I BELIEVE IN ANGELS: from wilted sea waif to gluttonous warrior princess

Life onboard grew rather grim in the persistently difficult weather. Going into the wind means lots of water spraying over the boat and leaks were soon reborn despite the entire tube of silicon I used prior to my departure. The floor was always wet and my bedding grossly damp. My diet and hygiene suffered to say the least. I was seriously eating only plain oatmeal in the morning and then straight out of whatever canned food I could most easily put my hands on in the evening. When the door to my forward cabin got stuck closed, I couldn't even get to my clean, dry clothes. When I wasn't checking the horizon or adjusting the sails, I spent most of my prone. My body began to stiffen and ache constantly. There were certainly no more peaceful star-gazing nights, 'blissful gliding' or my nightly 'granny panty' dance parties (I made up a stupid game where I mimic my friend's dance styles--yep Steph D, I did your famous hand jive, Mark Schumacher's dog pee leg move, the Korki Bukchev, and my brother's notorious squirrel dance for self-amusement at the beginning of the trip). The SSB email modem got wet and stopped working after I sent that last short update, so I couldn't receive or send any email either. Music, Moby Dick, and the Michael Thomas French audio lessons were my only source of mental escape, although by the end of the trip I wanted to punch the girl who is trying to learn French in his lessons. She is SO annoying. Below I have painfully detailed the dismal last few days of the trip. Sorry for the rather humorless tone, but really.it wasn't fun nor funny at the time.

HELLFIRE AND DAMNATION-June 5/6
The weather is manic. It blew 30 knots all day without a cloud in sight, but now a thick forest of towering thunderheads has begun to grow out of the sea. Moonless, I can only make out varying hues of black. I don my warrior headband to keep the hair out of my eyes and prepare for the ensuing battle. I skirt just ahead of the first squall beast, feeling only trailing swirls of its disturbed air. For a moment it looks clear ahead, but wait, what's that? Ahead to my left I witness blackness quickly deepening in shades. I alter our course and reef the sails even more. The cloud mutant bloats and mushrooms to what must be a thousand feet straight up. There's no hope of escape as it bears down on us with great vengeance. Full throttle I try to get away. Lightening shoots down at the sea, momentarily illuminating the face of this demon. I'm now frozen with fear--short, heavy breaths and wide-eyed. There is nothing I can do. The air grows eerily thick and calm in the moments before it is upon us. Swell rolls without the wind in her sails. I clutch the mainsheet in my paranoia. I want to close my eyes. I want to disappear. I want to be anywhere but right here. I am nothing but a speck of flesh--small and powerless. I mumble prayers incessantly. I can almost hear the words of the preacher in the passage I read earlier in Moby Dick saying, "And then the sea rose up!.Hellfire and damnation to Jonah!"

In another instant the monster slaps us with the swiftest, fiercest paw of wind I've ever felt. Swell is pinned on her starboard side. I frantically release the mainsheet and Swell comes up after the force of the initial blow. I cry out for my father, but he can't hear me. No one can hear me. Now comes rain. But this isn't rain; this is a sky of water. It's fall is deafening. The wind subsides as it moves over us. My entire body trembles, out of control. I bit my lip and can taste blood in my mouth. The lightening repeatedly casts its white electric light to remind me that this moment is real. The monster pursues despite the motor's full throttle before it rages on westward. I gather myself and squint into the clearing night sky. A small patch of stars ahead hints of hope. More lightening flashes a few miles ahead. Tears flow down my cheeks, but I make no noise of crying. Only strain my eyes to see what's next. I look at my watch. It's only 10pm.

The eastern horizon is now a chalky grey. It's 5:30am. I'm still perched on the little 2by4 seat I built in Fanning for my companionway; it's the only dry place. Exhaustion creeps up between the lingering pulses of adrenaline. The squalls are vanishing with the sun like vampires. I retire from battle into my seaberth.

BLOWN WEST AND THE MIRACLE OF 'HEAVING-TO'-June 6/7/8
I rested for barely an hour before the weather yanked me up again. The sky was absolutely clear. Too clear--'I'm gonna blow like hell'-clear.
The wind strengthened quickly and aggressively. By the evening the seas had doubled and it was an all-out gale. The sea's face was jagged and sharp. Into the night, the wind sustained close to 40 knots. I couldn't maintain my course as the wind had shifted to the southeast. I kept the 3rd reef in the main rather than run with a bare pole to try to point higher into the wind, but this gave us too much speed, making our ride a series of violent collisions with the steep seas. But I didn't want to loose anymore distance in the 'traverse'! I laid awake in my bunk until 4am-bracing, heaving, and wincing. Waves swatted us here and there; Swell shuddered and groaned. Finally, it was too much. I doused the main entirely and laid back down to rest, but knowing that we were getting blowing west ate at me for the next hour. Each mile lost now would be a battle to regain later.

My vision blurred from sleeplessness. "Heave-to," I thought. It was time to try a storm tactic (where you basically oppose the forces of your headsail and the rudder). I'd never actually tried it in rough seas. I backwinded the jib and locked the wheel hard over. The results were magical. I couldn't believe it! The ride calmed and our western progress decreased an incredible amount. I collapsed into bed at dawn and was able to sleep for a few precious hours. I woke to check in with my friend Chris on 'Elise' over the SSB radio. We'd left Fanning on the same day, (he headed for Samoa and I for Tahiti) and we'd talked once a day throughout the passage. He'd just arrived in Samoa. He quickly sensed my low morale. I spoke in slow, fragmented pulses as my fatigued mind struggled to form clear thoughts. After relaying my situation, Chris rustled up some highly detailed weather forecasts and we talked again a few hours later.

"Okay, Liz, sometime tonight the wind is going to turn northeast and decrease in speed slightly. When it does you will have about 18 hours to get as far west as you can. Then it will shift back to east southeast. Go hard. You can do this, okay? I'm right here with you." He encouraged.

I cleaned up the yard sale that had been strewn about the cabin the prior night and heated some soup. After surveying the still raging gale, I laid back down. I woke around 8 pm and went to check the wind direction. Sure enough, it had shifted to northeast! I quickly reset the sails and course. The seas were still so big that we were only making about 3 knots, but I held a direct course for the westernmost Society Island, Bora Bora, all that night.

From then on, Chris and I talked twice a day. He fed me weather information and confidence. On the morning of June 8th (my 13th day at sea) I relayed him my position.

"You're almost there, Liz. I'll tell you what.I'm going to put you up in a hotel when you get there," He prompted. As much as I should have refused his WAY too generous offer, even the thought of it was a much needed mental break from the hellish world I was currently trapped in.

A FIGHT TO THE FINISH-June 8/9
I sailed Swell hard through the next day in the remaining window of northeast wind. The seas had flattened a bit and I was making better speed, but I'd been blown over 60 miles west in the gale. It would take at LEAST 24 hours to make that distance upwind and Chris reported more bad weather on the way. All through that night I attentively trimmed the sails to keep our speed up and bearing as direct as possible. If I could stay focused enough, I thought it possible to make landfall by dark the next day.

The next morning I felt fairly optimistic with 39.5 miles left to go at 6 am. I tacked between a few squalls, but gained fair headway by 8am. And then everything went to hell yet again. The sky went piercingly clear and the wind jumped to 35+ knots DIRECTLY from Bora Bora. With the headsail reefed, I could NOT point into the wind at ALL. I tacked back and forth and almost went backwards. I tried motoring at full throttle with just the mainsail, but we went nowhere. My spirits dropped again. I cried to the sea, "Come on, are you serious?!! Throw me a bone here!?!" But no, it was going to be a jaw-clenched fight for those last thirty miles.

Then something in me grew fierce. I couldn't take it anymore. Chris had already booked me into a hotel for the following night and the image of dry sheets, hot water, and FOOD prodded me intensely! I put out the entire headsail and cranked it as flat as my strength would allow. With a slight shift in the wind to our favor, our course was now just 10-15 degrees off the island! Swell was WAY overpowered, but it was the only way I could make any decent amount of headway. We plowed through the sea at over 6 knots, rail fully borrowed into churning blue water. Swell was taking blows like never before, though. The gusts would drive us on our side and then we'd round up into the wind, and slam ferociously into the wind waves. The shuttering was such that I thought Swell might splinter into a thousand pieces. The thru-hull on my galley sink is broken and now being laid over to port, water was gushing up through its drain and waterfalling across the floor. I ran the bilge pumps to keep up with its constant flow. I could do nothing but brace myself and pray that nothing critical broke. The forestay was getting very loose. The same thing had happened on my Marquesas passage, but I'd been able to fix it underway. There was no chance of that now.

By 2:30pm I had 15 miles to go. More than once I almost gave up and reefed the headsail in, but my determination had blinded my better judgment. Although my home was being rocked by an all day 9.0 earthquake, I drove Swell like a senseless madwoman. My eyes pinned nervously on the rig. By the end of the day I'd stood braced in the cockpit for almost 12 hours, indifferent to the blasts of sea, wind, and sun. I finally spotted the island in a distant haze. It looked so terribly far away!

The sea began to flatten within about 7 miles of the island, but by then it was 5:45pm. There was no way I'd make it into the lagoon before dark and my detailed chartplotter had fallen to the same fate as the modem. I spoke with Chris at 6pm, forlorn and defeated.

"I didn't make it." I reported. "I tried so hard, but I just couldn't make it. I'm seven miles off and the wind is still howling on the nose."

"I know that pass well." He replied. "I'll give you all the waypoints to get you in, it's wide and deep and there aren't too many obstacles once you're through it."

Two hours later he relayed the information as I approached the pass and I plugged the points into my little Garmin GPS. I then heard some cruisers chatting on the VHF decided to interrupt.

"Hi. This is the sailing vessel, Swell. I am approaching the Bora Bora pass and want to come in the dark. I've never been in here. Can you give me any suggestions on the easiest place to anchor for the night?" A man's voice came back.

"Is this Liz on Swell?"

"Yes, it is." I replied.

"This is Steve on Ironie. We met in Panama remember?"

"Yes! Hello Steve! I've been at sea 14 days, the last few very rough, I'm exhausted and just need to get my anchor down somewhere safe."

"Okay, when you get through the pass, turn to about 140 degrees and you will see the lights of a big fishing boat. Head towards that boat. There is an open mooring available next to us. Call when you get closer to the fishing boat and we'll flash a spotlight and guide you in." He said.

"Thank you! Okay, I will see you guys soon, that is if I don't crash first." My humor had already begun to return, despite its fatalistic tone.

A squall passed over me at 1 mile from the pass, as if the bad weather wanted to give me a parting 'goodbye'. I impatiently waited for it to clear and then headed for the green and red lights marking the entrance. I made it through, focusing hard to pay attention in my shattered state. Once inside, the lagoon opened up and welcomed me with its flatness. I spotted the fishing boat about 2 miles to the south and maneuvered slowly in its direction. Steve and Evan flashed a spotlight from their boat and then dinghied over to shine the light on the mooring and help me tie up. Evan climbed aboard as I maneuvered us toward the little orange blessing. Minutes later Swell and I were secured! I didn't know him at all, but I hugged Steve's crew, Evan, dramatically. I was overcome in a blaze of relief and happiness. The nightmare was over. I'd made it.

FROM DOOM TO GLORY
I awoke early and strangely energized the morning following my arrival and instantly commenced a maniacal frenzy of hauling soggy cushions and sopping, stinky laundry up in to the sun to dry out. Chris gave me water directions to the hotel over the radio, and I was so excited that I immediately dropped off the mooring and motored the 4 or 5 miles around to the north side of the lagoon with laundry and bedding dangling off the lifelines and boom. Tourists gawked from their hotel water shuttles. But if I'd left the wet mess below while in the hotel for 2 nights, I think mildew and bacteria 'takeover' may have been irreversible.

I anchored in a sandy, 6-ft deep, turquoise bay, tossed the dinghy over the side, gathered a few articles of semi-decent clothing, and motored off toward the resort closeby. I couldn't find a proper entrance and instead found myself ducking as I motored under somebody's 'over-the-water' bungalow and came out into the roped-off 'Swimming Only' area on the other side. Time was ticking away and I didn't want to waste a MINUTE of the ensuing luxury! I beached the dinghy on the sand and ran up to the lobby in my dirty cut-offs and bare feet (I'd given away all my shoes in Fanning). I tried to hide my matted, greasy hair under an oversized trucker hat, but there was surely no concealing the odor that must have been wafting out from my grunginess. The three people behind the reception desk sort of stared at me blankly when I told them I had a reservation. The two French women sneered and went into the back office, leaving only the kind man to break it to me that I was not in the right place. Oops, wrong hotel! I turned and scampered off, hurdling over the bushes on my way out instead of using the footpath.

Shortly after, I found the right place and was ushered kindly into the palm of lavish comfort by Pierre, who did his best to ignore my 'cast-away' appearance on a tour around the hotel. As I write this, I am sitting in a hot bath sipping ice water in my private beach bungalow at Le Meridian. My sailor's resourcefulness has come in handy even here, as I fashioned the ironing board across the tub for a desk and floated my drybag full of dirty clothes behind me as a backrest. By the way, this is no ordinary hotel; this is an extravagant resort!

"Go crazy," Chris demanded. "I got you a massage, too. Order whatever food you want. The management has been specifically told not to accept your money."

Yesterday I must have washed my hair 5 times. I ate strawberry waffles with whipped cream in bed. I wore a cute dress out to dinner and even smeared 'Neosporin, Plus Pain Relief' on my lips for lip gloss. The people here are silent, zombie couples, though? I literally didn't speak to one person that first day. I've been completely isolated from their honeymooning bubbles of gum-swaping and mutual adoration. BUT DON'T GET ME WRONG! I am CERTAINLY not here to socialize and I believe the non-engagement with my fellow guests has actually only added to my intense ability to focus on self-pampering! But I attribute this (and that I can't get Skype to work to call home) for the reason that story is spewing out onto this page like I'm an erupting 'word volcano'! I still haven't slept well yet. My body isn't used to long hours of sleep I guess. But despite this, I have an almost bizarre amount of energy--like I am still 'buzzing' with adrenaline. Or maybe at the rate I am ingesting edible nutrients, my brain is actually coming back to life?! I haven't sufficiently explained the degree of Kiribati's remoteness in writing yet, but aside from the severity of the passage, I honestly have not had a regular hot shower nor eaten vegetables or fruit in any adequate quantity since I was home for my brother's wedding in October. My body, too, is feeling better after my massage today(!!!), although I think the masseuse only tapped the surface. The knots in my shoulders still feel harder than week-old wads of chewed gum.

Only now as I reflect on the most challenging sailing accomplishment of my life, can I begin to find meaning in the ass-kicking that the ocean just gave me. At the time I could think of NO understandable reason for it, but deep down I knew that it would eventually become more clear. And already, although I know I was very lucky that nothing broke, the feat has flushed me with power! Every human faces times of suffering--MUCH greater than what I just endured, too. But as my friend Melanie enlightened me on while in Christmas Island, these adversities, whether they are mental or physical, are our greatest opportunities for personal growth. They test our will and raise our grit! Ultimately, we tumble out the other end empowered because of them. Melville has a few lines in the beginning of Moby Dick that say something like, 'We can only appreciate one entity with the juxtaposition of its opposite. If we are comfortable for too long, we actually aren't comfortable anymore.' I don't have the book with me and want to send this out before I go back to Swell, so I'll get back to you with the real quote, but basically, I already see grand positivity in my recent ordeal! As I parted the draped lace and climbed into my 12-foot wide bed last night, I felt like a true warrior princess!

It's slightly challenging to be totally comfortable in such overly-sumptuous abundance after living SO simply and conservatively aboard Swell for 21/2 years now. I keep turning off the lights, cleaning up after myself, conserving water, and certainly 'placing the turtle on the bed' to signify that I don't need the linens washed daily! But I doubt there is a more appreciative guest in the entire place. And considering the havoc I used to inflict upon hotels similar to this with my hoodlum highschool girlfriends in Del Mar, I think only sneaking in a bag of dirty laundry to wash in the bathtub and stuffing all the little complimentary toiletries into my purse shows a significant increase in my maturity, no?

I BELIEVE IN ANGELS
I sat alone in the cocktail lounge this evening, silently relishing over a chicken caesar salad. A wee, grey tabby kitten came out of the shadows and looked up at me with wide, timid eyes. I've been thinking a cat would be good company aboard Swell lately. I tossed him a scrap of chicken. He ran out, ate it, and hurried back to the safety below a nearby chair. He stayed for the entirety of my meal (likely because I fed him a large helping of chicken), but really, I knew he was a little angel there to keep me company.

Speaking of angels, Chris McGeough!! I wholly credit him for the fact that I will not retire from sailing Swell right now, as I will openly admit that a backpack, surfboard under arm, and a plane ticket in hand were sounding like a VERY appealing option less than 48 hours ago. Without his unwavering radio support through the trip and his UNFATHOMABLE generosity for this dreamy time here at Le Meridian, lord knows where I would be right now!? Words cannot express the profound depth of my eternal gratitude to you, Chris! I figure I owe you approximately 9,000 hull scrubbings as of this moment.

Next, I'd like to thank Holly Scott for the Cal 40 headsail that she recently donated to me (and my dad for taking it to be overhauled at the loft, my sister for driving it to LAX, and Dave Homcy for schlepping it to Christmas Island). Holly, without that sail I would surely still be bobbing somewhere mid-Pacific, weeping over a shredded pile of Dacron, needle and thread in hand. Fortunately, the outrigger sailors on Fanning Island have given a new life to that old sail! Giving is circular! I also want to thank everyone who helped work on my boat before leaving Santa Barbara, especially Barry Schuyler, Marty Spargur, and James Lambden, as the beating Swell took without any major breakage was a true testament to the excellence of your combined diligence and labor. And yes, Marty, I could not agree more that I need a smaller, hank-on jib for going upwind in heavy weather. And Scott Atkins, thank you for the ridiculously generous care package you sent from Hawaii aboard the 'Katy Lee'. Without that bag of oats, I would surely have perished on the way here. And Bria and Judy, had you not fattened me up with all that candy you sent to me on the cargo ship, I may not have had the reserves to get through those last few days! And Melushka and Mary K, you two jokers, that humorous 6-pack of oversized, 'Hanes Her Way', orange-ruffled 'granny panties' that came on that same cargo ship kept my rear as dry and comfortable as possibel considering the situation. They are definitely now my official 'underway captain's uniform'.
Last, but certainly not least, THANK YOU ALL for your thoughts and prayers during the passage and all the time. I am certain they help keep me safe.

So thanks to all my angels, I will go back to Swell tomorrow rested, renewed, and ready to tackle the steamy, wet piles of chaos and start on the list of repairs. I won't have easy access to my email until I get the broken modem figured out, so forgive me for not replying to email as quickly as usual. And don't worry, two of my best surfing girlfriends in the world are due to join me in less than three weeks, so I have plenty of 'talking' to look forward to!