June 12, 2019
So here we are: Day 3 of our Biscay crossing. It has been a rock and roll experience for sure, and by rock and roll, I mean we have been rocking and rolling all over the fucking place for 3 straight days. Every movement is an effort, going to the bathroom should be an Olympic sport it's so difficult, and sleeping is near impossible. We have been dealing with a Force 6 wind for most of our passage thus far (20-24 knots), coming straight from behind us, which makes our new downwind rig useful if a bit temperamental, as the wind needs to be exactly off our port quarter for it to work effectively. For the past 2 days however, the wind has been shifting around just enough to cause the sails to flap about continually and to generally be a bit of a pain in the ass. Combine that with extremely confused seas, and you have yourself a great abdominal exercise as you attempt to stay vertical while wrestling with the sails. Below deck is a cacophony of clanks and bangs (not least of all head bangs) as you try to move about the cabins, wondering why you ever thought it was a good idea to buy tin mugs. Hozza described the downwind passage we would have across Biscay as a “sleigh ride,” which sounded awesome, though in reality Stephen had it about right when he described it as a sleigh ride with a drunk Santa and a bunch of angry reindeer that really need to get laid. Everything moves and clangs with each roll of the boat. I am weary, dirty, and more than a little frustrated, as we’ve had a few challenges along the way. We seem to have run over a fishing buoy at some point, as we can hear something thudding along the bottom of the boat, but we are remiss to turn on our engine on as it might get tangled in the prop. It might just be trapped under the keel bulb, but with the winds and more importantly the very choppy waves, we are remiss to experiment with trying to free it just now. We also may have an auto helm issue, as there is an unnatural clunking we can hear coming from the rudder when we fight a big wave, and we realised upon investigation that the box encasing the unit under our cabin headboard was coming loose, which may be affecting the magnet. I’d put the amount of sleep I've gotten on this passage at about 8 hours total in 3 days, if I’m being generous.
Still, not to complain about the experience completely - the beginning was fantastic, as Florence was harnessing the wind beautifully from her port quarter, and we screamed down the coast of Ireland, doing 200nm in our first day. Then the trouble started... After struggling with flukey winds and flapping sails, big, confused seas and misty rain for about 32 hours, we decided to take a risk and try starting the engine. The forecast had changed since our departure, and it looked as if now the wind for the remainder of our journey had all but disappeared. We would have to go a long way out to sea to find it again, and even well offshore it was a bit pathetic, so we held onto our hats and started the engine. It sprang to life, relieving us of the fear that we might have fouled a buoy. Let the motoring begin! Energy reserves tapped into! Lisbon or bust! The sooner we get there, the sooner I can peel off this heavy wet weather gear and my 8 layers of fleeces and long johns underneath. In our enthusiasm to make up for some lost time, we perhaps got too aggressive with our engine, pushing Florence to 8-9 knots as we motor-sailed through Biscay all night and the following morning. We awoke to the unpleasant surprise that one of our fuel tanks was 3/4 empty, which should NOT have happened, as we just filled it in Dun Laoghaire. After reading the manual, (Kids - take note: when you buy a large, expensive, and complicated boat, it may help to actually read the entire manual BEFORE you sail 2000 nautical miles!), we realised her fuel efficiency really falls off at any faster than 7.5 knots, and that in pushing her we had basically been dumping fuel out the back for the better part of 20 hours. Great - another example of our naivite leading to wasted money - that's something we’ve proven to be pretty good at on this trip! Lesson learned, however - we slowed down her revs to a more comfortable level, and Florence began purring appropriately. We discovered that if we keep the engine at between 1750 and 1850 revs, she should sip fuel at around 6 litres/hour, which is pretty efficient and should make using the engine occasionally not an impossibly expensive endeavour.
From our experience, Biscay doesn’t seem to have much of a medium when it comes to conditions - we had strong winds and big seas for the first half, and now are stuck in almost glassy seas (although with some lovely, undulating Atlantic swell) and a whopping 2-5 knots of breeze. It’s a good thing old Flo has 3 fuel tanks. Burn baby, burn! One thing travelling by sailboat has taught me is that seemingly small distances on a chart (that’s a map in non-sailing parlance) are REALLY FRIGGING FAR APART. One inch on a standard chart is about equivalent to about 20 or 30 miles depending on scale, and we have on this crossing discovered the true meaning of “inching along”. It’s actually kind of remarkable and gives you a new appreciation for just how vast the world's oceans and seas are. It can be disheartening but also a bit bemusing to go off watch at 3 AM and to wake up at 9 AM and discover that your speck of boat on the chart has moved about 1.5 inches. Progress! So yes - Biscay is big, make no bones about that. The wind doesn’t seem to be coming back anytime soon, and I am getting cranky, exhausted and could most definitely use a shower. Let's see what Biscay will bring tomorrow...
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