Passage to Antigua
The Proposal: Sail to Antigua, West Indies, nonstop 1675 nautical miles on the open ocean in stiff winds ahead of the beam, in a boat I built from scratch in my backyard in a town 500 miles from the nearest saltwater. What could possibly go wrong?
Helacious as seen from SV Django on the first evening.
A bit of history: After the pandemic forced our return to the USA from the Bahamas in June, 2020, we headed up to the Chesapeake for the summer. After some hot weather and lots of jellyfish we put the boat on the hard in Deltaville, Virginia for a few months and drove back home to Memphis to regroup. During discussions about how we could continue cruising in the fall and winter I mentioned that I had read about a rally called Salty Dawgs that went to Antigua and was still planning to make the trip again in November, 2020. So we contacted them, did some research and realized that this was a viable option. The plan was to leave Hampton, Virginia on or around November 2. The rally would provide guidance and support in the form of custom weather forecasts, emergency response, advice on routing, fleet tracking, immigration liaison and webinars on various topics. In addition, once we got to Antigua there would be a ready made social group and activities. For $300.00 this seemed like an ideal way to begin proper ocean passage-making. Having access to the knowledge base of cruisers who had done the passage before turned out to be invaluable.
After weeks of preparation, quarantining and Covid testing the fleet set sail early on November 3. The trade winds had moved very far north to near 35N, so that the normal route of a rhumb line course SE to around 27N 64W, then S to Antigua at 17N wasn’t viable. Instead we needed to make as much easting as soon as possible before turning SSE. The Gulf Stream turns ENE near the mouth of the Chesapeake, providing a current boost of 2-3 knots if played correctly. It was decided to try to use the current to head as far east as possible. Unfortunately the wind began to turn E even this far north and against the GS current resulting in some pretty large waves builing up, forcing us to exit the stream. We fought hard to still work our way east. Winds built to mid 20’s and then higher, into the low 30’s, seas were 2-3 meters just ahead of being beam-on. It was pretty wild ride and conditions new to us. Our course was close-hauled as the winds stayed E and then developed a SSE component, forcing us closer to the wind and slowing our progress. Squalls become a new game at night, with not all of them showing on the radar or suddenly popping up just 2 -3 miles away. We jealously guarded our easting, unwilling to bear off in most cases, and then just enough to keep some speed.
The winds and seas were unchanged for 10 days. We kept the main double reefed, staysail tightly sheeted in with a tweaker and reefed the 105% yankee genoa as needed, often half a dozen times a night. On a technical side note, we kept complaining about the wind forecasts, both our human router and PredictWind, being -10 to15˚ in error from what we were observing. To compound the frustration the human weatherman kept saying in his written synopsis that we should be enjoying a beam reach, when in fact the wind was well ahead of the beam and we were close reaching at 50-55˚ apparent wind angle, not 80 or 90˚! Not until the end of the passage did I figure out that the wind report is given as True degrees, without accounting for local magnetic variation. The variation in the ocean area between Bermuda and the Lesser Antilles is more than 15˚W, an amount that must be added to the True wind amount to align with the observed wind in your particular location. We navigate and sail the boat according to Magnetic directions. In addition, when the wind is ahead of the beam the Apparent Wind (the wind felt by the boat) moves forward, creating an even tighter wind angle. These concepts are common knowledge, and make sense now that I have had the epiphany, but in talking to other sailors, while many acknowledged the similar frustration with the weather router, not all understood my explanation regarding magnetic variation. At least it makes sense to us!
Misery loves company and it was good to have satellite email contact with some of the other boats, especially on the dark watches. We lost visual contact with all of the other 30 or so other boats after 2 days but the Iridium satellite tracking allowed us to keep up with the locations of all of fleet. At least we weren’t the slowest boat! The catamarans were unhappy with the angle and steepness of the beam-on waves, fearing for their bridge deck structural integrity as the waves hit first one hull then the other. The monohulls crashed and banged into the sea as they fought onward. Several boats diverted to Bermuda for repairs, including a split black water tank, eww! Green water flooded over our deck and invaded the anchor locker, which we pumped regularly after discovering several feet of water inside. The watertight bulkhead is indeed watertight! Heeling was not so bad on our boat and we kept the side decks out the water most of the time. Having 12,300 lbs of lead 6 feet down in a completely structural keel makes a difference!
Helacious performed beautifully, showing her sea kindliness and keeping us safe and snug in the cockpit. The granny bars at the mast and midline jacklines made working at the mast to reef the main secure and non-threatening. Slowly we learned what to do and not to do. When 45 knot squalls hit beam on, Helacious bowed slightly and kept right in her groove as we eased the traveller down to spill some wind.
One of the drawbacks to sailing a boat you built are the “0300 doubts”, when in the dark of night the imagination you relied on so heavily to create the ship turns to scary thoughts and what-ifs: did I weld it correctly? Did I tighten the flange bolts on the transmission? Are the turnbuckles tight enough on the standing rigging? Too tight? I feel a special burden of responsibility for literally every nut and bolt onboard. Thankfully these night terrors recede with dawn and have slowly diminished as we hit the 7000nm mark of our voyage on this latest passage. And Helen always reassures me: You have thought of everything, and if you didn’t then you have enough tools and parts onboard and the expertise to fix anything. And she’s right, knowing where every component is, how it’s installed and that you actually have a complete wiring diagram for the 678 wires and that they are labelled on either end-these things set the mind at ease. I am sure that my keel will not fall off. There are watertight collision bulkheads fore and aft. The concept of impeccability I relied on during the construction is the backstop. And the really beautiful icing on the cake? Helacious, heavy as she is at 18 tons, sails really well. She’s not the fastest out of the blocks, nor can she point as high as a J boat. But when she smacks a wave there is a reassuring solidity there, not staggering, but punching. Her stout cutter rig means we can shorten sail and keep the center of effort at the mast by reefing the jib. Being in confident control of the boat in high winds and rough seas like this Salty Dawg Fall Rally passage to Antigua made all the difference to the two of us being able to manage by ourselves for 12 nights. We found slowing down at night kept us rested, reduced the noise and stress, both on our nerves and on the boat.
On the 12th day of our voyage the winds and seas finally calmed down and the skies were beautifully clear. On the 13th day we sighted Barbuda and made landfall several hours later in historic, spectacular English Harbor, Antigua. Tired, but not broken, we managed a celebratory glass of bubbly before some gloriously uninterrupted sack time.
So what went wrong during this passage? Amazingly little! Some water in the anchor locker, a few small hatch leaks, and a chafed staysail sheet cover -10 days on the same tack will do that. And, twenty miles from English Harbour our Iridium Go satellite device gave up the ghost without so much as a warning.
What did we do right, in addition to spending the time, 12,000 hours at last count, to build a boat to the highest standards and methodically gaining ocean sailing experience and confidence on the water? Joining the Salty Dawg Rally was a good move. The knowledge we gained by listening to the captain’s calls, webinars and weather briefings was invaluable. Sailing conservatively was smart, reducing our risk of mechanical breakdown or injury. We were near the back of the fleet, but there were no prizes being given, so arriving unbroken was a major plus. Stories of flooding, ripped sails, boom breaks, stanchions torn off , failed autopilots and more circulated through English Harbour as the crews socialized. Most felt that this passage ranked among the more difficult due to the strength of the trade winds and their higher latitude range. We felt very lucky to have been able to sail to a paradise island -and in one piece!
