Voyage began at 17:50 on 08.15. Beautiful thus far, with a gentle south wind and following seas.
The watches are thus: Gavin until 22:00, Steve from 20:00 to 24:00, Henry from 22:00 to 02:00, Mike from 00:00 to 04:00, Sam from 02:00 to 06:00, Chris (Pop) from 04:00 to 08:00, Gavin from 06:00 to 10:00, and Steve from 08:00 to 12:00.
Dinner was mac & cheese for everyone else — rice & curry for me. Steamed green beans (sliced) for all.
We lost GPS at about 21:30. Not really a problem — folks have done without for years.
That and we apparently have a backup GPS (handheld). And radar.
Like I said, not a problem.
So now we’re dodging the Provincetown rocks (we were headed striaght for them, ’til Henry pointed out that the blinking light was warning us away), & passing a bell (00:33).
And all three elder men are awake. My father is doing various navigational tasks, Mike is on his watch, and it seems like Steve is up just because it’s a beautiful night.
And what a beautiful night it is. Between 22:30 and 24:00, I slept up on the bow (clipped to the jack-lines, wrapped in my wool sweater & goretex, wearing wool and polypro socks & lying on my crazy-creek chair for padding and insulation [mostly the latter]). Moon, stars, mars, and meteorites accompanied the sails in the sky above me. Phosphoressence glowed in our wake. Once in a while, the jib would luff until the skipper adjusted to fill it.
It was about midnight when the luffing grew more frequent. The jib would snap across the bow, and I’d think we were about to go into a port tack, and then it would come back again. This went on for a few minutes (during which I did not sleep much), and then we finally tacked. We had been flying wing-and-wing.
I came back to write, & get some sleep.
It is truly exhilarating to be aboard. To fly along, driven by no forces but the wind and the water, is awe-inspiring. I think especially of those moments when I, standing on the bow, watched the Gennaker fill and billow out ahead. (For those unfamiliar with the term, a Gennaker is a large-bellied third sail that billows out in front of the boat. It is also described as a Spinnaker without a pole — you tack it to [or near to] the jib, and, unlike the Spinnaker, fly it to one side or the other.) Watching the jib snap full is almost as good. For the sheer joy of a tight pair of sails full of wind, I hope we get to run close-hauled as well.
And then there’s the water. So much water. It spans all I can see, to port. When I wake, I’m sure we’ll be entirely beyond the sight of land.
The ocean is amazing up close, too. Riding the bow earlier today (yesterday, really), while tinkering with the Gennaker’s lines, I got splashed a number of times. The most awesome, though, was when we rode into a series of swells. I set aside my work, rolled up my pant-legs several inches, held onto the stanchions of the bowsprit, and crouched on the balls of my (bare) feet. We baptised the bow with six inches to a foot of water, much of which rushed past me, splashing across the deck with a wash of joy.
It is enough, however, for one day. Now I sleep (at 01:00).