Dancing in the Northern Summer Sky

It WAS quite peaceful once we turned off the generator. We ghosted along at speeds ranging from 3.5 to 7.9 knots, with bizarre and beautiful light displays overhead. It wasn’t the aurora but rather the midnight sun playing on the tops of the clouds, on the thin veils of drizzle, on the ocean surface. I tried some photos but I doubt they’ll capture the wild and varied shapes and colors that danced in this northern sky.

That was last night. Shortly after we went off watch at 3am, Boogie was forced to turn on the engine. Whereupon, the engine immediately puked up all its coolant. Apparently Boogie fixed everything because we’re now on the 10am-2pm watch and proceeding along on said engine. There’s more blue sky overhead and a bit of sun, but still quite a few bits of drizzle and a chilly north breeze. The other watches reported whale sightings, but we’ve yet to see any wildlife save for the fulmars that constantly circle the boat, gliding on the breeze, riding the wind spilling off the mainsail or landing in the water nearby, seemingly looking for a handout.

Can’t Keep a Good (cough, cough) Man Down

Jarl took a body blow in round one. He missed the second round, but the judges in this match are forgiving, and when the third round sounded, Jarl was there, answering the bell.

That was last night. Aside: “Last night.” What does that mean at this latitude in early July? We wake up for a watch and it doesn’t matters what time it is, the gear is the same. Sunglasses at midnight. Cold-weather gear at high noon. Hour of day is irrelevant at 68 degrees north latitude on 7 July.

Anyway, that was last night. Jarl, Camilla and I tackled the 2-6pm watch, which featured greatly diminished wind and seas, but still plenty of power to sail rather than motor. We came off watch at dinnertime, which meant we were assigned to dishwashing duty. Jarl missed that extracurricular — no surprise since it takes place belowdecks — but here he is, at the helm to start our 12-3am watch. The fourth round, as it were.

I just took a photo of the featureless horizon to the north. It’s the same for 360 degrees, but north is where the sun is now (more or less) and the sky in that direction features a very diffuse glow filtering through the low marine layer overhead. The slate-gray sea is really only a few shades darker than the white-gray clouds, with just the sharp line of horizon — with the glow of the hidden sun — dividing the two. And if not for the rumble of the generator, it would be quite peaceful.

Here Comes Ol’ Irony Again

Well it has been an interesting 19 hours or so. Right after my watch took over at 6pm yesterday, we cleared the Lofoten Islands and jumped headlong into a bunch of wind. Coming off the starboard bow, we were getting anywhere from 20 to 32 knots of apparent wind — and Polar Bear was loving it.

Our guests, well, they were a different story. Joining me on watch were a couple: Jarl and Camilla. Jarl is a big guy, about my height and a wee bit chunky. He seems eager and excited about the adventure he’s embarked upon, but also appears to be a bit of, well, a nerd. Camilla is a cute young lady, with freckles and bright eyes and a eagerness to engage in debate on any topic.

When we started the watch — right after we had cooked and served the chicken-curry dinner — Jarl took over the helm while I sat beside the cockpit on the port side. He toiled along for an hour with a big smile on his face. When he stood down, he moved to the starboad side and Camilla took over. Jarl sneezed loudly, at which point Boogie appeared, wide-eyed, in the companionway hatch. He pointed at Jarl and then pointed to my side of the boat — the downwind side. I asked Jarl, “Are you gonna be sick? Come down here to this side, OK?” Jarl did, and proceeded to spend the next two hours puking the curry and all the rest of his guts out while I dangled a bucket overboard and washed off the detritus.

And Jarl was not alone. Everyone else among the climbers was either white-faced in the cockpit, down below curled up on their bunks or puking into a bucket or the head.

Which is a shame because the sailing was great. Bumpy? Sure. And we were sailing tight to the wind which meant the boat was heeled over at 45 degrees or so and bucking over the waves like a bronco. Camilla, to her credit, soldiered on gamely, keeping us mostly on course and smiling at the same time she was concerned with her husband’s well-being.

Once our watch ended, she put Jarl to bed and I provided buckets to all the other cabins, just in case. And then I went to bed. When our next watch came up at 3am, Jarl couldn’t answer the call. Camilla and I alternated half-hour stints at the wheel for the three-hour watch, at which point we both went back to our bunks.

The other watches are keeping on and we’ve had wind ever since. We’ll go back on watch again in 25 minutes, at 2pm, and do a four-hour run. It’ll be interesting to see if Jarl is up for it since I learned during this morning’s three-hour watch that he’s the impetus for he and Camilla’s journey to Jan Mayen. He’s the one who’s into the north and winter scenes, and apparently fancies himself the rugged adventurer. Jarl is hoping to get a gig someday on Jan Mayen; he’s an engineer and hopes to get on at the meteorological or LORAN station there because he wants to live in a place on the edge, where nature still rules.

Camilla, on the other hand, hasn’t been south on a vacation since they met and her climbing experience is limited mostly to the indoor gyms in Oslo. She tags along so they stay together, and she’s even willing to live solo in Oslo should Jarl get his longed-for six-month tour of duty on Jan Mayen.

Time to go wake them up, see who answers the bell. As an old Doonesbury cartoon once put it, “Bravo for life’s little ironies.”