May 10 – A typical day at sea…
 |
| Sailing wing on wing in low winds. |
As the day dawns I am on watch, the 4 am – 8 am watch, my absolute
favourite watch of all, and I can be found outside keeping half an eye on the
wind, the sails, and the nav instruments but the other eye and a half on the
colours slowing emerging from the darkness. It is SO beautiful, in all
directions. At one point before the sun comes up the sky to the east is a
veritable rainbow; red at the bottom and then orange, yellow, green (yes,
green) blue, and, finally a colour that can only be described as mauve though
in fact it is much clearer and purer than that. As the sun continues to
approach the horizon from below the colours shift and there is an amazing swath
of tangerine where the rainbow was and pink and baby blue in the other
direction and then, as the sun actually peeks over the horizon the clouds
closest to it are rimmed with iridescent gold and the ones further away have
their underbellies painted salmon and the shades wash across the sky in a dance
choreographed to take your breath away.
Eventually, after the sun has
risen higher, the early morning rays have finished their waltz through the clouds
as well, and the sky chosen to settle upon blue as its predominant colour for
the day, I spare a glance or two at the sea instead, which has huge wide slow
graceful 6m high swells gently swimming towards the boat and repeatedly lifting
it lovingly up and slowly caressing it back down again. Sven comes out,
inspects the sails, and stops to sit for a minute or two outside as well. We
don’t exchange any words but instead grin back and forth at each other clearly
indicating our mutual appreciation with the situation. The wind is only blowing
about 12 knots but the boat is skimming over the relatively calm seas at 7
knots with the swells so soft that they are not slowing her down at all. After
three days of motoring in too little wind we are both thrilled to be sailing
and sailing so well.
Flash forward to 4 pm, after
I have helped Sven with a bit of maintenance, had a shower out on the back
deck, cooked lunch, done some reading up
on Easter Island, our next destination, and the wind has started to pick up. He
and I put in one reef, then two, into the main, then furl the jib a bit, then
put a third reef into the main then sit in the pilot house and watch the wind
and weather together. It is blowing 28 knots now, which is windy, and the
swells, still 6 m high but much closer together than they were this morning and
made bigger and more formidable by the waves that are building on top of them,
have the boat crashing through them on the way up and then being thrown down
the other side in a jerky jarring juddering movement that is far more
reminiscent of a brutal fist fight than an dance. Up ahead is an ominous dark
cloud. Sven is watching it carefully. He doesn’t know if, when we enter it, it
will come with biting rain and higher squally winds or not. He is thinking
about taking the main down altogether for the night and what happens under this
cloud will help decide that. I wait until we are under the cloud (nothing much
changed so the sails will be left as they are) and then take a long nap.
I am due to start my night
shift at midnight but wake up at 11 pm and come up an hour early to relieve
Sven - I know he will be tired - and the wind is now a steady 24 – 26 knots. It
has swung round to the east a bit and so the swells, still huge, are more
behind us than they were before, causing the boat to roll continuously,
considerably, to one side and then the other.
As expected Sven is happy for me to start my watch early, asks me to
wake him if the wind gets up to 30 knots, and turns in. I go outside into the
cockpit and it seems as if the boat is flying through the darkness. The wind
and waves always appear larger and more forbidding in the dark especially in
menacing weather but fortunately it is not completely black out, the moon is up
and the clouds are patchy so it’s light shines through from time to time, even,
occasionally, leaving a trail of silver sparkles on the angry waves. I know by
now that if the wind does rise to 30 knots the changed motion of the boat will
have Sven up and outside even before I can think to call him so I am here alone
on deck with Mother Nature’s wild side raging gloriously all about me and not a
care in the world. The palate of colours is now dominated by a whole range of
magnificent heavy charcoals, so different from the morning’s light pastels and
gold, but, in its own way, just as grand. Another day in paradise!
