Our First Passage West

First Night Watch, N36 8.5’ E21 21.0’ Soundtrack: Big Bad Voo Doo Daddy

I figured out how to sit at the nav station without the risk of tumbling past the companionway and into the bathroom.  I press my back into the starboard hull and wedge my left foot against the armrest.  Likewise, to brush my teeth, I press my right foot into the port hull, reach for the grab handle with my left arm and do a half squat with my left leg, careful to adjust my knee angle as needed to counteract the motion of our boat.  The importance of solving body puzzles such as these cannot be understated when we’re sailing over 8 knots in 20 knots apparent ahead of the beam.  Did I mention that we’re also going against the current in rough seas?  In other words, an upwind slog.

Every photo on our picture wall is slanted to port.  The refrigerator draw has become a lethal weapon, managed safely only by two people at a time.  The gimbaled stove has swung as far as it can go, and our bath towels have levitated to a 20-degree angle from their wall hooks so that they appear to be floating in mid-air.  Anything at all that was loose has made its way over to the port side of the boat: pens, headphones, dirty clothes, a slipper, the ship’s log, etc. 

Why would we do this instead of waiting for a downwind sail?  One word – FAMILY.  We’re making our way to Tunisia because that’s where we will fly from to meet up with family and old friends for the month of August.  And I can’t wait!

Besides, this sail isn’t all bad.  We both have scopolamine patches on (Michael’s first time), so we’re not seasick.  The full moon rises like a blazing red sun until it morphs into a giant spotlight, illuminating the ocean for us.  We’ve got our fishing rod in the water.  And not one tanker has tried to run us over. . . yet.  The cargo ship, Leon Poseidon, length 184m passed port to port at close range (0.83 NM away), and I didn’t even flinch.  

Second Night Watch N36 8.7’ E19 16.2’ Soundtrack: Shakira

I’m drinking hot chocolate at midnight in Gerty’s salon.  We’re in the middle of the Ionian Sea and the stars are keeping me company.  The waves and my captain have laid down to rest.  What’s that they say?  Smooth sailing?  That’s what this is and I’m loving it!  

Thanks to our Happy Sail (Gennaker), we’re making good time (SOG 6.4) in the light breeze (TWS) 7.2.  So what if the autopilot is set to an Apparent Wind Angle of 50 degrees and we’re off our course?  I can place my oversized mug on the table without worrying that the contents are going to spill, I can sit anywhere without having to hold myself in a yoga pose to avoid falling, and I can run the galley faucets without the water streaming right out of the sink and onto the port side countertop.  In other words, our lives are level again. 

If only I had waited until now to take a shower, I could have avoided the dreaded sideways scrub.  Note to self – when the Lev-o-gage says we’re heeling to 20+ degrees, think twice.  Still, it’s worth it to be able to watch the sunset over the purpley-blue ocean, while wearing a head of clean, temporarily salt-free hair. 

Third Night Watch N 35 52.78 E 15 28.27 Soundtrack: Florence + The Machine

At 10:57 this morning, with 106 NM to go, the wind died.  This was to be expected based on the forecast.  What’s shocking to us is that the forecast was right.  It’s never correct three days out in the Mediterranean.  After flopping around in less than 4 knots for a bit, we furled the Happy Sail and started the motor.  “Motor sailing,” it’s called, with just the main up, and we don’t like it.  Sure we could wait (possibly for days) for the wind to return, but patience would not be without risk.  This area of the Ionian is known for ferocious lightning storms.  One of the reasons we chose to leave during this weather window was because the CAPE index was clear, and we don’t want a storm to have time to develop. (CAPE – Convective Available Potential Energy is the amount of fuel available to a developing thunderstorm. More specifically, it describes the instability of the atmosphere and provides an approximation of updraft strength within a thunderstorm.)

I have enough to worry about.  I see suspicious boat lights off our starboard bow.  This ship doesn’t have AIS and it looks to me like it’s approaching fast.  It could be a fishing boat with giant nets, or worse.  I wake the Captain, who promptly knocks his head on the ceiling, only to find out that it’s none of these things.  It’s Hafnia Bering, a tanker that’s easily visible on radar.  It’s standing still approximately 8 NM away.  Oops. The plan is for me to wake him again if it looks worrisome, but it won’t.

Did you know there are parking lots in the middle of the ocean?  We’re about to pass one now.  There are six ships on the horizon, waiting for entry into Malta.  These ships are in the economy lot, miles away from the action.  Soon we’ll have to cross through priority parking, where according to our radar, about thirty ships are gathered.  How relaxing – NOT!

Fourth Night Watch N35 51.93 E14 34.17 Soundtrack: None, we’re asleep

We arrived in Malta this morning.  Michael checked into the country while I made sense of the post-passage chaos onboard.  Then we escaped the city of Valletta and traveled just thirty minutes to Il-Bajja ta’ Marsaskala.  With cigarette boats and day trippers speeding by, it’s nothing like Greece here.  Malta is a city-island.  It’s a crowded, noisy, busy place – just what we need to get our errands done.  But first, we’ll sleep – a sailor’s sleep, right through the mayhem with no trouble at all.  Goodnight.

Last remarks

• Thank you to Sergei and Angelica, our new friends on SV Luma for the bread and melon.  Perfect timing as we really didn’t have time to provision well for our passage.  We look forward to seeing you in the Fall as we head West.  Fair winds!