Rain showers and wind, love them both at anchor! We are visiting our last atoll in the Tuamotus, Toau, and we have chosen the North part of the atoll, which has a fake pass, Anse Amyot. It's a slot in the reef what appears to be a reef, but it's really like a cul de sac blocked by coral. It's a small, lovely anchorage, and within less than a 0.5 mile you go from the 3000 ft depth of the Pacific to the mooring ball of 25 ft. It's also the place where we found the trimaran of a fellow cruiser family we met in Mexico in 2018. We don't know all the specific details, but last year they had to abandon ship when they hit coral heads in Fakarava, and the boat was no longer operable. It's sitting here,floating again on a buoy, apparently in exchange for the help they received from the locals.
Today both Tod and I had an amazing snorkeling experience. We each were surrounded by thousands of white 8 inch fish, huge schools. Which ever way you looked you were in the midst of it if you stayed still. Once you started to move, the cloud of fish would open up, separate, and you could swim through. Memorable, we try to do it again tomorrow and see if we can get it on camera. Beautiful colorful fish here too, live aquarium before your eyes. Just one hour later, Tessa and I had an unforgettable experience: petting a male frigid bird. We have seen these majestic birds with wing spans of 1.6 m on a remote island in Mexico, and did not expect to see one here. The couple Valentine and Gaston, who make this atoll their home, have been nurturing it from a young age. It's free to fly anywhere, but apparently it appears to prefer to stay close to their place, and will fly on Valentine's arm when she calls his name. It sings, and loves to be kissed and touched by Valentine. An interesting pet to have.
By the time we leave for Tahiti next week, we have spent almost a month in 3 of these low laying atolls. We spent most of our time in Fakarava, a world heritage site. It's been relaxing, swimming and snorkeling in azure blue lagoons surrounded by evergreens (!) and palm trees, taking beach walks, and meeting new cruiser families. It's been a joy to see Tessa so comfortable swimming and diving down in waters up to 60' deep, she is a natural. I see scuba diving with me in her future.
So far we have noticed how clean and quiet the Marquesas and the Tuamotus are, in comparison with the Pacific Mexico cruising grounds (the quiet Sea of Cortez in Mexico being a whole different, awesome world in itself). Not much grows in the unfertile, shallow, sandy soil of the Tuamotus, so people rely on the supply ships coming in weekly or biweekly, or even less frequent for the more remote islands of French Polynesia. It seems like the whole town comes out when the supply ships arrives. We cruisers know of it too, so it was a hoarding frenzy last Wednesday at the Magazine near the non working gas station. And mind you, nothing is cheap here. I was a bit late, and saw that many bell peppers were still there, well at $20/kilo even cruisers are holding back. Not me though, as we are really needed some fresh stuff. I paid $10 for a cabbage, Tod has been making great cole salads. I don't have to feel bad that we cruisers take all the fresh food away, as I noticed that several bags of fresh produce was not available for the cruisers,and I assume it's reserved for the local families.
In Rotoava, the main little town in Fakarava, locals are using beach bikes to ride the single paved road, no need for traffic lights here. There is a school as well, but like other places in FP, for higher grades kids would need to go to Tahiti to finish school. We didn't go to church, but on Sunday saw the local nicely dressed up for the service. Our French is not very good, so we do not get to interact as much as we would like, but a friendly ia orana is always appreciated. Most bigger atolls have tiny airports, and are not as remote as they used to be. A fellow cruiser bought several cases of wine in Tahiti when he arrived there by plane, then had the cases fly out to Fakarava for just an extra $1.50 per bottle. No need for us, we are still working on our bildge liquor supply from Mexico. Very small cruise ships visit larger atolls as well. They are welcomed ashore with music and locals offer their crafts and jewelry (pearls are big here), than leave a few hours later.
Finishing school soon for the day, then back to hopping in 85 degrees water. Someone has to do it! But believe us, paradise has it's limits and tropical island living isn't for everyone. We know we couldn't do it full time, and are looking forward to the change in weather and environment in a couple of months, and off course seeing our family and friends again!
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At 2019-Jun-01 21:56 UTC the position of Bliss was 15°48.22'S 146°09.09'W, at Anse Amyot on the atoll of Toau, Tuamotus group of French Polynesia
Saturday, June 1, 2019
Sunday, May 19, 2019
I like my fish shy please
All three of us did this amazing snorkel drift dive on the South pass of Fakarava atoll. You bring the dinghy as close to the ocean entrance pass as possible, tie it to yourself, jump in, and you just slowly drift with incoming current past colorful schools of fish, large and small. Reef sharks are common there too, and they are really shy. At one point Tessa and I had about 10 of them swimming closeby, and it was really an amazing experience. The incoming current started to pick up, and then we all floated fast inside the lagoon, just like the lazy river experience at the pool in Shaker Heights. Great fun! We had such a great time, that we repeated the whole thing the next day. This time I jumped off in the deeper part of the entrance pass, about 60 ft, and saw a school of reef sharks below me, my guess between 40 and 50. A little much for my comfort level, even though they are shy, so I snorkeled quickly to shallow waters.
The next day our anchor decided to give us a hard time. It got stuck, wedged, near a rock, and didn't want to come up. This anchorage was 55 ft deep, too deep to do some free diving and get a good look. We were about to call our back up option, divers on a neighboring boat, but after 30 minutes of trying several ways to get it up, we were finally free. Glad it worked out, as we got to see our friends aboard Big Finn one more time, and the girls got to do their highly anticipated sleep over on their boat. Tod had a blast that day taking a kite surfing lesson, and will do another one this week.
So are all our days just like one big party? Oh no, the saying "cruising is fixing boats in exotic locations" is still true. Right now, Tod is doing a boat project, trying to see if he can fix our flaky radar connections. Tessa did school (it's sunday!), and then got picked up by her new 8 year old friend from Norway (he drives the dinghy himself), to go play in the water with our paddle board. We will go back to the South pass to do the snorkel drift again when the wind dies down mid week, after that it's time to find a store again to get some fresh stuff to eat. For that, we need to sail north for 5 hrs, and this is fun sailing inside the huge lagoon without any ocean chop!
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At 2019-May-20 06:08 UTC the position of Bliss was 16°27.108'S 145°22.196'W, at the Harifa anchorage in southeast corner of Fakarava atoll.
Wednesday, May 15, 2019
we are in the fun zone
Tomorrow, Thursday, we are getting up early to anchor 7 miles away, then take our dinghy to the atoll entrance and drift dive with the current along tons of sharks and fish. No worries, we have been told that the sharks are shy and don't pay attention. I'm excited to spend my birthday doing something I haven't done before. We plan to take tons of photo's with our underwater camera, and will upload them when we have internet again in June. Attached here are just two low-res photos that we can squeeze through our low bandwidth radio connection.
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At 2019-May-16 06:46 UTC the position of Bliss was 16°27.033'S 145°22.083'W, with course of 000T (*T) and speed 0.0 knots. Wind speed 14.7 knots from 076T (*T)
Monday, May 13, 2019
Passage Notes
This is the first blog post by Tod since we left this year, I think. I have been holding back, since we sort of have a policy of "if you can't say something nice, better to say nothing at all". But I wanted to reflect on some of our feelings about our long passage from Mexico to Marquesas. One of my big motivations for writing this is for *us*, to help remember how we felt. I imagine that over time our memory of the feelings might fade, and we might even be tempted to do a passage like this again ... until we re-read this posting! Sorry for the length! I don't mind if you don't read it all ;-)
I should emphasize that my complaints here are just for me, although I think Jolanda feels pretty similarly. The one crew member who never complained about feeling miserable was Tessa! Several times during the passage she declared it to be "the best day ever!". She spent most of her days listening to audio books, watching DVD for a couple hours, and playing in her room. She really never complained about not feeling well, nor about being bored, and in fact hardly ever asked when we were going to be there. The closest thing we heard was during our recent 4-day passage between island groups: she told me that she wished we had stayed in the previous anchorage, the place we had been "before we started this dreadful journey"! (We think she is picking up some new expressions from her audio books!) I think she liked it better in the previous place just because we had been having ice cream almost every day!
Last year we were at an amusement park, and Tessa wanted to go on a spinny-round ride. Generally I avoid those kinds of rides, but she really wanted to go and I decided I could probably manage that one. Did you ever get on a ride thinking you would be OK with it, and then realize that it was *not* ok!? All you can really do is hold on, maybe shut your eyes, and try not to get sick while waiting for the ride to end. It might have been three minutes. Now, imagine that feeling, but the ride goes on for more than three weeks!
To be honest, we were not feeling nauseous for all 25 days of the passage. For the first few days, Jolanda and I both were taking a drug to combat motion sickness. And anyway, coming out of Puerto Vallarta the seas were pretty mild for the first couple days. And after the first few days, my feeling of nausea was limited to when I was below deck working for an extended period... for example, trying for 20 minutes to use the radio to send emails! Instead of nausea, the more common feeling is just a dull uneasiness in the head. We also both felt quite lethargic, and any little exertion seemed so big and demanded a recovery period afterwards!
In a previous blog post Jolanda wrote that sailing has extreme highs and lows. Well, regarding this passage, I would say the spectrum of feelings was a bit different. On the positive end, I would say there was one four-hour period which I would describe as "not unpleasant" -- this was when we were flying our spinnaker, zooming along on pretty calm seas with a nice breeze. But that was really an "outlier" data point... four hours out of 25 days! The rest of the spectrum would include words like: fatigue, exhaustion, hot, humid, wet, annoying, sadness, despair, misery, tortuous. At one point, I mused that they could sentence convicted criminals to a sea passage, but for sure it would be considered cruel and unusual punishment!
The rolling caused by the swells and waves can be really horrible. The worst rolling seemed to be in the beginning, about from day 3 to day 10, if I remember correctly. There were two swell directions, one from the north and one from the north-east, as we were traveling west. That might not sound like a big deal, but the result of this is that the boat would be rolled side-to-side by one wave, and then we would yaw (sort of rolling with a twist) by the other wave. The side-to-side rolling is tough, because the boat can rock like 60 degrees within a few seconds (leaning 30 degrees on one side to 30 degrees on the other side). It makes it incredibly difficult to even move around down below. And doing something like cooking becomes a serious endeavor, even becoming dangerous. Our stove is gimbaled, so it stays relatively level while the boat rolls -- it is really quite amazing. But even that mechanism has its limits: occasionally the boat would roll so hard that the stove would hit the limit of its travel, and then shit could really fly! Think about having a pot of boiling pasta when that happens... not good!
But the side-to-side rolling was not as bad as the other kind. When the swell direction is directly from the side, that is the simple rolling. But when the swell direction is from behind it is quite a bit more unpleasant. In general, we never went directly downwind, with a relative wind angle of 180 degrees -- that kind of dead-downwind sailing is difficult to do for multiple reasons that I don't need to explain now. Instead, on this passage, most of our sailing was with a wind angle of about 150 degrees -- so, from the back corner of the boat. The feeling of the rolling from this direction is worse: as the swell comes under the boat, it is lifting the back corner which causes the boat to turn significantly down into the valley of the swell; then it passes under the boat and turns it back in the other direction. So you end up with a twisting plus a rolling -- just like some of those horrible amusement parks rides that I hate!
It is hard to describe how the constant rolling of the boat affects on one's psyche and spirit and body. For example, even sleeping is so difficult. In general, it seems easier to sleep when your body is in line with the rolling -- so, with your body in line with the boat. Also, it is probably best closer to the middle of the boat. In our main saloon our settees are oriented in the correct direction and are long enough to lie on; and we have equipped these with lee cloths, which is a piece of fabric that we rig up with lines to prevent one from being rolled out of the bed! But even with this, there were many nights when we could barely get any sleep due to the extreme motion, along with the constant noise of sails flopping and blocks clicking and lines snapping and cabinetry creaking! About 7 or 10 days into our trip we were both exhausted from lack of sleep.
The rolling also makes it difficult to move, or even to stand. You almost always need to have one hand for the boat. Did you ever try putting on your pants with one hand?? It's not easy, so you end up trying to time the swells so you can pull up your pants without falling over.
I also came to have negative feelings about the different parts of the day! In the morning, seeing the dawn coming, I felt like "crap, the sun is coming up soon and I have barely slept." And when the sun was rising, I felt like "crap, it is gonna be getting hot soon", which happened by mid-morning -- hot and quite humid. Also, all morning the sun would be at an uncomfortable angle where it was difficult to find shade under the bimini. By mid-day I would be thinking "when will this day ever end?!". By late afternoon, the sun would again make it difficult to find a comfortable shaded place. Around sunset was often not unpleasant, while we were having dinner. But then I would already be dreading the coming of the night. On most nights, the wind would reliably increase, sometimes quite dramatically. (I have yet to read about why this happens... usually I am accustomed to wind dying down at night). In the beginning we were sometimes caught off guard when this happened -- we were maybe going comfortably along with 15 knots of wind before sunset, but then by 8pm the wind would rapidly pick up to 20-25 knots. That kind of increase can cause some problems when we have full sails up. Eventually we came to realize that we needed to shorten our sails before the evening, especially the main sail which is difficult to reduce after the wind starts howling. Also I didn't like nights because you can't see the waves .. you can just hear them, and sometimes they sound quite frightening! Occasionally I swear the waves would sound like a wild animal roaring!
[Speaking of sounds, both Jolanda and I noticed weird auditory hallucinations... well, maybe not exactly hallucinations, but just faint sense of someone talking, or singing. I guess it's the result of so many sounds from the wind and waves and whistling of the wind on the various boat parts, and maybe the lack of sleep, and hours of not talking to anyone. Sometimes I even enjoyed listening to the faint "singing" for quite a while -- one time it was like monks chanting, another time like some celtic music!]
The other bad part about the nights was the possibility of squalls. In the tropics, rain squalls can come at any time, and in the day they are already annoying. In a typical squall the wind will start to kick up, and soon after the rain starts -- sometimes light, sometimes a downpour. At the peak of the squall the wind might be 25 knots, occasionally gusting to 30 -- in the big picture of weather this is not too bad, and our boat can handle that without much problem (as long as we don't have too much sail up). But it can feel a little frightening for a while. The squall can pass in as little as 10 minutes, more typically a bit longer; for one day we had solid rain for hours, and on and off for the whole day. But at least during the day you can see the squall coming -- you can see the dark clouds and often even the rain falling; sometimes we were even able to change direction a bit to avoid the squall. However, at night this is all different -- you might see clouds, bur generally cannot see which clouds are going to produce a squall. And in the dark, the wind and rain seems a bit more intense and frightening. I must say we were fortunate to never have any significant lightening close to us during our trip (so far!).
During some heavy squalls early in the trip, we discovered a bunch of leaks that we never knew we had. One was around an overhead hatch that is just above our bed, and that leak saturated a cushion and got our mattress quite wet.
Well, it seems that I have complained about the passage making enough! So, let me complain about one more thing ;-). I am sick and tired of salt water!! When it gets on your clothes, they never really dry properly -- they are always a bit damp due to the humidity and the hydroscopic (i.e. attracting water) nature of the salt. After swimming we feel like we need a shower to get it off. But the worst is the feeling on all the surfaces of the boat after several days of salt spray -- everything is coated with a layer of moist salt. It has an almost oily quality. One nice thing about rain squalls is that it can make the boat feel clean again for a while.
To end on a positive note, we recently did our last substantial passage for this season: a 520-mile, four-day passage from Nuku Hiva (in the Marquesas island group) to Kauehi atoll (in the Tuamotu island group). For this season we have one more two-day passage to look forward to (to get over to Tahiti), and then mostly just short hops. That passage started with a surprise: the wind compresses around the big mountain of Nuku Hiva, such that just outside the headland of the bay the seas were quite large, and Bliss got rolled more than I have ever felt in 10 years, probably about 50 degrees I am guessing. It was no problem for Bliss, but it sure surprised us! The rest of passage was uneventful but generally unpleasant, and the four days felt like it stretched on into a week! At one point I remarked that I didn't know how we had managed for 25 days on the big passage. Sitting here now though, in a very flat and calm anchorage inside an atoll, it is hard to remember the feelings.
A friend remarked in their blog that only by doing a long sea passage will you find out if you are a passage-maker or not. I think Jolanda and I can both conclude that we are in the "not" group!
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At 2019-May-14 06:46 UTC the position of Bliss was 16°27.033'S 145°22.083'W, with course of 000T (*T) and speed 0.0 knots. Wind speed 14.7 knots from 076T (*T)
I should emphasize that my complaints here are just for me, although I think Jolanda feels pretty similarly. The one crew member who never complained about feeling miserable was Tessa! Several times during the passage she declared it to be "the best day ever!". She spent most of her days listening to audio books, watching DVD for a couple hours, and playing in her room. She really never complained about not feeling well, nor about being bored, and in fact hardly ever asked when we were going to be there. The closest thing we heard was during our recent 4-day passage between island groups: she told me that she wished we had stayed in the previous anchorage, the place we had been "before we started this dreadful journey"! (We think she is picking up some new expressions from her audio books!) I think she liked it better in the previous place just because we had been having ice cream almost every day!
Last year we were at an amusement park, and Tessa wanted to go on a spinny-round ride. Generally I avoid those kinds of rides, but she really wanted to go and I decided I could probably manage that one. Did you ever get on a ride thinking you would be OK with it, and then realize that it was *not* ok!? All you can really do is hold on, maybe shut your eyes, and try not to get sick while waiting for the ride to end. It might have been three minutes. Now, imagine that feeling, but the ride goes on for more than three weeks!
To be honest, we were not feeling nauseous for all 25 days of the passage. For the first few days, Jolanda and I both were taking a drug to combat motion sickness. And anyway, coming out of Puerto Vallarta the seas were pretty mild for the first couple days. And after the first few days, my feeling of nausea was limited to when I was below deck working for an extended period... for example, trying for 20 minutes to use the radio to send emails! Instead of nausea, the more common feeling is just a dull uneasiness in the head. We also both felt quite lethargic, and any little exertion seemed so big and demanded a recovery period afterwards!
In a previous blog post Jolanda wrote that sailing has extreme highs and lows. Well, regarding this passage, I would say the spectrum of feelings was a bit different. On the positive end, I would say there was one four-hour period which I would describe as "not unpleasant" -- this was when we were flying our spinnaker, zooming along on pretty calm seas with a nice breeze. But that was really an "outlier" data point... four hours out of 25 days! The rest of the spectrum would include words like: fatigue, exhaustion, hot, humid, wet, annoying, sadness, despair, misery, tortuous. At one point, I mused that they could sentence convicted criminals to a sea passage, but for sure it would be considered cruel and unusual punishment!
The rolling caused by the swells and waves can be really horrible. The worst rolling seemed to be in the beginning, about from day 3 to day 10, if I remember correctly. There were two swell directions, one from the north and one from the north-east, as we were traveling west. That might not sound like a big deal, but the result of this is that the boat would be rolled side-to-side by one wave, and then we would yaw (sort of rolling with a twist) by the other wave. The side-to-side rolling is tough, because the boat can rock like 60 degrees within a few seconds (leaning 30 degrees on one side to 30 degrees on the other side). It makes it incredibly difficult to even move around down below. And doing something like cooking becomes a serious endeavor, even becoming dangerous. Our stove is gimbaled, so it stays relatively level while the boat rolls -- it is really quite amazing. But even that mechanism has its limits: occasionally the boat would roll so hard that the stove would hit the limit of its travel, and then shit could really fly! Think about having a pot of boiling pasta when that happens... not good!
But the side-to-side rolling was not as bad as the other kind. When the swell direction is directly from the side, that is the simple rolling. But when the swell direction is from behind it is quite a bit more unpleasant. In general, we never went directly downwind, with a relative wind angle of 180 degrees -- that kind of dead-downwind sailing is difficult to do for multiple reasons that I don't need to explain now. Instead, on this passage, most of our sailing was with a wind angle of about 150 degrees -- so, from the back corner of the boat. The feeling of the rolling from this direction is worse: as the swell comes under the boat, it is lifting the back corner which causes the boat to turn significantly down into the valley of the swell; then it passes under the boat and turns it back in the other direction. So you end up with a twisting plus a rolling -- just like some of those horrible amusement parks rides that I hate!
It is hard to describe how the constant rolling of the boat affects on one's psyche and spirit and body. For example, even sleeping is so difficult. In general, it seems easier to sleep when your body is in line with the rolling -- so, with your body in line with the boat. Also, it is probably best closer to the middle of the boat. In our main saloon our settees are oriented in the correct direction and are long enough to lie on; and we have equipped these with lee cloths, which is a piece of fabric that we rig up with lines to prevent one from being rolled out of the bed! But even with this, there were many nights when we could barely get any sleep due to the extreme motion, along with the constant noise of sails flopping and blocks clicking and lines snapping and cabinetry creaking! About 7 or 10 days into our trip we were both exhausted from lack of sleep.
The rolling also makes it difficult to move, or even to stand. You almost always need to have one hand for the boat. Did you ever try putting on your pants with one hand?? It's not easy, so you end up trying to time the swells so you can pull up your pants without falling over.
I also came to have negative feelings about the different parts of the day! In the morning, seeing the dawn coming, I felt like "crap, the sun is coming up soon and I have barely slept." And when the sun was rising, I felt like "crap, it is gonna be getting hot soon", which happened by mid-morning -- hot and quite humid. Also, all morning the sun would be at an uncomfortable angle where it was difficult to find shade under the bimini. By mid-day I would be thinking "when will this day ever end?!". By late afternoon, the sun would again make it difficult to find a comfortable shaded place. Around sunset was often not unpleasant, while we were having dinner. But then I would already be dreading the coming of the night. On most nights, the wind would reliably increase, sometimes quite dramatically. (I have yet to read about why this happens... usually I am accustomed to wind dying down at night). In the beginning we were sometimes caught off guard when this happened -- we were maybe going comfortably along with 15 knots of wind before sunset, but then by 8pm the wind would rapidly pick up to 20-25 knots. That kind of increase can cause some problems when we have full sails up. Eventually we came to realize that we needed to shorten our sails before the evening, especially the main sail which is difficult to reduce after the wind starts howling. Also I didn't like nights because you can't see the waves .. you can just hear them, and sometimes they sound quite frightening! Occasionally I swear the waves would sound like a wild animal roaring!
[Speaking of sounds, both Jolanda and I noticed weird auditory hallucinations... well, maybe not exactly hallucinations, but just faint sense of someone talking, or singing. I guess it's the result of so many sounds from the wind and waves and whistling of the wind on the various boat parts, and maybe the lack of sleep, and hours of not talking to anyone. Sometimes I even enjoyed listening to the faint "singing" for quite a while -- one time it was like monks chanting, another time like some celtic music!]
The other bad part about the nights was the possibility of squalls. In the tropics, rain squalls can come at any time, and in the day they are already annoying. In a typical squall the wind will start to kick up, and soon after the rain starts -- sometimes light, sometimes a downpour. At the peak of the squall the wind might be 25 knots, occasionally gusting to 30 -- in the big picture of weather this is not too bad, and our boat can handle that without much problem (as long as we don't have too much sail up). But it can feel a little frightening for a while. The squall can pass in as little as 10 minutes, more typically a bit longer; for one day we had solid rain for hours, and on and off for the whole day. But at least during the day you can see the squall coming -- you can see the dark clouds and often even the rain falling; sometimes we were even able to change direction a bit to avoid the squall. However, at night this is all different -- you might see clouds, bur generally cannot see which clouds are going to produce a squall. And in the dark, the wind and rain seems a bit more intense and frightening. I must say we were fortunate to never have any significant lightening close to us during our trip (so far!).
During some heavy squalls early in the trip, we discovered a bunch of leaks that we never knew we had. One was around an overhead hatch that is just above our bed, and that leak saturated a cushion and got our mattress quite wet.
Well, it seems that I have complained about the passage making enough! So, let me complain about one more thing ;-). I am sick and tired of salt water!! When it gets on your clothes, they never really dry properly -- they are always a bit damp due to the humidity and the hydroscopic (i.e. attracting water) nature of the salt. After swimming we feel like we need a shower to get it off. But the worst is the feeling on all the surfaces of the boat after several days of salt spray -- everything is coated with a layer of moist salt. It has an almost oily quality. One nice thing about rain squalls is that it can make the boat feel clean again for a while.
To end on a positive note, we recently did our last substantial passage for this season: a 520-mile, four-day passage from Nuku Hiva (in the Marquesas island group) to Kauehi atoll (in the Tuamotu island group). For this season we have one more two-day passage to look forward to (to get over to Tahiti), and then mostly just short hops. That passage started with a surprise: the wind compresses around the big mountain of Nuku Hiva, such that just outside the headland of the bay the seas were quite large, and Bliss got rolled more than I have ever felt in 10 years, probably about 50 degrees I am guessing. It was no problem for Bliss, but it sure surprised us! The rest of passage was uneventful but generally unpleasant, and the four days felt like it stretched on into a week! At one point I remarked that I didn't know how we had managed for 25 days on the big passage. Sitting here now though, in a very flat and calm anchorage inside an atoll, it is hard to remember the feelings.
A friend remarked in their blog that only by doing a long sea passage will you find out if you are a passage-maker or not. I think Jolanda and I can both conclude that we are in the "not" group!
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At 2019-May-14 06:46 UTC the position of Bliss was 16°27.033'S 145°22.083'W, with course of 000T (*T) and speed 0.0 knots. Wind speed 14.7 knots from 076T (*T)
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