The real blog
Muktinath
Pete and Chris
Wed 15 Jun 2016 10:45
12thJune 2016
Blue skies, bright sunshine, on deck in shorts and t-shirts strumming and tinkling our instruments while singing old Beatles songs with gusto (the cabin boy) , to the astonishment of passing gannets.
Well errrr ummm....that was the fantasy!!
Here's the reality:
Huddled in a corner under the spray hood ALONE, very alone, battling with challenges from digestive and nervous systems, not to mention proprioceptor muscles. Weep-slake cycle's in total confusion. Being tossed about by a very lumpy, bumpy, grumpy sea (oh no that last one's me), dark, wet, tired and cold and on watch.
Funny I'd thought we were going on holiday together. When I'm on watch he's asleep and vice versa. When we cross like ships on a ship we barely smile in case we wretch!!
I'm beginning to understand what the lady in the marina in Lymington meant when she said "Oh I've done that. You'll love it..........it's an experience". She forgot to fill in the dots with "when it's over".
13th June 2016
Well the forecast was completely wrong and we're tossing our way through very choppy high seas and a force 6/7 howling wind. Not quite the gentle force 3-4 we believed we were heading into.
But there's no way out but through as they say. I threw up neatly into a plastic bag this morning and have been wavering along the nausea scale all day. The worst bit is putting my trousers back on after a snooze. Doing anything down below except sleeping starts the waves of nausea through my limbs. Orrible. And there's a constant piercing headache which the Cap'n reckons is alcohol withdrawal. I think it's utter petrification!!
So I'm coming to the conclusion that I'm a wimp. No more ocean sailing for me, just delightful day sailing with a full nights sleep in a bed not hell bent on tossing me out. That happened twice before we decided we needed the cot sides.
Cap'n Barnacle deserves a medal for his superb handling of the boat and the entire miserable crew.
14th June 4am
This is a very dark night. We're belting along through heavy dark water that I can hardly see. The sun should be rising but there's no sign at all, just dark dark sky. It's very noisy with the crashing waves, howling wind, rattling, creaking, banging from boat under stress. She's a good un tho.
All I can think of tonight is a whole night's sleep without the dreaded sinking feeling when my 3 hours is up & I have to pile back the layers and stagger up on deck. Some, well most, of the hours pass so incredibly slowly. What keeps me going is the thought that in 3 hours I can hide in the sleeping bag again. At least I'm only 1 on the nausea scale this morning.....at the moment.
It's now 9.30am and the nightmare continues. The storm is even worse and not due to abate before we hit Spain. Where we hit is a bit out of our control now as the wind's changed too. Not due to hit anyway for about another 24 hours. OMG.
In a little pep talk yesterday evening, Pete asked me why I was frightened given that the boat was built for exactly this. But I wasn't!!!!! I'm frightened cos its fucking scary. Duh!!!!
I'm just sitting out my watch repeating to myself "Every minute of this is a minute towards a peaceful mooring".
11.00pm on what may be my last night watch alone. Why am I scared? Well... I'm in charge if a 10 ton vehicle charging through rough waters at 8 knots, at about 40 degrees to the horizontal (horizontal, what's that? 😩) wedged in tightly and hanging on to everything in sight to avoid being tossed around, in particular, tossed overboard. If anything went wrong I wouldn't have a clue what to do other than wake the Cap'n. It's mainly pitch black and just occasionally to keep me in my toes ho ho a massive wave drenches the boat and me if I happen to be in the wrong place. If that doesn't sound scary then I truly am a wimp.
I've re-discovered peanut butter butties though, which is a big plus 😜😜 Sorry ginger biscuits. You've been ousted from top table.
2.00am Good oldCap'n has decreed that we should slow down in order to put me through another 2 hours as the lonely nightwatchwoman. So here I am yet again experiencing the loneliness of the long distance sailor. At least I can see lights which must mean LAND ahoy. I'm beginning to understand how the elation of getting there could blot out any of the aforesaid negativity. How easyIly we forget pain.... We'll see.