Passage to Marquesas day 5

Nickanddenisesailing
Tue 2 May 2017 21:19
03.21.227 s 100.39.978 w cog 269 speed 6.5 wind 15-20knts seas 3m confused

Well its been a bit of an exciting 24 hours since I last wrote.

Pretty much as soon as I sent the last email yesterday evening we had a pod of dolphins come towwards the boat - this was then follow swifty by a pod of pilot whales. It was amazing to seem them - much bigger than a dolphin with their round heads. We think they must have been mating or playing as there was a lot of tail slapping and splashing as we went right past them.

After dinner and game of thrones we settled into our night watch routine. Around 1am I noticed a boat intermitantly pop up on the AIS. On closer inspection I could see a light on the horizon coming from the direction we were headed I turned the radio on to see if they might hail us. After about 20 min I realised that the boat was getting closer and closer and it looked like it was on a direct route for us. I woke up Nick and after everything we had heard about 'provision pirates' I prepared a bag of tinned fish and water (I will add an email below from friends on another boat who tell a good amusing story about their provision pirate experience - worth a read if you have time). The boat had bright lights on and as it got closer and closer we tried to radio it. No response. It was hard to tell if it had directly changed its course towards us but we maintained ours. As it got about a mile away we turned on the engine and powered on to avoid it. I shone lights on the sails to ma
ke it
clear we were sailing. It got whithin half a mile of us where we could see with the binos that it was about 70ft and we think it was a trawler? It was really lit up all down the sides, no offical working lights so it was hard to tell. Thankfully it carried on right past us and headed off intp the distance. After that we kept a keen eye out for fishing gear and any other boats as it may have been a mother ship.

The wind continued to build through the night and we now have 15-20knts which has made the seas more uncomfortable. They are quite confused and are bouncing us around quite a bit. On the possitive side we think we will have done our fastest 24hrs so far. We think about 154nm Nick will check this evening.

So not a very productive day today as we have both been a bit tired and the boat is a bit tricky to get around. But we are plodding on and we keep getting emails from friends saying how wonderful the destination is. We cant wait.




Provision Pirates:

This was written one of the crew - Jake on a Kiwi boat we know called Shapeshifter:

Here is the story of our run-in with the provisions pirates:

It was a bright and sunny day with a light breeze in the ITCZ. We were running almost direct downwind with our new twin headsail configuration in the double track on the forestay. It didn't provide for much maneuverability, but it was more comfortable than a poled out headsail with the main hard on the beam.

We had left Sula behind the night before when we had lowered sail and motored through the lightest breeze. Stu and Lesley didn't have the stack of diesel containers cluttering up their deck like we did so they had slowly sailed all through the night, gradually falling behind. We could see on the AIS that we were roughly 7 miles behind another yacht in transit from the Galapagos to the Marquesas. It had turned into a fairly lazy day. I was planning on taking a grand nap to help catch up on sleep from my last few night watches, when Emily heard the radio crackle down in the nav station and a voice call for our boat, Shapeshifter.

Ships and yachts alike generally keep VHF radios on channel 16 as the standard for calling, often moving to other channels when sailing through high traffic areas or when the conversation requires extended time. For the first day and a half of our trip from the Galapagos we had enjoyed checking in with our friends on Sula. We chatted about the weather, sail configurations, our rotten luck fishing, Emily's sea sickness, the beauty of the full red moon rising just as the sun went down. I was a little sad when we moved out of range and Shapeshifter was left to itself. VHF radio range is line of sight so the 25W signal at the top of the mast only works over so many miles.

"I think there's a boat calling on the radio." Emily yelled up from her nest down on the couch.

Colin went downstairs to listen.

"Shapeshifter, Shapeshifter, Illimite," The yacht 7 miles ahead called in the standard pattern - your ship name, your ship name, our ship name. It was an American accent.

Colin answered the call while I listened from the cockpit.

"Illimite, this is Shapeshifter."

"Hey, just wanted to let you guys know that we were just visited by three guys in a ponga. They didn't seem to be threatening. They just asked for a bit of water and food and then left."

Colin and the man on Illimite chatted for a few minutes gaining a few more details. They appeared to have diesel containers on their boat. It seemed as if they had appeared out of nowhere. The man seemed calm and unaffected by the event. He told us several times that he didn't think it was anything to worry about.

Colin thanked him for the information and the two boats signed off. "Shapeshifter Clear." -- "Illimite Clear."

"What's a ponga?" I asked.

"It's a small boat, similar to the water taxis on Santa Cruz."

I looked on the chart plotter and mapped out our distance from the closest point in the Galapagos. It was over 300 miles away.

"What the hell is a boat that small doing this far away from land?"

We held a quick conference and agreed to change our course further west to avoid Illimite and the ponga's estimated meeting place. Something seemed off. Sitting in the cockpit, mulling over the conversation with the other yacht, our minds were boiling over with possibilities, scenarios, questions. Was it a lost fishing boat? Why was it asking for food and water? Were they in danger? Did they need help? Surely they would have asked the other yacht to call the coast guard if they were in serious danger. Maybe they were just using the food and water as a ploy to scope out the boat to do some pirating. There's never been pirates in the Pacific. They have to start sometime.

Although we laughed at how we were working ourselves up, when someone suggested we turn off our AIS, Colin went down and turned it off out of caution.

Maybe we should call Illimite back and see if they want us to ring the Galapagos coast guard on the sat phone. Good idea.

We called them up on 16 and asked about the coast guard. No, they hadn't called. No, it didn't seem like the guys in the boat were in immediate danger. Yes, it was weird. We thanked them for the information and signed back off

Colin turned on the radar. I could feel the excitement in the mystery building between my gut and my chest. It looks like my nap would have to wait.

We went back to speculating about the boat. How would pirates know to be in this exact spot? The open ocean is a big place; they normally stay near narrows and straights where boats are concentrated more heavily. Yes, but we know of 6 yachts that have passed within 10 miles of this point in the last 24 hours and maybe a thousand more will pass through this season. Good point.

We talked about two fishermen who went out to sell fish to an American boat who misinterpreted their intentions and shot them both dead. I said that I thought that sounded like an American, my mind thinking of the signs I had seen that read, "Due to the increased price in ammunition no warning shots will be given." Colin jokingly asked if I had brought any guns.
I said something along the lines of, "Around seven. You know, one for every day of the week like all good Americans do."

In the face of this strange situation, our minds continued to search for meaning. These were coastal boats, not ocean going vessels. Maybe they just got separated from the primary fishing vessel and ran out of food. Maybe they do this just to mess with the relatively rich yachties and see what kind of free schwag they can get.

It's embarrassing to say that continually throughout this trip I framed many things in the context of the not so hit classic, Waterworld. That freighter over there? Just like Waterworld. That huge trimaran sitting next to that dock? Just like Waterworld. The waves, the water, the sky? Just like Waterworld. Flying the Ginnaker? Waterworld. My mind couldn't help but place this fishing/ potential pirate boat mystery somewhere in the Waterworld universe. Maybe they are permanent ocean beggers subsisting on the kindness of strangers, content to drift along with the currents. My imagination was starting to get a little out of hand.

In hindsight, with the passage boredom setting in and feeling safe with our course change, the pirate option was bound to take the forefront of our minds. It contained too many delicious, if deadly morsels of daydreaming.

"There's something coming up quick on the radar." Colin said.

"Where?" I asked quickly.

"There." Colin responded, pointing forward and to the left. The direction of Ilimite and the Ponga's meeting.

I ripped the binoculars off the helm station and hobble-shuffled as fast as I could to the front of the boat, bracing myself on various parts of the hull and rigging along the way. I started scanning forward off the port bow.

There was a dark speck that I could barely make out on the horizon. We went down into the valley of a swell and all vision was blocked out except for the closest 200m or so. We rose up to the crest of the next swell and I could just glimpse the speck disappearing into it's own swell.

"There's definitely something there." I yelled back to Colin. I waited till we reached the peak of the next swell. This time the speck gained shape, that of a boat, quickly coming our way.

"It's a boat, heading our direction and fast!" I yelled, hobble running back to the cockpit. Looking back, my only regret in how I handled the situation is that I did not take the obvious opportunity to yell, "We've got company!" in a loud, gravely voice. At most you ever get one shot to say that in a lifetime. I had my chance and I blew it.

The boat leapt into activity. Colin instantly started the motor and threw it into gear.

On my way into the cockpit I sputtered, "If all they want is a little food and water, I'm going to make up a bag quick so we can just throw it to them and they can leave as soon as possible."

"Good idea," Colin said as he quickly started to furl in the twin headsail. We hadn't attempted to roll them together yet; the winds had been constantly behind us for the last 16 hours or so when we set this configuration.

I slid down the companionway, back pressed against the down swell side.

"Where's the 2 liter water bottles?" I asked Emily. With her superior memory, she knew where all of our supplies were.

"In this hatch." She pointed to one of the bilge hatches that I was standing on. I ripped it open and grabbed one of the green topped bottles. When we were stocking for the passage in Panama we had thrown in misc. bottles of water from the store at nearly every shopping run until we had amassed a pile of jugs and bottles that would have made a small raft when empty. We were uncertain if the green topped bottles were sparkling water or not, and to this day have not opened one. It's not necessarily relevant to this story; I just think it adds a bit of whimsy to think we gave these guys some fancy sparkling water.

After grabbing a plastic bag from under the sink, I threw in some granola bars and a couple of bananas, the same bananas that Colin had told us needed to be eaten that day as they were starting to go off. I half smiled thinking that the boat had been saved from eating the brown and soft bananas through an act of God. I then threw in a couple of apples because I felt a little guilty at pushing off our almost bad bananas on the fishermen/ potential pirates. They were very good apples and later, when we ran out of apples, I felt a strange, small loss that we didn't have those two apples. Upon reading the rough draft of this article Emily mentioned that she was actually pretty annoyed that I gave them our precious apples. Regardless, they went in the bag. Your mind will do strange things in a panic.

I jumped up the stairs in time to see the sail just finish furling together like two praying hands tied with pieces of string before turning into a closed up umbrella.

Colin threw the engine lever down to full revs, 'flat stick' as he would say. He changed course and begin taking evasive maneuvers. Meanwhile, the ponga was approaching quickly, its roostertail flying behind.

"I don't think they'll expect us to be able to go this fast." Colin muttered, referencing Shapeshifters engine. The original owner had upgraded to a 75 horse and she could do over 10 knots. But still the Ponga approached. When it comes to speed, a cruising monohull rarely wins in a competition against a motorboat. I noticed in this moment that Colin had changed out our broom that normally sits in the rear flag holder to the small fishing spear used for collecting small game on reefs and in shallow water. For lack of a better description, it looks just like a mini-trident with three sharp prongs. As an Arkansan, I called it a frog gig. It struck a good balance between looking formidable, but not too hostile.

I ran back down to the radio and called Illimite, letting them know about our visitors and that I would check in after they left. I thought it was important for someone nearby to know what was happening.

When I came back up, Colin turned into the swells, determined to make it unpleasant for the Ponga. Shapeshifter could take the buffets of the sea much better than the smaller boat could. "They just aren't giving up." he said. And it was true, the Ponga appeared determined to run us down. I should mention here that they never attempted to contact us via radio through all this aggressive maneuvering

As they came around our side, one of the men yelled and waved a large aluminum pot around his head like some kind of a gideon warrior. My heart pounding fast and hard, I scanned the boat quick while they pulled up to the starboard aft corner of the boat. There were no obvious fuel containers, only a roped together pile of what appeared to be old car oil containers. There was only one other man, sitting at the tiller, his head wrapped in what appeared to be a t-shirt. Emily and Colin later mentioned that the-man-at-the-tiller did not stop grinning a creepy looking grin during the entire episode. Still, I instantly thought that this must be a different boat from the one described by Ilimite. Were there more men below the tiny deck of the Ponga?

The-pot-waving-man came up to the bow and crouched. Was it from the wave action? Was it because he was going to jump? He wore a tank top and close buzzed hair. Before he could say a word I chucked the bag of food and water across the small gap between our boats. All this time, Colin kept the engine running and the boat moving, ready to cut the wheel if the-pot-waving-man decided to try to come aboard. I had hoped that they would leave immediately. Instead, the-pot-waving-man ran to the small cabin at the front of the ponga and disappeared for a brief moment while the-man-at-the-tiller kept the boat in the same relative position.

The-pot-waving-man came back up on deck, apparently a bit dissatisfied with the offering, obviously oblivious to the quality of apples he had received. He commenced to rapidly speak a language I could not understand. Whether it was a dialect of Spanish or Chechen I have no idea. From my two years of Spanish and time spent in romance language countries, I can typically catch enough words to put together a conversation, but not today. I was uncertain if it was the loud engine roar or the waves or my nerves, but it appeared we were destined to go through this interaction without meaningful communication.

We stood there staring at each other for what felt like a long time. I finally understood the word pescado- fish. Ah. This I understand. They were asking if we had caught any fish around here.

"No pescado aqui." I said, pointing at the lures behind our boat, a little too proud of my shitty spanish. The man went down below and held up a tin can.

Through rushed words that I can barely remember we decided to try offering some of our cans of tuna buried in our hold. Emily went down below to excavate.

I stood staring at the man on the bow. It struck me in that moment how strange it was to see another human being. You prepare yourself to see no one but the other members of the crew for a few weeks and then suddenly new faces appear in the middle of the ocean no more than a few feet away. All of the questions from earlier and more kept running through my head. Who are these people that beg for food and water in the open ocean on a small boat. Why did they not bring enough food and water? If there was a bigger boat nearby, wouldn't it have supplies for the fishermen? Why the hell would fishermen ask for canned fish? Was it really begging if it included running down a boat and then practically demanding food and water? Maybe I should call them the provision pirates. Mixed in with my apprehension, I also felt silly and embarrassed that my first reaction was so fearful. We played the parts of overly cautious western yachtsmen to the tee.

While Emily was still below, I noticed there was a name and home port on the boat. "Pedro y Rillando" from Punto Manta. There was a small painting of the outline of Ecuador filled in with the Ecuadorian flag.

I tried to ask them if they were from the Galapagos, but they just kept saying "Ecuador! Ecuador! Ecuador!" I'm not sure if this meant they were from the mainland or if they were agreeing they were from the Galapagos Ecuador. For reference the mainland is almost 800 miles away at the closest point from where we were. I'll have to check on Punto Manta when we get back to internet.

I then tried to ask who was Pedro and who was Rillando. "Qui es Pedro? Qui es Rillando?" I questioned. No response there although I was again proud of my shitty Spanish. Thanks, Coach Wentz.

Emily came back up with a couple of cans of tuna, quickly tossed across to the-pot-waving-man. Finally, thier provision pirating satiated, the-man-at-the-tiller pulled the Ponga away and headed off at full speed South South West while the-pot-waving-man grinned a big grin, waved a small wave, and said, "bye bye, bye bye."

Colin reved the engine and turned us back to our original course. I checked in with Illimite and described our strange encounter. They said it sounded similar to their experience.

As we headed back to our original course we kept our eye on the boat approaching the horizon. We still had a weird feeling about the whole encounter. Too much of it didn't make sense. I followed the boat with the binoculars and made a chilling discovery. Sitting on the very edge of the horizon a few miles away was a group of 4-5 Pongas going in and out of vision at the very limit of the binoculars. It seemed as if they knew just how far away they needed to sit to be out of standard vision. Due to its mast a sailboat can be seen from a much longer distance than a small boat close to the water. We messaged Sula to steer clear of the whole area. They directed their course around to the south and warned other vessels in route from the Galapagos to the Marquesas that there were strange activities with fishermen hundreds of miles off the coast of the Galapagos.

Colin pushed the stick down as we decided we would catch up to Illimite to stick close during the night in case some of our more cautious if ridiculous fears proved to be true - that we had been scoped out to be boarded after nightfall.

Once we were within sight of Illimite's sails we called them up on 16 and agreed to move to a lower powered, lower range channel. We talked about our home states back in America and our plans for the Marquesas. We let them know about the additional Pongas and our plans to run without lights and AIS through the night. They also decided to run without lights and we both passed the night in stealth mode within a couple miles of each other, motoring through low winds and light rain. My shift was the first in the evening and I spent most of my time wide eyed, scanning the horizon and listening for the sound of a Ponga approaching.

But we saw nothing and heard nothing and in the morning it was as if nothing had ever happened at all. I sure hope those sons of bitches enjoyed our goddam apples.




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