To Madeira

If I stand up on the cockpit seat I still can’t see land, I’ve never done an ocean passage before so this is a new experience. And the sky is huge, and the sea goes on forever, such a vast expanse of water. So much sky, and such complexity of shade and shape. Towering cumulus are hit by the sun, smaller darker ones crouch near by, streams of wispy cirrus and great banks of nimbus hang moving slowly too. The sky isn’t filled though, blue shows through, pale and fragile in places; in others bold and regal.
I know I’ve written about the sky before, but it fascinates me. I like that I can now read the clouds and understand how they formed. Mid-ocean there is little else to see, but the sea and the sky. On my first night watch after leaving Portugal at about four in the morning I was startled by the halo round the full moon. I have never seen it so clear, a great circle of light caused by refraction of light in ice crystals in the troposphere.
Much or this post is copied from my journal that I wrote while at sea and written a few days after arriving in Madeira when it became suitable. On our first morning at sea I wrote bits of the first two paragraphs and continued (I quote directly): In three days time we should reach Madeira. Until then we can only read and write, talk and sing, watch the clouds and the sea. And Sail.

It is comforting to feel the floor moving as it should (I wrote the next morning). The boat is heeling well over to port and leaps and crashes into each wave. It’s interesting accommodation for it all, in order to make a cup of tea you need at least four hands – one to hold the mug, one for the kettle and two to hold on. As I don’t have two spare limbs we make do, non-slip surfaces, clever wedging of things and (most importantly) anticipating the movement of the boat. But I love it, the world feels great here. All the stresses of land disappear and I’m free again. Ok so any small action, like getting a biscuit becomes a major undertaking. Ok so we had to reef in the dark mid squall last night, with flying spray and horizontal rain. But these are such minor problems compared to crossing the road, or buying a lottery ticket (something I’ve never actually managed to figure out).


Once again I woke refreshed and content. I managed to have a shower and put on clean clothes (which as mentioned can be a serious undertaking at sea). Then I had a pot of coffee, bread and honey and watched the world. We were steaming along still, wind force four ish, off the starboard quarter. We hoisted the spinnaker and played with the tower generator.
Now it is early evening and I’m really rather happy. The sailing is beautiful and gentle, and the skies big and clear. Ocean sailing is wonderful when it is like this, you wake up and just watch the sky and the sea rush by, free from worries. My night watch was easy last night, I chatted to Barnie for a while and relieved him early, he was on again at three in the morning so it seemed only fair. Then I sat and listened to John Coltrane and watched the world. The moon rose high and bright, only to soon be met by Orion. The moon and the constellation fought for dominance for an hour, one glowing brighter then the other. I don’t remember who won.
It is so easy to smile here, to be content. The boat yaws from side to side as the waves overtake her. The spinnaker flaps and bangs as it fills with wind. Our wake hisses and foams as we cut our swathe through the great ocean. A squall approaches, a narrow band of rain links the clouds to the sea, it’ll bring wind. This great sea, so wide and beautiful, has been a battleground and a trade route; a home and a prison; a race track and a wilderness. It’s had not to love, and the fear.
And Blue Sky yaws again, crockery clinks in lockers and something tumbles across the cabin sole. After we have eaten dinner, perched around the cockpit in the falling light the others go below. I stand and watch the last of the day tumble out of the sky and Blue Sky settles in for the night. At sea darkness means the end of the day, lighting is only used in need not for recreation. After the sun has set, and we have eaten only the watch keeper remains on deck and alert. We sail on, but she feels different, quiet and gentle.
It is a beautiful night again, the moon hasn’t risen yet so the stars are scattered like dust and impossibly numerous. Michael joins me on deck, we play with the sails and chat. After a while the sea mimics the sky and phosphorescence glows in the wake. Tiny plankton react upon being disturbed and give of bursts of pale turquoise light. The sea and the sky twinkle together. The moon soon hide the stars though, and blankets the phosphorescence, my watch is over so I retreat to my bunk.
The next morning the light trickled back into the sky at first, increasing to a torrent as the sun rose higher. For a while a band of pink ringed the entire sky all the way round. Inside it the moon hung on, looking out of place surrounded by deep purple. I stood at the wheel, alone, guiding this great mass of fibreglass, wood, metal, canvas and rope through the sea to her first ocean landfall. To the shape of Madeira Grande just emerging on the horizon.