[Greyhawkupdates] Monday June 6

[Tim Allen GREYHAWK]

Sick.... Last night the motion of the boat was rather uncomfortable. Being down bwlow trying to write e-mails didn't help matters. As is usually the case with me, if I just get it over with, I will feel better, or least different. And so what little food I had had to eat that day ended up all over the toe rail and life-line cusion. And I did feel different, ready to sleep. But first this leads me to something else I want to discuss - the difficulty of staying hydrated. I need to drink more. My pee seems more brown than yellow. So why is it that we get so dehydrated out here? Sure, the bright sun, the sweaty exertions of making sail changes, the pliometric exercises of steering and just holding on, but then there is this: the salt. Everything gets coated with salt, and I mean everythig. Salt, of course, attracts moisture, so everything is also damp. But all the salt also just draws the moisture right out of you. So here it is: despite all the water around, incredible heaping mounds of water, the ocean is really just a giant dessicator!

Sleep. Finally, some sleep. I sleep in the cockpit in my foulies, all harnessed up and ready to go. I do not trust my autopilot. I curl up on the cockpit sole, a few boat cushions strategically located. My feet, butt, and shoulders all braced against different walls. I wake in an hour or so, feeling a little better. There is nothing out there. The sky is largely overcast with clouds in different shades of gray, a few holes through which you could see the stars overhaed, and an inky black sea. The cockpit was eerily illuminated by the glow of the instruments, and the masthead tri-color. No other lights, just the occaisional white of a cresting wave, and the phosphorescent streamline coming off the rudder. There wasn't much for me to do but supervise the autopilot. So back to sleep, balled up in the corner of the cockpit.

Something is not right. The wind is different. The motion of the boat is different. What's that beeping? Autopilot "Mot Stall" alarm. I look back at the tiller and it is waving back and forth, the autopilot's pushrod having fallen off. This has happened before, I'll just clamp it back on. But when I  get back there, it is clear that my whole jury-rig attachment assembly has fallen apart. Maybe I sheared on of the bolts? The wind and sea state are up, maybe beyond what I think the AP could handle anyway. I can hand steer until dawn, when then there might be enough light to see what I am doing, and when things might have settled down a bit. What time is it? 00:30 -- ok another four, five hours on the tiller -- I can do it. I have to do it. And so I did. It wasn't so bad. With just the main up (no headsail), I could steer deeper downwind and keep on course for Kitchen Shoals. We're moving pretty well, do we have some current with us?

Hey what's that? A light! Another vessel. And look, way off down there off to Starboard, _another_ light. Could it be Palangi and Aggressive? That would be so cool! How did I catch up to them? I'm able to steer depper? I have a fair current, and they have a foul one? The closer of the two appears to be on a converging course. As he approaches red turns to green. He passed behing me, maybe a 1/4 mile, and as he sails on, green turns to white. OK the other vessel, am I catching them? ...Must sleep... But the other vessel! ... concentrate, you're off course again! .... must sleeeep.... I catch myself doing the head bob. I try sitting to leeward -- maybe a different postion, using different muscles. No, that's no good -- pulling on the tiller is much better than pushing on it. I switch sides again. .... must sleep ... I set my kitchen timer for 5 minutes and stuff that down the front of my jacket. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Try sitting on the other side again. Look the sky looks like it is starting to lighten a bit. It will be dawn soon. I can hold on a little bit longer. Finally, I heave too, and inspect the wreckage. No, I didn't shear one of the bolts, rather the nut came loose until the bolt fell out. I found another nut and bolt, this time a nylock nut, put it all back together, tightened everything up good. Yeah, that'll do the trick. 

Time to get moving again, so I roll out the genoa, and set off on a broad reach as close to the desired course as I can. The boat that passed behind me last night is now ahead of me. The other boat has disappeared. Chat Hour is coming up in another two hours, maybe I should run the engine for an hour to top up the batteries. I set my kitchen time for an hour, the engine roaring away pumping amps back into the battery, and I fall asleep on my scattered cushions on the cockpit sole.

I wake up and the timer is next to me on the cockpit sole, pointer at zero. I is not ringing. I look at my watch -- it's been 80 minutes! I shut it down. Peace and quiet, right? No! A sailing vessel at sea is an incredible caucophony of noise. The roar of your bow wave when you're charging alone. The hiss of the water as it rushes past the hull. The creak of the ladder where it rubs against the bulkead. The slat of the sail as it empties, followed by the pow, bang as it fills. The whirr-whirr, whirr-whirr of the autopilot motor as it drives the tiller back and forth, back and forth. Good to know that it is still working!

Radio chat hour comes up. I am able to make contacts with a few boats. The boat ahead of me is Tyger Tyger, the one that was off in the distance last night turns out to be Cordelia. So I didn't catch up to Palangi or Aggressive after all -- I was going slow again, even though I thought I was so clever and so fast. Sailing at night always seems so fast.

This is still a race, though. I still have a chance maybe to get in ahead of Cordelia at least, she's not that far ahead -- we still have about 200 miles to go... who knows what could happen between now and then.

Running wing-and-wing before 18 knots of breeze aimed right for the mark, and have had some good current boost, too. I know the wind and current  won't last, but my GPS says the TTG (to Kitchen Shoals, the finishline at Mills Breaker Buoy is another  couple miles further on) is less than 24 hours, as long as my WCV ("wicked cool velocity" aka "waypoint closure velocity") stays up in the 9's. I know it won't, but that is alright -- I am enjoying the sailing, the weather is pleasant, there is great cameraderie among the boats in the fleet.... it is still fun. 

But if I ever do something like this again, you can be sure that my self-steering system(s) will be absolutely bullet proof (and redundant).

Tim Allen
GREYHAWK
35:23N, 66:30W
13:17 EDT June 6


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