Noon Position: 64 10N 51 44W (Nuuk, final approach)
Course(t)/Speed(kts): N 6
Wind(t/tws): N 15
Miles since departure: 32,845
Leg Newfoundland to NuukDay: 7
My timing wasn’t perfect.
By 11pm, we were just a few miles off shore, and while there was light enough to see, and would be the night through, the fog continued thick. My intended route into Nuuk, the Narssaq Lob, had two passes that appeared tight. I was tired. At ten miles out, I switched off the engine and hit the bunk. Mo drifted in undifferentiated gray.
Briefly today the sun came out and warmed my back as I stood in the cockpit admiring my domain, which was otherwise gray and flat as a pancake. Fulmars bombed around the boat in threes and fives; occasionally a skua passed by at mast top; once we cut through a school of dolphins spread out over a quarter mile. Otherwise it’s been nothing but slate gray sky and a gray mirror for water.
At noon I pointed Mo NE toward Nuuk. We’ve climbed as much as ...
The day has been kind. Though not a soul would call this trade wind sailing, the fog has lifted such that one’s gaze must travel an expanse of water before reaching a horizon. What relief. Granted, both water and sky continue in their admiration of the color gray, but at least there is now something to look at.
And the wind, though forward of the beam, is of a velocity Mo can use for speed while maintaining comfort for her ...
Gray on gray. The fog came in hard at the Baccalieu Tickle yesterday. Within the hour it was raining. Since then it’s been variations on same with a kind of wet chill that is reminiscent of the Southern Ocean.
When I woke, the on deck thermometer read 50 degrees; water temperature, 47. The first layer of thin thermals went on after coffee, the thin layer because, well, this is just the beginning.
Yesterday, north wind with rain. Then north wind with fog. Then just north wind. As our goal is north, Mo and I sat out the day here at the Royal Newfoundland Yacht Club twiddling our thumbs. Mo is ready, dressed for departure, impatient, as am I.
Today, a clear sky at dawn, directly overhead at least. I switch on the engine after this post. We’ll be underway before the seagulls finish breakfast.
Nuuk is a thousand miles poleward and across Davis Strait. Figure ten days. We’re behind schedule now and will look to make quick work of the Greenland coast. ...
One last repost as Mo and I ready to depart Newfoundland tomorrow, this a summary of the clothing strategy I employed for the Arctic in 2014.
Having completed that passage and a few other cold ones besides, I’d say that the clothing inventory was suitable for the environment of interest, with some amplifications.
Layers, yes. Often I wore two or three base layers and two vests below, then fleece and then down, all below foulies. One is not moving much, so retaining the heat of a body at rest is one’s primary focus.
Randall Reeves grew up reading about and dreaming of the sea. He learned to sail on the rivers of central California and interviewed world-famous solo sailor, Bernard Moitessier, for his college radio station, an event that changed his life. Randall’s blue-water sailing began in 2006 when he crewed on a 40-foot boat for a 26-day, 3,000-mile passage from Hawaii to British Columbia where “everything went gloriously wrong.” He was hooked. In 2010, Randall departed San Francisco for a two-year, 12,000-mile solo-loop of the Pacific in a 30-foot sailboat. Randall crewed the Northwest Passage in 2014, a grueling 65 days over an ice-strewn 5,000-mile course aboard one of only seven boats to complete the Arctic run that year. Randall’s preparations in 2016 have included long passages aboard his new Figure 8 boat from Kodiak, Alaska to Hawaii and back to his home in San Francisco, a total of 7,000 miles. Randall is a licensed Master of vessels to 50 Gross Tons