Notes from the open ocean - the final leg of the Pacific crossing(!!)

These are the collected daily notes from what will be the last entries for the Pacific Crossing. BECAUSE I TYPE THIS HAVING CROSSED THE ENTIRE PACIFIC OCEAN!?!

Notes from the open ocean - final leg of the Pacific crossing (!!)

S 17°34.035

E 164°39.262

Distance to destination Mackay, Australia - 912NM

When we left Vanuatu yesterday for race leg 7 of the World Arc, the distance to Mackay was 1124NM.

Which means that in 1124NM and anywhere between 6-8 day and night sails, we will have crossed the entire Pacific Ocean.

The entire Pacific Ocean from west to south east.

I’m going to let that sit there for a second.

I can barely believe it. From a childhood dream staring at an atlas to a wild and wonderful suggestion from David and Joy in a pub in London to sitting here, right this minute, writing these notes - I’ve nearly sailed the Pacific Ocean. This still blows my mind.

Also, this has been our fastest day of the whole trip yet. We sailed 217 nautical miles in one day! (As we still do exercise afternoons on a passage, this means we have 217 exercises to complete later today!)

Ok. So what have I learnt so far?

I love learning to sail and yet still have a healthy fear/caution for parts of it.

People with a shared will and common goal can share a tiny space harmoniously, so long as respect and honesty sits at the heart of things.

Sunrises and sunsets never fail to bring relief and delight.

The Pacific Ocean has less water faring mammals in it showing off and being curious of the boat than I thought it would have!

I can still stare at the sea and the horizon for hours.

Waking up for night shifts never gets easier.

Exercising on a moving boat is a fun challenge.

The wind is something to hope for when there’s none of it, adore when there’s enough of it and to fear for the safety of your sails when there’s too much of it.

I still haven’t been seasick.

We are currently in rough seas with a very strong but stable wind as I type this (20-24knots) - so I shall leave this note here and hope that we make it through the night with all sails intact and with each of us still smiling!

More thoughts and reflections tomorrow.

This is me, from the Pacific Ocean I will forever love, saying good night.

Notes from the open ocean - final leg of the Pacific crossing.

S 17°53.994

E 161°10.916

Distance to destination Mackay, Australia - 713NM

When we started this trip the leg from St Lucia to Santa Marta in Columbia across the Caribbean Sea was 815NM. That seemed mammoth. After that the leg from Colombia to Panama was 280NM. In normal terms, that’s still a long way. For example back in the UK that would be at least a day, an overnight and a day sail. Not for the faint hearted. But now it seems like a pond hop!

It’s absolutely incredible to me how distance has become normalised. Setting off on this last leg of the Pacific and the fact it’s over 1100NM seems like the proverbial drop in the ocean! After all, our longest crossing so far has been 2980NM.

As a friend of mine on fellow rally boat Genestho said, “I used to plan and plan and plan for a 100nm trip in the Baltic. Now it will feel like nothing!”

But truthfully, none of it is nothing. This ocean likes to give the unexpected at its whim and way - add to that the weather and her propensity to act to her own fancy and any sail where you lose sight of land is sobering (and exciting!).

Today we are hoping to dodge a weather front which will bring with it lightening storms a-plenty. A sailboats worst nightmare. Many of our fleet have suffered at the hands of a lightening strike already, so it makes you a little nervy knowing you may be heading into hours of thunder and lightening. We may have travelled further north of New Caledonia enough to slip through it unharmed, here’s hoping. I’ll report back.

One thing that has blown my mind a little today is a directional disorientation. I am usually really good at knowing my East, West, North and South by instinct. A skill I discovered when orienteering as a kid on Dartmoor. In the main, with a quick glance around me, I just roughly always know which direction I’m facing.

However!!!

The wind had just dropped, and I looked out at the horizon to see the sun and I was just completely disorientated! I could see by our instruments and our wind vane that the true wind was coming from the north east, but that didn’t correlate with the sun?!? Until I realised here in the southern hemisphere, in winter especially, the sun will lie lower and more in the north not the south!!!!!! So at least now I know in Australia one would prefer a north facing garden to a south!

It’s July and I’m in the Southern WINTER. I’m upside down and all akimbo! BUT THANKFULLY, still in shorts and a t-shirt, for now!!

Ok. More from me tomorrow. May we sail through the night unharmed. I’ll report back.

Notes from the open ocean - final leg of the Pacific crossing (!!)

S 18°29.166

E 158°17.383

Distance to destination Mackay, Australia - 545NM

It was a rocky night. And a dark night. (See the photo of the dramatic moonrise, red and brooding!) But it wasn’t a lightening storm or squall night. Thank goodness!

I’m learning that when it comes to waves and swell it’s the time in between the waves which counts the most! (And their direction in accordance to the boat, obviously, with waves behind us being the most dramatic when the swell is huge, but actually more comfortable for Pure Joy to handle.)

It’s actually one of the smaller swells we’ve had today and yet sitting at the helm feels like riding one of those bucking broncos you see at Texan state fairs! It’s all about sitting into your hips and being supple, letting the waves throw us about but keeping your core strong. Every now and again I have to grab the bar by the helm seat or above it just to stay in place, and every time I feel like Daisy Duke (I think I’ve made up her even riding a horse, but she’s the archetypal cowgirl I always think of! 🤣) and I want to yell Yeehaw!

I’ve been staring at the horizon for an hour now in the hope of seeing some humpback whales. Our friends on Imi Ola saw a mother and baby breaching yesterday, but they are a little bit closer to the reefs that surround New Caledonia than we are, still, I look out hopefully. But to no avail. I’m still optimistic for sunset, when I am sure there is always at least a little bit more activity amongst bird life, so hopefully tonight will be whale night!!

The weather has changed a lot just in the course of my shift this morning. From crisp blue skies and wispy clouds to clouds on all the horizons and some gathering in a fashion that looks wet! This has effected the colour of the ocean which has gone from the electric blue of this morning - almost transparent in the sun to a deeper navy blue with hues of purple now that the clouds have taken over the sky, and it’s infinitely more opaque looking. I love how being at sea makes you consistently conscious of the weather and the direction it is moving in. I’m adding a casual bordering on nerdy fascination in meteorology to my list of interests from here on in.

If we stay at this pace (and it’s a fast one!) we should be nearing the finish line in a couple of days (which is 100nm out from Mackay harbour due to us having to cross an extremely busy shipping canal - and doing that in race mode is not sensible one little bit!). I’ve not yet researched whether we will get a glimpse of the Great Barrier Reef on the way in, I shall do that once I finish writing this and report back. But suffice to say, apart from the fact that almost everything on sea and land in Australia wants to kill us, I am very much looking forward to arriving in Mackay. To think I have sailed to the place that I’ve often thought was too far away to fly to, blows my mind quite a bit.

Ok, back to whale watching….I’d be content with just one tail fin, but know really that the Pacific Gulls swooping around the boat will end up being the only thing I really delight in today. But one can hope…

Notes from the open ocean - final leg of the Pacific crossing (!!)

S 19°19.976

E 154°13.373

Distance to destination Mackay, Australia - 309NM

A cargo ship was spotted today! We are nearing a shipping lane. And a very busy one at that. Soon we will very starkly be aware that we’re not in the middle of nowhere in the South Pacific any longer.

I’ve yet to write about my competent crew training on Substack but it will be a post at some stage, but just as my first proper ‘jaunt’ on a sailboat was to be a circumnavigation of the world, my competent crew training experience was equally absurd.

I flew to Singapore, ferried to Indonesia, met a man I’d never met before named Gary in the dark on a jetty (who broke the ice from the darkness with “At last, the Warrior Princess” and I loved him immediately) and 24 hours later with the arrival of David, Joy and Elliot we were setting sail out into the South China Sea 2 hours before sunset.

I mention this because as the sun set we joined the Malacca Strait. One of the busiest shipping lanes in the world. On my first sail longer than 4 hours and my first overnight sail we were watching out for 150 tonne cargo ships and tankers, not a few of them, 100’s of them on our AIS. It’s safe to say my sailing experience from the get go was never for the faint hearted.

So, as we brace ourselves for civilisation again, a busy shipping lane as we end our mammoth crossing of the Pacific, feels oddly appropriate.

In other news about this last leg of the Pacific, Joy and I were talking this morning about the lack of sunrises and sunsets we have had. It’s odd to say when you journey through no discernible landscape, that it’s been the least appealing views so far. But it has.

When you’re out in the big blue nothing/everything the sky and the sea obviously become your world. It affects your subconscious and your well being without fully realising it. The sunrise stirs you and draws you from the sometimes scary darkness up and out into a new day full of promise, the blue skies and cloud formations pull you through the day, a squall and its ominous darkening piques your interest and your necessary attentions, a rainbow without exception fills your soul with glee, the sunset places time back into your frame of reference and provides an otherwise blue/white/grey monotone with a cacophony of needed colour, a moon lights the ocean and acts as a light guardian casting its spell across the dark seas and the stars pinprick bright brilliance into the black velveteen skies

We’ve. Had. None. Of. This.

The past few days have just been a plain shade of constant, thick, rarely permeated grey. The nights have been pitch black - skies so full of cloud that no stars have peeked through and the moon has barely been able to cast a half shadow. And it’s oddly affected us all.

I noticed yesterday whilst watching our charts that we are sailing through the Coral Sea. The Coral Sea, like Papaya, isn’t as great as its name suggests! To stretch the likeness further, it’s as disappointingly bland and nondescript!

That said, I can see blue skies emerging on the horizon and so hopefully as the day progresses we will get our shades of blue back and dare I hope….a sunset!

I’ll keep you posted. To be fair, as we arrive closer to Mackay, we will be on the edge of the Great Barrier Reef, so perhaps the Coral Sea will live up to the splendour of its name. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll try papaya and like it?!?

Notes from the open ocean - final leg of the Pacific crossing (!!)

S 19°44.458

E 151°42.830

Distance to destination Mackay, Australia - 165NM

It’s as if the Coral Sea read my Substack and took rightful offence at being compared to Papaya! The stars are back. And in full force. The moon doesn’t rise until 3.42am and it will be the slenderest of waning crescents so on my night shift (2am-4am) I can see stars literally all the way down to the horizon (in spite of what we see in films or animations this is extremely rare - to the point tonight is the first time I’ve witnessed that!). I’ve been gifted 4 shooting stars this shift as well. I’ve not wasted a single wish.

It’s 4.56am and I’ve finished my shift and am now on the standby shift, which means I doze in the cockpit whilst David is on shift - if there is an emergency or a sail change it means someone can very easily jump to action. And a moment ago I stirred and looked up just in time to see the crescent moon rising upside down like the Cheshire Cat’s smile. All orangey yellow and alluring with Venus bright and demanding of attention to its right. I didn’t manage to get a photo, but my friend Chas did and he sent it to me on my morning shift so I can include it here. What a night of spoils

Notes from the open ocean - final leg of the Pacific crossing (!!)

S 20°55.717

E 149°30.344

Distance to destination Mackay, Australia - 18.8NM!!!!!!!!

I can barely believe it - I can see Australian land. Last night at nearly 1am we crossed the finish line of race leg 7 and in doing so, officially crossed the Pacific Ocean. When I step out onto land, that will mean I have gone from land to land across the widest part of the Pacific Ocean.

I

Am

Stunned.

And crossing the finish line was one heck of an endeavour. We had an adverse current of almost five knots, which meant that even with our engines revved to the max and attempting 9 knots the speed over ground boat speed was sometimes only 1.9knots. We were buffeted by the wind and the waves, Pure Joy careening from side to side, the lights from the lighthouse beacons moving in and out of sight, but because she’s one of the best boats in the world, we still somehow managed to stay on course. Although as David admitted, we may cross the finish line sideways!

It was pitch dark, the noise was near deafening and as we made it past the finish line thoughts of having crossed the Pacific were not actually forefront in our mind - as we headed for the Bramble Passage - a route to Mackay avoiding the shipping lane, but in doing so navigating a 1/2 mile wide channel through the Great Barrier Reef instead. So we were eyes alert even in the dark.

And then I saw a shooting star.

And another.

And it hit me. We’d done it.

I know it’s going to take a long time to process everything that has happened since January, but what a smile crossed my exhausted face. Holy heck. The big bit of blue that takes up almost half of the globe.

Martin came and sat down next to. Martin who trained me to be competent crew for a month in Grenada, who at that time didn’t know he was going to be sailing the Pacific with us. Martin, who back then I didn’t realise would be the friend for life he has become, the companion and cabin mate for so much of this extraordinary experience. And in the glow from the helms station monitor we looked at each other and he disbelievingly acknowledged (and Martin sounds like Michael Caine so imagine this in that voice!) “we’ve only bloody gone and done it!”

Two more shooting stars were witnessed before I retired for a short nap. One by myself and one when a recently awoken Elliot came and snuggled on the helms seat with me and sleepily asked “are we in Australia yet?” (He’d miraculously slept through the loud, bumpy and somewhat tense adverse current part of the night!) I told him not quite and as we stared into the sky together instead - another shot by.

What a welcome.

After my nap and with the sun rising we could see the islands that out-lie the mainland and our destination - Mackay. Over the next four hours we were surrounded by humpback whales, some so far on the distance you could only make out the water coming from their blowholes, others crossing right in front of the boat. Did I manage to capture one on camera. No! Not one!! But in some ways that keeps the magic and majesty even more acute.

Once we arrived at the Marina we had to tie up at the quarantine dock and after a 30 minute customs visit, and a biosecurity inspection that lasted over an hour and a half (they are serious about this in Australia!) I was able to step off the boat.

And I’d done it. Shore to shore across the Pacific.

My seventh visited continent.

Australia, somewhere I’d never seriously considered visiting because the flight was too long, was now underfoot because I’ve sailed here instead. From St Lucia to Mackay has been 192 days. In retrospect a flight would have been quicker. But oh so much duller ;-)

I have also gone from zero nautical miles to 10,594 nautical miles sailed in one fell swoop. That’s quite a number for a beginner sailor. And it means I can officially get two swallow tattoos - you earn them at every 5,000 miles.

I’m going to let all of this sink in for a while now before trying to write properly about it. But suffice to say, my heart and soul are thrilled.

Now, to stretch these legs of mine and avoid the 7,381 things that try to kill you in Australia! Wish me luck!