Salt water, humidity and electronics are a really bad combo and despite our best efforts to be super careful and use little swipes of anti corrosive, it glitched out.
This meant, no more weather downloads and no more blog posts but thankfully we were close enough that we could wing it.
(had this happened in the middle of our crossing, it would have been way more annoying)
The funny thing is, even though we get addicted to ordering and downloading slews of grib files every three hours and analyzing them like gung-ho meteorology majors cramming for their final exam, half the time the weather wont do whats predicted anyway and no matter what-you invariably have to deal with what shows up.
Once your out there, you have no choice but to sail what you get.
All the knowing and plotting and planning, doesn't really do much for you other than give you something to distract yourself with for a few hours.
So really, what difference does it make?
The final stretch was sort of surreal.
I sort of hit a maxed-out-high-water-mark, complete with mini-break-down, accompanied by tears and sobbing.
What can I say?
The sea state was brutal, the sky was squalling, lightening ( the one thing I am really scared of) flashed around the edges of the horizon and the wind started to pick up into the 30's.
Jon and I crawled out to have a look around as the rigging began to rattle and shriek in the rising wind.
"I can feel foam in the air" I said looking out at the massive waves, towering over our rail.
"It's a squall, it'll pass" said Jon.
I knew he thought I was over reacting but the last thing I wanted to deal with was a knockdown on our final night of a long crossing
I glared.
Jon looked at me.
His face was totally expressionless but could see how tired he was and I could tell he was annoyed by the line of his mouth.
'You wanna put third reef in?"he asked, very, very, calmly.
"Yes".
Jon sighed and climbed out of the cockpit and onto the pitching deck to stand at the mast and pull our reefing point over the hook while I released the halyard and then hauled it back in and tightened the reefing lines.
It took about five minutes and we both burned about 1500 calories each just trying to get the thing done in the steep sloshy seas but once we got Pura Vida all re-set, the crazy heel and jostle of a boat overpowered by too much sail began to settle down.
Three seconds later, the wind died.
We were suddenly going three knots- and I had instantly added another 30 hours to our ETA.
Jon didn't say anything but i could tell he was pissed.
I sat there for a second, obviously he had been totally right, it was a squall, the wind had died, the best thing to do was now shake out the reef and reset..again.
So we did.
But anyone in the history of the world who has ever been part of couple, will know the next stage of this scenario...It doesn't matter who said what, the conversation is always exactly the same from either side.
"What?"
"are you pissed at me?"
"No"
"I just think that sometimes you..."
"...and I was just...'
"And then YOU..."
'ME?!"
"Really?"
"Really!"
and someone slams a door and someone else sits by themselves staring at the water.
I put my head under a salty, wet, sleeping bag that smells like mold and fish scales and I cry and cry and all the hours of my sore, skinny, old body taking a beating from these waves and all the hours of sitting out there in the dark, being scared as shit but trying to not be because all I have to do is sail the boat for three more hours and then three more hours, and being cold and salty all the time and the boat being dirty no matter how hard I try and having cockroaches in the freaking granola again and not being able to get the stains off the galley counters and not knowing if I will ever have the guts to write that one good novel in me, or if our kids will fit in when they come
home and where is home, anyway and then realizing there is only one answer to any of this, so I climb back out into the night, where Jon sits alone and stars at nothing and he turns when he sees me and opens his arms and I fall into them and cry it all out and we say how much we love each other and we're both sorry and Pura Vida just keeps on sailing on.
Three hours later, when I come up for my watch, Jon brushes the sticky tangle of dreadlocks that used to be my hair, out of my eyes, puts his arm over my shoulder and points.
"Look, baby..."
Past the crests of black-blue waves, against the fine, shadow drawing of dawn breaking on the horizon...
are the lights of of Point Kumuhkai.
Hawaii.
We made it.
Again.
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