Panama to Galpagos

Wandering Dream
Steve Litson
Wed 1 Apr 2015 16:45
03:15:2N 081:24:6W
Wednesday 1st April 2015
New Transport and Exercise
Is this a first? During the short period we were becalmed yesterday,
the crew’s ingenuity came to life. We retrieved one of the folding bikes
and rigged it with six fenders for buoyancy and after a short trial run, we
achieved propulsion with flippers attached to the rear wheel. A line was
attached. Ken was chosen as the lightest and a keen cyclist. With
life jacket donned and after two capsizes, he managed to mount the bike. With a
few adjustments he was able to propel himself the length of the boat.
First of April.
The Tennis Podcast by Catherine Whitaker
Yesterday’s pre-dinner entertainment included the crew of WD listening
avidly to Catherine’s dulcet “The Tennis Podcast”, relayed over the cockpit
speakers. We look forward with keen anticipation to the next
broadcast. The discussion of tennis players careers possibly being over at
thirty three years, severely depressed the skipper who’s tennis career is yet to
begin.
Musings – by Ken
It is three am on our third night on the sea after leaving Panama. Steve
and I share a cup of tea before he turns in and I take the watch. The wind
and currents have been kind to us and progress is steady. Progress on this
journey, under sail, takes on a different meaning. We are not in a hurry,
yet look forward to good sailing speed as it simply feels good, and the boat
responds well to travelling at pace. The moon, a light golden globe in the
western sky is setting beneath a cloud bank and is now gone. Is weather
coming our way? Earlier this evening we marked our track between the
southern cross and the polestar, a vestige of many passages and voyagers before
us. Progressing toward the equator by sail brings on a new significance to
something done so often and without a second thought at 40,000 feet. What
is it about the sea that prompts us to write, to explore the space in the middle
distance, between ourselves and the actual experience? Perhaps here, words
are our only canvas of _expression_, and like a good point of wind, it takes us
somewhere, and it feels good.
Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day for fishing. Small fish eat plankton
and bigger fish eat smaller ones. The last few evenings have shown only a
few sparkles of photo-plankton. Tonight there are clouds of them, so bright they
light the stern of the boat. The clouds of little stars are mesmerizing,
and give a sign that we are once again in a living sea.
The rhythm of night watches changes your whole sense of time, breaks you
from the pattern you thought was normal and real. Sleep becomes a series
of transition bridges. Our members of crew pass to their bunks or up to
their watch, reminding one of a continuous set of transitions and
movement. Yet the days bring us all together on deck bringing a sense of
that former normality.
I now faint tones of light toward the east, signalling the end of my
watch. Robert will be showing his head through the hatch in a few minutes
with a smile that will light up and be evident in the faint light of pre dawn.
Miles travelled in the last 24 hours: 139
Miles to go: 525 |