Our passage began in the long lee of Guadeloupe. The wind was inconsistent and sail adjustments frequent and frustrating. However, we were comfortable, dry, and filled with energy. We let out the fishing line and sea stowed our gear. As we moved out of the wind shadow, the trade winds steadied themselves and the swell became heavier.
On day two, I wrote this in my journal:
It is our second day underway from Gwada to Colombia. We are sailing wing on wing and Max has the self-steering system perfectly tuned. The trade winds and the waves that follow, their faces blotched by mustard patches of Sargasso weed. Max reels in the fishing line and two swallows roller
Night watch August 12
Our ship slides unnoticed through the dark sea. She doesn't groan or shudder. There is only the whir of the wind generator, the wash of wave noise in each ear, and the bird-like squawk of a block under strain. Compass 240. On rails. The intoxicating comfort of a broad reach at 1 a.m.The moon looks as orange as a cheap Halloween decoration, and I am able to write with my feet braced on cockpit surfaces. Max's cousin has joined us and his bathing suit twirls on the life line next to my shoulder. On the lee side, though we are not very heeled, Max sleeps in a mess of cushions and sheets. His watch ended at midnight but we both knew it was blasphemous to go below on a night like this. This point of sail, this warm and steady wind, this part of the ocean, this particular August and the empty horizon. This is about as good as it gets.
Here is an excerpt from Max's journal from August 14-15th:
It's hard to decide what to write about. I suppose if anything is going to make sense to the reader, I better start from the beginning. On July 25th my grandfather passed away. Laura and I were in Isle Del Saintes coming up with different ways to kill time before our next passage to Colombia. At first I wasn't going to go to the funeral for a verity of reasons. We were in the Caribbean and the funeral was in Germany, flights would be prohibitively expensive, what would we do with the boat, would Laura be safe on her own? Laura encouraged me to go right from the beginning, but I resisted. Regardless of the logistical challenges, I reasoned that funerals are just social constructs and certainly won't affect how I remember my grandfather and how I mourn his passing. The funeral happened to land on the one week it was feasible for me to attend given that there were no approaching storms during peak hurricane season. The window of opportunity nagged at me until finally I gave in. I was going to take an unexpected trip to Northern Germany barely one month into a year long sailing adventure. Naturally I was excited to see friends and family, but at the same time seeing them made me feel like our trip was over, like this gathering was the climatic end to a extended summer vacation, after which it was time to go back to New York, work, and the predictable routines of normal life. Thank god that wasn't the case, however my subconscious refused to believe me until we were back bobbing along with Tortuga. Regardless, the funeral was great and I will be happy I went for the rest of my life. I even had the honor of carrying the casket along with five other grand children and grand nephews. Two thoughts went through my head as we carried the casket. One was how heavy it was. My grandfather was not a frail shrunken version of himself as you may expect at age 97. Instead he was built like an antique piece of furniture, his wardrobe reflecting a traditional elegance and his body proudly wielding all the power gravity had allotted him. I was selected under the assumption that my sailing experience had made me strong but I guess people underestimate the mechanical advantage winches and blocks can provide. The second thing I thought about was how I was carrying my grandfather back up what I believe is the same isle that he walked my mother down when she married my father. He was there at a time that could be considered a beginning to me, and I was there at a time that could be considered an end to him. For some reason this thought comforted me. A simple cycle with a modest church as a timeless backdrop. That's certainly something I would have missed out on back in Guadalupe.
So the funeral came and went and now we are back on Tortuga riding the trades on our way to Colombia. I managed to recruit additional crew in the form of my cousin Henrik who bought a ticket
And so the first several days of the passage went. Hot but comfortable. Big waves but fast. We have taken to counting our blessings. If there is no wind and we are rolling so that no berth is secure and
After those lovely days passed, the ocean seemed to change. Waves got bigger, and then bigger again. The wind picked up and remained there. Squalls started to hit and we took to our foulies looking a little less excited. We knew that this was coming, that we would be uncomfortable until we made it around the Guajira Pennisula, which felt like it took a long time despite the incredible speed with which we started to surf down waves. The wind remained steady at 30 knots for two days. We sailed with a storm trysail and the staysail and still broke our 24 hour record, bringing it to 151 miles. We watched as enormous waves came up on our stern and the boat rode over them. There were a few times were I felt no gravity on the way down or some contradictory wave action filled the cockpit with water.
Our approach to Santa Marta was one of the highlights of the trip for me. I have never visited this country but have always felt a relation to it, mostly because of a gift of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's 100 Years of Solitude from my friend Caro when I was 16. Every book of his I have ever read and all the stories I have made students read make more sense to me now. The peaks and beaches of El Parque Tayrona come into view and there is something ancient and mysterious about them. I knew there would be magic here for us. The night of the flying fish is just like a line from Marquez. The empty and dramatic coastline of this incredible park gave me strong feelings of discovery, of the unknown, of far and exotic places. We were transfixed by the beauty of it and the knowledge that it was ours to explore. When we got closer to Santa Marta the landscape changed to a cactus covered mountain desert. We saw huge cranes on the dock and the typical stack of Maersk containers. We followed a 70 meter container ship into the city. We really didn't know what to expect of Colombia and that was pretty exhilarating.