Day 233

Shortly after crossing the equator I found myself in the middle of a wildlife extravaganza. First I saw 1 dolphin, then 2, then maybe 10, all swimming to my right, the closest 20 yards away.  The first one is always startling - a giant, dark grey creature partially emerging from the depths.  Then it's terribly exciting, look at them all!  Swimming right here!  In the midst of half a dozen rolling backs I see 2 or 3 flying fish burst out of the water, pointing in the opposite direction.  By the way, flying fish can both steer while airborne, and skip off the water, just like a flat stone on a lake.  It's really weird looking.  The skip is almost a re-launch to the awkward gliding.  Thinking about it, the steering might just be balancing to level, I've been unable to interview the fish thus far, but it looks like steering. 

Less than a second after the flying fish emerge, so does a very determined 4 foot long predator.  The pursuing fish was silver with a blue dorsal area, and what appeared to be a giant head.  That thing was keeping an eye on the flying fish both above and below the water, jumping 2 or 3 feet above the surface.  The time between consecutive jumps was almost immediate, a turnaround almost too quick to believe.  The dolphins seemed unperturbed by the proceedings at hand.  However, an airborne predator was on the scene almost immediately.  I didn't even know they were nearby, but maybe 5 seconds after the first flying fish appeared, there were two Frigates overhead. 

These birds are incredibly agile.  They appear to have 5 or 6 foot wing spans; it's difficult to tell since I normally see them at greater distances.  Despite their size, they can somehow reside inches above the water, plucking fish from the air, or from just below the surface, regardless of the sea state.  The determined swimming predator stopped pursuing in light of the new players involved.  Or at least stopped jumping.  The first swoops down were a miss, the Frigates then executed aggressive safe escape maneuvers, almost a vertical climb away from the sea, safely clear of the next wave.  It's incredibly impressive watching the maneuvers.  I find myself wondering what kind of G-Forces are at play, especially with hollow bones in the mix.  I don't think they won this round; I didn't see any bird gulping this time. 

Meanwhile, there is a Storm Petrel ignoring the dolphins, the fish, and the other birds.  Instead, its tiny black eyes are spotting prey I can't even see, things like plankton. This guy is the true maneuverability king.  It's just as maneuverable as a humming bird it seems, yet uses regular bird flapping techniques (as far as I can tell, what do I know).  It's baffling watching this tiny 6 inch bird hover over the face of a wave, pluck something out of the water, then execute a crazy backflip maneuver to keep from getting run down by the wave itself.  It also glides gracefully and quickly, it can do anything it seems - except fly backwards, maybe.  This entire explosion of activity happened within 120 seconds, then it was back to silence.  

By the way, during a squall yesterday, I was taking a shower courtesy of Mother Nature.  It's surreal showering in that manner; just the sheer amount of water pouring down is impressive.  The waves look different - more clearly defined as the striations of capillary waves disappear.  The visibility dropped down to less than a mile, the water droplets increased in size, and the wind began churning, transforming droplets into stinging projectiles.  I stayed until the stinging became more unpleasant than the cool shower was pleasant.  Meanwhile, I looked up and right and there was a lone Frigate taking the punishment, just like me.  Except he didn't have the refuge of a cabin once things got dicey.  

In other news, I've begun collaboration with Crossfit Bolt in Texas on a rowing challenge.  It's a 100 day challenge, me trying to make the finish line, and them trying to beat me using rowing machines.  The 100th day will be on May 30th 2019.  So there is the preliminary target date for reaching the end zone.  It's preliminary, and likely nowhere near when I'll make landfall somewhere, but it's a date nonetheless.  Don't buy plane tickets based on this estimate, just know it's there.  Matt McCraney is the owner of Crossfit Bolt, is an AF Academy graduate, and played football.  If you're in the Dallas area, check his place out, the is link on my homepage. 

Game On

Pictured above: Tamana, an island of Kiribati. It's the most SW island of the country, I believe. I've been going through Kiribati for over a month now.  So finally, goodbye Kiribati!  I hope to visit in the future.  

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Arts and Crafts

It appears I've crossed the equatorial counter-current without too much trouble.  It was the last major current running against my desired route of travel, so I'm grateful I made it through relatively unscathed.  The next major benchmarks are reaching the equator and the international date line.  I don't anticipate any issues reaching these milestones.  Once established in the southern hemisphere, there will be challenges dealing with low pressure systems running directly across my route of travel.  I'll also have to reverse my thinking; weather patterns run opposite of the northern hemisphere. 

Due to the predominance of land mass residing in the northern hemisphere, the convergence of hemispheric weather systems resides north of the equator, where I'm currently located.  The region is known as the Intertropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ) or the doldrums.  According to my pilot charts, this region is characterized by hot and sultry weather conditions.  I'm not 100% on the definition of sultry, but it sounds way more fun than what I'm currently experiencing.  The heat has its challenges, especially in regard to sleep. An advantage of growing my hair and beard out - it holds fresh water that keeps me cool a while longer than without.

The sun is on a northbound trajectory once again, the cycle beginning anew following the annual rendezvous with the Tropic of Capricorn.  On March 20th, the sun will reside directly over the equator, presumably creating conditions worse than I'm currently experiencing within the ITCZ.  Right now, late January, the sun is still 17 degrees south of the equator.  I think that means it's still not so bad out, even right near the equator. I'll probably cross paths with the sun somewhere in the first 5 degrees of the southern hemisphere.  I'm curious to find out if the location of the sun or my location near the equator will have a greater affect on heat.  

I've determined I'm unable to visualize how the earth is oriented within our galaxy using casual observation.  I keep looking at the band of Milky Way rotating above our heads, then imagine that we are also in that Milky Way, then imagine the earth spinning and orbiting within some arm of the Milky Way, but unsure where I am relative to the band of stars above.  Up, down, north, south, all that gets confused in my head, mainly because I'm not sure if there's a North for the Galaxy?  Is the location of where we think the Big Bang took place, the cosmic North?  How have I not figured this out before?  

Speaking of all the forces allowing me to gently row across a 16,000 foot deep swimming pool while violently spinning through a cosmic void, you now have the option to isolate some of the forces on a digital globe called Google Earth.  David Burch at The Starpath School of Navigation in Seattle created a file for use within the application.  The file displays my location pulled from the map on my website, but cleaned up and averaged.  It also allows for the selection of a number of overlays.  You'll be able to select and display currents, winds, wave height and direction, sea surface temperature, amongst other variables.  I wish I could use it out here, but I'll have to wait until I reach shore.  

David Burch has reached wizard level when it comes to maritime knowledge.  He's literally written the book on most things maritime related.  I took two courses through his school, one on weather and one on navigation. I suspect the Google Earth file he put together is pretty legit.  Here's what you'll need for this digital arts and crafts project:  

1.  Google Earth on your computer or compatible device.

2.  This blog: https://jacob-adoram-track.blogspot.com

3.  This file: https://www.starpath.com/jacob/JACOB-DATA.kml

4.  This instructional video: https://youtu.be/GS6jAESBEFA

5.  A good attitude, probably.  

Let me know how it goes!  I'm 6 minutes away from having a 12 hour day followed by a 12 hour night.  The gap is narrowing.  Another thing I'm not sure about - is it possible to have a greater than 12 hour day on the equator?  Visualizing shadows from a gigantic sun on a tiny ball creates similar brain problems to orientation within the galaxy and infinity.  Maybe you can figure it out with this Google Earth project.

Paddle On
Row On
Just Keep On!

Day 189

It's 10 minutes before sunset. I stop rowing and temporarily stow the oars.  This has always been my favorite time of day.  It's a nice reminder, a brief shift in perspective as the sun recedes below the horizon.  I watch as the final rays stretch their reach, illuminating until stopped by the barriers of physics itself.  The clouds tell the story, faithfully illuminated from above into whites and grays.  Until now.  The low angle rays begin illuminating high altitude clouds from below, descending to the underbelly of lower clouds as the earth rotates away. The whites and grays transform into pastels beyond imagination.  The distant far west clouds are something else now.  They are bands of pure radiant gold. 

Yet here I am, thinking about it. And watching. Today I'm lucky enough to have company for the celestial light show.  It's another Booby!  He's circling. I raise the hardtop and secure it open with the makeshift doorstop for better viewing.  Then I open the hatch directly above the center footwell and use the lip of the opening as a seat. This is a comfortable resting position, mainly because my hands are now the 4th and 5th points of contact if needed.  Nice and stable. 

The Booby is interested in Emerson.  Between passes low in the troughs, he hesitates directly above the boat, eyes darting left and right. The tail feathers spread, the wings broaden, giving the Booby an extra few seconds of reconnaissance before slipping back into a trough.  This is a splendid compliment to the sun show in progress.  On the next pass, the Booby commits - it's time for a landing.  Emerson is 28 feet long, with plenty of flat surfaces.  This Booby instead decides to land on the thin edge of the raised hardtop, about 3 feet from my face. He ignores me entirely. 

This Booby is of the Blue-Footed variety. The beak also contains a peculiar blue hue. Say that one 10 times fast - peculiar blue hue, peculiar blue hue.  Impossible.  I should delete that.  Regardless, this guy isn't looking for a final rest, he's still young and strong.  It's just a short stop for a bit of grooming.  Balancing on that edge would be a nightmare, well - I guess for a human. The door itself moves maybe 1 inch, abruptly.  It's also attached to a boat that is rocking back and forth 20-25 degrees at the moment. Yet this is where grooming must take place.  His webbed feet awkwardly wrap around the thin edge of the hardtop, the balancing act taking considerable effort.  His wings are outstretched in anticipation of falling more so than stable and ready to groom.  It's no matter, grooming must go on. 

I watch this bird with amazement and some level of envy.  This is by far the worst place to groom aboard Emerson.  The Booby is wings in, head turned, and beak nibbling maybe 20% of the time.  I would've aborted this endeavor after 60 seconds with the definition of insanity repeating in my head.  Not this guy.  Without fail, 80% balancing followed by 20% grooming.  No frustration, no particular concern, no identifying new grooming locations.  This is it.  It's a bird at a place trying to do a thing, that's it.  It's so beautifully simple. 

Yet here we are, together.  At the moment, we have nearly identical life objectives.  Eat, rest, groom when required, and keep moving.  We are the same, except the obvious - the awareness.  And so it comes back, the pastels faded, the gold worn dull.  But for a moment, however brief, I was less in my head and more out there with the Boobies. In that place, it doesn't matter that Mr. Blue Foot selected an outrageous thin perch, nor does it matter that I made the outrageous choice of trying to row an ocean.  We're just here.  Let's get after it, even if the world is against us 80% of the time. 

Paddle On

P.S. I'm aware I'm not technically paddling. Be more like Mr. Blue Foot - who cares.

P.P.S. I was unable to coordinate the delivery of equipment as I passed Hawaii. Unfortunately, there will be no documentary. 

P.P.P.S. The Garmin map will no longer be updating. I lost the device after the final charging cable caught fire. Well, it was more of a red, smoldering, smoking, rubber dripping situation. Everything is under control, just no more text messages. 

P.P.P.P.S.  David Birch at the Starpath School of Navigation in Seattle is putting together a really cool Google Earth application for everyone to use. You'll be able to see real-time updates and select overlays that interest you. More to follow. 

P.P.P.P.P.S.  How many P's is too many?  Make it stop!  Mr. Blue Foot wasn't ignoring me.  When I reached out towards him, there were loud noises and aggressive beak movements.  We're cool now.

Day 149

We are rapidly approaching the 5 month mark.  I'd say that warrants a quick update.  I'm currently on sea anchor due to a low pressure system passing north of Hawaii, moving northeast.  While waiting and drifting, and waiting some more, I've been contemplating the critical juncture up ahead.  Should I continue past Hawaii as planned?  We already know it's not as planned, I'm a couple of months behind schedule.  Should I continue past Hawaii even though I'm short on food?  That's the real question.  We also know there is no question, I'll continue.  The wheels haven't  fallen off yet, or the rudder, or the rudder drive that sounds like imminent death (I'm working on it).  Pending catastrophe between here and Hawaii, I'll continue.  

Physically, I'm holding up well.  I'm not taking medications for any ailments, so I'd say that's excellent. I'm still working through various joint and muscle pains, but nothing worth complaining about.  Regarding food:  Yes, I'm definitely going to be short at my current pace.  But, I have options.  Four that I can think of.  Quit early, catch food, go faster, or eat less.  Since quitting isn't an objective, I'm planning on combining the last three options.  It'll be a tricky balance, but not dangerous.  I still have divert options between Hawaii and Australia.  I've also monitored my body measurements on a monthly basis.  It's assuring to know I haven't lost body mass at an alarming rate.  I know my dietician and her students will definitely not like the eating less option.  I can only say I'll pay close attention to my body and modify my behavior accordingly.  I promise! 

Psychologically, I think I'm doing fine.  You'll be the better judge.  The biggest challenge has been living with an open ended and uncertain timeline.  Pilot-types don't do well with open ended and uncertain timelines, it's bad for business.  These are people that start meetings by ensuring all watches are synchronized to the second, and they all synchronize with the national atomic clock.  My patience is, therefore, being tested.  I've caught myself yelling at inanimate objects that are only annoying me because I put them there.  Or I failed to securely put them there.  Since my food supply is not open ended, I've also had a fair amount of anxiety sifting through options.  But as I've said, there are four, no need to keep worrying about it.  Overall, I'd say I've come to a sustainable psychological equilibrium.  Except with swimming.  I'm still terrified of whatever critters I might be swimming with.  They come out of nowhere!  It's an ordeal getting me out there with a scraper to clean the hull.  16,000 feet deep!  Sharks!  Mean looking turtles!  Jellyfish!  Mysterious dark shadows!  Ahhhh!  But I do it.  Begrudgingly. 

The documentary situation is one area that is definitely not happening as planned.  I am woefully unprepared for creating documentary content.  Apparently, learning the art of documentary filmmaking was low on my priority list.  I didn't bring the right equipment, and of the equipment I did bring, saltwater is taking its toll.  And cables.  Of all the handheld electronics on board, I didn't think cables would be such a limiting factor.  Broken and/or corroded cables has led to the demise of my cell phone, one iPod (by indirect methods involving a waterproof case), and access to the external hard drives.  One GoPro is completely dead, the other is partially compromised by saltwater.  For storage access, I have one cable left, that by inspection this morning is beginning to show strange green residues.  And without storage, we don't have much.  This is all fine with me, I'm here to remember it all.  However, if anyone thinks we should still have a documentary, there is still a chance.  

I will be passing near Hawaii sometime around the new year.  As I pass, it can be arranged to coordinate a delivery of documentary equipment (preferably with the filmmaker on board).  This wouldn't be classified as "assistance" since it wouldn't help me survive.  But it will allow for creating content.  However, in order for this to happen, we need coordination and money - something I can't do and have none of.  The long and short of it:  There will not be a documentary unless I get a fresh batch of documentary equipment.  I need a point man/woman/person to coordinate a boat rendezvous and to raise the required funds, approximately $10K.  If anyone out there has the time and desire to take this on, please email me directly at jacob@jacobadoram.com.

I know it's a tough sell to take on a project like that, which is why I'd like to also offer the opportunity to help Water Mission with a charitable contribution.  Please see the support page at www.jacobadoram.com/support for links to Water Mission and a description of the great work they carry out.  Last year they served over 430,000 people!  Let's help them reach more in 2019.  We are sitting at 10% of our $30K target, please consider helping us achieve our fundraising goal!  Until then, I'll be spending the last month of 2018 trying to make it past Hawaii. One oar stroke at a time.  

How it Goes (part 4)

Once the food is down and sunscreen on, I debate making a second coffee before heading outside.  Alright, I'll make a second cup.  Weak though, we're in conservation mode after all.  I don't have cup holders anywhere, with the exception of makeshift devices constructed with 550 parachute cord.  It's just a thin rope, so the improvised cup holders only hold until about 35 degrees of roll.  After which, I have a projectile coffee mug on my hands.  Another battle for another day.  Today it should hold fine until 0900 or 1000, before the winds pick up. 

I position the oars into the rowing position after removing the securing lanyards.  I'm overly cautious when securing the oars during rest periods.  Unless the seas are raging, the oars are fine sitting in the oar lock with just one lanyard.  They are physically tied to the boat, so they'll just trail behind me should the seas attempt to claim them.  And the seas have made this attempt, of course.  The bigger threat is breaking an oar underneath the boat in a cross current.  I've had a few close calls in rough conditions.  When one side of the boat lifts, the oar blade drops to maintain contact with the water, and the oar handle rises in response.  It really rises; I've jammed fingers between the oar handle and the hardtop on several occasions.  If the handle is on an upward trajectory that's sure to crush a digit, I just release and watch.  The watching portion has ended in awkward recoveries.  It's amazing the number of ways an oar can get jammed into unfortunate places.  Consequently, I've been contemplating a 550 cord solution that also won't impede on the rowing itself.  

I turn on the weather and steering instruments and get comfortable.  I stretch my back, un-pin the seat, strap my feet into position and begin the first rowing session.  The first row is silent, as I've made customary.  I get a sense for how the boat is responding to the environment.  It's not entirely obvious or self-evident how the boat will respond.  Seemingly identical conditions can produce wildly different results.  Rowing on a heading of 180 with winds directly out of the north can produce a course of 180 or 350, or anything in between.  This is because heading and winds aren't the only factors.  Teasing out all the different variables is possible, but not entirely necessary.  With the overview of weather in mind, I've found the "stickiness" of the blades through the water is the best rule-of-thumb indicator for expected performance.  

Some days the blades feel like they are cutting through mud, no matter how hard or how long I row.  Other days, if feels like the blades are spring loaded and cutting through air.  I'm getting better at deciphering the details, but today I just accept that I'm operating on about a 45% stickiness level, which generally produces about 0.9 knots over the ground (not through the water) if I row hard.  100% sticky is pointless.  The boat might be too big, or I might be too weak.  Either way, I need to choose my rowing efforts carefully.  Rowing at 70% sticky for 10 hours might be equally as effective as rowing zero hours with a deployed sea anchor.  As a clue - the longer the winds maintain a constant favorable direction, the lower the stickiness level.  

I continue at 45%.  Averaging 0.9 knots felt awful 4 months ago, now it's acceptable.  Especially if it's on a desired course.  Today it's not, which is more common.  I'm deviating from desired by at least 20 degrees, further lowering my speed over the ground from 0.9 to 0.7 knots.  It's starting to feel less acceptable.  I could average 2.5-3.0 knots in Puget Sound fully loaded, so this drop in performance is still tough to stomach.  I attempt maximizing performance with small tweaks in heading and course using onboard instruments (sometimes huge tweaks).  The electronic compass is off by 15 degrees as compared to the traditional wet compass.  My handheld compass agrees with the wet compass, so I've calibrated my brain to think in 15 degree offsets when looking at the electronic instruments.  Flooding of the heading sensor definitely didn't help the situation, and Garmin makes these adjustments unnecessarily difficult, so I've just accepted it. Just like my watch that looses 4.2 seconds per day, the manual corrections are easier to contend with than the underlying root problem.

Another indicator of performance is the variability of course over the ground.  This is also related to stickiness, which is related to weather and everything else.  If I'm holding a solid 1.5 knots indicated speed over ground, but the course is fluctuating 15 degrees, then it's more like 1.2 knots over the ground in reality.  If the course is fluctuating near 80 degrees, it's closer to 0.5 knots over the ground.  Why these course fluctuations are occurring is still a partial mystery, but I'm learning.  Of course, despite all this knowledge, it's all useless when Mother Nature wants her way.  I once rowed a full 360 degree "circle" and my course over the ground didn't change at all.  Sometimes it's best to just hang up the oars and take a nap.  Today, I shall carry on.