Let me tell you a little thing about sailing a yacht in the Mare Pacificum. All the preparation, anxiety, anticipation and sea sick pills do nothing. Until you experience the thrill, the heart-pumping adrenalin, the tirednessand the constant motion - all rolled into one big blur of events - for yourself, you've got no idea what's coming.
When we hoisted the sails and set off from Kiritimati Island, I really had no idea what was coming. It's only now, sitting in the safety and shelter of a calm, beautiful lagoon that I can sit in a room that isn't rocking like the inside of a washing machine, and write to you.
We arrived at Fanning Island, Tabuaeran, at about 8am on June 20. We first spotted the idyllic atoll, which is 24 hours sail north-west of Christmas, at about 6am. By then I had been on watch sitting at the helm of the boat for about two hours. That coast was a welcomed site to say the least.
By the time we saw land, we were only sailing at about six knots. Over the course of the 24 hour sail we had lowered the yankee sail, the stay sail, and had put three reefs in the main sail. So, in case you're like me and don't really understand boat terminology - we'd pretty much reduced our speed by half, by lowering the sails and consequently reducing the surface area for wind to catch on and propel us forward. We did this because if we arrived at our destination before sunrise, we'd have to sit around and wait for light before we could navigate across the 100 metre shallow entrance to the inner lagoon.
So.. this meant that my introduction to sailing was really, friken shaky. The less sail area to counter-balance the keel below and the onslaught of waves, the more the boat smashes from side to side in the surf.
Oh. My. Gosh. Aparently the seas were calm! I laugh at the thought. I didn't get seasick (wahoo), but being downstairs in room that's a hot, humid, 30 degrees, and slipping and slopping from side to side is not pleasant. It is going to take a bit of getting used to having the salt and the pepper become missiles in a room where walking to the bathroom requires sturdy thigh muscles and quick reflexes.
I was planning on using my downtime while at sea to type and keep up notes and blogs, but maybe I'm going to have to re-evaluate that plan. They say you get used to living at 20 degrees after a day or so, I sure as hell hope so!
Now, this isn't to say sailing was a horrible experience, just challenging. That feeling of setting off into the horizon, the unknown, is just exhilarating. When we first set sail I was steering the boat for about two or so hours. At some point while I was at the helm, I looked back and couldn't see land - that was the moment I had been waiting for. It lived up to my expectations. It's hard to describe that feeling of being absolutely surrounded by ocean. You are very aware of your own mortality and place in this world.
I felt small, and tiny against the commanding sea, but not scared, not alone. It is in some ways a very empowering feeling to know that it's just you and the ocean, and there's nothing to do but rock with it, roll with it and enjoy the ride as best as possible.
All that blue, and what do you do with yourself? Well, we have watches set up. Our crew of eight is split into two watches of three people, and the skipper and first mate take turns at being in charge. There are five watches in a day. From 6am to midday. Midday to 6pm. 6pm to 10pm. 10pm to 2am and 2am to 6am. When you are on duty, you steer the boat, fill out the logs, watch the conditions on the sea and in the sky, make dinner, do dishes, clean the boat. When you're not on duty, it's best to sleep. Of course, being my first day at sea, it was far too exciting to sleep. Until I realised that was probably the best thing to do if I wanted to keep sane. I'm a slow learner sometimes, I tell you.
Anyway, it started getting rough in the evening and I just remember lying in my bunk as waves crashed over the boat and water trickled in through the hatch and onto my legs which were poking of the side of the bed, thinking "sleep, you can do it, just ignore that feeling that says PANIC!!" The sleep bit didn't really work, it's hard when it feels like you're in the worst thunderstorm you've ever experienced, but I managed to keep the panic levels down.
What can you do, really. So now, I write to you from the comfort of a steady boat. I've just watched the most amazing sunset - the coconuts were silhouetted against the orange sun, the clouds tinged green by the reflection of the palms, and the water painted a majestic, turquoise blue. It's hard to believe I've experienced my first 24 hours as a sailor. It somehow feels like a dream. Mind you, this whole trip does.
We are going to be at Fanning Island for the next few days, so while I'm here in the calm I'm going to take the chance to write up as many notes as I can and hopefully bring you tales of the last week on Christmas Island, and of course more updates about this new little slice of paradise.
Just thinking, if you have any questions about this trip - what I'm doing, who with, why, what's it like, how am I (!?) that kind of thing - feel free to email them to seadragon@gmn-usa.com and I'll try my best to include a response as part of upcoming blogs. Just make sure you put 'for Hannah' in
the subject line.
Ok, I'm tired from the lack of sleep during the past 24 hours, the adrenalin is definitely wearing off. Bed time.
Nite, will write again soon, while I've got the chance. Thanks for reading!
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