At sea, North Pacific Ocean
Leaving on any passage is rife with check lists, excitement, trepidation. Did we remember everything? Did we get enough and the right spares for equipment failures? What will the weather bring? No where on our list or in our minds do we have: check for snakes.
And so it was that first day out of Panama, settling in for our evening watches, cleaning up some lines in the cockpit I spotted a brown coiled up snake. I calmly turned to Harl: “Okay, we have a snake. Really. I am not kidding.”. Harl, a bit doubtful since I was so calm, looked over on the starboard quarter, and there, nestled between our life raft and the engine blower dorade, lay a coiled up snake. “Holy s**t!! It’s a viper!” exclaimed Harl with little proof other than the murky recall of a photo of the deadly fer d’lance viper found in Panama. That particular snake’s bite usually ends in death unless one can get the anti-venom in time. Years ago a cruiser friend of ours was bit by a fer d’lance when hiking in the Panamanian jungle. He literally almost died, barely making it in time by life-flight to get the anti-venom which saved his life.
Needless to say, we had to get it off the boat. And as with most difficult tasks in our 22 years together (happy anniversary today), Harl knew HE would be the one who had to do it. We pulled back the life raft – “s**t!” again, it was a couple feet long! Its head raised sharply, tongue darted rapidly, and those slit eyes zeroed in on Harl – clearly not happy with being disturbed. Armed with our longest galley tongs, Harl grabbed it by its head – now it was really pissed!– the snake writhed and struggled, and he escaped Harley’s grip and was dropped in the gunnel – he was free again! A short and determined chase ensued, with Harley recapturing and tossing the snake overboard. Besides handing Harl the tongs, and praying he would win this tussle, I did nothing except try to video the event. Mostly the video recorded me screaming. So much for my calm demeanor.
We both sat down, and tried to get our nerves un-jangled. Holy crap, why was it aboard? Are there more? What kind of snake was it? Was that a meal in its bulged body? Why does this happen to us? The last time we had snakes aboard we had just left Fiji and were sailing for New Caledonia. Harley had flesh-eating bacteria, and the four different types of antibiotics he was given by doctors in Fiji were not working. We knew the French would have better meds, so off we sailed. On that trip, on board we found TWO coral-banded sea snakes – each on separate days. By using our last internet as we left Fiji, we queried “why do coral-banded sea snakes come on land?” (googling “why they come on boats” yielded zilch, clearly not a very common situation). We found the not so comforting reason: to lay their eggs. Lets just say the nerves were fried on that trip. As if we weren’t already stressed out enough with the very real possibility that Harley could die, each time we looked in a lazarette, engine room, or line locker, we were on high alert thinking we were going to see hundreds of tiny snakes angrily coming at us … and don’t even get me started on the thoughts of our daughter, Sophia, who was only seven at the time. Stress is a word that does not adequately describe it.
Our priority now became getting an identification and maybe trying to understand why it came aboard. Had to have happened in the marina, which seems so improbable. We sent a picture to the naturalist at the marina who told us: a Burmese python. Not venomous but somehow still not comforting. Relief? A bit. After all, some (crazy) people keep them as pets. But how many people have to be snake-wranglers at sea? Yikes. We had stayed out of the jungle in Panama to avoid snakes, among other creatures. So finding one aboard at the beginning of a 4,000 mile ocean crossing felt like a bad omen.
Sailors are known for their many superstitions and it does not take much to start reading into things. While we generally tend to dismiss these superstitions, finding this snake gave us pause. Many superstitions harbored by sailors are rooted in “reason” or at least to some loose connection between cause and effect. Some cruisers we know will not bring bananas on a journey, for they “bring bad luck”. This lore is rooted in the fact that way back when, bananas would come aboard with deadly spiders nested inside, and they would bite a crew member and he would die. Bananas bad. No women on board, they bring bad luck. This one is likely rooted in the fact that one woman aboard a ship of a hundreds men for months at sea … well lets just say they get distracted in their duties, and bad stuff happens. When we say something that we think may jinx our journey, we say “touch wood” (landlubbers say “knock on wood”), and then literally touch a piece of wood. Never start a journey on a Friday, don’t whistle while at sea, always step aboard with your right foot – the list goes on and on.
Needless to say, we threw our remaining bananas overboard. Why test the fates, right? Harl agreed I could stay, as long as I promised not to scream anymore.
On the afternoon of Day 2 we sailed right into a massive thunder storm, winds rose to 25-30 kts sustained out of the southwest, and the rain was an absolute deluge. Then the lightning strikes came, some less than a boat length away. Nothing is more terrifying to sailors than lightning strikes at sea (well, maybe snakes…). Remember your parents telling you to get out of the pool when the lightning storms come? Imagine being in a huge body of water with nothing else around except your giant metal mast reaching to the skies as if taunting the lightning gods. There is absolutely nothing you can do, and boats can sink if a lightning strike’s energy dissipates through a thru-hull taking a big chunk of the boat with it. Getting struck can also fry your electronics leaving you electronically deaf, dumb and blind and of course there is a risk of fire with the boat burning to the waterline. We have been struck by lightning twice: once while at sea with our first boat, Manu Kai, and once on Kailani while moored. In both cases, our boats were well-bonded, so the strikes did not hole us or damage our electronics. But you feel that electricity throughout your body and the sound of the strike is deafening, a truly whole-body experience. Throughout the storm the nagging thought in both of our minds: but is Kailani still well-bonded?
We battled that storm for over four hours before the lightning and rain started to abate. But the winds remained strong and not at all fair. In fact, we were embayed, a term from old describing the situation when a ship is unable to get out of the bay due to strong winds coming directly into the bay. Getting nowhere we decided to heave-to for the night and get some sleep. By backwinding our headsail and putting the rudder far over to leeward, heaving to allows the boat to effectively “stall” or stop. Neither of us had slept much in our first 36 hours out, what with the snake-wrangling and lightning jangling, so we took 12 hours to sleep and rest with Kailani hove-to. That night we both dreamed of slithering snakes, imagined our legs being squeezed by snakes, and Harley was woken by an actual hissing sound. He jumped out of his bunk in a flash, but unable to locate a source, put it off as just another dream of snakes. The morning revealed that the hissing came from Jen’s PFD, which had auto-inflated (as they are meant to do if one falls overboard) in this case triggered by the prolonged deluge of drenching rain while we battled the storm up top.
Day 3 dawned and the wind had died enough that we could now start to motor south out of the doldrums, a journey which we anticipated being at least three days long, motoring when winds were light, and sailing southward when the wind allowed. All of a sudden, we smelled burning and smoke billowed out of the engine blower dorade (the same place from which our python had emerged … coincidence?). We shut down and Harl jumped into the engine room to investigate. Rising smoke was now replaced with “engine room words” wafting from Harl as he determined that a coolant hose to our engine’s turbo charger had cracked. This was a major repair, and a no-go situation if unable to repair it. We set up to try to sail calmly off the wind to flatten the boat for the hours it would take, and then boom! – the autopilot started to make a horrible knocking sound. Fearing failure there, we shut off the autopilot and contemplated our situation.
No engine. No autopilot. These are big worries. We were still less than 150 miles from Panama , so could turn back. Or we could sail northward to Costa Rica …
Access to Kailani’s steering quadrant and autopilot mechanicals is through the aft lazarette, a repair best done at anchor so that water is not shipped into the boat while the doors are open. The sea state was still up from the stormy night, and the boat bounced up and down in the waves with water pouring in over the stern sugar scoop. We knew that the open lazarette would ship a LOT of water into that compartment. But it had to be done. Harley tethered himself to the stern, we emptied the lockers of all their contents (propane tanks, dive tanks, petrol jerry jugs) and he then stuck most of his upper body into the lazarette while doing a full inspection. He ended up refastening the bolt that fits into the autopilot control arm, which had lost its pin that secures it in place and had therefore fallen into the bilge. The repair took only 30 minutes, but it was definitely awkward. Since he had to coordinate the use of tools in each of his hands, Harl had to brace himself against the boat’s roll by wedging himself into the locker, all while the occasional boarding seas submerged him to his waist as the stern bounced up and down off the waves. And, of course, he had to do all this while keeping a keen eye and ear out for snakes.
With that sorted, we then decided the most prudent thing would be to heave the boat to again and focus on the engine repair. While we have an engine room, to get to the failed hose section, we had to go through one of the closets in the aft stateroom. All the gear from that locker had to be removed, and the shelves and access panel taken out. Harley then spent the better part of three hours laying on the floor, contorting his head through the closet, arms into the engine room. Hot. Sweaty. Long. But he is an amazing mechanic, and while we did not have a spare of the exact size hose needed, by sistering two other sizes together he was able to replace the brittle section that had split. Wow.
Basically we spent the better part of 24 hours hove to, being pushed to the northwest. We decided to sail with what little wind there was for the night, and start motoring again in the morning in order to address any further engine issues in the daylight hours should they come up. Day 4 dawned, we started to motor again, the repair held, and we were back to making some progress out of the doldrums.
So there you have it. The inauspicious beginnings of this 4,000 mile sail: one python, one major thunderstorm, many nearby lightning strikes, and two major system hiccups. Four days in and never a dull moment. Having had three snakes on board during our years of sailing along with two lightning strikes has to be some sort of record. We are either really unlucky, or really lucky. Looking on the bright side, in all those hours that Harley spent contorting himself into the engine room and aft lazarette, placing his hands into unseen crevasses, no more snakes appeared. So for now we think we have conquered the challenges and freed ourselves from the hold Panama was trying to have on us, and we are making good headway south to escape these doldrums. Touch wood, of course…
Meanwhile, when we first found that snake aboard and were waiting to hear about its identification, we found this little tid-bit, likely written to encourage would-be Panamanian jungle adventurers and assuage their concerns of risk, but for obvious reasons not particularly comforting to us:
“If one does not fear lightning one need have no fear of poisonous snakes, for it has been repeatedly demonstrated statistically that one’s chance of dying from snakebite are not greater than those of being struck by lightning … The commonest situation likely to result in being struck by a poisonous snake is an encounter with one that has just swallowed a meal … This snake will strike when molested.” – The Venomous Snakes of Panama, Norman Elton, M.D.
The ironies are great.
02 44.0N 081 37.8W
At sea, North Pacific Ocean
Day 5 of passage
3,509 nm to go to Gambiers, French Polynesia
How did a Burmese python get on boat… Wow
I do not believe in luck, I prefer to believe my daily prayers for the both of you are the reason you are both okay, that and Harley’s more than capable knowledge to take care of what needs to be done. But you have had a couple of exciting days, I am glad all is going well now. Thank you for sharing. Always excited to hear what is going on with you both,
Incredible start to this huge passage! You can’t make this s**t up! Hopefully you are in for easier times ahead (touch wood). Thanks for the great storytelling, it’s good to hear how you’re doing.
Impressive problem solving, you two adventureors. So glad you problem solved your way out.
I received a missed call from Harley yesterday. My mind went straight to Sophia. I returned the call within minutes but got Harley’s dad!! He said he had just talked to you and all was well with everyone. Relief!
Leaving tomorrow for Paris. A different kind of excitement! Returning May 30.
Fair winds.
Intact pipes and bolts.
Add mongoose to inventory.
Cheers.
thanks adrienne – definitely a mongoose would be a good add!
have a great trip to Paris !!
xxoo to my lovely sis 🙂
jen
Classic! Good job getting all of the issues out of the way! Cleared sailing from here!!
Ah, brings back memories of the joys of sailing. Your stories and photos are a wonder. Have a great voyage to the next intended landfall.
Thanks for the photos and update. Prayers from Di and I. Best crew of two!
Only one word comes to mind “Wow”!! Harley you can now add snake wrangler to your resume. You already have the MacGyver title. Wishing you safe travels the rest of your journey. Happy Anniversary and Happy Mother’s Day Jen! Looking forward to the next update.
OMG, you had me on pins and needles. I need a drink after reading this post. LOL. So glad you’re snake free and engine forward. WOW. You’ve probably just moved through the potentially threatening situations all at once instead of slowly over time. Everything looks up from here. Happiest of anniversaries to you both and happy mother’s day to you, Jen. Love and hugs!!!!
Wow! Riveted by this post! So glad no more snakes were lurking below! Grace and peace to you for the rest of your journey! 🙏🏼
WOW — You had me on the edge of my seat. Certainly an inauspicious start from Panama !! Happy Anniversary to you both !!
Betsy and Charlie shared this. What adventure! Those snakes are appearing everywhere! Planes, boats and in our yard!!😅
I can’t imagine why the two of you don’t sell tickets for these relaxing travels at sea-the poetry of your languid days-and-nights simply jumps off the page!
Funny you should say that … we DO!! See SailKailani.com for our Kailani Ocean Adventures Program!
Haha, you guys know how to start on a relaxing passage! What next? Anyway, snakes are good protein…. perhaps more agreeable when cooked than old Chorizo sausage! Keep well 😊⛵.
Wow! What a way to start your journey from Panama! Glad that all appears okay. Safe travels going forward!