We’re really cruising along. With a reef in the mainsail, we’re still averaging about 7 knots over ground, sometimes surfing up to 11! We’re on track to do over 180 miles today. We’re also looking like we’ll pass 1000 on our nautical miles to destination countdown.
The sea is everywhere.
Sometimes I look over and the sea is where the sky should be.
Sometimes I look out and the sky is where the sea should be.
Sometimes the sea is on deck.
The boat rolls and my shoulders rock on a gimbal, keeping my head in one spot. Sometimes the boat’s nose yaws hard to windward and it feels so wrong that I can’t help but look up to make sure someone hasn’t steered us hard to starboard.
The waves lap at the stern, our two wake streams from two hulls clashing violently together a foot back. White bubbled wake stretches out far behind us, but I can rarely see all of it as it’s often hidden behind the crest of the next wave. Sometimes, as the swell rises up behind us filling my entire view aft of the boat, I think the only place it could possibly go next is over. So close, so tall, so sheer. And then, as easy as a cork in a bathtub, Nam Thanh bobs up and my view is of sky once again. I thought they might be 9 foot swells. Jan thinks more like 6 or 7. He’s probably closer but we agree that they really vary.
Despite all the commotion, the water is still impeccably clear. And walking, surprisingly, while occasionally bumpy, is not so hard - although grabbing a handhold is smart and occasionally very necessary. We clip in to go anywhere outside the cockpit or living area. Reading is no problem at all. However, laying with my head to leeward gravity presses on my stomach in the wrong direction and I feel my lunch slosh. I spin 180 and I feel just fine.
The view is topsy-turvy but the sound is peaceful and consistent. The silence of the stern rising to the crest of a wave. The whoouuush as the wave passes to the bow and the stern comes down hard on the other side, starboard then port, surfing what’s left of the wave and creative lots of white water. Its beautiful. The motors whir and for a moment, because of our speed, it’s easy to think we’re running them for propulsion. But this is all wind power, baby. The energy from the motors is a sweet bonus. (Though I’ll admit, I like when they’re off. I find it much more peaceful.)
Jan warns that a squall is approaching and points to the vertical haze under a dark bruise of a cloud on the horizon. It shows up on the radar as a red and slightly yellow circle of smallish size. The wind picks up and becomes more choppy and unpredictable. The main tries to jibe but only half-heartedly, like it was a joke. The warm breeze turns cool and, standing eyes closed with my face to windward, I get gusts of both. It feels like when you’re swimming in a lake and you randomly swim through a pocket of warm water. I notice that my favorite smell, petrichor, doesn’t come. Rain has no smell without the land. The water is cool and I wash my face. It feels like a little bit of home. The rain will come and it will pass.
I return to the bench, snuggling down onto a pillow - it’s a little cold now with my wet shirt. I’m loving my new book and I’ll eat the last hazelnut wafer cookie.
E
Current book: The Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett
Current song: iNtwenhle by Thando Zide and Kaelan DiJulio
It’s amazing to me that all of that is wind power. The science, the physics of this are astounding. I am amazed that all of that rocking and rolling doesn’t make you sick. Thank God.
Glad to hear you’re able to read no problem. As long as the wind’s not finicky, I do love how a boat moves through big swells.
I love reading your posts, getting your much more poetic descriptions. Fun to get videos too. Glad the squall was short and sweet and a nice rinse.
I'll be happy when you write to us that the squall is over and that the boat just sailed right through it with flying colors! Does it feel odd that you haven't seen land in a long time?
Love you Emma Lou
Grandmother and Howl