Aloha! A Warm Welcome in Kaneohe

Landfall was technically made about 0630 in the morning on Tuesday. It was spectacular, everything we could ask for, with huge green mountains, steep runnels top to bottom with hanging waterfalls, breaking waves over coral green reefs. But the toughest part of the 12-day passage we made from Dutch Harbor, Alaska happened in the dark before the sun rose over this glorious view.

We had a fast, fun ride for most of the way.  With good advice from our weather guy, we found windows in the high pressure systems, between the hurricanes and the Alaskan lows.  The tricky part was not going fast, but slowing down.  With the wind blowing in the 20s, and with a coral studded entrance to our protected harbor of choice, we needed daylight to enter. Meanwhile, friends and family were emailing, “I see you are doing 17 knots, what’s going on?” (Full disclosure, we never saw 17 knots but for some reason the tracker thought it did.)

Dogbark could smell the tropics, and she was pulling hard on her leash to get us there.

Actually, we saw the challenge 48 hours before we made landfall.  We rehashed strategies, and gradually implemented them.  First we reefed the mainsail, taking away a fair bit of sailpower.  We downshifted from the big Genoa to the jib.  Still doing 10+ knots.  Ok then, we reef the jib.  Still doing 9 knots, which I would normally be stoked about.  But now that puts us in a coral-filled channel at 2AM.  Slow down!  We need six knots to get there at 6AM.  We roll all the jib up, and sail under reefed main alone.  And we arrive at the harbor entrance, just as Janna and Becca come on watch.  At 2AM.  Oops.

So we need to kill a few hours.  Becca and Janna gamely try to stall, but the “let’s just sail around” in a 60’ thoroughbred doesn’t go so well.  Wind oscillating from 9-22 knots.  Seas were 6-10 feet and coming from different directions.  Meanwhile the skipper is dreaming that he is sleeping in a kiddie pool, and being sloshed from one side to another by angry giants.  Wham, Bam, No Thanks Man!  Slow is not comfortable.

Finally I get up.  “Going to tear the rig off with all this slatting,” I grumble.  Not the most encouraging words I have ever offered in the middle of the night.  We try to cheat, and heave to with too much main and not enough jib.  Fail.  Nice one, skipper.  We finally reef the main down to a handkerchief-sized sail.  No jib, we furl that for the umteenth and last time.  Becca and Janna are now exhausted.  And not happy with the skipper.  Your watch, skip.

OK.  No sweat.  Savai and I have got this, we will just gybe back a forth until the sun comes up.  Why don’t you get some sleep…

And the best part is that that little 10 year old girl and I do have this.  She says, “Dad, just tell me when to turn, and I will do it.”  I say, “Turn 10 degrees to Port-Red” (we color code everything) while I grind in mainsheet as fast as I can.  “10 more to Port.”  I dump the running back and remove the port-side preventer.  “10 more, please.”  She turns.

Wham, the huge boom and mainsail slams to starboard just as I get the new running back stay on and tight.  Dogbark is off again, but Savai turns down to dump speed without me even saying a word.  I slap the starboard preventer on that big mean boom, ease some sheet, and Savai says, “Nice job, Dad.”

Why can’t Savai be the skipper?

Drama aside, we had a pretty nice passage.  The highlights are different for each of us, but for me, I was most impressed and thankful for how well the crew managed changing conditions and the challenges of a difficult and unusual route.  The nights were often dark, and wet, and more than once as I lay in bed I’d think “I am glad I’m not out there.”  But Talia and John managed 30 knot puffs without batting an eye.  And Becca and Janna literally put on a clinic for how to keep the boat comfortable in spite of the squalls, often reminding yours truly to crack off a bit, or furl in a bit of jib. (I am still learning how to be a cruiser, apparently.)

Other highlights, collected from our first dinner ashore:

Talia:  Becca’s pizza and preacher cookies

More Tali:  Landfall.  Spectacular.

John:  Hand steering in the squalls, surfing down waves, doing 14.3 in 30 knots of breeze.

Savai:  Stars.  Lots of them.  Driving to stars.

Janna: Learning our way around the constellations with Stikky Night Skies.

More Janna: And learning from Becca how to be a better sailor. She ran a custom clinic for me on our night watch. “Walk me through a gybe. Good. Now pretend we have to reef.” What a great teacher!

Becca:  The impossibly blue water.  And reading on the back deck when it got sunny.  (We’ve been in the Arctic, sunshine is a real treat!)

More Becca: How comfortable Dogbark was.  (Sensing a theme, perhaps?)

Graeme:  Let’s see, fish, fish, and more fish.  We caught lots of them.  We left Dutch with me smoking salmon frantically so we could catch tuna.  We caught and ate albacore (sashimi, grilled tuna); Mahi (Ceviche, BBQ, baked, and in coconut mahi congee) and the last fish was the biggest and tastiest of the bunch.

All in all, it was a surprisingly fun, fast passage. We sailed for 12 days, 2300 miles, caught 4 tuna, 6 Mahi, and Dogbark once again took great care of us as we shared an unusual passage from Alaska to Hawaii.  Thanks to everyone for the support and well wishes.  Aloha!