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| DAY 20 continued |
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Our first anchorage: Arklow wind farm. |
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The coolest thing about sailing along the coast, is seeing places whose names I know from songs. Middle: the Wicklow Mts. Right: "...I'd much rather be where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea." Then one morning -- there they are. Wow. |
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We have crossed an ocean. Now here we are anchored off a foreign shore. The whole thing will seem like a strange dream before long. For now, our "real" lives are still a world away, but already there has been a bit of talk about what people plan to do next. I am nagged by the sense that I "should" go home soon. |
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Terns on the mizzen crosstrees came to welcome us -- noisily. |
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Rockabill lighthouse is just the cutest lighthouse ever -- it's straight out of a Thomas Kinkade ad, and I want to put it on my coffee table! |
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Yes, that is ME, out (though not far) on the fore course yard. WOO HOO. Remedial climbing class taught by very patient deckhand Grant. |
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Captain Robin gives bosun Dan the day's orders. |
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Dawn reveals a deserted deck; we are at anchor. |
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Part 7 Dry Land |
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DAY 23 * 54 40.7N. 5 43.3W
After 3 nights' anchoring, we are on our way in to Belfast harbour. It's raining again. Such a weird contrast after days of open sea beyond the bowsprit: now there are huge industrial things, tankers, a disused high-speed ferry, great big cranes, tank installations, an old grey war-relic boat... in the distance there are green hills, but this looks so... industrial. A few ships are already here: Europa, Cisne Branco, Capitan Miranda. Orange-suited, hard-hatted dock workers are waiting to receive our mooring lines as Captain Robin & engineer Bill edge us into the dock in a neat clockwork routine set to a rapid-fire duet of spoken & echoed engine instructions. |
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| Arriving in Belfast harbour. |
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Putting out the gangplank. Once you step down that... the voyage really will be over. |
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| At our last crew meeting, a big bottle of rum goes around, accompanied by a little can of non-alcoholic beer in case anyone is un-cool enough to not share the rum. Nobody is. |
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Daisies at the dock! |
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I am strangely reluctant to step off the ship, because setting foot on shore will mean the voyage is really over. And I am mildly surprised by my reluctance to find a phone. Calling home will mean the beginning of the end, of having to go back to that other life in another world.
When I finally do, I'm distracted & the moment is over before I quite realize it.
Oh.
I'm off.
I'm on dry land, for the first time in 23 days.
Looking back at the boat, there is a weird sense of disconnection... Land. Ashore. It's not moving, but I don't feel wobbly like you are supposed to. Tonight, moored securely to the wharf, Bounty has an incredible solidity, & a return to normal-world silence. Not a creak. Even at anchor there was a wee bit of creaking, but that's done now; & gone too is the lovely gentle rocking. The world has gone solid again. I will miss that rocking. Not the creaking. Just the rocking. For a boat, this solidity is unnatural. |
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PAGE 7 |
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HOME |
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PAGE 9 |
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