For the first time ever Faith had dolphins surging around her hull!!! Brian had taken first watch as we powered away from Half Moon Isle and noticed a dolphin some yards off the bow. It crested the waves a few times and ducked back out of sight. Three hours later another swam RIGHT UP TO THE BOAT, circling us and blasting gouts of spray from its blowhole. It would disappear for a few minutes only to resurface to our immense gratitude and surprise. We love those guys!
Wonderful, wonderful sailing all day. The wind gradually shifted around to the south, picking up velocity as it did so. Our tack � tacking is when you have to sail at angles to the wind in order to move toward your destination since the wind is coming directly from said destination � became a beat (maintaining your course at the highest point of sail into the wind possible) followed by a beam reach (wind coming over the side of the boat rather that from in front of or behind it). By evening we were moving along at a clipping 5 knots. The storm jib, a smaller version of the front sail, was rigged just before dark. We decided to set the little sail partly for practice and partly in case any inclement weather caught us off guard in the hours after dark.
Night sailing is one of my very favorite things in life. Twinkling stars light the way, tiny guides for weary sailors to set their course by. Moonlight spills over the crests of the waves, undulating along the water's surface in a cool artery of nightshine. Lapping curls froth against the hull sparkling like stardust as they kiss the bow. Anxieties are lulled to the metallic thrum of the halyards against the mast: these sights and sounds are our twilight music.
Warm breezes blow our love to you.
Day 21: Our first full day at sea�
We have continued to sail on since the hastened departure from the bug-blighted Half Moon Island. Faith drifts inexorably (sometimes imperceptibly) toward Clearwater, Florida, through day and night, wind and waves, calm, and if need be, storm. Presently, we are somewhere off the southern coast of Biloxi, Mississippi (latitude N 29 degrees 40.930 minutes; longitude W 87 degrees 28.645 minutes since I have a GPS unit sitting right next to me).
The day has been a good one for winds, as they have been predominantly from the south southwest and blowing between 5 and 15 knots. Unless, that is, you are Eric. You see, we divide the time each of the crew spends on the tiller into three four-hour shifts. One person takes a shift on the tiller, one stands watch (reading charts, adjusting sails, running around the boat, and getting coffee), and one rests. Brian's tiller shifts of 4am-8am and 4pm-8pm and mine of 12am-4am and 12pm-4pm are conducive to the strongest and steadiest winds. Eric's helm stints (8pm-12am and 8am-12pm), however, encompass what are commonly the worst times of day for trying to make way. Right at the moment (11:39pm) he is on the tiller swearing at the wind and sails while the good ship bobs, backwinded and becalmed (yes, he can manage both at the same time). No doubt conditions will improve significantly a few minutes after my own shift starts�..
We have been sailing over some of the most productive oil fields in the world. You could ascertain this fact just by counting the oil rigs visible along any stretch of our course so far. Our visibility range is about ten miles to the horizon and I can find five rigs in three hundred and sixty degrees. As one fades into the distance at our stern another inevitably rises ahead to replace it. We expect them to thin out as we proceed south and east, but no sign of that so far.
I am reminded that we received some fun news: Mike and Meg Stack arranged with a reporter for the Sarasota paper (I forget which one at the moment) to meet us at the dock as we come in! Apparently there will be a photographer, too. I imagine us entering the harbor triumphantly, sails bellying in the breeze, rigging sharp and mates at the ready�. It seems like the likeliest of times for something to go very photogenicly wrong. We will have to be on the lookout.