forests of Queensland, and then sailing into Sydney. Manu & Chris in front of Parliament in Canberra, Australia Sydney, it must be said, is one of (if not the) most beautiful city I've come across. The harbor is very 'cuddly', with many nooks and crannies, beautiful tree-lined shores, and the occasional island. Sailing is clearly the favorite pastime of many Sidney-siders, with races occurring on a daily basis. And of course we watched the start of the famous Sydney-to-Hobart Race on the 26th of December. Pretty cool. Recently, we have made a major decision, and decided to sell (yes, 'sell') Argonaut here in Australia to continue on home to Germany overland. Looking at what would be involved both time-wise (another 1.5 years) and sailing wise (going through the Red Sea & Suez Canal, etc.) to get to the Med, as well as our desire to be with family sooner than that, we decided that it was time to part with Argonaut. I am sad to part with her, after all this work, and excitement. On the other hand, we are both already looking forward to being home with our parents and siblings. Surfing in Sydney Looking forward, we will spend some more time here in Australia and New Zealand, before heading to Germany. It's a long flight west, so we will stop over in one or two places, most likely India and the United Arab Emirates (UAE). The summer will then find us in Europe. Christoph 6:33 PM Sunday, November 16, 2003   Dear Friends, We are now safely ‘down under’ in the land of kangaroos and koalas. The trip from New Caledonia was one of our more difficult ones, despite the fact that it lasted only 6 days. A really fun part was sailing together with “Legs Eleven”, an Australian yacht (Adams 12 racer) we had met in Samoa. The first couple of days as well as the last day we sailed within sight of each other, which was a surprise to both of us. Fun too, was to compare strategy and sail combinations. For the first 3 days we were plagued with very little wind, which was quite variable in terms of direction. So we ended up with plenty of sail changes and also motoring for good stretches, something we absolutely deplore. During the second 3 days, we managed to go through a trough (a weak extension of a front), and two cold fronts. This is typically the type of weather one tries to stay away from, but of course, once out on the open ocean, one has to deal with whatever comes up. The last front was by far the strongest, packing sustained winds of around 33 knots (65 km/h). Luckily, the seas didn’t build too much (about 7’ or 2m), permitting us to just scream along, initially under 2nd reef and #4. But as the wind kept building and night fell, we decided to try to sail under jib alone, something that Legs Eleven was having good success with. Getting the main down turned out to be a major problem – even with the halyard completely blown and the sail luffing, the sail didn’t want to stay down but just lifted up every time I had just barely managed to pull it down. In darkness, with the boom moving, and the boat bucking, this was neither fun nor safe. Finally, we took a long docking line, and kept on wrapping it around boom and main while always pulling a bit of the main down. This worked well. After finally having subdued the main, we bore off and started heading towards the Australian coast again, which was roughly 50 miles away. I was surprised that we had no problem to point to 60-70 degrees of apparent wind with the jib alone. We were still doing 8 knots, and only began to slow down to about 6 when the wind dropped to 20 knots some hours later. As the sun rose the following morning, we made landfall at Bundaberg in Australia. Shortly after arriving, we hauled our boat out for a new bottom-paint job, as the boat-yard here is fantastic – by far the cleanest, most efficiently run, yard I’ve ever come across. Some other maintenance items included another coat of varnish on the outside teak and general lubrication jobs. Then, last week, we took a road-trip to Brisbane, 3rd largest city with 1.3m inhabitants on the continent. We were really looking forward to spending some time in a large, cultural city again, but after 1 day I must admit, both Manu and I were looking forward to get back to the open country. On our way back to Bundaberg we stopped at the “Lone Pine Reserve”, a park for local flora & fauna. Manuela loved the koalas, and then thought it wise to handle a large diamond python (“to work on her fear of snakes”). The python was happy to wrap herself around Manu and check things out, but I don’t think that the foundations of a long-term relationship were laid. Tomorrow, a totally excited Manu will fly for 6 days to Adelaide, home of the Dulwich center. This center was founded by Michael White, creator of “Narrative Therapy”, the method that Manuela follows when treating clients. Meanwhile, I will start to sail Argonaut south by myself in simple day-hops (no night-sailing, no sleep-deprivation). I’ve wanted to give single-handing a try for a while, and will tag along “Giana”, which is sailed by Francoise, an experienced single-hander (she’s been sailing the oceans for the past 30 years). Well, that’s it for now. Chris & Manu Christoph 7:32 PM Tuesday, October 21, 2003   Dear Friends, How time has been flying. We have been in New Caledonia for just about 3 weeks now, and are already preparing for our final long passage this year - to Australia. But let me start at the beginning. A little over a month ago, we left Vava’u (Tonga) on a passage that in general was characterized by light air, as well as some trouble with our mainsail. The pin connecting one of the batten-pockets to its slug came loose. This in turn put additional stress on the slug below the batten, which consequently tore the luff (leading edge of the sail). So we dropped the main, hoisted a second headsail, and began the stitching process while wobbling down-wind. After a few hours, the repair was complete, and we continued on with the main. Alas, after a day and a half, it tore again, now to a good 1.5 feet. Not good. Once more, we dropped the main, and wondered how to repair this tear (just below the 3rd reef). Finally, we decided to give sailtape a try. According to our sailmaker, the secret to keeping sailtape attached without any stitching is to first truly scrub the sail with Acetone, or Alcohol if the former is not available. Using a heavy brush and half a quart/liter of Alcohol, we just about bathed the general repair area, before running sailtape from one side of the main around the luff back along the other side. This repair looked much better than the first, and managed to get us safely to New Caledonia. A good lesson to have learned. New Caledonia: of all the countries we have visited so far, New Caledonia has been the easiest, quickest, and cheapest (read free) country to check into. Truly a pleasure, especially after a longer passage. The harbor in Noumea (the capital and only checkin/checkout port) grants a free night in the marina, hot showers (a luxury) await, and anything the heart desires is available on land. However, the pricing is quite high, as nearly everything is imported directly from France, which still runs New Caledonia as a colony (over the objection of the majority of the indigenous Kanak people). Yet people are extremely friendly to us whites, even if at first approaching one with just a tad of caution, especially in the outlying areas. Impressive was the depth of the Kanak art, which was on display in the Centre Tjibaou, a cultural center and architectural delicacy built by France and named after an assassinated Kanak Independence leader. After enjoying the hot showers, fresh fruit & veggies, and having the mainsail permanently repaired by a sailmaker, we left Noumea for other anchorages around the south of New Caledonia. The Baie the Prony, heart of the original French penal colony, was our first stop. Barely populated, it is a place of stark beauty. Safe anchorages with good holding abound, and lots of hiking is possible on shore. After a few days of exploring, we rode a North Easterly south to the Isle de Pins, famous for its wonderful beaches. Lots of sucker fish, which belong to the Shark family, decided to hang around our boat (or literally attached themselves through a “sucking cup”). These fish are ‘harmless’, living largely off refuse, garbage, etc.. They won’t bite humans, but have on rare occasion attached themselves to one. Still, seeing a swarm of 2’-4’ long shark-like fish shooting at oneself does not encourage jumping into the water. We are now back in Noumea, and will shortly leave for Australia. For the first time, we are participating in a rally, which has been organized by the port of Bundaberg, 150 miles north of Brisbane on the Australian coast. Approximately 25 boats, including Legs Eleven, an Australian racer we know from Samoa, are taking part. It will be interesting to see if the daily ‘skeds’ (scheduled radio communications) will feel like fun or like a burden. Many sailors enjoy them for both their camaraderie and perceived increased in safety, while Manuela and I have so far felt that we’d prefer spending free time (time not on watch or working the boat) sleeping or resting instead of on the radio. Right now, it looks like really light winds, so it could take a while to cover the 780 miles. But since the first tropical depression (precursor to a hurricane) already formed and disappeared North of Vanuatu, it is starting to be time to get out of here. Take care….Chris & Manu Christoph 9:12 PM Friday, September 19, 2003   Hello to all of you, It has been a little over a month since I last wrote to you from Tonga, from where we are about to leave. Internet service has been rather spotty (supposedly still the results of that nasty internet worm/virus), so I am not sure if I’ll be able to include any pictures with this email – you’ll know as you read this. One of the things that Manuela and I were anxious about when arriving here, was our relative inexperience with anchoring and navigating through coral, which are things that are difficult to practice in the SF Bay. I am happy to say, that we feel much better in this regard now. We’ve dropped the hook in most of the plentiful anchorages here in Vava’u, and learned much in the process. Especially helpful has been to snorkel/dive on the anchor after setting it, and inspecting the results of one’s efforts. For those of you heading out in the future, I’d definitely put a set of mask & fins on the list of things to take along. Somewhat disquieting was initially most of the holding ground, which seems to consist of rapidly dropping off sandstone covered in about 1 foot of sand. The anchor never really digs in deep, but instead typically hooks behind some rock or coral. But despite my worries and modest wind shifts, we never dragged or came loose. My brother Ben & his girlfriend Rosa came to visit us for a little over 3 weeks – it was really wonderful to have company here on Argonaut. With Ben and Rosa, we braved the Fanautapu Pass, which leads from the western part of Vava’u to its eastern half. The pass itself was much wider and easier to navigate than we had assumed. Yet, the route from this pass to Kenutu, the easternmost island in Vava’u, was a bit nerve-wracking. We carefully picked our way through a somewhat lengthy region of reefs, shallows and coral heads. While Ben & I were on the bow looking for the different shades of blue that foretell a reef or shallower ground, Manuela had to (blindly) follow our steering directions. At times it looked to her as if we were guiding here directly onto a reef, which must have been rather disquieting. As we arrived in Kenutu, we found 3 yachts at anchor, one of which had run aground and was more lying on its side than standing up. Yet with the help of the next high tide and a kedging anchor, he easily pulled free and all was well. Rosa, Ben, Manuela, Chris on the Beach at Kenutu Kenutu itself is a rather large, uninhabited island that is part of the outer reef string of Vava’u. The western shore is one long, somewhat rough, sandy beach, while the eastern shore has been pounded by the arriving seas into a near vertical 100-200’ abyss. Similar to Kenutu and barely 100 yards to the north lays Unuma. The “Lonely Planet” had described a fresh water cave on this island, so we set out in our dinghy with a nice cleansing swim on our minds. Sadly enough, the water was at best brackish, so no refreshment here. The next morning we were greeted by a rather garish sight – the catamaran Dandelion had run aground on one of the reefs towards Kenutu, despite having posted a lookout on the bow and being careful in their navigation. The charts in these waters here are still based on British surveys from the 1890’s (I am not making this up), so navigating purely based on charts is a pretty chancy preposition. Dead reckoning and eyes are much preferable over pure GPS navigation. In addition, the light conditions (sun from behind to avoid glare) are important – something that was probably missing in this case. Working to free Dandelion Anyhow, Max (a single handing Bavarian also in Kenutu at the time), Ben, and I dinghied over to Dandelion and offered our help, which was gladly accepted. We joined the group of Roger, the owner, his friend John, daughter Caren, all from South Africa, and a local Tongan. Max, who had prior experience in the salvage of large vessels, soon directed the overall effort. We set two anchors by dinghy: number 1 directly behind the cat to help pull us off; number 2 angled off to one side to give us directional stability. In parallel, we attached a large number of fenders to the hull to aid with flotation once the tide would rise again. Lastly, we lightened the boat as much as possible, emptying the water tanks, etc.. The work was made doubly hard by the waves rolling over the reef. Something as simple as pulling a chain over the reef required multiple attempts, as the chain would get hooked behind a coral, coral would give way underneath one’s foot, or a wave would topple one over. Needless to say, coral cuts were a basic ingredient of this work. Only a native Tongan, who worked the whole day BAREFOOT, did not show a single cut a the end of the day. How, none of us could understand. As night fell, the tide began to rise, and the hull began to move on the reef. The most dangerous time had begun, as the hull could easily grind itself to bits if we didn’t manage to get it loose before the waves did their work. To add a little drama to the work, Poseidon decided to send a squall-line our way. Now we had lightening, wind, waves, and rain to aid us. Fun. To be honest though, I think Poseidon did have our best interests at heart, as the larger waves were in fact helping. We had tensioned the anchor lines to such an extent, that each time a wave crest lifted us, we would shoot back a foot or so over the reef and then settle down again. A little over half an hour later we were free. Wow, what a feeling. And how Roger & family must have felt. A young Tongan dancer Well, we are now back on the western, easier, side of Vava’u. Ben & Rosa left yesterday. And Manuela and I are about to bid farewell to Tonga and set sail for New Caledonia. At roughly 1200 miles (2000km), this will be one of the shorter passages we have yet undertaken. I am really looking forward to spending time truly sailing again. And, with a bit of luck, we’ll be in Noumea, New Caledonia, in 7-10 days. ‘til then, Chris & Manuela Christoph 7:39 PM Thursday, August 14, 2003   Upon leaving Samoa, we headed nearly due south some 190 nautical miles to a small island named Niuatoputapu (meaning “very sacred coconut” in Tongan). The passage was easy – we left Apia early one morning, and arrived in Niuatoputapu the next morning. We had read much about the pass through the reef, and approached it with apprehension. Yet, it was so well marked, and the water so clear, that navigating around the coral heads was quite straight forward. After dropping our hook, we assembled our dinghy and went to shore at the small village of Falehau. From there, our path led us over a dirt road some 2 miles to the village of Hihifo, the “administrative center” of Niuatoputapu. Finding the immigration and customs building turned into a bit of a treasure hunt. After all, who needs street names and building signs in a village of a few hundred people, where everyone knows everyone? When we finally found the customs & immigration officer, he became quite upset. We had illegally left the boat; as is customary in many countries, we were supposed to remain on our vessel until inspected and cleared by the officials. Our bible, the “World Cruising Handbook”, had been incorrect in instructing us to leave the boat to notify the officials of our arrival. We quickly returned to the boat to await the inspection. A few hours later, we noticed people waving at us on shore. The inspection team had arrived and was waiting for us to transfer them to our boat. There being 5 of them, it required two trips in the dinghy. Any remaining anger was quickly dissipated over tea, coffee, and a few cookies. The subsequent search of our boat seemed more driven by interest in what hidden puzzles this stranger from a strange land may contain than honest worries about drugs, weapons, or the like. Two hours and T$140 (US$70) later, we were cleared into Tonga. We spent the next few days hiking along the beaches, going for a swim, and all in all being rather lazy. Only a strong night blow disturbed our peace. Blowing consistently at over 30 knots, we maintained an anchor watch until 5:30 am, when we finally decided that the anchor, having held for 8 hours, wasn’t likely to give way now. Still, I must admit, that neither Manuela nor I sleep deep or well when the wind picks up, or is likely to shift. After some 10 days in Niuatoputapu, we left for the Vava’u group, one of the premier cruising destinations in the South Pacific. We had been waiting for a good weather window, but since none had materialized, we beat our way south with the wind hard on the nose. With full enjoyment I hand steered for a number of hours, since the autopilot could not keep Argonaut as close to the wind as we wanted to go. Vava’u is quite different from Niuatoputapu, much more developed, yet many more islands and secluded anchorages. Only Neiafu, the capital of 6000 people, gets crowded with plenty of boats. As we speak, some 60 boats are on anchor here, with several mega yachts. One of the greatest attractions are the humpback whales, which migrate every year from Antarctica to Tonga to spend the southern winter here. Calves are born and mates are found. And every day 3 whale-watching boats leave to watch these creatures. We went on a small boat with 8 other people, and by noon, we had sighted our first pair of young males. These guys proved to be rather inquisitive, swimming right up to the little powerboat. In went the swim-ladder, followed by the guide and 4 of us, all with masks, snorkels, and fins. Now whales are bit like ice-bergs. They look large above water, but most of their mass is hidden well below the waterline. Of course, I hadn’t quite considered this with all of its implications before jumping into the water. A jumble of awe, fear, amazement, the desire to touch, to talk to them. Forty tons of flesh were gazing at us, gracefully suspended in the water. Then they lost interest in us, and with a single flip of their powerful tails they disappeared. I wanted more. We got it. Still, I think we’ll go again. Much of our time we now spend at various anchorages, away from the noise and ‘busy-ness’ of Neiafu. We will probably spend another 3 weeks here, and then head on out. Christoph 7:47 PM Thursday, July 17, 2003   Dear Friends, The time has come for us to move on, and so also time for another letter. Samoa was a wonderful experience after the stress (and general price level) of Hawaii. Samoan people are by western standards very relaxed and laid back, as the peoples of much of the pacific appear to be. Outside of Apia, the capital of 30,000 people, much life still progresses along the traditional ways. People live within an extended family unit, which is part of a fairly tightly nit village. Homes are “fales”, which are buildings without a single wall, but only a roof and a few poles as supports. As one walks around, one can thus see life unfold inside people’s homes, although closer inspection as well as photography seems to be somewhat discouraged (we believed the guide books in this and didn’t try to push our luck much). Local children playing around Our trip to the south side of the main island (Upolu) began at the central bus station, where we intended to catch the 10:00 am bus to Lalomanu. As in much of the 3rd world, departure times have to be taken with a grain of salt, however. Here in Apia the standard procedure appears to be for the bus to circle repeatedly through the town until it is more or less full. At that point, we left Apia on the main road leading east. Every 5 minutes or so, we’d stop at the side of the road to pick up another passenger. At one of these stops, a rather large number of passengers were getting off, and before long the bus was nearly empty. Only a couple of very large (say 300 pounds or so) women remained on board in addition to Manu and myself. The grocery store located to our left seemed to be the last opportunity for villagers to buy needed staples before returning home. And sure enough, slowly the bus filled again, only loaded just a bit more this time around. Our next major stop was the gas station. Here the bus driver bought enough gas for the round trip, and everybody else got off to buy ice-cream, coconut filled donuts, or just some ordinary candy. Our bus at the gas station The ride then proceeded east along the north-shore of the island, before turning south to cross the mountain ridge that runs the length of Upolu. Much of this central part of the island seems to be barely inhabited, the terrain of course being the main cause. We then descended towards the south eastern tip of the island, where Lalomanu is located. Here we left the bus, and stayed for 3 days in beach fales, which have been adapted for tourist use. The small hut has 3 walls made of palm-leaf mats, with the fourth side being open directly onto the beach. Most of our days we spent reading, going for walks, and snorkeling amongst the 100’s of reef fish species, which were living right on our door-step. Manu in beach fale One of the more interesting sights to visit on Samoa is Robert L. Stephenson’s home, which he built here in the late 1880’s. This Irish author of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, as well as Treasure Island, had come here via Hawaii with his family to seek a better climate for his tuberculosis. Four years after arriving, he passed away. Visiting his home, and seeing photos from that period, I was struck by what an outlandish adventure it must have been to come here in those days. No phone, no regular mail service, no infra-structure, and probably not even a real idea of how things would look like. In comparison, we are certainly traveling first class with baby-cradle safety. How the times change. RL Stephenson's Home By the way, the estate looks much more grandiose than to Stephenson’s times. After he passed away, the German governor (Samoa was a German colony from 1900 to 1914) bought and refurbished it. Well, tomorrow or the day after we are off to Tonga. Our first port of call will be Niuatoputapu, a small island some 180 miles SSW of here. We should arrive there 1.5 days after we leave. However, due to its extreme remoteness (typically, a ship calls there once every 2-3 months), we don’t expect to be able to email or call until we reach Neiafu on Vava’u sometime after the 27th of the month. Christoph 7:19 PM Wednesday, July 02, 2003   Hi Everyone, after 16 days at sea (2300 nautical miles / 4000km) we arrived in Apia, the capital of Samoa, last Saturday morning. We had had some trepidation about this passage, since it was the first long one that Manuela and I would attempt by ourselves. Our prime concern revolved around how we would get enough rest/sleep, since one of us would have to stand watch 24 hours a day. We started off with a 4 hours on / 4 hours off schedule, which really means that one is on watch for 4 hours, and then spends some time doing a few chores (cooking/washing/cleaning, etc.), before catching some sleep. After a couple of days one is sufficiently sleep deprived that going to sleep at odd hours is no problem anymore, and one settles into a steady state of being functioning but tired, which after all was not very different from the experience with more crew. The other concern of course revolved around handling the sails with just the two of us, but by sailing conservatively and reducing sail early, we never felt overwhelmed or out of control. With perfect weather, the first 5 days of the passage contained some truly glorious, fast sailing (we covered over 900 miles in those first days). Then we hit the “doldrums”, that zone close to the equator where air largely rises, resulting in lots of squalls (thunderstorms) to dump moisture, as well as at times a near complete absence of wind. For us, crossing the doldrums consisted of an initial 13 hours of heavy weather with non-stop rain (sometimes driving so hard that the face hurt, at other times just heavy, but never a drizzle). My hands and feet didn’t quite appreciate this continuous bath, as the picture below illustrates. Chris's Foot More unsettling than the rain, though, was the truly spectacular lightening - our 50 foot (15 meter) aluminum mast basically represents the perfect lightening rod. In such conditions boats are at times struck, typically frying every piece of electronic equipment in the process. To protect at least one of our navigational tools from potential destruction, Manuela wrapped one of our handheld GPS’s in aluminum foil, and then placed it in the oven (faraday’s cage). But luck was with us, and we passed through the weather unharmed. The only casualty of the weather was our stop in Palmyra, since it didn’t seem advisable to enter a small, poorly marked (world war two) pass through a reef in near zero visibility. So on towards Samoa we went. Now the wind became light, variable, and very fickle. In such conditions, the windvane (autopilot) becomes nearly useless, so with much hand-steering and several sail-changes we managed to cross this light patch of 110 miles in two days. For the remaining 1200 miles to Samoa, the wind never seemed to be able to really make up its mind of what it wanted. So at times it blew hard, then disappeared completely, reappeared from dead astern, before swinging all the way to dead ahead. Seas went from calm to rough, and we learned that there is such a thing as going too fast. At 7.5 knots going against the prevailing large (9-12 foot waves), Argonaut would frequently climb up a wave, just to launch most of her 20,000 pounds off it into the air. Then, with the subsequent impact, she would shudder, vibrate, groan, and come to an almost complete stop. Yet, the next wave would approach, and without power Argonaut would not climb over it, but instead the wave would bury her bow and wash aft. Only slowly we’d build speed again, just to repeat this process a few minutes later. Apart from the potential to damage the boat through these repeated impacts, this crashing made sleeping (or going to the toilet for that matter ;-) just a bit difficult. With some reluctance (after all Argonaut is more of a racer than a cruiser) we reduced sail and slowed her down to 5 knots. All of the sudden the ride became friendly, if not smooth. We still had sufficient speed and power to climb the front of the waves, but not enough speed to launch us off their back sides. Cool. Some of the cool clouds As we progressed to within 1-2 days of Samoa, it became clear that we would arrive sometime Friday evening in Apia. Yet, entering an unknown harbor at night is the single most dangerous act (according to insurance statistics) one can undertake. Judging distances becomes difficult, and seeing waves rising and breaking on reefs near impossible. So once again we slowed Argonaut down, and made landfall Saturday morning. As is typical, government offices are closed on weekends, so we were not able to check in. Instead, we anchored in a designated zone in the harbor and hoisted the yellow Q-Flag, indicating that we were under quarantine. The next two days we spent watching life go on around us, unable to leave the boat. Probably the hardest thing was thinking of all those fresh vegetables that were just waiting for us. (Since we don’t have refrigeration on Argonaut, our veggies run out after 7-10 days of leaving land). Manu in the dinghy But Monday morning came soon enough, and we were directed to tie up at a large concrete pier and wait for the officials to arrive. There we waited for a couple of hours, before, in succession, individual or teams of inspectors from immigration, customs, health, agriculture, and the port authority arrived at the boat, each bringing forms to fill out, fees to collect, and inspections to make. None are in a particular hurry, and most are very aware of their status as important government representatives. As such, they enjoyed being offered coffee or tea as well as some snack. And only after some small talk, business proceeds. Having let go of our initial hope/expectation that this process would require only 1-2 hours, we had a wonderful time talking to and hosting the inspectors. By mid afternoon we were done and received permission to leave the dock, anchor, and then come on land. Wow. Fresh veggies and a fresh water shower (as opposed to salt water), here we come! We’ll write more about Apia and Samoa in a little, after we’ve seen and experienced a bit of this place. From what we’ve seen so far, the people are friendly, the country beautiful, and the infrastructure substantially better than we had expected. I think we’ll spend at least 2-3 weeks here. ‘til later…. Manu & Chris Christoph 3:47 PM Tuesday, June 10, 2003   We have been in Hawaii for over a month now, much of it spent working on the boat. It initially was a rude awakening trying to get work done here, after being used to the plentiful resources (half a dozen boatyards, overnight mail/parts delivery, etc.) of the San Francisco bay area. Here there are only two boatyards, and because both are substantially smaller than even the small SF yards, waiting-times to be hauled out of the water run between 3 and 6 weeks. The hauling itself is always exciting; a giant 'travelift' places slings around the hull, then raises the hull very slowly out of the water and places it somewhere on land on a bunch of stands. Argonaut in the Travelift After being hauled out, it became clear that the yard had substantially underestimated the complexity of the job to replace the rudder bearings. Out went the plan to fabricate simple delrin (a wonderful modern plastic) sleeves for the rudder; instead we ordered "drop-in replacement bearings" from the mainland. The "drop-in" part consisted of over a week of 10 hour days, cutting the old bearings off, grinding the fiberglass rudderpost down to accept the new lower bearing, building up fiberglass on the hull for the new upper bearing, etc., etc.. Chris grinding on rudder post (old bearings on floor) Due to the complexity of the job, we had really not! wanted to do the job ourselves, but the yard didn't have enough people to do the actual work any time soon. So, with the input of one of their experts, we did it ourselves, learning much in the process. Everything went back together well, we have no more play in the steering, and sea-trials have shown everything to be water-tight. Cool. Pineapple plant During a visit to a pineapple farm (a total tourist trap), we learned what a time and manual labor intensive growing process it is. The plants need well over a year to grow a fruit, and after two to three crops of one fruit each, the plant has reached the end of its fruit-bearing life. No wonder these puppies aren't cheap. Wonderful to see are all the various reef-fish, which live even in this supposedly dirty harbor. Everyday when we walk along the dock, we stop and watch the fish go about their business. The only dangerous creature we've come across was a shark in a giant mixed-fish aquarium in Waikiki. One day, while we were watching him, he opened his large mouth, and swallowed a complete reef-fish. It happened so fast that Manuela and I could hardly believe it. It was as if one of us had just picked up a cookie in passing and said 'yum'. Then life in the tank went on as if nothing had happened. Hawaii'sNorth Shore While in the yard, we had also sent all of our electronic instruments for full analysis and repair to the manufacturer in Canada. Despite receiving 3 different sets of replacements, we still do not have a working depth-meter at this point. Since the depth-meter is critical for navigating and finding passes through reefs, we cannot leave until this is resolved. Apart from that, we are packed, provisioned, and ready to go. So one of these days (hopefully tomorrow), the last part in this puzzle is going to arrive, and then we are off to Samoa. So 'til then, .... Chris & Manu Christoph 5:27 PM Sunday, May 11, 2003   After 18 days at sea, Doug, Seann, Manuela, and I arrived in Honolulu, Hawaii, last Monday. Seann provisioning the boat prior to departure The passage was easier than any of our previous crossings, yet still had its hard moments. We left San Francisco on the morning of Friday, April 18th. The weather forecast for the next 5 days promised near perfect conditions, and we were in good spirits. The wind was plentiful once we were under the Golden Gate, and wouldn't let up for the next 4-5 days. In fact, the first night was rather rough. We were doing 8-9 knots (just about Argonaut's maximum speed) with a triple reefed main and a #4 (very small) jib. The seas were quite confused, resulting in frequent waves coming over the bow and the cabintop. At one point a wave hit the starboard (right) side of the boat, climbed up, and then emptied into the cockpit. Before I could get really worried about standing in 6'' (15cm) of water, the cockpit drains took care of business, and we continued along on our way. With daybreak, conditions eased up, we connected "Harriet", our windvane autopilot, to the helm (steering wheel), and started to settle into our watch schedule. The following days we made good progress, still with the #4 jib, but with fewer and fewer reefs in the main sail. Argonaut under Main Then the Pacific High, which in the summer months completely dominates the weather in the North Pacific, and which would provide us with the winds towards Hawaii, decided to take a break and just about disappear. The winds lightened considerably, and for the next 10 days we had variable winds that during many a night would disappear completely. We were struggling to do more than 100 miles a day, not the 150 mile average that I had thought we could do. At times we would just sit bobbing in the water, not a ripple on the water. Yet, the swells would rock the boat back and forth, slapping the sails each time. The resulting noise kept many of us from sleeping. A truly phenomenal sail in these light conditions was a small (800 square feet) asymmetrical spinnaker. It would stay full when the larger (1300 square feet) spinnaker would collapse due to its own weight. Doug at the Helm On day 16 we finally reached what felt like the trade winds. No more calms during the night, albeit also not yet the steady 15-20kns from the Northeast that the trades are famous for. During the night of day 16 the winds really howled (high 20's to low 30's ). We had kept the spinnaker up, having been accustomed to light winds for days on end. Argonaut handled phenomenally, but the conditions and sail combination exceeded my steering capabilities. I wasn't able to keep her in the groove, although she responded well to every steering input I gave. Manuela wisely called for us to take the chute down, not a small task in these conditions, since it wanted to stay filled. Sean and Manu finally wrestled him to the ground. Lesson learned. Chris pulling down a weather fax We approached Molokai, the island just south-east of Oahu, in the early morning ours of the 18th day. Seann, on watch, spotted the light-tower, which is visible some 25 miles offshore. A hand-bearing confirmed our GPS position. At 10:00am we entered the channel between Oahu and Molokai. The wind dropped, and for the first time since leaving San Francisco we turned on our engine. (Two 120Watt solar panels had provided all the electricity we had required during the trip). Five hours later we pulled into the Ala Wai Harbor in downtown Honolulu, where we are now located. It is a phenomenal location, with a gargantuan (as in: won't be able to see it all in this life-time) mall right across the street. The Ala Wai Yacht harbor in Honolulu The next few days we spent relaxing and catching up on sleep. Manuela tried surfing the waves with Doug, while I gave windsurfing a try. Seann turned out to be an extremely knowledgeable animal lover, visiting the zoo, and knowing just about every tropical fish we encountered. Manu with her huge surfboard We also had to spend some time organizing the haul-out of Argonaut at the local boat-yard, and ordering spare parts from the mainland. In general, Argonaut held up rather well; however, two major items need repair: - The large swells of the first and last few days took their toll on our rudder bearings. I had felt some play in these prior to departure, but the boat yard in SF as well as a surveyor had assured me that this was no problem. However, the groaning noise and thumping/shaking when a sideways swell hits the boat are strong signals that they have to go. - Our alternator charge controller malfunctioned, and the resulting high voltage fried our VHF radio, as well as a good number of the sailing instruments (central controller, depth, & digital compass). We had a spare VHF as well as regular and hand-bearing compasses on board, and could make it without knowing depth. Crew & Anna (Doug's better half) hanging out in Waikiki Things that worked really well were: The solar panels; we never needed to run the engines, which was really really nice (quiet), apart from making our 30 gallons of diesel last a long long time. The Ham radio (Icom 718). We used it to successfully pull down daily weather faxes (maps of the weather systems in the North Pacific). We also talked with the Pacific Seafarers Net, their control station in Washington state, and vessels in transit in various parts of the North and South Pacific. Sails: the very small jib (#4) and the small chute were the sails we used 80% of the time. The remainder of the time we used the reaching #2. The #1 and #3 stayed in the locker. The big chute was either too much sail for the wind, or too heavy to stay full. We'll see if this holds true for the remainder of the trip. If so, 2 of our 3 chutes, and a couple of jibs are going home sooner or later. Well, that it for now. The boat will be hauled out on May 19th, and will be on the hard somewhere around 3-6 days. After that, we l probably hang a little longer around here, reprovision, and then head out for Samoa, our last long passage for a while. More on that later. Christoph 2:26 AM