As I sit and write this guff, I am down in the saloon, actually sitting at one of the two  Comm’s stations, so quite fitting really. Most of my other posts have been written in cafés, bars, or sitting at a picnic bench in Port Stanley. There isn’t any dedicated space in the cabin I share (which has plenty of storage space given it’s size, but it is a corridor through to the forepeak where the fresh food is stored – and the work shop where repairs can be made). The food is stored in the forepeak because it is unheated and therefore cold. So is our cabin – as the small radiator in there is at the end of the line and doesn’t work. There isn’t any heating in the heads either, which has dramatically shortened trips there and the time spent on daily ablutions. There is nowhere to sit and type in the cabin. Since coming to sea a few days ago, the cabin has taken on a new purpose – it’s where one can go between watches to relax, read or sleep – it’s no longer a place to just spend the night. Now, one goes there mostly to sleep, but not the way we used to! It’s also where I make my morning and evening broadcasts on Satellite (send and collect emails, call Bernadette and occasionally the kids, attend to matters of state). As of now, this is likely to go to a once a day action as the watch system means the days no longer have the anchor of getting up in the morning and going to sleep at the end of the day. Instead, our anchors (definite pun here) are lunch at 12.00pm and dinner at 6.00pm. There after, there is no common time.

We are in three watches of two people. My watch buddy now is James (who left the boat, you’ll remember, and then got on the boat again – I am not convinced he is fully firing on all cylinders still). Whichever team does the watch from 09.00 – 12.00 cooks lunch ready for everyone at 12.00 and whoever does the 15.00 – 18.00 cooks dinner (3.00pm – 6.00pm land lovers!) ready for everyone at 18.00. What this means is that we see the other crew members either as we hand the watch over or as we take the watch on – and at meal times. There is really no time to sit and kick it with everyone.

There is a legal definition of standing watch as defined in the International Regulations for the Preventing of Collisions at Sea. The rules state that every vessel should at all times maintain a proper look-out by sight and hearing, as well as by all other means appropriate in the prevailing circumstances – so that’s pretty clear. We watch out for things in order to avoid causing or being in a collision. Standing watch also means making sure that we are safe, there are no issues associated with the boat’s running, our sail plan is correct for current conditions and we are prepared to change the sail plan if the conditions either change or they are predicted to change.

A case in point. We were on the 00.00 – 03.00 hrs watch last night. Around 02.00 our skipper discussed the changes in the wind and we decided we needed to change the head sail (which was being pushed out straight by a long pole – called poling out). This discussion was from the safety and comfort of a fully enclosed pilot house with great visibility all around of the boat and the horizon (we do keep the door open for air and to be connected to the sea etc.). So, we togged up, donned our life jackets, and went up on deck, attaching our tethers to the jack lines and went forward to attend to business (well two of us did, the third seemed to stay back in the cockpit – not sure why). Anyway, we changed the configuration of the head sail, furled it in, took down the pole and then pulled it out on the other tack, then sheeted the main in. Bob’s your uncle. All of that action only managed to increase our speed by under 0.5 knots due to the weakening wind. Time for the engine and so that’s what happened – motor sailing! Then after completing the log (which is pretty thorough on this boat – or any boat crossing on such a long passage), James and I handed over to Edgar and Tig and went to our bunks. The problem is – that at 03.00 (3.00am) in the morning – I am often lying awake and quite regularly I get up and go to the office (in Waneta) to attend to something. Here, I read and then slumbered in and out of sleep (listening to the water flowing about 6 inches from my head) until it was 08.00 and time to get up, eat breakfast and get ready for the 09.00 – 12.00 watch. As you can see, there is a routine about this and that’s how the boat works, including maintenance and cleaning tasks. Most importantly, the brewing of tea (not for me) and coffee (for me) takes precedent over pretty much anything else – most especially through the night (and yes, I drink green tea at night – re-read what I said about coffee and when I would drink it).

We will have about 8 – 10 more days of this routine until we reach Tristan and then about 8- 10 days until we reach South Africa – unless there is a major change to the weather, then it may mean all hands on deck all the time.

Sitting in the pilot house, one can watch all of the instruments, and as I’ve already mentioned, this boat is equipped. The one I love is the one that tells up the baring and distance to Tristan. When we left Stanley, the distance was about 2,040 Nm and now it’s sitting at 1,846 Nm– so you see, progress. Looking out to sea – the view has definitely changed and because we currently have thick cloud cover (measured in numbers of eights – for those who didn’t do O Level Geography – they’re called Octas I think – so currently 8/8) – which means that everything looks pretty grey. As the clouds clear, we will see more blues and greens. For the first 48 hours we had what would be called very lumpy seas – pretty big swells periodically thumping us and flipping the head of the boat around and occasionally knock us over to about 60 degrees to the sea – mainly because of the boat’s shape, it means she rocks and rolls quite a lot. Lower bunks have a lee boards slotted in  which stops one rolling out of bed and I can distinctly remember slipping across the mattress into the lee board with a thump several times earlier this morning – but preferable to landing on the floor. Upper bunks have a lee cloth to do the same thing

So we are now at sea, and using the common idiom – we’re not at all at sea with life. We are gradually adapting to the routine and responsibilities and while we’re all counting down the clock so we can step off, I think we’re all doing just fine thank you. Still, there’s a long way to go!

Pip pip