Seeing the ice in clear skies was a hell of a reward for the heavy weather yesterday. Thus far we’ve stopped to admire two big bergs from close range, bringing in ICEBEAR under power (the wind, after all that fuss, shut down completely around 1200 noon as we rounded Cape Race) to within a hundred yards or so. I put the drone up to get a bird’s eye view, and the crew stopped to admire the beauty of nature’s most striking sculpture. Both bergs we stopped for had at some point in their decay rolled, for the tops of them were pure white and smooth as marble, highlighted in spots by deep turquoise cracks where they’d broken apart and re-frozen during their lifespan.
This has been all over my Facebook page the past couple of days, thanks to Kevin King, who crewed with us and took the footage. When the whale first approached, we were in awe, and just enjoyed his company. Kevin wanted to film right away, but I kind of discouraged him - if you're always behind the camera, you can't appreciate what's right in front of you. But the whale kept coming back! I was afraid jamming the camera down in the water might scare him off (he thinking it might be a harpoon!), but eventually we gave it a go. I think it was worth it!
This was written yesterday, posted today (Monday). Photos below.
We arrived into St. Croix yesterday afternoon after what I think was probably the easiest passage I’ve ever done. We sailed on starboard tack the whole way, broad reaching in anywhere from 8-25 knots, and only motoring for one hour, through a pretty calm spot when the sails were banging around and we had to roll up the jib.
I will have WAY more to say about this in due time, but wanted to post it immediately. Thanks to Dave for sharing - you know who you are. Might we have finally reached a tipping point when it comes to taking offshore sailing seriously, instead of a ride to warmer weather?
I just had an interesting email exchange with a friend whose in the (years-long) process of outfitting his boat for extended ocean cruising. The boat is similar to Arcturus, and we have similar ideas about things, and somehow got in touch a few years back. Anyway, we've had several of these types of exchanges. I won't say who it is out of respect for his privacy, but I want to publish my response to his latest email about rigging, sails and engines. I'll preface each section with what I'm about to discuss, but won't include anything specific that he's emailed me. What's your take?
This blog has nothing to do with politics. We're just all curious on the big day today!
0545. I'm taking my first solo watch of the trip. Typically I don't stand watches - rather, our crew pair up, Mia takes a solo watch & I'm on-call, the crew doing three-on, six-off rotations. Tom, though, is majorly seasick and hasn't taken a watch since Day 1. For a while Ed & David and Mia & Bruce did 4-on, 4-off, but it's finally calmed down a bit so they're getting a needed break.
The 2018 Passage Calendar has officially been released! Isbjorn is heading NORTH in 2018. After wintering in Sweden & preparing Isbjorn for the Arctic, we'll set sail for Scotland, Norway and the far north. After exploring the Lofoten Islands in Norway, we'll stage in Tromso for the 500-mile passage to Svalbard, that mythical land of polar bears, walrus and icebergs. From there, it's 1,200 miles to Reykjavik, Iceland, then back across the Atlantic to Ireland. Don't miss this opportunity of a lifetime to join us and visit one of the last great wildernesses on Earth - before it's gone.
The final leg of the Canadian summer started in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia. This was the forth time Andy & Mia have been up there, twice on Isbjorn and once on Arcturus. Lunenburg is such a sweet little town with everything a sailor could want. The trip south was fairly uneventful with some upwind sailing towards the end before we entered the Delaware Bay and sailed back home to Annapolis
We've officially been headed enough now that the Chesapeake Bay is out of the question. In Lunenburg, we plotted two routes on the chart, for each scenario, and had always kept the Delaware option in our back pocket. I had a hunch that south was key in this leg, so we kept going that way and I'm glad we did.
0900 Wednesday August 10. We're sailing again, close-reaching on the port tack now, careful to stay south of our rhumb line in anticipation of a SW'ly shift as we approach the Chesapeake. It's beautifully warm outside now. The sun is strong enough to require the bimini again, but it's not the humid, stifling heat of the Bay. Yet. We're far offshore, 155 miles SSE of Nantucket and 275 miles E of Cape May, 10,000 feet of ocean under our keel.
Hey all, friend of the crew Rory Finneren writing. I was pleasantly surprised when Andy contacted me yesterday via his YellowBrick from offshore. He asked if I could post blogs during this passage since Liz, who would normally do so, is currently onboard. Recently having returned home to Taiwan after my own 5500 nm offshore voyage from Tahiti to Alaska, I'm happy to help. Here is the latest from Andy & the crew of Isbjorn, homeward bound to Annapolis from the cool fog of Nova Scotia.
After a fun and relaxing week up in St. John's, Newfoundland, David and Dough arrived a few days early to explore the town before departing south towards Lunenburg. Dan, our 3rd crew, sailed with us up from Lunenburg and stayed onboard during the stop over in St. John's. As we departed, the fog rolled in pretty quickly and we had a nice cruise down to St. Pierre, arriving early in the morning in thick fog. St. Pierre really surprised us and the crew, amazing food, great hiking and the deserts people just could dream of.
We last left off after a magical ‘recce’ past mythical Sable Island. While the scenery was dramatic and the mood aboard Isbjorn at perhaps an all-time high, the actual sailing left much to be desired. We’d been motoring for almost 24 hours through a very flat calm and very heavy fog. That all changed after our visit to Sable.
Isbjorn makes a fog-bound entrance into the tiny French outpost of St. Pierre & Miquelon. The crew finds lots of brie and wine ashore, and the battered hull of Oman Sail, the MOD70 trimaran that capsized in the recent Quebec-St. Malo trans-Atlantic race. It was the foggiest passage of Andy & Mia's career.
Finally, around midday, with 40 or so miles to go, the weather changed for good. The fog lifted and stayed lifted and the first chink in the low layer of clouds opened up suddenly to reveal a blue sky filled with the puffy cumulous so common with the onset of fair weather. Almost as suddenly a westerly breeze tickled the water and immediately filled in at a gusty 15 knots, propelling Isbjorn along the coastline at nearly hull speed in the flat, sheltered water along the cliffs.
Capt. Andy joined Isbjorn after his appendicitis surgery a week earlier in Newport. A great sail out of Lunenburg, the wind kept building as we sailed along the coast of Nova Scotia. To avoid a big low between Nova Scotia and Newfoundland we jumped in to Lewisbourg for a day. 20 hrs later we were out again, some frustrating light wind sailing through fog until we rounded Cape Race. The fog lifted, the wind picked up and can not say other that a spectacular sail up the coast. Dozens of humpback whales, dolphins and puffins all around the boat and we didn't drop the sails until we were in the cut to St. Johns!
The rain poured down this morning. Lightning struck in the distance and the thunder rolled on and on through the fog, a deep groaning like a distant freight train, at once a little frightening, but more so overwhelmingly beautiful. We're rounding Cape Race as I write, only a few miles offshore, though we don't yet have land in sight. Birds surround the boat, swooping and diving and swimming.
Well that was the right decision. Sitting out Friday in Louisboug seemed such a tough call while we were still at sea. When I wrote that last blog post about our diversion, the weather was perfect - Isbjorn was broad reaching in 15-20 knots of wind from the SW and a gentle swell lifted the boat as it glided past.
