about to wreck havoc, or at least heavy rain and wind, ahead of us. Instead blue sky, scattered trade wind clouds without the trade wind, and THE HAWKE OF TUONELA making 4 to 5 knots close-hauled against 6 knots of wind. Not quite on the desired course, but close enough to avoid angst. I wonder what caused that weather last night. It would be interesting to see a weather chart. Possibly it was a front extending up from a low well south of here. Just spent a couple of hours on deck. Wearing polartec and Levis. About 70ºF. But I was in the shade of the sails and comfortable. Listening to music, drinking an early gin and tonic. I don’t think anything serious is going to happen tonight, but the boat’s balance is precarious in such light conditions, and I’m not going to be able to just go to sleep and let the boat sail on. I need the sleep. Have a feeling of being partially underwater. No movie tonight. Not last night either, but for different reasons. Will eat dinner and go to bed after sunset and hope to get some hours in. Sailing is about balance. I can feel when the boat is in balance. The changes are very obvious using a wind-vane self-steering gear in light air. The jib pushes the bow off the wind. The main brings it back to the wind. As does the rudder. Most, if not all boats, are designed with some weather helm. Tighten one line too much and stall that force and the result is obvious. I love when I feel a boat in balance, sailing as well under the given conditions as she can. Even though THE HAWKE OF TUONELA is only making 4.7 knots, at the moment she is. While sitting on deck I was thinking of the various ways the remaining time and distance can be divided. We’ve already passed a couple of milestones: the first week; and earlier then expected, leaving the tropics. It occurred to me that this might have been for the last time, though that is by no means certain. Ahead of us lie the next, and last, time zone starting at 172º 30‘ West. The as yet uncertain point where we have less than 1000 miles to go. And the Dateline at 180º. Once a magazine editor questioned my writing about crossing the International Dateline, which has been moved around in various places for political reasons. It is in this part of the South Pacific bent east of 180º because Tonga doesn’t want to be a day ahead of Samoa and Fiji and New Zealand. At sea this is meaningless. For me I change times and dates by the appropriate longitudes. I’m supposed to be racing myself. Fortunately I have a good lead because this is not a fast passage. September 24 South Pacific Ocean: Thursday 0520 Sky just beginning to color through the companionway. Deep indigo with morning star. Scattered smudged clouds applied with charcoal. We are making 3 knots, more or less on course, heading for another slow day’s run, though unless the wind dies away completely, not another top three. Expecting the wind to back southeast during the night and wanting to be able to sleep for a few hours without worrying about us going off course, I changed to tiller pilot steering just before I went to bed at 1930. It was a good idea. I got four needed hours of solid sleep. I woke at 2330. Found the wind light, still from the south, and went back to sleep for another hour when noise of a rattling block and the tiller pilot off course alarm woke me. I went on deck where I found that the wind, instead of backing, had veered, headed us, and backed the jib. In light air, I have learned that it is faster to fall off and jibe, rather than bring the jib across, trim it, gain momentum, and then tack back. I did this and got us sailing again close-hauled, but the best course was 300º. I left the tiller pilot steering and went below, but once in my sleeping bag realized that if the wind did change again, I’d be better with the Monitor steering, so on deck and changed to Monitor. I woke about every hour thereafter. Found us gradually improving our course to 270º as the wind backed. Then in the last hour the wind finally went southeast and our course was 170º. Got up and turned us off the wind, re-trimmed sails and Monitor. We’re trinkling along at around three knots--3.7 at the moment--in the right direction. Looks to be another fine day. Perhaps the wind will strengthen. Feel rested. 0820 Coffee on deck with dawn and guitar music, OPIUM: WIDE-EYED played by Ottmar Liebert. There is also and OPIUM: DREAMING. When I go to sleep I usually set the sleep timer on the iPod for 30 minutes and play, quietly, an instrumental album. If I am up and awake for a time during the night, I play the remainder to get back to sleep then. Last night I didn’t, so did this morning. Dawn came upon a classic trade wind sky. THE HAWKE OF TUONELA sailing smoothly across an ocean undulating as though with a slow even heartbeat. My own resting heartbeat is and has always been in the mid-40s per minute. Now that I’m old doctors who haven’t seen me before become alarmed and think there is something wrong with me. We’ve kept moving, more or less in the right direction, more or less on a close or beam reach, more or less at 4 knots in 5 and 6 knots of wind. Barometer 1015. Another lovely slow day. 1205 The trade wind clouds have withdrawn to the horizon. Overhead clear pastel blue sky with first quarter moon. I put out a shower bag. Will be an easy day to shower and always the chance that tomorrow won’t be. Not as rested as I thought. I fell asleep while reading this morning. Wind continues to back, which is taking us toward a broad reach and a reduction in apparent wind. SOG has been 3.5. At the moment 4.3. This is our ninth day out and we are not yet halfway, although within the next couple of hours we will have sailed 1000 miles since Bora-Bora. I expected the first half of the passage to be the faster half. Noon position: 24º 17’ South; 167º 37‘ West. Day’s run: 82 miles. Opua: 1156 miles, bearing 235º. 1300 As I was showering, the wind backed to the east and died. Mainsail down. Jib drooping. Sea almost flat. SOG 1.6. Just enough for the tiller pilot, which I just returned to the deck, to keep us pointing in the right direction. I tied the ends of the spinnaker halyard together and then raised the forward end to the near masthead block. It goes up. From where the cover chaffed through, it has slid forward and back, exposing twenty or thirty feet of the core. I think I can still use the halyard. I dug through some of my old lines and found a former jib halyard that has one chaffed spot itself, but which could be used. Also I think in another, less accessible location, must be my old spare main halyard, which though thick for the spinnaker halyard blocks, would probably work. At the moment not enough wind to bother trying a spinnaker. I had two prolonged calms the last time I sailed back from Fiji to New Zealand. Very discouraging. 1330 Engine on. 1800 Engine still on, but not for much longer. The sun has just set. There is a thin layer of low cloud over much of the sky, spreading from the southeast, but the sea is mostly glassy. Today was a lovely day, sunny, mild, pleasant; but not for sailing. Had my penultimate gin and tonics on deck, followed by one of the French cans--tuna and pasta, and two Pepperidge Farm chocolate chip cookies on deck. Every hour or so, I’ve cut back the engine and tried to sail without success. Not going to power all night long. 1900 Engine off. Becalmed. Unfurled jib, but only flopped around. Rolling on low swell. Mostly clear sky. The past two evenings and this morning a bird has been hunting around us. I think a booby. Hasn’t happened for a while. I enjoy the brief company. Going to try to get some sleep. September 25 South Pacific Ocean: Friday 0445 Engine on. I went to sleep last night at 1930. Woke at 2100 to find some wind from northeast. Set jib. Sailing at 2 knots. Left jib up until 0100, making only 1 knot most of that time. Drifted back east at about the same speed until 0430 when I got up and felt some wind from the southeast. Unfurled jib. Was able to make 1 to 1.5 knots, but sail collapsing constantly on tiny swell. Furled it and turned on engine. Sky is still dark and seemingly mostly overcast. There is a narrow orange band of light on the eastern horizon, truncated north and south by rain. Around midnight we had covered 33 miles since noon. All under power. Now we have covered only 30 miles since noon. 0530 Sailing at 2.3 knots under still sometimes collapsing jib. Rain to the northeast and maybe south. Tiller pilot steering. 0730 Seems later. Rain behind us on the horizon. Sun breaking through higher. Monitor steering. SOG 2.5 to 3.0. Sitting reading a good historical novel, THE TENANTS OF TIME, by Thomas Flanagan, about an Irish rising against the English in 1867. More than 800 pages long. I’m going to need it. Schubert’s last three piano concertos playing. Put the mainsail cover back on. There was a spot worn on the forward edge of the mast boot by the spinnaker pole. I covered it with sealant yesterday afternoon. I’ve lowered my sights. Where a few days ago I was thinking of the end of the passage, that I would be in a week from Saturday or a week Sunday, which would be Monday in New Zealand; now I look