5 weeks and 2,000 nautical miles of sailing

This past November I spent 5 weeks living aboard Esprit d’ Escales, a 47ft Beneteau Oceanis. The youngest of a crew of 5 we spent 2 weeks sailing from Padanaram, MA to Trellis Bay, Tortola in the British Virgin Islands. The majority of the trip was spent a few hundred miles off shore with the exception of one night we had to divert into Norfolk, VA to avoid a tropical storm that was packing 70mph winds and 15ft seas. This was the longest off shore sailing trip I’ve ever been on and it was an amazing experience in so many ways.

We left Padanaram on a “warm” sunny day with winds blowing 25 knots, and temperatures on shore hovering around 35 degrees. We were forced to motor directly up wind out of Buzzards Bay into very choppy seas and everyone (except Capt. Bonnie) was instantly seasick. I spent most of my time curled up in a ball in the cockpit trying to nap before standing my first watch from 3am to 6am. I took the photograph of a bird flying by the boat as the sun was coming up at the end of my watch; the winds had died and the ocean was flat as a pancake.

Over the next few days we all became acclimated to life at sea and got in the rhythm of our 4 hour watch schedule. The person on watch was in charge of keeping an eye out for other boats, monitoring the weather, and making necessary sail adjustments. Day watches were generally pretty relaxing and uneventful but night watches were a different story. Waking up in the middle of the night, getting out of a warm sleeping bag, dressing in multiple layers of clothing to go stand on deck alone for a few hours was a whole different experience.

It was not until my third or fourth night watch when I came on deck to a brilliant full moon; thousands of stars, and enough wind to propel the boat ahead at 8 knots that I really started to enjoy the experience. That night I stood on the transom of the boat looking forward over the sun canopy listening to M83’s new album Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming feeling the boat flying over the ocean and was completely spellbound. I was actually disappointed when my crewmate Sperry came on deck and relieved me at 3am. From then on I enjoyed night watches and spent the time having some serious introspective debates about life and enjoying a great clarity of conscience that is only possible at sea.

Near the end of our first week at sea we crossed the Gulf Stream and the air temperature instantly rose 20+ degrees, the water changed to a beautiful royal blue, and dolphins started swimming around the boat. For the next few days the wind and seas were fairly calm and we spent most of our time on deck reading, napping, and talking about how much we wanted to take showers. Most of the crew had flights to catch from Tortola and we were on a tight schedule so when there was little or no wind we would motor sail. By the middle of the second week we were down to our final 6 gallons of diesel and were forced to continue under sail power alone. Our lack of fuel at the end of the trip was inconsequential due to the arrival of a large low pressure system providing us with more than enough wind.

With wind speeds reaching 30 knots and seas reaching 12ft we reduced sail by putting 2 reefs in the main and 3 in the jib, which still managed to propel us at an average boat speed of 8 knots over the course of 3 days. During the height of the storm we hit speeds as fast as 12 knots while surfing down waves, incredible speeds for a 47ft cruising yacht. This was an exciting change of pace and presented many new challenges to life aboard the boat. The second night of the storm was the roughest night of the trip. The boat was flying off waves and healing at least 20 degrees to starboard making even the most menial tasks challenging. Using the bathroom or “head” on a boat takes some getting used to under calm conditions never mind when the boat is crashing into large waves every few seconds. Even laying in my bunk was a challenge and I spent the night strapped into my bunk with a lee cloth. The loud crashing of waves, the unpredictable pitching and rolling of the boat, and the regular shouts from whoever was on deck as they were hit by spray from waves (or in one case a direct hit to the chest by a flying fish) made sleep nearly impossible.

Sometime around 2am we were hit by a large wave that knocked our stove off its gimbles and disabled our autopilot.  By mid morning we had tied the stove in place and Bonnie and Tim had spent a few hours crawling into sail lockers trying to fix the autopilot, to no avail. We changed our watch schedule so that each person spent one hour at the helm, one hour assisting the helmsmen, and two hours asleep. Just as before, this watch schedule was a lot easier during the day. At night, working on only 2 hours of sleep, with the boat pitching and rolling around in pitch black it was impossible to see anything other than the compass in the binnacle. The next morning everyone had blisters on their hands from working the helm, but the sea had started to subside and after crossing the Puerto Rican Trench (deepest part of the Atlantic Ocean) we were in fairly calm water and were only a few hours from reaching the BVI. Later that evening we used the last of our fuel and motored into a berth in Virgin Gorda. This was the end of our sail down, but only the beginning of my time living aboard the boat.