10 | Crossing the Pacific Ocean on a Wooden Boat

We have long dreamed of sailing across an ocean. It's an idea that sounded amazing, but we never actually believed it would happen. We had not planned to continue the voyage any farther beyond Mexico, but Whitney saw that the time was right and that there was no reason to defer the dream any longer. Once the decision was made, we set about getting the boat ready, with enough food and water for at least a month underway. The voyage from Mazatlan, Mexico to Nuku Hiva in the Marquesas is about 2,800 nautical miles. We were pretty nervous to be honest. This was to be longer than any passage we had ever undertaken, many times over. Pretending to be brave, we backed out of the slip and pointed Julia's bow directly away from the land. Here we go. Here we go. Ready or not. How many miles to go? 2,800 miles to go. Let's see if we make it. The third day out, the wind fell completely calm. We had expected a period of light weather, but thought that it would be enough to keep making some miles. Without any steerageway, the bow insistently pointed straight back at Mazatlan, and we drifted sideways in the current. Taking advantage of the calm weather, we re-caulked some deck seams that had started leaking. With so many miles still ahead of us, including the notorious calm bands around the equator, we did not want to use up any of our fuel supply. At dusk, a light zephyr would spring up, and we would ghost along for a few hours in the right direction before it would disappear again. For three days we bobbed along on flat seas, working on projects and waiting for the wind. When enough breeze finally did materialize to make a steady three knots of boat speed, we felt like we were moving twice that fast. Witt took advantage of the last of the gentle weather to make a huge batch of granola and yogurt, which would serve us very well in the boisterous conditions ahead. So we're ending our fifth 24-hour period at sea, and we've gone less than 400 nautical miles, which is very poor performance. It's pretty bad. The next day, we had a proper sailing breeze, and we started to suspect that we had found the fabled trade winds. This band of winds sweeps down the west coast and across the Pacific in a giant arc towards the equator. We expected the steady, reliable winds to carry us nearly two-thirds of our journey before we moved out of their influence. The trade winds provided good sailing. Sometimes at night they would increase strongly, and we would douse the mizzen and reef the main. A few hours later, things might get lighter, and the sails would be hoisted again. Seas rose and then eased again more in relation to distant systems than the local wind. What do you think of the trade winds? The mizzen is used as a throttle on a catch. Being a relatively small sail, it is quick and easy to reef as conditions build, and can then be fully doused as the first serious reduction before needing to start work on the mainsail. Some days, we would set, reef, or hand the mizzen multiple times to keep the boat moving fast and under control without having to touch the other sails. A catch rig is very handy at sea. I'm about 13 years out from Mazatlan. It's hard to even think about how long it's actually been. The days all kind of blur into one. Up until noon today, we've been on a starboard tack, and we just switched over in the main, and now we're running wing on wing. About midnight tomorrow, we're going to take a hard left and start to enter the ITCZ. That's pretty exciting. The Intertropical Convergence Zone is the buffer zone between the differing trade wind systems in the two hemispheres. It is an area of very light winds interspersed with frequent thunderstorms and squalls. The ITCZ is located just north of the equator, and it can be many hundreds of miles wide. Choosing a narrow point to cross the zone is critical, and the strategy is to cut straight across it rather than staying on course for your ultimate destination. Today I feel great, but yesterday I was not feeling so great. I kind of hit a wall a few days ago. Conditions are perfect now. The waves are big but uncomfortable, and a couple days ago they just were super uncomfortable. Rocking side to side every two seconds, and kind of hard to eat, sleep, think. So today's a much better day, and it's overcast, which is great. So you can see our wind vane has a new control arm on the oar. It popped up on a big wave yesterday, came off the top, and then was dangling loose, and then the next big wave that came by splintered it apart, broke it. So I had to climb out there and retrieve the oar, and then we made a new one, and it's been going now for over 24 hours on the new part, and it's working. So fingers crossed that holds together. We absolutely are depending on it. When the wind disappeared in the ITCZ, we motored to keep moving. With all the squalls and lightning around, it's not a place where we wanted to linger. As we drew near the equator, the heat during the day became oppressive, and the stagnant air conditions felt like a hot blanket sitting on us. After passing through a massive squall line that stretched from horizon to horizon, we found ourselves on a gentle close reach. It felt so good to have a cooling breeze and to turn off the hot diesel engine. This unforecast breeze was to carry us all the way out of the ITCZ, a stroke of very good luck. When sailing amongst squalls like this, we often keep the mainsail double reefed, especially at night. It looks like we dodged the squall that passed behind us. With the full genoa and mizzen, our sail area is still adequate for most conditions. As a squall approaches, the genoa is furled and then the mizzen doused. This can all be done by one person without leaving the cockpit or altering course, and it dramatically reduces our sail area. The mainsail, on a catch, is already fairly small, and when double reefed, it is able to withstand very strong winds without being overpowered. After the squall passes, it's a simple matter to reset the sails without waking up the person off watch. Okay, you see the flying fish going crazy over there? All right. Zero, zero, zero, zero, zero! Sam, we're there! Happy equator! Don't let that shoot in my face. No kidding! Not exactly a champagne clue, but... All right, cheers! Cheers! Woo! And one for the sea! One for the sea! To ensure our safe passage. All right, darling. On to Nuku Hiva. Happy equator. We've got some brownies to celebrate with. Nothing like a hot oven on a really hot day. Crossing the equator has always been a big deal for sailors. According to tradition, a sailor who has not crossed the line is a polywag, but after completing the ritual is known as a shellback. Sacrificing something to Neptune is a common part of the ceremony. Just noting the time, and then I note my reading. 0.8 minutes, which is less than the last reading, which is good because the sun is going down. All right, let's do the math on those to see how close we were. So in latitude, we were off five miles. In longitude, we're off six miles. It's really good. It's good enough to find an island, but we're not free of the electronics yet because I'm using the calculator and the clock. Shortly after crossing the equator, we picked up the southern hemisphere's southeast trade winds. The sailing was very fast and we started ticking off new distance records. We made good 158 nautical miles in 24 hours. Then the next day clocked 163, followed by another day of 159 miles. This is very fast sailing for our 30-foot waterline in ocean conditions day after day. The ride was sometimes quite uncomfortable as the swell hit beam on and rolled the deck under frequently. We didn't mind the ride too much though as it felt amazing to be reeling in the miles and drawing so close to our destination. The sailing was really good. This was trade wind passage making at its best. The wind did not falter once south of the equator. Small puffy clouds drifted over the electric blue ocean. The weeks without proper sleep were starting to add up for the crew, but the boat felt better than ever. Julia sailed like a freight train on rails, eating up the miles. It was clear that this was exactly what she was built for, galloping over the waves on a big stretch of open ocean. We felt really proud of her. She seemed to be loving it, not showing any of the fatigue that was starting to grip the crew. Day after day she thundered along until finally we caught sight of the islands in the distance. What day is today? Oh man, I think it's the 24th day. We've completed 24 days. We're now starting on our 25th, but we can see Nuku Hiva. And how do you feel about having completed 24 days at sea? When I think about some of the events on the first few days, it seems so long ago. We've been underway ever since. It's a ridiculous hobby. Do you want to do it all over again? I mean, it wasn't bad. In fact, it couldn't have gone much better. I don't think we ever had winds over 25 knots. We had a few 10-foot waves. I mean, it wasn't bad. Just really long. It was long. Yeah. I guess we'll see when we get there if it was worth it. I think if we had a third person it would have been a lot easier. Only sleeping for three hours at a time on a four-hour watch adds up. We're pretty exhausted, but we're almost there. Perhaps we should pause here for a little clarification. This was filmed at our most exhausted point in the entire voyage. After just one night of solid sleep, the question of was it worth it would have been met with a resounding yes. We entered the harbor at Nuku Hiva in the dead of night, guided by the full moon. As we neared the island, the smell of the land was overpowering. It smelled of leafy greens and flowers and wood ash. After anchoring in the calm bay, we shared a dram from the good bottle of rum and then crashed hard. The next morning, we slept late and then sat in the cockpit gazing up at the green mountains. The feeling of what we had just accomplished was surreal, and we basked under the glorious cloud cover that was stuck to the tops of the mountains, breathing in the cool and fragrant air. It took a long time before we were ready to launch the dinghy and head into the beach. On shore, we found a true south sea paradise. Chickens and horses foraged along the street, and stone tikis overlooked the beach where kids played. The trees were heavy with flowers and fruit, and it was all framed by soaring cliffs and beautiful valleys. We had wondered what it would be like to sail across an ocean, and now we knew. The satisfaction that we felt at having arrived in the Marquesas is hard to put into words. It will certainly stand as one of the greatest experiences of our lives. Join us next time as we explore this magnificent archipelago. We will see some of the most dramatic scenery and unspoiled paradises left on earth. These islands are the location for so many dreams, and we were about to discover that they are even more spectacular in reality.