baileys o’clock
Belize to Panama (Day 6) - Offshore of the East coast of Nicaragua - Heading South
Since our encounter with potential pirates last night, I haven’t really slept. It’s too hot, and rolly, and I can’t find a comfortable enough position to fall asleep, and my mind is still racing from the adrenaline earlier. So, I am awake when Charles and Lieneke hand over to Ben, and hear Ben hand over to Sam too. In no time at all, it’s time for my watch. And I am shattered.
Disaster is narrowly averted when, after some thorough rummaging, I finally manage to locate another packet of Pringles. These have been my snack of choice throughout my night watches. I grab a nut bar and make my way up on deck.
The night is clear and scattered with stars. The moon is nearly full. And the breeze is chilly. Bliss.
But within 20 minutes, it starts raining. I pop on Otto (still very squeaky, but not such horror movie vibes as a few hours ago) before tucking into my first snack, 40 minutes too soon. This bar was destined for 0100. I live in hope that the promise of Pringles will keep me motivated until 0200.
I take back the helm and get Argonaut settled into a rudder angle where the helm does not move as much as Otto forces it to, reducing the frequency of the creaking sound.
I check the radar. Nothing except a cargo ship, 20 nautical miles away.
We are still running dark. No AIS. No navigation lights.
I see a shooting star, so make a wish. Perhaps it’s a satellite burning out, or a meteor. Only time will tell - I’ll just have to wait and see if that wish comes true.
We hit a milestone: only 450 nautical miles to go! We are doing 5 knots of speed over ground. At this rate, we should reach Bocas Del Toro in just shy of 4 days, perhaps even less when we put the main back up. We took the main down yesterday evening as the wind speed came up, as we already had two reefs in and hadn't set up the third.
At 0445, I get two hits on the radar; both 12 nautical miles away. It is getting lighter to the East. I wake Charles. It comes to nothing.
We are treated to the most beautiful sunrise: a deep orange sky, momentarily obscured by the sea state.
When it’s time to handover my watch at 0600, we pop the main sail back up.
Charles notices a problem on the foredeck. One of the lashings attaching the tack of the jib to its furling drum has snapped. And so, in a rare state of affairs, I venture out of the cockpit and forward to the bow. On closer inspection, all but one of the lashings have snapped or are almost entirely frayed away. I grab some fresh dyneema to run a few more lashings.
Step 1: Test newfound speedy bowline skills on the tack of the jib - success!
Step 2: Thread the dyneema through the space on the furling drum - unsuccessful!
The dyneema is thick relative to the size of the hole I am threading it through, and as I push it, it begins to fray. Sigh. Then a thought occurs to me. I head back to the cockpit and ask Charles: “Is there any bowman’s tape around?”
Cue much laughter.
With my dyneema all taped up to keep its fraying at bay, I successfully add a few more lashings (finally making use of the Gill multitool, which has lived on my lifejacket for years, to poke the dyneema through!) and finish the job with a series of half hitches.
You might make a bowman of me yet!
I am beaming throughout my time on the foredeck. It’s a real rush on the bow; dipping into waves, holding on to Argonaut with just my thighs, my hands busy with a task.
When I venture back to the cockpit, I am no longer sleepy. I am wide awake, happy to have put my new bowline skills to good use, and feeling a real sense of achievement.
Despite the euphoria, I know I need to sleep, otherwise I will crash later, during my next watch. So, I shower. Although I’m usually a morning shower person, I have been training myself over the past few months by showering before bed, so I can become sleepy on cue. Result! Not that I often need the assistance.
Showering is also an excellent way to catch up with laundry. By not turning the shower pump on, water collects at the bottom of the shower. Simply add some detergent and the motion of the waves does the rest: churning the clothes until they become clean.
After hanging the washing out (and praying it doesn’t blow away), I get my head down for some rest.
I try to sleep. But my quest fails as soon as I hear the words breakfast frittata. I snooze but don’t sleep.
By 1400, it’s time for my watch again. It’s great fun to helm. The wind is coming back post squall, we hit 300 miles to go (wahoo!), we are heading straight down the rhumb line and doing 8 knots VMG! Sunshine made even better with a cool breeze.
Charles decides to make Baileys. We have all the ingredients. Coincidence? I think not! It’s very strong. I can only handle a sip, usually I have no problem. Meanwhile, Lieneke polishes off the can of condensed milk.
To the West, the sun is now low in the sky, scattering golden rays through the clouds. To the East, the sky coloured baby blue and pastel pink, accompanied by a full moon.
There is another pretty sunset. We cook, and eat, and clean. I go to bed.
Darkness falls, but I still can’t sleep. By now, I am desperate for some rest. Some hours later, after drifting in and out of consciousness, I lie in bed unhappy and overheating. I head up on deck where I am thankful that, once more, Sam has manifested a squall. I cool down in the rain. I am finally cold. I sleep like a baby for the next two hours, until it’s (sadly) time for my watch.