Moonlight Sonata

Ahhhhhh!

I realize it’s 3am, but this is the kind of night you dream about — well, that I dream about — as a sailor.

I went topside at 11:30pm, half an hour before our midnight watch, to see what the weather was like, figure out which clothes I would need for the midnight watch, and find out why we were still on a starboard tack headed southeast. Emerging from the hatch, I was greeted by a cloudless sky filled with a myriad of stars and a daytime-bright, almost-full moon. Not a manmade light was in sight from horizon to horizon: no ships, no oil rigs, nothing. And to further improve the scene, seas were calm and the wind was a nice and steady 20-ish knots. Oh yeah…it was setting up for one of those perfect midnight watches.

For the first hour of our watch, we continued southeast with the nearly full moon to the south off our starboard beam. The white moonlight reflecting off the water was bright enough to read by (almost) and served as a shiny, shimmering axis, a rod used by a puppeteer to control a marionette to guide us along our track.

It was really too bright a moon for deep-sky stargazing, but away from city lights all the big-name constellations and sky patterns were readily visible. Lyra, Cygnus and Aquila and the summer triangle of their brightest stars Vega, Deneb and Altair were slowly setting in the west signaling the winding down of summer. Off our stern, the Big and Little Dippers pointed the way north and showed us from where we’d just come. Overhead, all of the players from the Perseus myth were present: Perseus himself, along with Andromeda, Cassiopeia and Pegasus. King of the gods and planets, Jupiter blazed brightly in the southeast while just a touch north, rising in the east, the Pleiades and Taurus the bull heralded the coming of autumn…and winter beyond.

Just before 1am, we tacked over for the straight-line run toward Newcastle. And though clouds started rolling in at that point, it was no matter: the continued spectacular sailing — seven-plus knots and right on the ideal track for our destination — and the joy of an hour of perfect, dark skies kept the high intact. Even the Finnish sourpuss exalted in the conditions, especially when Polar Bear hit eight knots while he was at the helm.

The spell finally broke a bit, not long before we finished our watch, as the loom of the lights of Newcastle and an antenna somewhere along the coast came into view. As if to counter the intrusion, Orion began his climb out of the sea back behind us to the east.

Whew. Sorry about that. Sorry to wax rhapsodic to the point of sounding like a greeting card or one of those posters teenagers put on their wall when they hit their I-wanna-be-taken-seriously phase, but it really was a perfect way to wind up the trip — that was likely our final watch as our ETA is 9:30-ish in the morning and we’re not on again until 10.

It was the kind of nighttime watch I love and never get enough of; the kind that makes me want to head right back to the States, buy my own boat and take off. Relax, Mom…not that that will actually happen: I don’t think I could get any boat ready to head to the Caribbean in time for a Nov. 1 departure, and after that it’s getting a little late in the season.

But a night like this (along with yesterday’s rollicking sleigh ride) goes a long way toward redeeming — or at least helping me overlook — some of the shortcomings that have occurred on this summer trip. Combine these couple of days with the sights and scenes of the Shetlands, the Lofoten, Iceland and Greenland, and some of the great people I’ve met along the way, and it really does make for a summer of adventure. Perhaps even the summer of my life.

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Down The Homestretch They Come

And of course, since the trip is almost over, the sailing conditions are now spectacular.

We left Lerwick this morning amid a nice westerly breeze. The island being to our west, that meant that the wind was moving us along nicely but the seas remained calm. And move along nicely we did: we were over 10 knots for a good chunk of the run south along Mainland Shetland, as it’s known.

Now we’re out from under the southern tip of the island, exposed to the open ocean to the west. And though the seas are rough and rolly, the sailing is still spectacular.

I should say “motorsailing” as opposed to “sailing” because we’ve left the engine running, which is giving the wind, and us, a bit of help. While the droning of the damned diesel usually annoys the hell out of me, not this time. For one thing, with the engine going, we’re setting a torrid pace for our return to Newcastle and the completion of this trip. And for another, I like going fast so that little extra oomph is a kick in the pants after a summer of plodding along at five knots.

We’re in the mid-nine-knot range now and the sun is shining and the sea is shimmering. We’re on a close haul — we’re sailing close to the wind — so the spray is cascading over the bow at times, exploding in a million diamond-bright droplets in the brilliant sunshine. The diamond stardust hangs in the air for an instant and then falls back toward the boat, where it gathers into rivers of crystal-clear water that course aft along the decks and back into the sea. And then Polar Bear surges into the next wave and the cycle is repeated.

I’m below in an empty saloon, heating up the chili that I cooked for yesterday’s dinner — a dinner we all instead decided to eat ashore in Lerwick (as I knew we would). But it was my watch’s turn to cook so cook we did and now it’ll be ready for this evening. Maybe. Because we’re close-hauled, the boat is at a nice, steep 45-degree angle. Yes, the gimbaled stove keeps the big stew pot mostly level, but it didn’t stop a lurch a few moments ago from launching the lid of the pot across the galley. I’ll get this stuff cooked (though truth be told: it’s not my preferred chili; I’m forbidden from giving it any bite like my normal recipe because apparently not everyone likes spicy food); it will be interesting to see how many brave the boat’s heel and the rollercoaster ride to sample the fare.

My watch goes on at 6pm and we’ll be topside until 9 (well, we’ll see if the Finnish sourpuss is up there the whole time; if he gets to steer a lot, he just might). The wind over that period is forecast to ease a bit, and by the end of that stretch we should be nearing the coast of mainland Scotland, which should mean calmer seas. And then we’ll head south along the coast in ever-slower winds, winds that are also supposed to move forward and be right on the nose for the final day’s run into Newcastle.

But for now, it’s a great ride. Strap in, hang on and enjoy!

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A Friday’s Sail

Sitting aboard Polar Bear in the tidal River Tyne, about a mile so upstream from the North Sea. Yesterday we brought the boat through the lock separating the marina from the river and did final preparations; last night two guests arrived from London; and around midday today we’ll put to sea, turn left and head north to the Shetland Islands.

I’m quite looking forward to hitting the road, so to speak. It’s been a fun if disjointed week here in Newcastle. Boat preparations have been frenetic, with (to be honest) a few too many chiefs. Balancing conflicting project plans frustrates the hell out of me, whether that’s on a boat or in an office. The simplicty that will come from being offshore, with one skipper to follow, will bring welcome clarity.

It’s also been a fun week here in the land of the Geordies. I got to catch a Premier League match between the local squad, Newcastle United, and West Bromwich Albion. They played to a thrilling (if disappointing for the home fans) 3-3 tie in my first-ever Prem League match. I may definitely head back to this little island come October to catch a few more matches.

I also wandered the city a bit one day, taking in sights and sounds of this foreign (to me) culture. Seeing structures that date back to triple digits AD…way impressive. 

On a less-impressive front: if America has an obesity epidemic then England is already lost. Oh. My. God. The U.S. is full of Olympians compared to the local populace here in Newcastle. I’m sorry if that offends anyone local but…it’s a fact.

Anyway, back to sea today and not a moment too soon. Yes, we’re flying in the face of the superstition about Friday departures but the risks are outweighed by the potential benefits. Next stop (and hopefully an update): Lerwick, Shetland Islands.

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