Close Encounters of the Sailing Kind

It’s dark. I notice it the moment my alarm goes off for watch. The weight of it feels heavy and it has a presence, like it’s another thing in the room rather than the absence of something. Looking up out my hatch, I get an understanding of why - clouds have covered even the stars. I have to turn on my headlamp to find anything, no more going by my dark-adapted eyes. It’s too dark even for that. The room is bathed in a red glow as I pull on clothes. It feels slightly ominous and my cabin is muggy and hot from having the hatch closed while I slept to avoid a surprise saltwater bath. The temperature was tolerable when I was sleeping in only my underwear, but putting clothes on I get more and more claustrophobic until I have to verbally tell myself to hold it together and not burst out of my room gasping for cooler air.

The moon has yet to rise and clouds cover much of the sky so the stars are only visible in small pockets. We have lost all of our sailboat companions at this point so the chart plotter is empty and the horizon is lonely. The air is warm but the wind finds its way through the weave of my light wool sweater. To star gaze, sometimes I’ll throw on my foulie jacket just to cut the wind. Even if dry during the day, every surface feels slightly damp and sticky with salt at night.

I’ve heard stories of the ocean’s phosphorescence in full force, turning the boat’s wake bright green or illuminating the tails of dolphins as they cut across the bow in the nighttime. I’ve never seen such dramatic spectacles with phosphorescence and so far, the Atlantic’s phosphorescence is not so dense. There are still little hints of it in Nam Thanh’s wake, however. When the moon was full I thought it was a trick of the eye, but now I can see it plain as day: little sparkles trailing from our stern with a density and personality like that of lightning bugs (my first experience of which was also this year). Every once in a while, one wave looks brighter and greener than the others, but before I can give it a second glance, it’s gone.

This morning, I was woken from sleep by water splattering me through my partially-opened hatch. It was a risk but totally worth it for the cool air during sleep. I started my morning with yoga and mediation on the foredeck, creating my own flow as I went and generally choosing poses that gave me three or more points of contact at all times. Drank lots of water: the lemon slice did the trick.

Yesterday, we had our final run in with Lady Five before, I think, our routes took us different ways for good. It sounds like they’ve had a line out but no luck with fish yet and they’re flying a (patented) variant of a spinnaker called a Parasailor. It has an extra piece of fabric that helps stabilize the sail and make it easier (read less constant attention) to fly. We came within a half mile of one another which made for some fun photo opportunities. All other ARC sailboats have disappeared at this point and there is rumor of a warship in the area but we have yet to see them.

Today came with more boat repairs. Still trying to diagnose a potential (and very slow) oil leak in the port side motor. It’s a very small space and hard to get in and out of. We also repaired some of the cork decking that was lifted when we were moving the code zero up from the garage. The code zero is so heavy that it’s hard to lift it completely without dragging. Normally, it’s okay to drag it but this ledge is a particular weak point.

A note on the cork: apparently it’s all recycled, which is kind of cool. Also, it’s very unusual. Most sailboats, to my knowledge, have either fiberglass or teak decking. Teak is a pain to maintain, expensive, and hot on bare feet although it performs well at sea which is why it’s been used on sailboats for thousands of years (although restricted to trim and decking when it became hard to find and pricier to source). Fiberglass, the popular alternative, is relatively inexpensive and tough, but messy to repair when it does need it and not as natural/warm/pretty as teak. I think this use of cork is an attempt at finding a beautiful alternative in a renewable resource. I appreciate their nod to teak with the patterns they’ve chosen for the floor. My concern from the beginning (when I boarded the boat), however, was its durability and I think my predictions are already coming to fruition. Aside from the crack next to the garage, there are already other cracks next to hinges and in areas that get lots of sun. Unlike teak or fiberglass where you replace a board or sand out a fill, this cork seems like it would be hard to replace, particularly if you care about the aesthetics. And let’s face it: if you buy this boat, you do.

We’ve sailed 80 miles in 12 hours today, making really good progress. We used a service called PredictWind the other day to get a sense for our route, it used multiple weather models to suggest various routes from your location to your destination. Fun tool. Basically all routes point WNW so that’s where we’ll go.

Keeping on! Grateful for consistent winds.

E