7 minute read
Sailing Solo to Hawaii
Sailing Solo
Credit: Margie Woods.
by Brendan Huffman, Southern California Station
Irecently completed my seventh race to Hawaii, the 2,120-mile Singlehanded Transpac from San Francisco to Kauai. The Singlehanded Sailing Society has organized this race every other year since 1978.
Although the sailing was unusually slow on the first night and in the middle of the course, I had an absolute blast!
Two years ago, I purchased a Santa Cruz 33 designed and built in 1977 by the iconic Bill Lee and renamed Siren specifically for this race. A one-year postponement due to the pandemic allowed me and my team of volunteers an extra year of race preparations and practicing solo boat handling.
The race started June 19 in breezy San Francisco Bay, as I tacked out under the Golden Gate with a double-reefed mainsail and partially furled jib. Leaving the coast, the sun came out, and the wind shifted south and decreased enough for me to shake out the reefs. On port tack, Siren passed close to the South Farallon Island and encountered dozens of whales and hundreds of dolphins.
In light winds overnight, I converged with most of my competitors, their running lights adding color to the darkness. By morning, the wind shifted gradually to the northwest, and I set my new asymmetrical spinnaker, which helped me scoot ahead of several boats.
As I leaned forward to open the halyard clutch, the tiller momentarily slipped out of my hand and Siren rounded up “ into the breeze, heeling far to port as I released the afterguy to recover. Within a span of a few seconds, water rushed into the cockpit and through a portlight I had forgotten to close. As luck would have it, the computer for my primary autopilot had been installed directly below the open portlight, and it shorted out. ”
Hawaii to
The northwesterly continued to build, and for the next two days the fleet sailed a steady tight reach in 20 knots as I headed for my first waypoint, known as “the ridge,” where the wind tends to drop and back to the northeast.
This year, the wind dropped entirely for two to three days. The fleet drifted around, occasionally making forward progress on zephyrs. During this period, I took in the beauty and serenity of the ocean, enjoying the blue depths, cloud formations, and sunrises (and I managed to pull a stubborn fishnet off my rudder). On one of these still afternoons, I sat in the shade of my mainsail, legs hanging over the rail, and stared into the depths of the Pacific. As I refocused my vision on the surface, I noticed several tiny crustaceans swimming next to Siren, one of which was making more headway to Hawaii than me!
The trade winds eventually filled in, and most of us positioned ourselves farther south of the rhumb line to avoid a strong highpressure system ahead. This paid off as we found stronger winds.
The second half the race was all downwind. I carried symmetrical spinnakers most of the day and winged out my headsails overnight without losing any significant speed.
Rarely did the wind speed drop below 20 knots over the last 800 miles of the race, and Siren came into its own, running at a steady 8–9 knots and surfing down waves at 12–14 knots. Fantastic sailing was made even better by being alone at the helm with no crew on deck, just Siren and me skipping across the Pacific.
The wind continued to build steadily, gusting up to 30 knots as we got within 400 miles of the finish. After four hours of blissful spinnaker sailing, topping out above 15 knots, I prepared to drop the spinnaker. As I leaned forward to open the halyard clutch, the tiller momentarily slipped out of my hand and Siren rounded up into the breeze, heeling far to port as I released the afterguy to recover. Within a span of a few seconds, water rushed into the cockpit and through a portlight
At this point, I reached a sad “
”element.
I had forgotten to close. As luck would have it, the computer for my primary autopilot had been installed directly below the open portlight, and it shorted out.
After dousing the chute, I lashed the tiller while I installed my backup autopilot, a simple tiller arm. Unfortunately, while effective in normal sailing conditions, the tiller pilot was unable to effectively steer in heavy air with large cross swells. At this point, I reached a sad conclusion: I was out of contention with under 400 miles to go and just as Siren was in its downwind element.
The wind held at 25–30 knots during the next 36 hours. Even with a partially furled headsail, Siren was surfing at 13–14 knots down the larger waves, just not the desired course.
After losing my primary autopilot, I inventoried other potential system failures, not to mention my backup autopilot, which sounded stressed. Most concerning was the gooseneck fitting on my boom.
I pressed on and was rewarded with a glorious last day of the race. I woke up at dawn after a nice rest. The wind speed had decreased to the low 20s. I set a spinnaker and promptly broke a fairlead for the foreguy. Taking this as a bad omen, I switched back to wing and wing.
With 130 miles to go, I decided to live in the moment and hand-steer as much as I possibly could and take in my last day alone on an open ocean.
Approaching Kauai later that afternoon, I could see the large cloud formations over the island still 40–50 miles away. The first of several squalls overtook me but provided a full rainbow, the first clear one of the entire race. After sunset, the skies went dark with low cloud cover, but I could make out flashes of light on the island. At first, I was concerned I had navigated to the wrong island because my charts didn’t show any lighthouses in the area of the flashes. After ruling that out, I wondered if the Navy was on maneuvers and why they were so close to Kauai. Before too long, I realized the day was July 4, and I was looking at fireworks along the coast of Kauai.
As I got within VHF range, I gave the race committee my ETA. A blip appeared on my chartplotter that turned out to be an Express 37 in the faster division. Soon his running lights were within sight, and we raced to the finish.
Within 5 miles of the finish, a fresh squall brought stronger winds and heavy rain. I enjoyed an exciting beam reach blasting along at 10 knots toward Puu Poa Point, but I could not see land through the rain. Instead, I relied on my chartplotter to guide me between the reefs and the finish line. The race committee could not see me and asked me to turn on more lights. As luck would have it, the rain subsided a bit as I crossed the line, and the race committee was able to identify Siren before we sailed onto a reef. (The Express 37 finished soon after me).
My dad, Fred Huffman (SAF), sons, and girlfriend met me in Kauai, and we enjoyed a fun week of excellent tropical
weather and socializing with the other racers, including CCA members Jim Quanci and Robb Walker (SAF), who won our division.
Hanalei Bay is beautiful and even better and more scenic from the anchorage. We enjoyed a picturesque although choppy sail down the island’s green coast to the marina in Nawiliwili, where Siren was hauled out and placed on my trailer for the return trip aboard a Matson freighter.
I was fortunate to have an energetic team of volunteers, particularly my dad, through this process, some of whom took vacation days from work to help me prep and provision Siren in Sausalito the week leading up to the start. I am so thankful!
Siren is now berthed in Sausalito, where I plan to do more shorthanded racing in 2022 while I prepare for the 2023 Singlehanded Transpac. ✧
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Brendan Huffman is a third-generation sailor out of Los Angeles, where he enjoys coastal racing and cruising around the Channel Islands. Brendan was a co-captain of the UCLA sailing team and is a US Sailing-certified basic keelboat instructor. He works for UK Sailmakers in Marina del Rey, California. In addition to his Santa Cruz 33, Siren, he also owns a Catalina 42, which his family actively cruises in the Channel Islands.
bhuffman33@gmail.com
