The evening before spending a night at sea is always one of sensitive emotions. Trepidation. Awe. Nervousness. Anticipation. Dread. Happiness. Contentment. Fear. Satisfaction. Frustration. All these descriptors are separated and sorted by one overwhelming and all consuming force – weather. Most people have heard the old sailor’s addage: “Red sky at night is the sailors delight, red sky in the morning and the sailor takes warning”. Under this mantra, stunning fiery red sunsets are not only spectacular to behold but ofter herald approaching or continuing fine weather. These are the nights that are toasted with sundowners, extra special dinners, card games and feelings of contentment. Side note: Who am I kidding – we had sundowners EVERY night, no matter what the weather!
And then, there are the other evenings. Evenings when the wind and swell are on the rise, the barometer is falling, the isobars are compressing and frenzied cirrus clouds adorn the darkening heavens above. These are the evenings of silent dinners and somber thoughts, evenings where trips to the foredeck to pro-actively take in a reef leave one’s fresh shirt soaked with waves that are starting to sweep the decks. On these evenings, the crew that is not on shift does not linger to partake in post dinner banter – the focus is on getting sleep while you can, pounding out the dishes and hitting the sack as soon as possible. The guy on shift is left, shortly after dinner, sitting alone above board to ponder the utter darkness closing in around him. This feeling is absorbed, reflected and complicated by the sea sick meds just starting to take their hold. It is not rough yet, but all those that sail the seas know that if you are already sick, it is too late for meds. This is why the inital nauseous impact always hits when anticipation of bad weather is at its peak… Ahead lies a long, wet, noisy and very rough night, things are going to get a lot worse before they get better.
How many hours until dawn? In the tropics… at least 12
Some of my best and worst moments of the entire trips have been while alone on shift at night, on the deck of Khulula, hundreds or thousands of miles from land, while Hugh and Bryson slumber below. There have been the nights of stars stretched across the sky and phosphorescent wakes as Khulula drives forward before a perfect wind. There have been the nights where there is barely enough space for air between the raindrops, slick decks, roaring waves, brain numbing fatigue and the sounds of screaming souls as the gale force wind whips around the stantions.
Sailing around the world is polarizing – soaring highs and forgettable lows. These feelings are often only recognized after the moment has passed – with one exception: The evening before a long night at sea