happy braai day

Belize to Panama (Day 7) - Offshore of the East coast of Nicaragua - Heading South

A few minutes before midnight, I am shaken awake for my next shift.

We have made good progress over the past 24 hours: covering 180 nautical miles of ground. Now, we have just 240 nautical miles to go. Hopefully that’s only a day or two more at sea.

It’s breezy now, and there’s a lot of sea state to contend with. Otto (the autopilot) cannot handle helming, so Sam has been hand steering for the past few hours. As he hands over, Sam tells me I will enjoy this.

And he’s right. Tonight, it’s fun to helm.

An hour in and very thirsty, I find myself steering with my feet as I overextend my limbs, reaching to the other end of the cockpit in search of my water bottle.

I handle another thirty-five minutes before I start to feel my concentration lapsing - I’m coming up too much, taking us off course. So I pop Otto on and sit close to the helm, in case the autopilot fails. I can relax a little.

The moon is full and bright: there is no need for a torch. And tonight is the peak of the Geminids meteor shower: apparently you can see 150 meteors an hour. So I am gazing up at the sky.

As I hand over my watch, I tell Lieneke and Charles about the meteor shower, and they wisely take down the bimini. I wish I had done that! I’m jealous to have only seen a few.

I wake up to violent motions of Argonaut wallowing. The wind is dying, so Ben is rigging a stabiliser for the boom, to stop it from slamming in the sea state.

I pop the kettle on and make a cup of tea and some porridge, which I coat with far too much golden syrup. As I attempt to climb up the companionway steps into the cockpit, I realise my legs aren’t functioning properly. Probably a mix of tiredness and soreness and stiffness from a lack of proper movement this past week at sea.

It’s now Sam’s watch. And it’s warm and sunny. I help him pop the bimini back up to give us some shelter from the sun.

Then, in no time at all, it’s time for my watch once again. And this transpires to be my favourite watch so far. Sunny, feeling the wind on my face, sailing through the waves. The water is dark blue, and yet so clear.

And today is the day we have all been waiting for: braai day! It had been too rough and rolly to do so before now. On the menu: steak, courgette, butternut squash and sweet potato. There is a real sense of anticipation onboard.

Ben: “Saying I’m looking forward to this is so comedically an understatement.”

Sadly, the sweet potatoes do not live up to the hype. They were purple inside and a very odd texture, so they went overboard. There is huge disappointment, as sweet potatoes on the braai is a dish fiercely looked forward to onboard Argonaut. Some weeks later, we discover by accident that these were not sweet potatoes at all, but were dasheen - which rather explains the unanticipated colour and texture!

Meanwhile, Lieneke is drink driving.

As the evening draws in, the waves keep us on our toes: pushing us up or down 20 or 30 degrees. Sometimes the helming is low input, sometimes it proves hard work to work Argonaut back to course and keep her stable. But it’s fun. I feel content.

At sunset, we gybe.

Ben: It’s terrifying, we’ve basically doubled our manoeuvres!

At 2100, I’m back on watch. We are heading West now. There are still some waves rolling in, but Sam tells me the helming has been low input, with Otto doing most of the work.

Still stiff from days of restricted movement, I sense this is the perfect opportunity to do some stretching. I feel infinitely better for doing so. And more at peace too. My sense of calm is no doubt helped by the scene surrounding me: the sky is clear and so the night is once again illuminated by the shine of a full moon.

I take the helm. And in no time at all, I’m halfway through my watch. Excitement hits me - it’s Pringles time! I hand over to Otto, adjusting our course to a more conservative angle. Once it seems to be happy, I clamber around the helm station and settle down to enjoy my snack.

I am sat down for no longer than 30 seconds when Otto starts struggling to cope with the sea state. The wheel jerks hard to port, then hard to starboard, then hard to port again. The main sheet goes slack and the boom slams hard, enough to wake Charles and send him running up. I leap across the cockpit and regain control of the helm. Otto, I explain. After a few minutes, Charles heads back to bed. 

The irony is that it’s truly low input helming. Even without Otto on, I get the helm settled into a notch, buying me enough time to reach for my Pringles. All the while, Argonaut stays balanced, gliding through the water at the same heading.

But as my watch goes on, the wind speed falls whilst the waves persist, causing the main to flog. And helming becomes trickier: more tired, I lose focus more easily.

I tentatively pop Otto on when it’s time to wake Lieneke and Charles up. Just as I gently shake Lieneke, Otto starts having a bad time. I run back on deck to take the helm. 

The wind is veering too. We are now heading North-West (not ideal). We prep to gybe. I take the running backstay forward to the shrouds and clip it out of the way. The minute I get back into the cockpit, the wind fills in and has backed. No need to gybe.

Time to shower and get some sleep.