Riding the blue mountains

The sailing lugger Tecla is approaching Pitcairn. Captain Jet Sluik safely navigated the ship from Patagonia, along the Chilean coast, to the Galápagos and beyond. The ship is now further away from any continent than ever before. 

24°19.9’S 127°38.0’W // heading 240° // speed 7.0 kn

The wind, which grew stronger and stronger last night, created spectacular waves. Blue-crested mountains rolled beneath us. The waves curling alongside the ship sounded as if they were trying to leap on board. When you stand at the bow of the Tecla and look back, you really feel the grandeur of the ocean. We are just a tiny speck in this deep-blue expanse.

Rolling and riding

The propeller hums, leaving a turquoise line behind the Tecla as air bubbles mix with the clear blue ocean water. A big set of three high waves comes rolling in. The concentration can be seen on the helmsman’s face as the aft of the Tecla gets picked up by the wave. And for a split second, the water and its power are greater than the steering abilities. Tecla then rides off the back of the wave and the helmsman is back in charge. The next wave rolls in, pushing us slightly sideways. Is the rudder strong enough to resist? We roll, going sideways to starboard first, then heeling over to port side as we slide off the back of the wave once again. And now the critical moment: is there enough speed to keep this next one from ending up on deck? As we recover from the roll, the bow points downwind again and off we shoot, avoiding the wave’s intention to crash on the aft. We surf the wave instead and thunder down it with 10 knots.

Adrenaline

It’s a feeling that is hard to describe. I don’t really like it, but on the other hand there is this absolute amazement for our ship and her almost dry decks. And I have a massive smile on my face, so somehow I must like it. Adrenaline rushes through the body as you hear the rigging moan a little. The mizzen sail, with a small tear in it, is holding up—sometimes you can feel the tremble it gives under the full pressure of 38 knots of wind. The forestaysail seems far away, all the way up front, but it flies and moves with the motion of the ship like it’s no effort.

Photo of the day

Today was a spectacularly beautiful day, sunshine and blue skies one moment, darkening clouds and a threat of rain the next. Michael won picture of the day, capturing these dramatic skies and rolling waves.
Now that we are closer to islands, we see more and more birds. Some skim the water. We have seen a giant petrel, but also what I think is a Murphy’s petrel, which nests on Ducie Island.

A lonely beacon

We’ve sent an email to Pitcairn Island asking if they can estimate the likelihood of us being able to go ashore there over the next two days, given that the waves have become so high. We’re eagerly awaiting a reply. This tiny island in the middle of the ocean offers little shelter. The green hills and red rocky cliffs rise out of the water like a solitary beacon.
The idea that islands form the back of a tortoise only really becomes clear on an island like Pitcairn, or the neighbouring islands of Henderson, Ducie or Oeno. For how on earth else could they have come to be here, so far out in this vast ocean? No, Honu – as the large green sea turtle is called here – must surely be carrying them on its back – so that they remain safe and stay afloat.

All well on board,
Jet.

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