Saturday 10 December
2743 miles sailed, 289 to go
All the stars are coming out tonight, they're lighting up the sky tonight.
For you; for you.
Our night watch sees a clear, ink-black sky spattered with the light of a
hundred billion stars. No moon to dilute their presence. No glow from the
towns and cities on land a thousand miles distant. I should recognise some
of this scene - Polaris; Betelgeuse, the Andromeda galaxy. Yet I struggle to
name any but The Plough - where is this great bear of which it plays its
part? The sky is too full, crowded with so many vaguely guessable shapes I
don't know where to start. The Ancients had a lifetime of such nights to let
their imaginations wander, inventing characters to remember and link and
make sense of it all. I am content just with its majesty.
The breeze in our sail hurries us onwards through the grey half-light. One
sail to rule them all - the parasailor. I know by day it is red, but it is
now a colourless billowing form, slowly wandering left and right as the
waves prod at the boat's rear quarters. Almost collapsing, then filling and
straining its sheets. The sail has a width-wise slot designed to provide
lift, but now its masking effect borders a screen of moving stars inside the
slot, as if a horde gathering inside a letter box.
But tonight, the picture is different - the stars are the supporting act;
the moon takes centre stage. In 2 days the moon will be full, it is waxing
amd already gibous. In these latitudes, its complete side curves downward,
as an old-fashioned bathroom light shade; strange to an eye familiar with
the man-in-the-moon view from home. Its journey, like the stars', takes it
East to West. Tonight, it will set before dawn. As our journey is westward,
it is all the compass I need to steer by. Slowly, it sinks behind our
foresail. Masked save for pin pricks of light filtered through the stitches
in the canvas. Now clouds move to obscure it; no matter, I can steer by its
remaining light reflected in the sea ahead.
The wind is on our starboard quarter, a boisterous force 6. The wind pushes
the waves into us from behind, regularly then suddenly chaotically. The surf
breaks from behind, pitching the bow first down, then steeply upward as the
line of foam progresses past us. We slew to starboard. I quickly turn the
wheel to correct our course as we round up - hard left, right, left then
back to order. We continue, straight on until morning.
But enough of this nonsense. Its been a slow news day. The main things to
report are a) the last cucumber went yellow and over the side 2 days ago,
and b) we are down to our last quarter of a cabbage. The thought of a cold
beer is coming to mind more and more often. And c), it's captain Dave's 60th
birthday today, see picture. Celebration meal (from cans) later today.
We are now counting down the hours until arrival.
Starry starry times
Paul
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