Reflections on 18 days at sea – by Ryan

What an experience!

2400 miles (if you are lucky) across the Northern Pacific Ocean from Victoria, Canada to Maui, USA. We were at sea for 18 days, completely removed from land, our only contact with civilization a SSB HF radio. Oh yeah, that and the Satellite phone that will work in any weather, at any point on earth.

Hmmm, I guess in a pinch we could also have sent an email to the race committee which monitored all the SSB frequency 24-7. Almost completely isolated on a vast ocean, with only 17 other race boats and a heavily trafficked shipping lane, it was pretty disconcerting to think about the fact that you only knew your position to within half a foot. I mean, what happens if you MISS MAUI!??

It is best not to think of the dire consequences that would await you in that unfortunate circumstance. All this grueling racing was done on a meager ration of Whistler pure spring water and solid food consisting only of pre-packed vegetarian and meat lasagna, cashew nut chicken, fresh mahi mahi seasoned with chili and lime and other barely edible fare. The sailing is extremely taxing, with the vast majority of the racing done under a hot downwind course under full symmetrical or asymmetrical chute. Being at the helm under these conditions can be very arduous – you have to put up with the sounds of reggae floating across the ocean as you surf down trade-wind generated waves on a fully powered up sailboat. Not only this, but the tropical weather forces you to take off your shirt, wear your sun hat, and hang out in the sun, sans shoes, in just your boardshorts (or bikini). It is very lucky that the apparent wind felt at the helm is lessened significantly on such a downwind course – otherwise you would for sure lose your hat and get sunburn. This is another huge danger of downwind sailing…

Just when you think the situation could not get any worse, one of the fishing lines you have trailing off the stern gets hit by a 20 lb glittering mahi mahi. 20 minutes later you have to force down melt-in-your-mouth sashimi dipped in soy and wasabi, while the non-fishermen sauté a huge fillet in lime and chili sauce for breakfast. Finally, after a grueling shift on the helm, you get relief, and have to take a nap on the folded headsail that is laying on deck and tied to the stanchions.
Just when you think the situation could not get any worse, one of the fishing lines you have trailing off the stern gets hit by a 20 lb glittering mahi mahi. 20 minutes later you have to force down melt-in-your-mouth sashimi dipped in soy and wasabi, while the non-fishermen sauté a huge fillet in lime and chili sauce for breakfast. Finally, after a grueling shift on the helm, you get relief, and have to take a nap on the folded headsail that is laying on deck and tied to the stanchions.

The seasoned Vic-maui’er know to take special care to choose the high side, which on some case is also the shady side – a bit of breeze, the rocking motion of the boat, and a colourful shadow from the billowing chute arcing above your head… Yes, a grueling race!After enduring this extreme discomfort for 18 days (in our case – some boats finish in 10 days), the Hawaiian Islands appear over the bow of the boat. A committee boat comes out to greet you, and amidst giant smiles, backslapping and handshaking, they pass over a cooler jam-packed with ice cold beers. You motor into Lahaina harbour to the guest dock and your welcoming party – fresh fruit, pulled pork, finger foods, STRONG mai tai’s, friends and family, lei’s, flowers, ice cold beers, pumping music and pictures.

First order of business, throw the skipper in the ocean. Second order of business; throw the skipper’s wife, the navigator and the navigator’s wife into the ocean. Third order of business, chug your Mai Tai and jump in after them! What a party. What makes it even more interesting is the land sickness – after three weeks at sea, solid earth feels like a bucking bronco. Add three or eight mai tai’s and you are one VERY meandering sailor!

Definitely one of the highlights of my life so far, entirely motivated by the need to get some offshore experience in preparation for this circumnavigation. What started as a necessity, turned into an absolutely fantastic time-of-my-life filled with pure down to earth and fun loving people. During the race, the moments were not all dandy either, we took 40 knots on the nose for 40 hours straight, pointed up ocean rollers that reached the second spreaders, and slept very infrequently for days at a time.

For us, it was a race of contrast, as twenty four hours after you fear for your life you are sailing along in the moonlight watching as dolphins trace arcs in the phosphorescence around you. Some of the moments out there are absolutely and 100 percent unique to offshore sailing and I will be the first to say that it is worth EVERY BIT of effort to get out there and experience them. As a resident of planet earth, I was blown away that such beauty and grandeur could be presented on a seemingly dimensionless and endless expanse of water. Boring? HELL NO!

Thanks to Marque and Vikki for making the experience possible. Marque is the man I credit with the analogy of life as writing in permanent marker – see Motivation. I thank Tim for his coaching and endless chiding to get the boat going faster. Dubbed ‘the gopher’, Tim would pop his head up the companionway, gaze at the sails and murmur, “Jib is looking a little strapped, we could probably use a little vang.” You are thinking – “Come on Tim, everything looks OK”, but you do it anyway. After 5 minutes it occurs to you that on average the knot meter is reading an average of half a knot higher. You do the calculations and conclude that this minor adjustment will have you 4 miles closer to your goal at daybreak. Tim, the keeper of the blog and the trimming machine: “Offshore racing, a game of inches”.

Thanks to Fraser for the laughs and the stiff sundowner’s, Coco for the sweaty bootie smell and the big smiles no matter what time of the day or night, Duane for the organization and the HUGE amount of effort he put into this trip. Duane was the mother hen, the instigator of a lot of laughs and the only one who went to the shrouds in 25 foot seas and howling winds to video tape the storm. Oh yeah and he did this in the middle of the night with his flashlight as ambient lighting. Thanks also to Go, the Japanese representative, and John for the chats, laughs and unending positive attitude.