June 25, 2019
If our passage the following day taught us anything, it is that you should always DO YOUR HOMEWORK! Never assume that a passage will be straightforward, especially when sailing in unfamiliar territory. Don't get complacent. Do a thorough passage plan. Scour the pilot books for any relevant information. Triple check the weather. Think every eventuality through. Don't underestimate the difficulty of sailing upwind. And don't forget to CHECK THE BLOODY SEA STATE! Irregardless of wind, you really need to know what the waves are up to.
You can probably guess at this juncture that we did none of those things before embarking on our passage from Formentera to north Ibiza. Well, we didn't exactly do nothing, but we did seriously under-research the journey and underestimate it's difficulty. There is really no excuse for it, other than foolishly thinking that now that we had one (yes, that's right - just one) successful solo passage under our belts, surely we would be fine. We were ace at this, and how hard could a coastal sail along a couple of islands be? Well, we learned.
The passage started off a bit shaky. The winds that would make this anchorage unsafe for the next few days started to fill in around us as we weighed anchor. Our chain had been whipped around in all directions over the course of a couple windy nights, so it was a slow and careful process getting it back up, made more so by the fact that we were hemmed in on all sides by other boats. We dodged and weaved relatively well though, knowing that in these scenarios, slow is pro. Once the anchor was up, the wind caught our bow a bit, and I had to hit the gas and go hard over to starboard to avoid nicking the boat on our port. We avoided him though and started our pilotage out to open water and up the coast of Formentera. The sail began well enough, although we perhaps had a bit too much sail out, as we were hitting 11 knots of boat speed in gusts of 25+ knots of wind. We made the decision to reef the main, which was smart, as we were getting overpowered and heeling pretty aggressively. For our passage plan, we had decided (without doing enough research) that rather than travel around the east side of Formentera and up the coast towards Ibiza, we'd shorten the trip by traveling north and through the small gap between the islands . The gap looked wide and deep enough to sail through, and the cardinal marks on the charts indicated it was definitely a passable channel. Just how passable, we were about to find out.
As we approached the channel, the wind really started to kick up and was coming from the exact direction we were heading. The only hope of getting through was to pull in the sails and to motor. Trying to get our mainsail back in using the in-mast furling system in high winds proved not to be an easy task, and I foolishly thought we should, as you do with slab reefing, point the boat straight up to wind to de-power the sail and make it easier to put away. Apparently not the case with in-mast furling, where the sail goes into the mast and wraps up inside rather than being pulled down the mast and stuffed in a sail bag. With the wind whipping our sail to and fro, it banged against the mast as we furled it in, and I just prayed we weren't doing any damage to the battens that run up the length of the sail and help maintain its shape. We did successfully get the sail away and started motoring for the gap between the two islands. The seas were big and made progress laborious. We kept checking AIS to see if any other boats were passing though, to ensure it was navigable by boat. There were definitely boats going though, and as we got closer, we realised far too many! We had planned our passage to go right through the narrow lane used by the super high speed ferries running from Ibiza to Formentera every few minutes, and it was any sailor's navigational nightmare. We spent the next 90 minutes playing dodge the ferries, with one person at the helm, the other scuttling to and from the nav station helping to assess collision risk. Holy mother of god was it scary. These ferries move so fast that even when they are barely a speck in the distance to the eye and have just crept onto your chart plotter, AIS is telling you that you are on a collision course with this vessel and if you don't change your course, you will have a collision in 3 minutes. WTF?? And you can throw your RYA collision regulations out the window, as these ferries mean business and will not alter their course an inch for man or beast, or sailboat for that matter. It was up to us to change our course numerous times as ferries kept approaching from all angles, making it difficult to know which way to turn to avoid a collision. We played this game for the better part of 2 hours, which involved constant vigilance, little margin for error, a lot of shouting and perhaps a small heart attack. It was not fun. Again, do your homework and don't plan a passage through a narrow straight that is dominated by ruthless high speed ferries.
Once finally out of that mess and out onto the east side of Ibiza, we realised the sea state was pretty miserable, with up to 2 meters of swell hitting the boat from different angles. This made for very unpleasant conditions. We were also heading dead upwind. There was no way to get a sailable angle, unless we spent the better part of the next 10 hours tacking upwind, which would get us to our intended anchorage on the north side of the island after dark. So we decided to put the headsail away and to motor sail up the east coast of Ibiza in hopes of getting there with daylight still on our side. To add insult to injury, I started to feel sick for the first time on this entire trip in those pitching seas, as conflicting swell lurched the boat up and down and back and forth. I managed to keep the queasiness at bay by keeping my eyes on the horizon, which is a good tip to avoid sea sickness. About halfway to our destination, we realised that there were these black sticks poking out of the end of our sail. As feared, we must have fucked up our battens when furling in the mainsail in those high winds before entering the Channel of Death, and they were broken and falling out of the bottom. We weren't quite sure what to do about them, so we just ripped the broken bits off and figured we'd deal with it when we got back to safety. As we pitched along up the coast, the dramatic beauty of the island was mostly lost on us, as we fought the swell and sea sickness and regret over planning a passage dead into the wind. This was just not our day, and it really drove home the importance of proper planning.
We were both relieved when we finally rounded the north side of the island where the sea was considerably calmer. We puttered around in search of our intended anchorage, a bay called Cala Xucla. Not knowing what to expect and somewhat expecting the worst given how our day had gone so far, we feared a crowded bay with poor holding. However we were relieved to find that the bay was wide, calm and practically deserted. There was only one other boat in the expansive bay. It took a while to find a spot that wasn’t on sea grass, while avoiding the east side of the bay that according to the pilot book hosted a handful of submerged but dangerously shallow rocks. The anchor dug beautifully into the sand. We dove on it to check, and it was easy to see the anchor furrowed deep into the white sand through the crystal clear water. We needed that small measure of success after what had otherwise been a trying day. We went for a swim to cool down, starting to seriously feel the absence of our bimini, as without it there is just no escaping the sun.
Our day of mishaps wasn't over yet however. As we clambered back aboard, we saw something large and unexpected swaying back and forth from our mast. Holy shit, the large aluminium pole for our downwind rig (no, not the Festivus Pole) that is normally secured firmly against the mast was dangling by a thread. It appeared the attachment where it clips to the mast had given up, and the only thing suspending the pole in the air and keeping it from crashing to the deck was the safety line we had secured as back up. Thank goodness we hadn't taken it off the last time we put the pole away! If the pole had fell off mid-sail, it would at the very least have seriously damaged our boat, if not one of us. We carefully used the pulley system to ease the pole slowly to the deck before lying it flat and securing it to the side of the boat with lashings. Far too rattled and exhausted to deal with it that evening and just thankful to still be alive rather than pole kill, we decided what we needed was a break and some very deep breaths of air. We dinghied ashore in silence, not really knowing what to say to each other and both regretting the day's experiences.
One of the only signs of life in this entire bay is a tiny xiringuito tucked into a cove on its east side. The xiringuito had just a handful of tables strewn on a small beach with lights strewn across a trellis above. It appeared to us like an oasis in a desert of frustration and self-doubt. The proprietor was incredibly accommodating and sat us down at a table with our toes in the sand, immediately bringing over some remedial beverages.
The day's events spurred what was a fairly difficult dinner conversation about exactly how we were feeling on the trip so far. Who are we doing this for? What are our goals for the experience? And how do we achieve the balance that seems to be missing? We realised that ironically, the main thing we were trying to achieve from this trip was the thing thus far evading us: we had yet to find any time to relax, to enjoy each other's company, and to just enjoy being married. Instead, we were consumed with getting up the learning curve, tackling problems, and sailing to the next location. We also acknowledged that we had only been alone on the boat for a week and should give ourselves a break - we were still learning. Patience. balance, and communication - these things would be key if we wanted to get out of this experience what we set out to. We reaffirmed that this trip was not about proving anything to anyone. We were doing this for us - for our relationship and our own personal growth. We would continue to do it for as long as it still made sense, and whether it was a year or 3 years and whether or not we ultimately circumnavigated didn’t matter. Especially at this early stage where we are still adjusting, we agreed we needed to take it one day at a time and to not forget to be good to each other and to listen to one another. My assessment so far is that there are likely much easier ways to embark on a marriage, but if you want an experience that will challenge you and force you to improve your teamwork and communication, sailing a boat around the world might not be the worst strategy.
Great blog, and glad you are being so honest, even though scary reading at times, but reassuring to read lots of happy endings xxx