Two occasions of note transpired while we were sailing. The first, we crossed the Tropic of Cancer, another indicator that we are getting closer to tropical waters. We did not see a sign at sea that said we had crossed it, but we did take notice of the latitudinal line on the GPS.
The other GPS induced fun was a moment when we marked 21 degrees, 07 minutes north and 21 degrees, 07 minutes west. This doesn’t happen often, and we are not always watching the GPS, so it was an instant of excitement to have both the latitude and longitude be the same numbers, and to have been looking at the GPS to be able to notice it. We do end up creating our own entertainment at sea!
Anneleize and Jabez were excellent on their night watches, looking for ships, checking our course, making sure the sails don’t flap. We divided the night watches into 2 hours slots, during which someone was awake and usually sitting in the cockpit. We watch for ships, but also see the night sky, observe the ocean and the boat’s progress.
For this trip, the ocean moved in all directions, making for an uncomfortable ride at times. When we had swell with us, the motion of the boat was more consistent and easier for all onboard, and occasionally we had a side swell that would twist things up and change the flow from a fluid one to a lurching one.
An entry in the log book, 55 miles from arriving in Santa Luzia reads, “29 Jan 2015, 08hr50, 17 degrees, 27 minutes north, 24 degrees, 07 minutes west, wind direction NE, wind strength 10 – 20 knots, barometer 1025, boat speed 7.4 knots, sailing direction, or course, 225 degrees, soupy, lugging, bucking, wallowing, messy, confusing; these all describe the sea state and the movement of the boat.”
We had phosphorescence often at night, sparkling the waters around us with light. For a few nights we also had what I call lightening bug phosphorescence. These were random lights that would flash, under the water. Just one flash, almost like Christmas lights, but never in succession, or in a line, more like lightening bugs, random. And those lights we could see in the distance too, not just around the boat. I cannot remember seeing this phenomenon before, in more than 22 years on and off the sea.
The absolute best though, the adrenalin rush at night time, is a visit from dolphins when there is a lot of phosphorescence in the water. Night watch in the cockpit, the noise of the ocean in my ears, the sky dark but for the stars, and all of a sudden a “pthooo”, abrupt and out of nowhere, right next to the cockpit. I jump at the noise, then realize I have visitors, and it is my signal to watch the waters around the boat.
The luminescence comes alive with the dolphins movement, I can see torpedos of light through the water, a blaze of brilliance moving alongside us, coming toward us, bullets of light heading for the bow of the boat. It is one of those special moments that is difficult to describe. To watch the water light up as a moving projectile, aimed at Abracadabra, it is funny, scary, thrilling and joyful all in the same moment. Perhaps it is the idea that I am not alone on night watch, there is someone else awake and with me. Perhaps the dolphins caught me unaware, frightened me with a sudden sound that gets my heart going, and then, when I realize who and what made the sound, I am exhilarated with the display of lights accompanying their visit. It’s not an everyday occurrence, or an every night occurrence, so when phosphorescence and dolphins combine, it makes my night watch an occasion.
When we arrived and dropped anchor, we felt, somehow, we earned the right to put the anchor down and sit back for a moment. We recounted our feelings and experiences, we spoke of the challenges of the passage, and most assuredly, we appreciated the stillness of quiet water. A passage, any passage, but especially a passage like this one where we worked hard to arrive, is a humbling moment.
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