Getting used to living at 20 degrees off horizontal, as we approach the Brazilian coast
S/Y Pelerin
Colin Speedie & Louise Johnson
Wed 2 Jan 2013 17:14
encouragement, good wishes and fun stuff… it’s lovely to receive snippets
and titbits. We’re not quite getting bored with each other (being locked in
a tiny space with the same two people day in day out for weeks at a time can
be challenging!) but it is great to have some contact with the outside
world… so keep ‘em coming! If the winds continue as they are, we may make
landfall in Salvador this coming Friday. Then Colin, Ronnie and I will enjoy
a large, ice-cold beer, have a lonnngg shower, a good sleep, get back online via some
marina wi-fi, and re-join the chaos that is the world.
We’ve been making really good progress. We can’t believe it but we’ve been
making at least 160nm each day for the last 3 days. Good solid SE/ESE winds
mostly, with only a few weird light patches and/or wet squalls to add a bit
of weather-spice to the day. But as we’ve been on a starboard tack (N.B.
with the wind hitting the port/left hand side of the boat, so the boat leans
over to starboard/right-hand) ever since we left Cape Verdes, I’m not sure
we’ll ever be able to walk properly upright ever again, and certainly not
without swaying constantly… As each wave hits the boat, anything that can
clink or bang together does do exactly that, and so there are bits of
socks/rags/sponges stuffed into any crevice to try to dampen down the
cacophony – we won’t find half of our stuff for weeks I’m sure.
We saw the first hints of light from land last night – at this latitude, it
must have been Recife. And we saw our first bit of rubbish floating past us
this morning. So although we’ve not seen land yet, we’re just starting to
see the effects that land brings. We’re keeping a close eye out for the oil
production platforms and exploration rigs that apparently litter the coast
here, but we think they’re mainly to the south of us. And we’ve been warned
of the small fishing boats that can come way out to sea, even though the
shelf edge is very close to shore along this part of coast. So the two or
three remaining night watches prior to landfall will no doubt be less
restful and contemplative than when out on the high seas.
The moon is rising later in the night now, so there is more time between the
setting sun and rising moon to look for shooting stars and marvel at the
strange new constellations not previously visible when further north. It’s
interesting how quickly your 3-hour night watch goes. No sooner have you
poked your head up, received some sort of handover from a very tired
crew-mate, than you have to make sense of the black ocean boiling around
you. You’re required to work the boat’s way through small changes in wind
angle, tweaking the wind-pilot (self-steering gear), and keeping your eyes
peeled for menacing clouds or ships whose paths may converge with yours. And
if you’re lucky, very lucky, you may get visited by dolphins looking for
some stimulus in the long night hours. You hear their breaths before you see
them, but once alerted, you notice the torpedo-like luminescence they create
as they whoosh past to joist at Pèlerin’s bow. As experiences go, on a solo
watch in the middle of a very big dark ocean, it’s truly magnificent.
Until last night, the only dolphin encounters we’d had since leaving the
Cape Verdes, had been at night. But last night, coinciding with a most
spectacular sunset which seemed to almost torch the sea ablaze, Ronnie cried
‘Dolphins – coming over to see us’. And sure enough, at last the chance to
watch the antics and playful manoeuvres of a dozen spinner dolphins. They
stay for several minutes, and I can’t help myself but laugh out loud as they
leap clear of the water, obviously enjoying our presence in a sea with few
other vessels to play with.
I’m really going to miss this… in a few days when we leave the open sea and
move closer to the inevitability of land and the end to our superb
transatlantic journey, I’m really, really going to miss this.