Two for Tea

A black cloud cuts across our course pushing a squall before it. White capped waves fan out toward our schooner. My job is to stand by the foremast, halyards in hand and judge the wind strength. Perhaps the foresail can handle the gust of wind and we will get a burst of speed as our schooner first staggers and then settles down to surge forward. Maybe though, I will look closely and decide it is not worth the risk and lower the big sail until the squall has passed with a great rush of tropical air. Then I will haul away at the halyards and up goes the gaff sail again.We need to keep moving and cherish these extra pushes to help us on our way. If this were an occasional event that would be fine, just one more daily variation for voyaging sailors mid way on their crossing from Mexico to the islands of the South Pacific, but we are in the Tropical Convergence Zone. We are just south of the equator now where the trade winds from both hemispheres meet and are thrust up creating towering clouds full of rain and gusty winds.This part of our long ocean crossing to the Marquesas Islands is wearing us down.

At night, because of course we sail night and day, things are more difficult. We take turns on solitary night watches steering and looking around the curved ocean horizon by the light of the moon and stars. We check for ship’s lights and for those towering clouds and their pesky squalls coming up astern. Phosphorescence sparkles in our wake and far beneath our keel mysterious lights flash on and off. Since leaving Mexico three weeks ago we have not seen a single ship because we are in a lonely bit of ocean far from shipping routes.

A steady procession of strong trade winds and rough waves have been our usual lot until recently,but now the winds are fluky and are interspersed with clouds and rain squalls. We would really like to pass through this locale and move on to the islands still hundreds of miles ahead but we have to be patient. This is our first long ocean passage and we are still adjusting to this water world. On our way down the coast from British Columbia to Mexico we made short passages, anchored a lot, and visited cities, but this month-long passage is training us to adjust to being part of the ocean. We lose our land perspectives, hallucinate, hear voices and strange noises.This is so different from our previous life experiences. We are now in the middle of a circle of ocean horizon that moves as we advance. At night we steer by the stars and are aware of being on the shady side of a planet. As the moon goes through its phases, we notice, unlike in our land lives where even a full moon might be seen as a mere prop in the background of busy lives.

This present night turns out to be a doozy. During several squalls we are enveloped in clouds, our little ship is whirled in circles and rain pounds the waves into smooth curves. The rain drops are huge and bounce back creating a knee high mist. I strip and soap up to have a shower while funneling precious fresh water into our

below-deck tanks. My wife steers standing at the wheel and sees my shadowy figure cavorting, dressed only in bubbles. A missed step though could send me overboard and I would be lost forever on this dark night. This ever present danger -hit by a boom, knocked overboard,- is one important adjustment we must make. Always cautious, but accepting of the risks and possible outcomes, is part of the package we live with. It gives a special savour to our lives, we live close to death here and find the living of our lives to be precious.

Eventually we give up trying to sail and then motor south for several hours and emerge from cloudland. At last the skies are full of puffy little trade wind clouds and the wind itself has turned to steady SE Trades. Our sails fill, the boat heels and settles down to making some serious progress. We have found the wind that we will have for many more months as our schooner winds her way through the Polynesian islands of the South Pacific to Australia.

That morning when we found the trade winds again, the dawn swept away nighttime blues and the golden mist on the sea’s face lifted to form more clouds drifting on the wind. I woke to see the steersman had fallen asleep standing up,- that thump was her falling to the deck. I rolled out of my berth, checked on my companion and then put the kettle on in the galley. Soon I could carefully carry two covered mugs of tea up to the cockpit .We do this every morning at the change of watch. We sip our tea and watch the growing light of the coming day, laugh about my shower routine during the rainstorm and remind ourselves of the need to use safety harnesses and lines. There are no ship sightings to report but my wife tells of seeing a bright light on the horizon during her watch and was on the edge of calling up the crew when it rose to become the moon. How grateful we are to have escaped the region of variable winds and clouds.We are optimistic about our arrival in Polynesia in another couple of weeks. We have made the transition from being people of the land to becoming members of a wider, wilder world. Years later when we return home across the Pacific there will be regret to be leaving this waterworld combined with being glad to have survived another longer journey. We will fit awkwardly into human company at first, find our true companions among the other creatures we live among and will always see our land lives through the filter of that ocean world.