Once outside in the cockpit I look around the horizon at the grey sea and grey sky. We are fogged in with visibility about 500 yards. The wind is light out of the west, barely enough to fill the partially furled headsail. The seas climb up on the port quarter in a five foot swell. I sit for a while getting my brain engaged then realize that I have to pee. So down below I go to peel off many layers and try to find my shriveled up penis somewhere in there. Soon, I'm back in the cockpit after checking the GPS, the AIS, and the VHF. I've got a thermos of hot tea and a muffin.
We are 70 miles west of Haida Gwaii (Queen Charlotte Island), headed toward the Dixon Entrance. I brace my legs against the side cockpit lockers as each swell sweeps under the boat. Traveler rises up, tips to starboard, then slides down the wave and tilts to port. Our 50 foot mast describes a big arc in the sky and the jib looses all its air only to reclaim it with a jolt as she comes back to center.
I hear a strange sound. What's that? I press my ear to the bulkhead, look down below, then climb out on the side deck. Nothing heard. But then, there it is again. It takes me a while to realize that I'm hearing a fog horn coming from behind the boat. The AIS had told me there were two container ships back there (targets, they are called) passing me seven miles away. Creepy.
Everything in the cockpit is wet from the last 16 hours of fog and rain. I'm sitting on a squishy cushion covered by a very damp, if not wet blanket. Inside all my clothing I'm fairly warm but it's not a fun time. I'm ready for it to stop. For 20 days now I've taken my watch sitting here on the aft locker with feet braced on either side. On day 21 we will drop anchor somewhere in SE Alaska. Connie sings, "We drop anchor with a sigh."
Later when Connie relieves me I go down below and make scrambled eggs with ham and cheese for everyone. With the dim morning light the seas build a little more and the wind drops slightly. As usual, when Connie takes her shift, she checks the set of the sails and makes her adjustments. With less wind to hold it open, the jib slap is getting worse. As I lie below I hear her grinding something in, then letting something out. I hear her clomp up on deck then return. The jib goes "Bam!" again, shaking the entire boat. I can feel the boat changing course, taking the rollers from behind. That's a good ride when you have the speed, but now the jib is blanketed even more and collapses regularly. We can turn to port, into the wind, to something near a beam reach and the sail will fill but the rollers coming directly from the side will turn us into an oscillating madness.
Connie soldiers on, doing little adjustments until finally I hear some cursing then the grind of the sail getting rolled up. A click tells me she is shifting the gearbox into neutral and then the engine explodes into life. Clunk, it goes into gear, the engine rattling at idle. Then Connie powers her up to 15 thousand RPM and suddenly life changes as Traveler ploughs through the waves, setting up her own momentum to rival the force of the swell. It's loud, but it's smoother.
Connie peeks her head around the cabin door. "Charging batteries." she says with a wink.
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
No comments:
Post a Comment