For Neroli and her crew

Neroli
Charles Tongue
Tue 16 Dec 2008 16:21

For Neroli and her crew

 

Las Palmas to St. Lucia, ARC 2008,

Neroli ship-shape, loaded with weight.

Spares, stores and water stowed with due care,

lists double – checked, last minute scares,

loved ones hugged tight, let’s begin our voyage.

 

Two hundred yachts plus, leaving the bay,

heading south to Cape Verde, then turning away.

Turn right when the butter melts,

the mantra we’ve heard, but trade winds evade us,

further south we must surge.

 

Night watches like magic, when the world

is asleep. Bright stars in the black to

lighten the track, through black treacle swells

slapping our stem. The moon waxing,

her fingers have laced us a white open road.

 

Squalls in the distance, lightning a dance,

then thunder close by, now we’re out of our trance.

Fifty knots, force ten, rivers of rain,

oilies and lifejackets, Glenfiddich’s the name.

 

Sea flattened by wind, soft eerie and grey

a strange luminescence striking the ocean that day.

Another vista, a sight to behold,

such natural beauty can never be told.

 

Becalmed for a day, engine on through the blue,

chasing the clouds, fluffy and new.

Drying our clothes, then setting our sails,

wind’s here on starboard, we’re back in the game.

 

Daily positions; where’s the rest of the fleet?

We’re charging on. Can you feel the heat?

Downwind rig, genoa poled out

or blue kite that billows with mainsail – what might!

 

Shake, rattle and roll. It is worse in your bunk.

Maybe we should get really drunk?

Peaceful on deck, the moon is our guide.

Shh! Fizz! Hush! The lullaby in our wake.

 

Dolphins at play by the bow in the day

darting to and fro, leaping in spray.

At night silent silvered torpedoes alongside,

the ocean, my freedom, boundless and wide.

 

Six hundred miles, are we counting them down?

too soon we’ll be back, on land, in a town.

No night watch, no dolphins, no humming hull,

no tropic birds, petrels, but work, mail and bills.

 

Three weeks we’ve lived life between ocean and sky

thrilled when boat speed is excitingly high.

Baked bread, cooked fine meals, even when heeling,

watched a movie, shared popcorn,

beers, laughter and feeling.

 

We’ve caught a few fish, lost lures and big hooks,

revelled in sunshine, read a few books,

How lucky we are to have had so much space.

The Atlantic – My God! What a glorious place!

Lou Newman                       12th December 2008