Passage to Galapagos

The good ship Mehalah, a 47 foot, 40 year old Hylas.  A pretty girl.

Captain Gill, Deckman John, Peter and I - the cast of characters.

Peter and I were looking forward to our passage to Galapagos for many reasons.  Most important, to spend time with John and Gill, friends we had met during lockdown in Carriacou, and who had line-handled for us on our Panama Canal transit.  Although we had raced Peter's 27' keelboat in Toronto, "camped" on her overnight en famille a couple of times and chartered a monohull for a week (nights must be spent at anchor) neither of us had ever passaged on a monohull.  

We felt privileged to have the opportunity to sail to and tour Galapagos without undergoing all the bureaucratic requirements that goes along with bringing a boat in.  According to John, and with the aid of a required agent, the application process requested financial, boat and crew information in multiple colour copies.  Once application was accepted, a checklist to warn the crew about expectations upon arrival was sent.  Below is the list of some of the requirements prior to arriving and upon arrival.  (Skip this part if you're not interested.  It's rather lengthy)

To list a few: Prior to leaving Panama City, a Fumigation Certificate with fumigation done within a day or two of leaving last port and a Hull Cleaning Certificate within the same time line.  Health insurance for each crew (we've never had this requirement before), lots of boat details (this is required at every port) and a list of last ten ports visited had already been sent.  It was strongly suggested that the hull be cleaned by the crew one day before arrival, if the sea state allowed, for any barnacles, algae, sea shells or "other".

Upon arrival, Gill and John were to expect 8-10 inspectors to visit the boat with 1 or 2 divers to inspect the hull.  The once over included: 

• Health inspection: a list of medications in first aid box for expired drugs which would be confiscated if found (strange - perhaps they thought they'd be discarded improperly and hence impact wildlife?), a Covid protocol signed and stamped? and the usual Covid blasters -  alcohol, hand sanitizer, safety glasses, nitrite glove, masks, wipes
• Biosecurity: no live plants or animals; no nuts, fresh coffee beans, chia seeds, oranges, mangoes, passion-fruit or berries; no fresh cheese; no unprocessed or fresh pork or beef (if found it would be sealed by an official so not consumed during stay.)
• Environmental: Capacity and working order of black water system with signs posted "Do not discharge black waters into the sea"; cleanliness of black water system and bilge which must be "exceptional"; waste separated and labeled as organic, recyclable and non-recyclable; bins, lined in plastic; signs inside boat at bins and in cockpit to read "Do not throw garbage into the sea", products such as absorber pads, paper towels, oil spill socks available in case of spillage; biodegradable household and personal products are imperative
• Hull - if not clean and inspection unsuccessful, the boat would be required to leave the reserve (40 miles offshore for cleaning and reentry with entry fee repaid.  A downer after a passage of more than a week.
• Immigration - the usual information from each crew
• Safety - Documents, liferaft, flares, lifejackets, fire equipment, navigation equipment, communication equipment all in good standing. 

Considering the archipelago is attempting to protect the environment and many unique and endangered species, many of the requirements for boats entering seem reasonable.  But, it did seem a bit excessive.  For example, health and safety are most often left to the discretion of the captain. Seldom have we had inspectors actually get on the boat (Mexico and Tunisia excepted) and never have we had the bilge inspected. The bilge on a boat is never immaculate.  And the cost of the entire process was very substantial.  At the Panama City end, the hull cleaning and fumigation were a rip off - excessive fees with minimal effort. Gill and John were as organized as possible prior to departure with signs etc already printed.  Nonetheless, we expected that the last day or two of passage would be preparing the boat for arrival, including a deep dive on the hull.

I have to admit to being a bit nervous before heading out to sea for a 7-10 day passage on a monohull.  On Milly, I get a bit seasick for the first day or two.  Meclazine has eased this to a very manageable level.  I expected different movement on Mehalah and wondered how I'd be.  I requested that Gill stock up on green apples and sparkling water.  They assured me that neither of them enjoy heeling and they reef the sails to avoid it.  Nevertheless, there was no turning back and 7-10 days is a long time to feel nauseous!

Getting the feel of the helm.

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Mehalah is lined with lovely wood and boasts lots of cupboards and crannies to put all the provisions you need for a passage through to New Zealand. Our bed was forward in the v-berth.  It narrowed toward the bow but left us with ample foot room.  Our heads were aft where the bed was about the width of a queen.  Getting in and out of bed required a bit of acrobatics and flexibility but entirely doable and the exercise was good for us.  Cubbies on either side were empty for our clothes.  A hatch opened when we were at dock or anchor.  Underway the fenders and dinghy laid on top of it so it was shut.  We had our own head just outside our room.  We all shared the master head for showers.  So we were comfy and our hosts were wonderful.

We boarded Mehalah two days prior to departure, greeted by John and Gill.  The crew of a sister ship to Milly, Pisces, who we had spent some time with in Grenada and who were now good friends of JnG's, also preparing to cross the Pacific, came out to dinner with us.  Gill and I did a final produce shop at the market while Peter and John filled the fuel tanks.  Peter and I did some other jobs as assigned, settled into our berth and became acquainted with the boat.  The boat was fumigated and bottom scrubbed.  

A bunch of JnG's friends came to say good-bye and honked, hollered and waved as we left the dock.  Going across the Pacific, as JnG were, was a huge undertaking and no-one knows this as much as other sailors.   This was the beginning of JnG's "puddle jump" or "coconut milk run" as cruisers call it, "stepping off" the continent and embarking on the longest passage of the typical circumnavigation route.  Hence the heartfelt wishes for fair winds.   It was exciting for us to be part of! 

We were off for a shakedown day sail to Contadora, about 40NM west of Panama City - the same anchorage where we had said farewell to JnG almost a year previously after the Canal crossing.  It was a pleasant sail with no seasickness.  I was relieved and so were the others, I'm sure.  

In a strong current we checked the bottom less than 24 hours after it had been cleaned, only to discover it was covered in algae, some places worse than others.  The captain was not pleased. It only added to the stress of unusually strict entry requirements.  We resolved that we would clean the bottom underway if the sea state allowed

With a buddy boat, we left for Galapagos on February 20th. We agreed to 2-hour watches at night and 3-hour watches during the day.  This gave each of us six uninterrupted - if all was stable - hours of sleep each night.  Shortly after Peter and I went to bed at 8pm, we heard an urgent shout from JnG from the cockpit.  The wheel was lose and coming off!  There was no steerage!  A dangerous problem that if not fixed would quickly end the passage.  John was able to get it back on - a simple fix, luckily.  Meanwhile, we were close to the shipping channel, busy with enormous ships, and hand steering.  Initially, disoriented there were a couple of accidental gybes - always unsettling.  In short order, we were back in control but neither "Paul", the wind-vane self-steering device nor the autopilot were holding course in the over 20 knot wind.  Gill hand steered through her watch while John kept her company.  I was on watch next and took over hand steering which on a new boat is a bit of a challenge.  Handsteering is usually done by looking at the sails, by feel and by instruments.  I didn't have a feel for the boat and it was pitch dark.  I steered purely by instruments trying to keep the wind angle consistent.  The instrument was lit but quite far away for my old eyes.  By the end of two hours, I was cross-eyed but felt good about keeping Mehalah on an even keel.  Gill had kept me company.  We both fell into bed, handing the watch to Peter who got the autopilot working and had a much more peaceful watch.

Midway celebration, a Mehalah tradition.  We shared this Panamanian rum with Neptune which was very generous on an otherwise dry boat.

The first three days were windy and bumpy.  With the aid of meclazine, I felt fine until I stopped taking it! One day of feeling not so great.  Then the wind died and the sea was often completely flat - incredible.  Hard to believe that in other areas of this huge body of water, it was raging.  

Peter was able to guide JnG on how to use their parasail - a huge downwind sail, perfect for a Pacific crossing.  Although we have never used one, our experience with asymmetrical chutes was enough to let us enjoy some speed in light air.  Until it died and the motor was required day and night.  One night we took down sail, turned the motor off and drifted.  Didn't make a lot of headway but with the current, it was at least in the right direction.

One of many lovely sunsets with large parasail doing its thing.

Our guest for 24 hours or so.

As Peter and I had noticed on our passage up the Central American and Mexican coasts, there seemed to be much more ocean life in the Pacific compared to our transAtlantic passages.  We saw several groups of dolphins, albeit shy and only on one occasion playing at the bow.  A booby sat at the edge of the cockpit for a day or so, rudely leaving his/her guano behind.  An incredibly long fin whale, we think, wowed us and two pilot whales.  One late afternoon, two boobies perched on the wind vane at the top of the mast, pirouetting at great speed.  John agreed to being hoisted up the mast to get them off this useful piece of equipment but called to be let down as the sun set - he was falling out!!

The twirling booby.  He'd twirl very fast in one direction and then the other, tail feathers tensed for balance.  It did not look at all relaxing but it stayed there all night.  The other of the pair had solid footing on the mast.  The wind vane proved very sturdy and was not at all damaged.

We crossed the equator at 88.36.839 W with great celebration.  A slug of rum for us and a drop for Neptune, pinwheel appetizers and Gill's home-made Christmas cake.  

Crossing the equator!  This was Peter and my second time, having crossed on passage from  Fernando de Naronja, Brazil to French Guiana.  In British Navy speak, we are called Shellbacks.  John and Gill, having never crossed are called Pollywogs.  Once they cross, a Shellback on the boat can inaugurate them with ceremony to become Shellbacks.  Peter and I were prepared.  

We adapted a script, Peter donned a "cape" but forgot his trident.  As Shellback, he was Neptune's representative.  

Although John and Gill don't look too serious, it was supposed to be a solemn ceremony.   Traditionally, the pollywogs are initiating with some gruesome hazing, like dumping galley slop on their heads.  We thought we would embarrass them by requesting a seafaring song.  But they surprised us with several verses in harmony of a lovely shanty.  Huh! 

The scripts - held down in the wind with toes.

As His Majesty Neptune's scribe, I was in charge of the certificate, awarded to the new Shellbacks

Minutes after the ceremony, the reels on both rods whined.  Neptune was rewarding the boat with two yellow fin tuna from his deep.

Gill had attempted a scrub along the waterline earlier in the passage during calm seas.  Unfortunately, we had spotted hundreds of jellyfish an hour or two before so she jumped in fully covered with clothing, gloves, flippers, bathing cap and mask.  The day before our expected arrival, also calm, Peter, Gill and I dove on the rudder, waterline, and other algae spots.  John stayed on board to manage the lines dragged in the water for the divers to hold onto.  The water was warm, exceptionally clear, calm and lovely.  The rudder was scrubbed and the longest beards were removed.  We did what we could with only the occasional thoughts of sharks and jellies.  

Gill's first attack on the bottom.  Geared up for jellyfish assault.  Not elegant but no skin showing!

Deep dives on the rudder and keel while drifting downwind at mid ocean.

We had to slow down our arrival to avoid entering the harbour in the dark - always a little frustrating after days of passage making.  However, it gave us time to tape up signs, label eco-friendly products, re-wipe the bilge, tidy the boat, put some Coke on ice to offer the inspectors - Gill had heard that was appreciated and we wanted happy officials - etc. etc.  We had eaten all the chia seeds, citrus fruit etc.  It was largely a vegetarian boat so meats were no issue.  Fresh cheese was consumed.

We were ready!  Bring 'em on!  The eight officials arrive by taxi boat.  The ninth is in the water inspecting the hull.  Mehalah, Gill and John passed without a problem.  They were impressed by the signs.

 We anchored in Puerto Baquerizo early morning on February 28th.  Sea lions greeted us, swimming and what had to be playing it looked so fun, beside and under the boat.

The passage from Contadora to Puerto Baquerizo, San Cristobal, Galapagos was 891NM and took 8 days. It was a great experience for Peter and I to be crew.  Wouldn't have missed it.  And now we get to explore the islands.  Thanks, John and Gill!!

Addendum:  Captain Gill and Deckman John arrived safely in Hiva Oa, French Polynesia after a 27-day passage.  You can follow their blog at https://yachtmehalah.blogspot.com.  We are so thrilled and proud of their incredible accomplishment!