In April, while anchored off Esperanza, Vieques, Spanish Virgin Islands I decided I would sail back to Florida and spend some time with my daughters before heading North. I left early on a clear Monday morning with my first stop planned for an anchorage off Fajardo, Puerto Rico where I would complete any last minute re-supply and say goodbye to friends I have made there. On Wednesday morning, freshly supplied I raised anchor and heading North where I turned Northwest once past the light. I raised sails and once clear of the anchorage shut down the diesel, not to use it again until Florida, determined not to use it unless in an emergency. The course I set would not change until I reached my first waypoint just Northeast of San Salvador (where Columbus made his firt landing) approximately 600 miles from the starting point. My first day and night went smoothly, the weather was perfect and the boat was averaging 6.5 kts under sail. On Thursday night the weather started turning rougher being driven my a low that was centered over the Atlantic, creating growing seas and gust which were gradually increasing in strength and frequency. This weather pattern continued increasing as my route took me over the Puerto Rican Trench, the deepest part of the Atlantic Ocean at 29,000 feet, so deep Mount Everest would be totally submerged in it. This continued bad weather kept me in the cockpit and after 4 days of wet hard sailing in this weather I had only had four hours sleep taken in the form of short catnaps. I was beginning to hear voices on the water, just as clear as if they were standing on the dock right next to the boat. Unfortunately I couldn't understand a thing they were saying and knew this was a sure sign of sleep deprevation. Finally, in heavy 15 foot seas and frequent squalls with wind speed in excess of 40 mph I felt it was becoming crucial for safeties' sake to go below and try to get some sleep. I set my kitchen timer for 30 minutes and while sitting at the nav station got some much needed sleep in short 30 minute stretches. When the timer would go off I would go out into the cockpit, check my course and the horizon for any lights, returning below after everything checked clear.
Before sleeping My foulies, showing their age, were not real effective in keeping me dry and I spent my days and nights in wet clothing until I finally sailed into better weather 4 days later. I know this sounds like I am just complaining but one problem I ran into was no fly in my bib foul weeather pants, and can't begin to describe having to go to the bathroom and the hassles of stripping off soaking wet foulies and clothing on a rocking deck, heeled over at 35 degrees in the middle of the night.
During the passage my autohelm started acting up, turning itself off due to a low battery alarm. Checking my batteries I found them to be testing okay but the alarm continued. Starting the diesel to charge the batteries I found the alternator to be putting out a low charge, requiring me to run the engine to keep the batteries charged for a long time. I checked my battery system and tried making some tempory fixes as I still had over 400 miles to travel and did not want to do it by hand steering, which would have required me to stay at the wheel continuously for the next 3 or 4 days and nights. Climbing under the pile of containers that had shifted in the rough weather I was able to remove a circuit charging relay on my forward windlass battery and reconnect it to my main batteries from the starter battery but had the same results, thus eliminating my special electronic charge separator which I rewired back into service. Still getting low battery alarms on the autohelm and puzzeled over why my alternator had stopped charging as it was designed to, I checked the alternator belt and decided to change it as the old one was looking somewhat worn and bingo! full charge now! With the batteries now fully charged I was still getting low battery alarms and shutdowns. By now I was finally getting some clear weather and calm enough seas to start checking the wiring on the autohelm itself. I found the waterproof on-off switch in the cockpit had gotten some corrosion in it and was causing my problems. The reason why my alternator was not putting out the amperage was because the batteries had a full charge and didn't need anymore.
Sailing into the NW Providence Passage just South of Grand Bahama, I passed through the south end of Abacos and Spanish Wells. I was hit with 25-30 waves where the seas were being generated in the Atlantic and where stacking up through the narrow passage and the quickly shoaling bottom. Surfing in a 40 foot sailboat down these waves keeps a person at the helm very busy. As the waves were not organized I had to keep the boat headed directly down the face of these monsters or risk broaching the boat in a trough which would have resulted in a nasty knockdown at the least and going fully turtle as the worst case scenario. Once through the passage I headed NW to get into the Lee of the island Great Bahama and calmer conditions. For the first time in 4 days I was finally in calmer conditions and could finally relax some.
After eight days and 1100 miles, many with total isolation, not even a plane of a ship to be seen I got my first glimpse of land in the distance. Dropping anchor in West Palm Beach harbor I made a few calls to my friends and family, tidied up Choices, snubbed off the anchor, launched my dinghy and attached the motor. went over to the Riviera Beach Marina docks where my daughter Ginger was waiting, bought some chicken on the way to her house, took a shower and basically crashed for the next two days. After a long off shore solo passage a certain feeling of accomplishment comes with it, it empowers you, something I have heard from all my single-handed, solo circumnavigators, I have had the privilege to know and become friends with, have said. They are better for the experience but a lot humbler because we all knew people who didn't make their destination and were never seen again. The best part of my life is the people I meet along the way and become friends with. Of course there are those that lurk around the waterfront and make life pretty entertaining, but there are some amazing people, with some real accomplishments living on boats and have some amazing stories to tell. It teaches you to be a good listener, if you are smart enough. This is the best part of living aboard and cruising. The hardest and most painful part is saying good-bye to people you have grown to love. I left Puerto Rico to spend sometime with my daughters and left behind many amazing and wonderful friends, the kind of people who live life on their terms. If you are smart you are humbled by the experience.
