Gregg Drude's Dream Surfing / Sailing Trip: Van Dieman Dispatch

March 5 - Dispatch - "The greatest torture is having to wait around while you know the surf is pumping"

Cabin fever sets in...

The greatest torture I can imagine is having to wait around while you know the surf is pumping. It could be sitting in the car waiting for your bro to get his things together, or being stuck at work a little later than usual. Whatever the reason, I begin to go nuts watching the hands of my watch slowly tick by while visualizing waves that I could be riding at that very moment. Traveling by boat, I have come across an even crueler form of this same suffering.

We set sail late morning from the beach we had been surfing the past few days, knowing that there was a better wave just 35 miles down the coast. At our normal cruising speed, this should have been about a six-hour trek. But on this day the entire universe seemed to be conspiring against us, as we averaged a whopping 1.5 knots/hr. for the entire passage. We should have arrived just after 5 o’clock in the evening, but didn’t end up dropping anchor until 4 the next morning.

Whatever move we made, the wind and ocean had another trick up its sleeve used to deny our efforts. Throughout the day, the wind made a continuous turn toward the east, forcing our course farther and farther out to sea. At first we were not concerned after witnessing the wind do this the last few days, only to spin back the other direction in the evening. Our plan was to take advantage of the speed we could obtain by heading off course for a while, intending to correct our course and haul ass back once the wind switched. Problem was, the wind never changed. It continued to build in strength, and before we knew it, we had 30 knots of wind blowing directly on our bow as we headed for our destination. Let the torture begin.

We had no choice but to douse the sails, and run under engine power to fight the evil wind. Over time, the ocean got involved in this little game, and began throwing 6-foot wind waves right in our face. The wind and wave combination prohibited the Van Dieman from traveling at anything over 2 knots/hr. What made matters even worse was that the autopilot was unable to maintain its course against such strong forces, meaning that one of our crew had to be at the helm constantly.

Our best helmsman, Josie, had flown home for a short respite, so it was just Trent and I sharing the duty. We adopted a three-hours on, three-hours off watch routine to allow each of us short naps in order to avoid exhaustion. Falling asleep at the wheel was not a problem, thanks to the waves breaking over the bow every 10 minutes or so. Each time the bow plunged under the breaking crest of a wave, the helmsman received a face full of salt water thrown from 40 feet away. The anticipation of the dousing was just as bad as the actual drenching; you had plenty of time to think about it, but nowhere to hide from the inevitable shower.

The only positive note of the entire day was that we caught one of what has become our favorite fish, a Sierra Mackerel. It was no simple task preparing said fish, but the lingering taste of the beautiful white meat was the only joy I could find as I watched the coastline literally crawl past throughout the night. “Will there be any swell left by the time we get there?” I wondered throughout the hellish journey. I figured that we could have walked the entire 35 miles quicker than we sailed it. We did have a full moon out to help see where we were going, but of course the clouds moved in and provided pure darkness as we approached our anchorage. We had to find the bay and its protection by trusting our instruments, and not our eyes. Pretty unnerving after such a strenuous day and a night of little rest.

We were able to secure the anchor amid wind gusts strong enough to blow a man off the deck if he were not holding on to something. The first few hours of sleep were fitful, with dreams of the anchor coming loose and the boat ending up on the rocks, but once we were more confident in the holding power, we both slept like rocks. For the first time in months, we both slept past sunrise, and in fact didn’t even get out of bed until 11. We woke to find the wind still howling, and the swell a meager 2-foot. Some reward for the dues we paid overnight.