30:33.5N 15:55.8W
PASSEPARTOUT
Christopher & Nirit Slaney
Sat 30 Oct 2010 10:29
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The dry air of the Atlantic nights is a surprise. Sail
in the Mediterranean at any time of year and you can expect to be drenched with
condensation during night watches. Everything gets damp, even during the summer
when hot, dry winds like the Meltem blow during the day. A Greek fisherman
on the island of Aegina once gave me a useful tip; if the decks are
covered in dew early in the morning, expect fierce winds by
midday. But so far in the Atlantic there is a lot less moisture in the air
and less wind than July in the Dodecanese. The nights are balmy with
temperatures in the low twenties, we haven't yet woken ended a watch soaked
with dew, there's no dangerous sliding about on wet decks and on the whole
it's a lot more comfortable. No doubt this will change as we head into the
tropics, but at 30 degrees north we're enjoying every hour of darkness.
Orion the hunter strides across the sky to the southeast
with Sirius the dog star running at his heel. Tonight a half moon made
a late appearance. The crew of another yacht told us of a navigational trick
using new and waning phases of the moon; a
line crossing both horns of a lunar crescent and extended
down towards the horizon will always point due south. So far it seems
to work. At some point further south we'll reach a point where both Polaris and
the Southern Cross should be visible at the same time. I saw this once from west
Africa and look forward to a repeat performance. I wonder if the old Portuguese
navigators who rounded the Cape of Good Hope for India and beyond had a name for
this observation.
Below the waves we also have a show of lights no less
fascinating than the Milky Way and the planets. Making our way gently
through the sea, our keel disturbs clouds of phosphorescent plankton which
then light up either as a defense mechanism or perhaps they like to show
off. When clouds hide the moon and stars, and the darkness is like so
much ink and velvet making if difficult to even find the horizon, the
glowing plankton are like a disco of small explosions in our
wake.
True to the forecasts, a breeze from the north east
has been steadily blowing us towards Selvagem Grande, a small Portuguese island
and nature reserve where we hope to arrive tomorrow. A slight current adds a
gentle hand. Another beautiful night is coming to an
end.
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