The sky was dark and gray. Strong winds blew from the northwest as the sky unleashed torrents of rain. I ran to the market for shelter. Listening to the tapping and hammering of rain on the tin roof above, I huddled and waited for Henry to arrive with the denatured alcohol Graham and I had ordered. “Two weeks,” Henry had said. Well now it was over two months and it had finally arrived from Port Moresby.
Although the rain gave me a wet and inconvenient welcome back to Kokopo and the boat, I was glad to see that northwest monsoon season was still in full swing. It would provide favorable winds for my upcoming sail. After discovering that Graham had an abscess in his stomach, he had hopped on a plane to the US for treatment, and I had flown back to Kokopo from Port Moresby. Because we could not safely leave Chandrika unattended in Papua New Guinea (PNG) for very long, I would be sailing her to a marina in the Solomon Islands before flying to meet Graham in the US. It would take me a few days to ready the boat. I hoped the season would hold out until then. The NW monsoon season ends in a transitional period, lasting for a couple of months, during which there is virtually no wind, making for terrible sailing and a long dreary journey of motoring.
I looked up to see Henry, wearing a friendly PNG smile. I hopped in his truck and we set off to the ATM so I could withdraw some money. Unfortunately the deluge had caused land slides, knocking out the power lines to town. The ATM was out of service and the bank was closed. The denatured alcohol cost 150 Kina, and I had only 60K. In typical PNG style, Henry told me I could have the denatured alcohol for 50K, leaving me with enough money for bus fare and a few small expenses. He told me that if the power came back on before I left town, then I could pay him the rest, but if not, then “No worries.” I knew he would be losing money on this deal. Melanesians, in general, are too nice to be savvy business people.
Henry then told me that the road between Kokopo and Rabaul had been washed away, and the bus was taking a long detour and would no longer be passing near the bay where Chandrika was anchored. He offered to drive me home, along the detour and then back up the main (dirt) road from the other direction, a drive of 1 and 1/2 hours. Not wanting to walk into the night in the driving rain and muddy gunk, I took him up on his offer.
Back at the boat, I was greeted by a desperately lonely kitty. The next couple days were spent readying Chandrika for the upcoming sail. I cleaned the slime and barnacles off her bottom and propeller, and surveyed the rig, steering and the engine. While checking the cooling system on the engine, I discovered that an arm had broken off the raw water impeller, so I replaced the impeller. Not wanting the broken arm to clog the cooling system, I disassembled the cooling system in search of the missing piece. The cap for the tube stack was stuck in place, and I was unable to remove it despite all of my efforts. Not wanting to break something by using too much force, I opted to leave well enough alone. Being along in the middle of nowhere with no other cruisers around, now was not the time to break something. I ran the engine hard, giving it a good trial, to ease my worries. I would run it in lower throttle underway.
Having prepared the boat, provisioned with food and water, cleared out with the authorities and paid Henry, I raised the hook and set sails. The first 2-3 days were pleasant and reasonably uneventful. Other than a few squalls with fierce lightning, the wind was generally from the southeast at 10-15 knots. Even though it was coming from the direction that I wanted to go, at least I was sailing and not motoring. I could set the self-steering and sit back and relax. As I got further into the passage, however, I encountered a southwesterly current that at its strongest set at 1-1/2 to 2 knots. Then what I had been fearing, happened. The wind stopped. I still had over 200 nm to the Solomons. With such a strong current carrying me away from them, I did not want to lose miles by laying ahull and waiting for wind, so I turned on the engine. I motored all night and all the next day and night. There was not a breath of wind anywhere. Without wind, the self-steering gear could not drive the boat, so I was forced to hand-steer. I would drive until I was completely exhausted. Then I would turn off the engine for a brief nap. Since I still had current carrying me the wrong way, I made these stops very brief, 1-2 hours at most. With heavy eyelids, I would return to the noisy motor and the oppressive tropical heat and sun.
From all directions, I saw the same view. Flat, featureless water, like a lake. Not a single ripple on its surface. The sky clear and cloudless. The sun baked down as the steady humming of the engine lulled my mind into a buzzing numbness of boredom. Then, an alarm sounded. I quickly glanced at the engine control panel to see the oil pressure alarm light glowing red and the oil pressure gauge at zero. Knowing that a lack of oil pressure could fry the engine in seconds, I quickly threw the shifter into neutral and leapt to the control panel and shut off the engine. Quiet and stillness. I went down below. With the engine manual in one hand, I opened the engine compartment to investigate. Of all the potential causes shown in the manual, there were not many I was in a position to test. After a little exploring, I tested the engine a few more times. Again the oil pressure gauge read zero. The manual stated that this problem could arise if the engine overheated. Although the engine temperature gauge was not reading high, I was worried that the broken impeller arm was causing problems. Several times I disassembled and reassembled the cooling system and tried running the engine again. On one attempt, in addition to there being zero oil pressure, salt water sprayed all over the engine, soaking the alternator. I washed the engine in fresh water, dried it, and sprayed it down with WD40 and attempted to close the leak. I was getting frustrated and while tightening a bolt, I heard a “Snap!” Woops! I’d broken the bronze bolt holding on the cap for the tube stack. Searching through our spare bolts, I realized that we did not have anything of the same size. Well! I guess I was really engineless now! I would have to sail.
I assessed the situation. I had 109nm to go and 0.7 knots of current against me and no wind. Things were not in my favor, but at least I had plenty of fresh water and food.
Although there was no wind, I did encounter the occasional squall. At first, I would reef the mainsail before the squall hit, but I soon realized I would lose precious time doing this. I could not sail as fast, I could not head into the wind as well (the squalls were almost always from the direction I was trying to go), and I lost time shaking out the reef. As long as the squall didn’t look too threatening, I began entering the squalls under full main and jib.
The first 24 hours I covered a net distance of 5nm in the correct direction. This was going to be a lot of work. My hands were already blistered from raising and lowering sails so many times, handling wet halyards and sheets. At times when the wind was on the nose at 2-4 knots, I would tack back and forth, tracking at 180 degrees because of the contrary current. I would do this for hours hand-steering, just so I would not go backwards.
It took me 7 days of exhausting work with only 15 minute catnaps, but on April 16th at 05:30 am, I was only 5nm offshore from the Liapari marina. By 06:30am, I had made contact by VHF radio requesting a tow into the marina. Within 20 minutes, Noel and Levin from the marina came out in an aluminum skiff with outboard and towed me in.
April 2010
