Thursday December 16, 2010
I believe we have crossed or are crossing as I write, the gulf stream. Today began with watch from 4am to 8am and in that time I can say there was a perceivable change in the temperature. Even as the early light began to break, the warmth of the water could be seen in the distant clouds as mirage in the desert. The seas are calm now and of a pallid blue that seems pure and bottomless but the bright, empty sky of last night has solidified into a grey rippled dome and when standing outside, gazing across the gentle waves, I can feel the cool air of the north and west mixing with the warm air of the south and east as it swirls around me and the boat. Its hard to believe only a days travel at 7 knots can cover such a dramatic change in climate, only yesterday the temperature was 24F. Upon first light this morning during watch, Kyle spotted dolphins along the port rail. They played and jumped in the wake of the bow, too many to keep track of and count. I fiddled with my camera, failing to capture a decent shot and amidst my excitement I began to curse myself for loosing touch with the moment in the name of taking, or stealing I should say, a picture of something so grand so that I could make an attempt at keeping it forever. But for the fact, I was hardly in that moment at all. I put down the camera and thought of Brittany. I know she would have liked to have been there, if only just long enough to watch them play in innocent and untouched beauty. I let it go and tried as well to let myself go. The sun was orange and yellow and the ocean, new again.
2pm, the mail sail ripped. The sea had already begun to build to a metallic grey, foaming and reaching for the rails as the boat started swaying in long rolls and the wind hinting at something ferocious and terrible in the air. We quickly got control of the boom but the gaff sailed wildly through the air as shreds of sail ripped away off into the oblivion of sea and sky. Captain called everyone back inside because the gaff was to wild to tame until the wind died down. By 4pm, the sky was black and pink. The bow was plunging head long into the ever rising sea. At 5 the light was dying quickly. My gut was turning and the horror of the sea had its grip on me. After dark, the crew huddled in the galley, curled up with immersion suit packs while the captain stayed at the wheel. The boat felt life it was coasting down a hill, bouncing of wave after wave but continuously falling forward. Time moved on slowly, my hunger was gone and sleep would not come even late into the night. Through the open port door I could hear the last shreds of sail whipping in the wind like gunshots. The air was heavy and it was all I could do to hold the same position. Engine checks continued on schedule but became 20 minute ordeals due to spilling oil and loose tools and equipment. My mind was gripped by the sea; we were alone, our only island, surely sinkable. At some point during the evening a bilge alarm sounded for the forward compartment. A horrible sound, the sound of a fire alarm. The night was long. I dared not look out the window at the hideous black forms flanking and overtaking us. I closed my eyes and braced for collision after collision and the rocking side to side and bow to stern. The waves growled as they passed underneath and the rain began to pour later in the night. One wave in particular crashed onto the boat so hard, I sprang from my position on the floor ready to dive for an immersion suit as the boat tipped to a dangerous angle. Everything shook and the clanging of the drawers and their contents rang about the galley. I glanced up at the window to see the water line straight across the middle of the glass, well over the rail and high enough to gush through the gap in the side hatch. A coast guard chopper flew us by not long after. Our roof mounted EPIRB had been blown away into the ocean and had sent off a distress signal. It was a relief to know that help was not too far away. Later on as I lay sleepless on the galley settee, a wave jolted me out of a half sleep and I looked up through the window above my head to see the moon shining though a break in the clouds for only a few moments until it was gone again and the rain returned, my mind eased and I finally drifted into a short sleep. It has been only 2 nights at sea.
Sunday December 19, 2010
The sea grew overnight with a constant nw swell. But I slept soundly for the first time in days. Dawn was a sad, grey affair from where I sat on watch in the wheelhouse. The suns first light was heralded by a smear of pink on the horizon, the rest of the sky did not seem to notice and carried on in gloom and murkiness. Everyday on the ocean has its own personality, it has its own agenda and one can only gaze upon it as the world carries out its day-to-day affairs, which are indifferent to you and your presence. The weather becomes a tangible element just like the sea and the sky, always there like it is about to speak, but it never does. It only speaks in a feeling that overtakes you, its mood becomes yours and you plod along at the speed of a traffic jam.
Tuesday December 21, 2010
Winter Solstice. I watched a lunar eclipse at sea early this morning. Such a slow and graceful process, the heavenly bodies in dance and motion, the sunset of every horizon on the globe cast upon our dear neighbor in a blaze of orange. The sky seemed electric, full of magic and superstition and there was no one but me to be delighted and charmed. I stood on the aft deck, above the groan and rumble of the engine, silent myself, pondering the alignment and the perfection. I may have been the only person on earth to have seen it, and for all it mattered under my dome of sparkling stars and vacant soundless clouds, beneath which was spread the black abyss of sea, I was.
Thursday December 23, 2010
Arrival Culebra. I awoke to a splendid silence. A blackness, sweat and hot and thick; heavy like rain so I couldn’t fall back asleep. But the silence… Pure. Unmolested, resolute. Ahh. Above deck the sun had long begun its assault but the morning was fresh and somehow different than the mornings had been at sea. I studied my new surroundings critical at first, weighing what I saw against what I had expected, then relieved, settled, like a dream, infallible. I had made it. I had arrived by the most tedious, uncomfortable means to this blip on the map. This corner of the world which I had dreamed and pondered and wondered about for so long. And here I find there is a thing in the air, a sound if you will, a whisper, a soft murmur that caresses the eardrum and speaks to the soul. But single this sound out you cannot. It is there but not there at all if you stop to listen to it. You can make out all the sounds and hear them one at a time. The waves lapping against the boat… the lively music drifting across the water… the orchestra of insects buzzing in the trees… the dog barking and the distant human voices, inaudible but so warm and inviting. But you can still not hear it, the island, the soul of the island, its magic. It speaks to a deeper self yet you can almost make it out as it crosses the wind and spirals above and below you, its sweet melody filling your heart. You are in the right place.
Saturday December 25, 2010
Christmas. My favorite gift today was the sunrise.
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