landfall: philippines
Our 1,050 nautical mile passage from Micronesia to the Philippines in 2018 was trying. Rough, unpredictable weather; sultry heat and squalls were the name of the game. We shredded our headsail on day 6 and limped our way into port on day 9. This excerpt from my journal brings it all back:
Blew out the jib in a mean squall, bulging and tattered on the furler now. She's in a temper today; howling thirties with the rigging moaning, horizontal rain, froth careening over the bow. Swells seething and punching skyward with slivered peaks like teal glass to remind me, with that color, that she is still capable of serenity, still beautiful in a rage.
Rip tide waves at the southeast tip of Luzon. Too tired to be afraid of the angle of Victoria's decks as we slide down into the troughs. And just when I've resolved to quit this maritime life, it all goes glass. And we're stuck motoring the two days to Batangas, ghosting six knots with full sails for an hour or two here and there. Sleeping is not an option, surrounded at all times by two dozen LED-illuminated fishing boats. Brightly painted double-ended outriggers with engines that sound like old generators with a prop shaft jammed in one end.
We slid into Batangas port on light wind, passing the virgin Mary to starboard, perched on the point in her ill-rendered gargantuan plaster glory, and into the throng of anchored cargo vessels, car ferries and tankers all cast with a peachy pallor as the sun pushes through the stagnant haze of industry. The air smelled acrid. We dropped anchor and spent the greater part of an hour getting stepped on over the VHF. They asked who our agent is and had no idea what to do with us - a non-commercial vessel. So I stayed aboard to sweat and decline as politely as I could the continued solicitations of liquor for sale from banka canoes; a man gesturing universal hunger signs at his two year old lying on the floorboards drinking soda through a straw, while Phil hitches a ride in to hunt down immigration and customs offices. And he's back within three hours, passports stamped and the nation's outbound clearance in hand. "Just fill in the date when you leave", they said. Bet that's a first and last! And it's a lovely evening sail to Puerto Galera. Thoughts of steaks and showers and cruiser friends filling our heads while the peaks and bays of Mindoro Island fill our view.
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