Log Entry - Thursday, Jan 26, 2006

Sailboat | Crew | Log | Route | Track

Rocking like a cradle Swishing long on a gentle sea The object on the deck is our folding dinghy A squall in the distance, ready to attack The calmest ocean we have seen. Ted, preparing for shore leave It all hangs out The autohelm is set for 200 degrees; the wind is SE at 150 degrees. We are close hauled, 45 degrees off the wind, cruising at 6.7 knots. We had taken all the reefs out of our sails, but our fickle mistress started shouting at 23 knots. Back on the deck, in go the reefs. We will leave two reefs in the main overnight. We had three in last night and it was a bit conservative. There is a squall on the horizon, so we’ll pull in the Genoa and use the opportunity to run the engine and recharge our batteries. Now that our fridge is out, we only need about three hours of engine time a day. We use about six amps an hour or 144 amp-hours in a 24 hour period. Even though we have a 100 amp alternator, it can only put them back in the battery at the rate of fifty amps per hour. Now that we have shortened all the sails, mistress wind changes her mind, deciding she has had enough fun. The wind drops to 13 knots. We leave the sails alone and go to bed. With the winds and seas down, the ride is gentle, Full Circle is a giant cradle. The heel is almost non-existent; we sleep flat in bed for the first time. We miss our speed, but are happy for restful sleep. In our dreams, we are infants again, being rocked to sleep in our mother’s arms. So peaceful, so very peaceful. Its Thursday morning; the wind has subsided to 13-15 knots and is coming from the SE at 160 degrees. We are pinching (sailing close to the wind), as we try to squeeze every bit of easterly direction we can. Even at that, we are loosing two miles every hour to the west. We had wanted to turn at Dog Island, northwest of Anguilla, but at this rate we will be all the way to Sombrero Rock in the Anegada Passage. Dog Island is a tiny island part of Anguilla, which lies just north of St. Martin. We must sail around these islands to get to St. Martin. The detour adds about 30 miles to our journey. So far, we have been sailing as the gull flies, but soon we will have to begin dodging the places of wrecks. These waters are sprinkled with reefs and giant underwater mountains, which just poke their noses above the surface. If the moon is the queen of the sky, the sun must certainly be the king. There is a reason “Sunday” is named for the all powerful, ever burning Sun. In all his majesty, he rises before us every day to breathe life into all living things. He is the God of nature. In years gone by, we would pay homage by lying prostrate before him throughout the day. Our devotion was measured by the darkness of our skin. The most devout would allow lesions to form on their skin, which would be extricated with the blade of knife on special alters. Today, we show our devotion by lathering ourselves in holy oil. He continues to rein supreme. With the temperature reaching 90+ degrees (the thermometer reads 101), we know we are in the Caribbean. We cross latitude 18 and celebrate with a bottle of wine. With less than a hundred miles to go, we can almost smell the French cooking. Mistress wind continues to taunt us, but valiantly, Full Circle presses on. Motor or sail, we shall arrive. We expect landfall at Simpson Bay, St. Martin, Friday morning. Since we couldn't make it during the day on Thursday we deliberately slowed down to time our arrival around sunrise. It has worked well; the breeze is mild, and the ride is gentle. Full Circle has a dodger. Not all sailboats do. The dodger, so suitably named, is a windshield over the companion way opening and ladder. It provides a break to the wind and waves which wash over the deck. Occasionally, a particularly angry wave will throw itself over the dodger and douse the helmsman. On this trip, we only have helmsman. We know when it happens because the sorry victim shouts his displeasure above the roar of the sea. Our clothes get wet with sea water; they refuse to dry. The salt in the water traps the moisture and keeps them damp until we rinse them in fresh water. With repeated salt water dousing, they transform into cardboard. They no longer need to be hung up; they stand up on their own. A jet airplane, heading SW, passes overhead. We look at the contrail and ask, “Where are they going? Where did they come from? Who are they?” They look down and say, “Look at that sailboat in the middle of the ocean, how adventuresome.” Yes, we are living our adventure. We have another day before reaching our destination. They will reach theirs in a few hours. We are both looking forward to our destinations, but for us the reward is the journey. It matters not where we go, only that we go. That we rise up from the comforts of our homes and go adventuring. There is so little adventure left for modern man; we must create it. It's 4am Friday 1/27, and we are marking time off the western side of St. Martin waiting for day light. We have seen three cruise ships and at least ten sailboats. The cruise ships look like Las Vegas on the water. The sailboats are tiny red, green, or white dots depending upon which direction they are moving. They all appear to be motoring and coming from the Virgin Islands. We are sailing at two knots trying to avoid the stamped of boats heading into Simpson Bay. We now have two persons on deck to keep track of all the traffic. It is challanging at night. We wont be permanently anchored until mid morning. We have to go through a draw bridge which only allows incoming boats to pass at 0930. I will send another log entry once we are officially on land. The ocean voyage is over. We now enter a new phase, but the adventuring continues. Previous | Next