The Girl Who Played with Lightning
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Sat 4 Jun 2011 18:51
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31:59.32N
77:30.99W
Calm, oily smooth water as for as the eye can see
in every direction. There was not enough wind to raise even a ripple on the
surface, which is only inching up and down on the last vestiges of an old swell.
We motored all day, our ears eventully tuning out the muted drone of the engine.
There was no noise from the sea at all, not even where Summer Song parted the
sheets of water at the bow. Looking astern, our wake spread out in a long, thin
triangle to the horizon.
This eerie calm continued into the night after a
glorious sunset. We sat up for a while eating spag bol and sipping whisky,
admiring the streamers of phosphoresence thrown out by the bow and by the rudder
behind, like a vapour trail. When the watches began, it felt as if we were
coccooned in the cockpit, with the gentle glow of the instruments. There were
stars out in their millions, and a reluctant fingernail moon, but it was all
viewed as if through salty sunglasses - somehow distant, behind net curtains.
The air was thick and seemed to form a vault over the boat that pressed in on
us. It was close.
Later,at 3am, Alex woke me to say that we were
heading for a thin cloud that was spouting brilliant lightning, and what should
we do. We peered together out of the fo'c'sle hatch as flashes lit up the sky
ahead and silhouetted a dense black cloud. I'm not sure how to outrun or avoid
electrical storms, and there didn't seem much sense in stopping or trying to go
around it. So, with some trepidation and expecting a flash to reach out and
seize the mast at any moment, we stowed the laptop, GPS and the
handheld VHF radio in the oven, where the guides say they should be
protected from a lightning strike. I made a mental note to check before
cooking today.
At about 8am, the wind suddenly sprang up from
nowhere - presumably we have crossed the expanse of high pressure which banished
it in the first place. We're now scudding along at five knots with full main and
gib... heading slightly the wrong way. We're as close huled as possible, but if
we carry on like this for the next three days, we'll make landfall somewhere in
North Carolina, rather than Cape Hatteras. Fortunately, for forecast is for a
westerly wind that should allow us to raise the spinakoo for the last part of
the passage. We're still hoping to arrive on Tuesday afternoon.
Still no fish, despite a promising nibble on the
first morning, back in the Bahamas. We are becoming impatient. Graham says that
there are plenty of fish in the Chesapeake, particularly 'croakers', which are
in the bass style, but apparently make a mournful 'euurrgghhh' noise when
they're pulled out of the water. He also said he wouldn't eat Chesapeake fish
every day, because of the pollution. "I'm sure it'd be fine for a couple of
weeks though," he quickly added when he saw Alex and I exchange a
glance.
Meanwhile, the First Mate is sitting in the cockpit
wearing PJs still at 2pm. She's just finished the second of the Stieg Larsson
books (The Girl Who Played with Fire) and has followed up immediately by
starting number three in the series (The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest).
She's nailed about 700 pages in two-and-a-half days, despite announcing airily
at the start that she wasn't sure it was her kind of book. I shall shortly start
to call her 'Lisbet' after the books' curious heroine.
Nonetheless, morale is high and we are looking
forward to arriving in the Chesapeake, to see Irene and spend some time at
Graham's as well as cruising this huge bay. We're planning to see Alex's
Edinburgh flatmate Anna in Annapolis, my Edinburgh flatmate Savannah in Long
Island, Marina and possibly some New York acquaintances in between. And we're
still scouting for a fourth member of the crew. A Frenchman who'd seemed a
strong candidate dropped out unexpectedly, but we're in touch with an
experienced-sounding Swedish girl. Applications and sample menus to the usual
email address...
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