Before this trip, we had not sailed through the night. We’d sailed at night, usually to return to our slip after a long day’s sail, cutting through the still water and trying to determine which lights on shore were relevant to us.
Making an overnight passage is a whole new ballgame. We divide the steering and watch duties into three-hour chunks, from nine ‘til midnight, 12:00 – 3:00 am, etc. So for those hours, you either try to get some sleep, or you’re on deck, at the helm.
On all the passages we’ve made so far, it’s been fairly cool at night. There’s also usually some condensation on all of the deck surfaces, so we’re bundled up in our foul-weather gear to stay warm and dry. We are also usually equipped with our mp3 players, Kindle or book, and sometimes a snack or hot beverage. When the watch changes, we make sure whoever is taking over is all set, exchange any pertinent information about the wind, speed or “contacts” (other boats or visible objects), give each other a kiss and settle in for whatever the next three hours brings.
Standing these watches is one of the more difficult things about this trip. Sometimes they go quickly - the sails are set well, the music is good and all you do is watch out for any lights. Most of the time there are none. This is also one of the disconcerting things about the night watch: when the lights are gone.
Most of the time, there is the moon. On our last passage it was waning from full to half, so it was very bright at night. The cool white light reflecting off of the water lights the way surprisingly well. The stars are also pretty amazing. I’ve seen more shooting stars than I can count, and am trying to learn to identify more constellations. Some of the time the problem is that I can see too many stars, and it’s hard to pick out the ones that I’m looking for.
Then there are the times when the moon has passed below the horizon and clouds cover the sky. The darkness is so complete it seems the whole world has been swallowed up. Every sound is deafening, every slap of the waves against the hull has you straining to see what might be the cause. It’s always around 4 o’clock in the morning. It’s creepy. It’s usually when I turn on the headlamp and stare at the book I’m reading and try to ignore how dark it is. Most of the time, that works and when I turn off the headlamp I’m shocked again. But soon after that the horizon starts to glow and another day is ushered in. The sunrise at sea is a joy to behold.
There is almost always something surprising during a night watch. On our last trip as we were coming into Los Cabos I saw what I can only imagine were two very brightly glowing jellyfish. Bioluminesence is one of nature’s wonders. Certain organisms just glow. We see luminescent plankton on a fairly regular basis, little sparkles in the water when it is agitated by something. I’ve written before about the dolphin torpedoes that shoot through the water at times like comets. Other times, just seeing a boat is a revelation. From Ensenada to Turtle Bay, we went two whole days without seeing anything. Not a single boat, airplane trail through the sky…nothing at all to indicate human presence. Then, on one of my watches, through the darkness came one set of lights, then two. Then three, and we were in the middle of a triangle of fishing boats. It was somehow very comforting for a couple of hours. After those we wouldn’t see another boat for a whole day.
Three nights ago I had a small fish jump on board. I was listening to music and I heard a weird clicking sound. I turned off my player and looked over to where the sound was coming from. There was this fish thrashing around on deck, the clicking was the sound of its tail slapping. I rushed over to grab it, but like a cartoon it kept wriggling up out of my grasp. I gave up for a moment because I needed to steer the boat. Then I grabbed a towel that was wrapped around the lifelines to dry, covered the fish with it, picked it up and tossed it back to the sea.
Always a surprise – that’s one of the coolest things about cruising so far. There’s always something unexpected happening, something new.
Note: Chris and I have changed the watch schedule, and he believes it is pertinent to let you all know this. We are now standing a 2-4-4-2 hour schedule, and are both overjoyed with the extra hour of sleep.
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