From the Solomons to Papua New Guinea

It would break the back of a snake following in our wake from the Solomon Islands to Papua New Guinea (PNG), but there’s more to it than that. Northwest monsoon season came out of hibernation a little late but with a roar this year. Hung over our shoulders, impeding unbiased and sound judgement, was a visa for PNG expiring soon. We huddled down and waited as it dumped dinghies and dinghies of water. One morning we found our dinghy still tied to the boat but fully submerged, saved by the built in flotation we had added. Overhead the wind whistled and screamed through the trees, while we lay in our protected bay receiving only a periodic 40+ knot gust. First you hear it and then it hits. Chandrika’s bow falls off lying abeam to the gust. Once the anchor chain is straight, she turns to face the wind. While trying to sleep, a half conscious mind has already asked, “Are we dragging?”. The squalls and wind kept coming while all local knowledge, books, and SSB weather forecasts, evaded the question, “How long will it last?” A hike to the top of the hill brought little additional insight and so, with the weather having lightened slightly, we headed out to sea. I curse all things that impede thy judgment! It started out with 15 – 20 knots on the nose. We had an open sea and were free to choose the most beneficial tack from which to forereach. Forereaching demands a lot of sail while heavy squalls demand very little. In fact, if we really wanted to, we could have run around like two chickens with our heads cut off, which we sometimes did. The dance went something like this: 15 – 20 knots forereaching with full main and jib. 0 – 5 knots and the sails are flogging, so we furl in the jib. Then, 10 knots from a different direction, but still on the nose, so out comes the jib. The wind increases to 15 – 20 knots again, which is great for forereaching, but we’re headed right towards a squall, so we put in one or two reefs in the main (to reduce the sail area). Now we don’t forereach so well, but it’s still okay with the jib. The wind keeps increasing to a wet 30 knots and it’s time to furl the jib and raise the staysail. Once over 40 knots, the staysail is dropped and we’re slightly forereaching and almost hove-to with just the main, waiting for the powerful gusts to subside and basically making no forward progress. This is depressing to the chickens, so once below 40 knots, the staysail is raised and then dropped 10 minutes later to bring out the jib. Now the chickens are tired, so the double reef stays in, as Chandrika beats into the waves and wind with the jib once more. Blackened sky surrounds and there’s plenty more dancing to come. After all, that was just one squall. As it would happen, the weather worsened and squalls became more frequent. The rain was heavy and filled our 5 gallon bucket in a mere 12 hours. As the seas built, Graham filled the ocean with bile, and Chandrika dove like a dolphin, filling her forward bilge with saltwater through the gaps into the chain locker. We rarely used the jib and were mostly trying to wait out the weather, with or without the staysail. At 10 pm, we were hove to with a lee shore and wind in the 40s to low 50s. The squall was not easing as we crept towards land we could not see through the blackened night sky. Due to an estimated 3 knots of current pulling us backwards and also closer to shore, we could not do much better with the engine assisting, so we turned around and ran, losing all precious miles gained, we could now control the boat and avoid land. This call was made in stressful conditions with the additional knowledge of a cyclone to the SW. We were bound NE for Bougaineville Strait so as to place Bougainville Island between us and the prevailing weather. Bougainville Strait is both a constriction between 100+ mile islands and where a 7000 meter trench shallows to 20-30 meters. Here contrasting ocean swell and current formed 15 foot waves standing strait up and breaking just on the top. Instinctively this felt suicidal but knowledge said otherwise and proved to be true. We had been warned, we had, that the wind was light, variable, on the nose, and hence it was only possible to motor to Papua New Guinea. As days of patient waiting and slow sailing had proved this was not enough to get us using our D-sail (sailor speak for diesel engine). “How are we doing on the GPS?” “Don’t even look at it. Lets play a game.” Our required daily mile quota was 50nm, thanks to the PNG visa but even that required some motoring. Still the weather was improving and motoring had been kept minimal. We had 20-25 knots and Chandrika was happy. Our port tack windward was getting worse so we went on a starboard tack. Now when your tracking over 180 degrees between tacks something is wrong. We tried to motor our westerly course but instead of the usual 4.5 knot speed we were creeping along at 0.5 knots. We cut south to escape such restriction conditions but only to find a slight ease to 2.5-3 knots of countercurrent. The motoring and motorsailing began and did not end until we made landfall a couple days later. Nature did well stacking her cards against a small sailboat. January 2010