Summer Of Yes

Last night was ...dynamic.

I'll start with the ending because that's where I find myself: the end of the night.

It's 6:13AM and I've just enjoyed seeing a searing golden sun take shape from pink tinged clouds on the island 40ish NM away. The Comoro Islands are painfully poor but from a distance at dawn, the volcano rises majestically from the blue-gold water, backlit and beautiful.

A frustratingly lighter wind gently blows faint island smells in our direction.

Three hours ago Olivier woke me from a nap (anything less than two hours is a nap, right?) in an agitated state. He was fairly sleep deprived and had recently spotted a larger boat on a course that might intersect ours. They did not respond to radio hails on the VHF and being the middle of the moonless night 60NM from anywhere, we couldn't see much besides a precious few lights on a hulking dark shape.

We had been enjoying good wind at that point but were close-hauled trying to make Eastward progress with a wind just slightly north of due East. This means that turning the boat downwind (starboard/right/S in this case) was easy enough but getting any closer to the wind (port/left/N) was likely to cause us woes. Safely passing a large ship is best done by passing behind them, which looked to be to Port/N. This is a minor trouble in daylight with visibility, two people on deck to manage sails, and with a well rested brain. At 3AM after a two-hour watch in the dark, alone it feels much more complicated.

Olivier decided to fire up the engine so that he could work upwind a bit and as a safety margin in case he needed additional maneuverability and/or to drop sails.*

Let's skip back earlier in the day to when I and the auto-pilot had a little disagreement about the definition of "South of East" and we ended up with the wind blowing us nearly in a circle. It was near sunset and we had been sailing for 30 or so hours (the hours add up yet also get blurry). We didn't feel like being 'good sailors' and opted instead for the easy button: diesel. With only a little "will this work?" We turned the key and the sorta-rebuilt starter fired it right up. No worries; no hassles. After a brief but sincere exchange of relieved smiles we righted our course and carried on our merry way into the beginning of the night, killing the engine later to enjoy the swoosh of the sea as the wind freshened and we enjoyed 6-knot cruising with a single reef in place (fairly fast for this vessel, using less than full sails). The wind and current made for some swell and chop, but not too uncomfortable.

So when Olivier opted to fire up the engine at 3AM to avoid hassles with the large & quiet type ship, he fully anticipated another no-worries start.

I'm sure that the disappointment of failure at that crucial junction contributed to the strained tone of his voice as he woke me.

"Steve! Wake up! We need the motor, please fix it."

Is a tough thing to hear as one is roused from dreams at 3AM. I'm generally in a good mood when I wake up, it's one of my superpowers, but not knowing the severity of the urgency, while disoriented below-deck, in the dark, with a moving floor and walls is difficult. I can think of many more pleasant wake-up scenarios. Many.

As I trouble-shot (Trouble-shooted? Troubled shoot? Trouble shat?) the starter in my 1/2 wakeful state, Olivier and the unidentified ship managed to avoid each other and all returned to peaceful. Irritatingly the starter was still being more peaceful than I'd prefer but I decided to leave that until daylight -and lighter seas- to address.

After his adrenaline wore down, Olivier left me to a gorgeous starlit night and I steered by Orion's belt and the glow of Jupiter. Zipping along with not-much-to-do I fiddled with sails and fine-tuned the rudder position (Henrí the auto-pilot and I seem to be finding a common understanding), managing to eek out another knot - 7 knots is approaching hull speed** for the Mabaï though I suspect that the current contributed meaningfully as well. It was great sailing weather, not too lumpy, stunningly beautiful and the hours passed quickly and happily. Despite the fact we are at 11.5 degrees S latitude, the breeze gets chilly in the wee hours and I was happy to bundle up a little bit and enjoy the ride.

Dawn crept slowly up, following Venus into the Eastern sky and I let Olivier sleep past his 5:30 watch because I knew I would want to see the sunrise anyway, and nothing makes me less sleepy than staring at the rising sun. Fortunately for me, he woke as the day brightened and made coffee. Mmm... Zanzibar coffee at sunrise in the Mozambique Channel: 5 stars.

And that takes us right back to now. Now is good. My coffee is consumed, we shook the reef out of rhe mainsail, and Mabaï is happily slipping along through placid seas at about 5 knots. Maybe after a nap I'll go have another conversation with the starter.

I think I know what's wrong with it... stay tuned for part 4.

*boats require forward progress over the water in order to steer. If you drop sails to avoid a potential collision, you also lose the ability to steer... which ain't great when seeking to avoid a collision.

**a watercraft's top speed is limited by the length of the waterline. A ~40ft sailboat can only go so fast no matter how much wind is available. The exact speed is governed by a whole host of factors too numerous and nuanced to discuss here and now.Leia mais