A Week Aboard S/V Sabado: 12/15/2024 – 12/22/2024

Last Sunday, we basked in the morning sun. It’d been a week since we’d seen blue sky. I took the opportunity to run to shore for one last grocery haul, topping off our fresh fruit and veggie supply. We were planning to leave for Tuamotus on Tuesday. Thankfully, I made it back to the boat before the familiar grey clouds swallowed us whole once again. We opened a bottle of wine and spent the rest of the day sitting in the saloon, listening to music and swapping conspiracy theories while the rain poured and the wind howled. We were grateful to be the only boat in an anchorage with an all-sand bottom. No need to worry about someone dragging into us or floating our anchor chain over coral. This has been the closest we’ve come to relaxing in a while. 

The sunshine had returned Monday morning, and we watched the local sailing club buzz around the bay. Despite a calm forecast for our pending passage, I did some meal prep while Ray put the last of his tools away from our haul-out projects, getting the boat ready to move again. I have no problem cooking underway in most conditions, but you can never be too prepared here. After all, the last time the forecast said 3-5kn of wind and calm seas, it was 27kn on the nose with 6ft seas. 

We left Tuesday morning around 10am. There was no wind, ideal conditions for the direction we were going. We motored the entire day, taking shifts at the helm and lounging in swimsuits- a welcome change from our recent routine. 

As liveaboards, you either love or hate passage-making. I’ve always loved it. No matter the conditions, there’s something deeply satisfying about being completely self-reliant. You focus on the basics: eat, sleep, hydrate, keep the crew safe, and keep the vessel moving—nothing else matters. You never know what conditions will be thrown at you or what might break. You just have to trust your ability to deal with whatever comes. It’s somehow simultaneously refreshing and challenging.

Squalls lined the horizon at sunset. The bioluminescence glittered around us, illuminating our wake. We could feel the static electricity in the air, and our apparent wind speed began showing crazy numbers, a telltale sign of lightning nearby. 

We cautiously motored on but began hearing a high-pitched whine from our starboard engine, the same sound that led us to discover water in our sail drive last month. It was so loud it woke me up. I alerted Ray to the noise and took the helm while he climbed into the engine compartment to investigate. We exchanged concerned glances. Did we not solve the problem? Was this entire haul out worthless? 

We both sighed in relief when we saw no water in the oil, but what was causing the noise then? We bounced ideas around: maybe it’s the alternator, so let’s turn off charging and see if it stops. Nope. Do we hear it at different RPMs? What if we turn off that engine and now stick your head in the other engine compartment… this went on for an hour or so before we settled on the idea of a singing prop: a high-pitched noise similar to a ringing wine glass caused by fluid circulation and vortex shedding. If you’d like to nerd out on this topic, I found this brief technical report very interesting! We closed the engine compartment and continued motoring through the night. The sound eventually faded away.

On Wednesday, the updated weather forecast showed high winds and lightning in the Tuamotus. We’d been watching the weather patterns throughout French Polynesia for a while now, and it seems like any time the Tuamotus or Society Islands get hammered, it’s been pretty pleasant in the Marquesas. So, we decided to alter course to Tahuata, powering through instead of stopping in Tuamotus, more than doubling the length of this passage. We’re desperate for a break from this weather. The jump from the Tuamotus to the Marquesas is notoriously rough, beating into the wind and waves. Conditions started picking up Wednesday night, and we spent all day Thursday dodging squalls, sailing periodically but predominantly motoring to maintain enough speed to stay ahead of the trailing lightning storms. 

We made great time and sailed all day Friday in 15-20kn of wind. We had a reef in the main and our full jib out, ignoring the sloppy sea state; we were just happy to be moving sans diesel. The waves grew as the sun began to set. We were getting tossed around in every direction. I ate dinner from a mixing bowl at the helm (fewer dishes = less time inside = less seasickness). Our watch shifts were very active that night, altering course to dodge squall after squall. I woke up Saturday morning to the sound of Ray starting our engines and dropping the sails- we were seeing 40kn+ winds out of nowhere. The rain began to pour. We turned slightly downwind, taking the brunt of the waves on our beam while attempting to stay vaguely on course. Eventually, the waves grew too large, forcing us to turn fully downwind and run with it. The storm was growing in every direction, and we were right in the middle.

Heading nowhere near our destination with no idea of when this would end, we decided to turn off our engines to conserve fuel. With no sails and no motors, we were still maintaining SOG 5kn. So, we kicked back for a while. I managed to make a big pot of spaghetti despite the 10ft waves. The wind began to die down a few hours later, but the sea state was still too rough to turn up and hoist the sails. Photos never do these conditions justice; it was gnarly, you’ll just have to trust us. 

We were able to get the sails up around 2pm but struggled to make headway toward our destination. The wind kept shifting, picking up, and dying. We tried to adjust the sails in response but couldn’t keep up. We furled in the jib and tried to get back on course using our engines, but there was just too much water moving against us; we were burning a lot of diesel and getting nowhere. We made the call to turn around an hour later, bringing the jib back out and shaking out a reef in the main. The wind shifted again, then completely died, but the sea state remained relentless. We felt like we were being pranked! We evaluated our options and decided to turn back toward the Marquesas. We had less than 250 miles to go, and we’re tough! We can do this! I took the helm for the rest of the day so Ray could rest. It isn’t easy to sleep when you feel like you’re inside a washing machine. This storm started during his night watch shift, and he’s been awake ever since. I at least got a couple hours’ rest before things took a turn for the worse.

We were hoping to get back to posting on YouTube this week, but it has been impossible to look at my laptop for more than ten minutes these past few days, it’s actually a miracle I was able to type this out! Conditions only got worse overnight. The wind speed stayed around 30kn, so we sailed with the main and jib reefed way down. Some of the most powerful waves I’ve ever felt slapped us from all directions. It seemed like pure chaos until the moon finally rose at midnight, helping me feel a little less disoriented. We had to dramatically change course, again, and have no idea what tomorrow will bring, or where we’ll end up. Wish us luck!

I hope you had a great week. ❤️