A word starting with S becomes a more & more common description of the weather. The rigging is whistling, whitecaps are visible in the dark, & on the rolls the water has nearly reached the main channel a couple of times. Big foaming waves chase behind & roll under us. The creaking is thunderous. The water tank sprang a leak & spilled everywhere, including into aft crew. We have to flush the toilets with buckets. There's no dishwater & the dishes are washed with salt water in buckets. Stuff (and people) flying all over the galley. Someone's dresser came loose from its moorings & was "walking' around his cabin. We do 200 miles in one 24-hour period.
The horizon ahead of us rises nearly to the fore course yard as we go into the troughs. Surprisingly, it's not really that scary. Just exhausting trying to stay upright. Even a few of the veterans have fallen down. It's too rolly to sleep. At all.
In the middle of all this, Shane, one of our cooks, turns out some very nice cinnamon buns. And we get a Sunday -- no work party -- so people can rest.
Drama on deck begins at 2 a.m. with a call to strike the main course. People are standing by with life rings. The fore topsail yard is skewed round; the brace is parted or stuck or something; the sail can't be furled because the clew is stuck in the block on the end of the course yard, & wrapped around the jackstay too. Our bosun is not happy to be roused out to deal with it. The next watch is wakened early to help furl.
I've strained both knees trying to move the heavy helm. With no pinrail diagram or formal instruction about what lines are where, we have to pick it up as we go, & I am tired & feeling rather useless. I was hoping not to be such a lubber.
Getting a bit of sleep & feel better. Finally got some sun for a noon sight & some sextant instruction, & I FINALLY got one I could see through, & got a latitude reasonably between 2 other people's.
A squall chased us this afternoon ("shh," says mate Rebecca; "maybe it won't see us."). It's neat to see weather coming toward us, like at home but with nothing but sea in between, & all around.
We got showers! It was even worth it struggling in that little cubicle. It's still somewhat rolly; my cabin door which won't stay latched, flew open & hit me in the face.
Weather has improved a little. Two diametrically opposed cloud banks flank us: one, behind, looks grey & sullen & has hidden the sun. The other, ahead to the ESE, is white & warm & fluffy-looking, almost welcoming despite its height.
Helm by moonlight; loose cloud opens around the moon, just a hair past full. It lights everything in shades of grey & silver, & makes a wide path across the water, one that seems curiously short. That small horizon at sea, again. Trying Captain Robin's steering trick ('just let go of it'). I manage to stay on course for once. Perhaps it helps if you sing to her?
Charts of Ireland have appeared in the nav station. Then, a sign of civilization: a fishing boat. Wow -- that is an Irish fishing boat. We're going to Ireland. Gannets have appeared, familiar bright-white shapes with their black wingtips & torpedo-dives. The sea has calmed.
