(a bit of rambly text from our longest crossing yet- 450 nautical miles on BlueBelle. We arrived to Curacao yesterday)
Saturday night at sea, I write this while i am just laying into bed to get 3 hours of rest or sleep, while Paul keeps watch. Earlier we had laid on the net with my head on Paul’s chest, looking up at the beautiful sky blue of our asymmetrical spinnaker, recalling all the uncomfortable beds we’ve ever slept in. Our boat is not one of those discomforting places. We rolled over to watch the sun set its last rays behind the clouds, and at last light we put the asym to sleep. The wind is light, but we try to be conservative at night.
I remarked today to Paul that we haven’t talked to anyone else but each other for three days now. I call that lucky- that we both can smile at that remark. Do we miss talking to people, or even texting anyone? Sure. But, I am still googly eyed happy to look at Paul. We read things out loud, or sing to each other.
For the last half hour of my watch we both sat at the helm while Paul read The Cruise of the Snark out loud. I watched the waves at night, and the stars in the sky, and the sliver of crescent moon rising. I listened to Paul read- pausing every 2 or 3 sentences to make sure I’d appreciated a turn of phrase, or understood the sailing lingo from so long ago- but still so relevant to our daily lives. He last read these words to me 3900 miles away, cuddling under sleeping bags on the Nymph.
Paul and I at sea, living out one of those crazy fantasies-sail the ocean, travel, be brave, be sailors, be adventurers. I have finished three books already on this crossing, and Paul has caught and eaten two fish. We wear hats as sun protection, but rarely any type of pants. We kiss on the bow. During my watch at night, I huddle into a hoodie and look for shooting stars. Feel the puffs of wind or hear a squall coming. When Paul is on watch I rest peacefully knowing he will keep us safe- but always with one ear attuned for any change of sail or swell, ready to help, when called or not. We keep all the lights off, except a small red desk lamp by the nav station.
Paul wakes me early to say- Dolphins. I run outside onto the dark deck and take a moment to adjust my eyes. Then I see them- shooting through the dark water, their pale bodies shining in the starlight, leaving behind a trail of green bioluminescence. They are next to our boat, they are on our bow, and they are 50 meters off, a cloud of shimmering green lights marking their path. They stay with us for 5 or 10 minutes before they go their way, and I sit at the helm for the next four hours hopefully watching for their return.
We switch again-me to sleep, Paul to watch.
When I wake up later, there will be hot coffee ready and the sun will be up. Paul will be ready to lay down, but we will share moments together in the new day, still at sea, no boats around, just us- just us.
TIBURON MARINO 