The Night Watch
It was in June of last year, in a fog so dense it made even the starchiest of clam chowders look like a consommé, that we turned to face each other's pallid faces and solemnly promised to migrate south, like the seabirds, before the gloom rolled in again the following spring.
We don’t break promises, especially those that speak of warmer waters, seashore margaritas and endless fish suppers. It was with words like these whispering sweet-nothings into our ears that we hatched a plan: Mexico!
Over the next 6 weeks Aldora will sail her crew to treasure islands, where the booty is unfathomably clear water and pearlescent shells. She will take her crew to inlets and anchorages where fresh-catch ceviche is on the menu amid a backdrop of centenarian cacti.
We arrived in Cabo, at the tip of Baja, Mexico on Wednesday night after 6 days at sea, (and a brief stop in Ensenada) unsure of what to expect when we awoke the next day. I needed some time to process and reflect the past week and was excited to have a day on land, a full night of sleep and a full meal.
I wasn’t expecting the non-stop voyage to be as mentally challenging as it was. I was certainly apprehensive to untie from the docks in Santa Barbara as I haven’t done any kind of overnight sailing on our boat and had way more questions than answers about how I would fare, but I felt confident in our crew and Aldora.
We decided to sail on over to Smugglers Cove on Santa Cruz Island for the night, and get a good downwind angle the next morning for our non-stop leg to Ensenada. We had a very sporty shakedown sail in 20-30 knots of wind and a chunky sea state. It got progressively windier up to the end of the island where we turned into the wind and reefed our main some more. I was relieved to get to the anchorage as I actually get quite anxious when it’s windy. To a lot of sailors i’m sure that sounds strange, but I am not an adrenaline junky. Surprise! Mr. Wind decided to blow 30-40kts the entire night so we started this journey slightly less rested than we had hoped.
We arrived in Ensenada in a sleep-deprived daze after 24-hours of non-stop sailing. With 1 nightshift now under my belt I was unsure if I felt more confident for the days ahead of us or more anxious about my performance as crew and chef under the weighted burden of exhaustion. It’s difficult for me to find the motivation to cook, eat and feed a hungry crew while moving, but knew I’d make up for my slacking Sea Wench duties when we were finally in the flat waters of the Sea of Cortez.
Our short stay in Ensenada provided with us some rest and recuperation and gave me some time to consider how I was feeling about it all…
The Night Watch
What I have learned is that 2 hours of nocturnal navigation simultaneously flies by and crawls by, and stimulates every single one of my senses. With the absence of daylight and a moon shrouded by cloud the night is black and the sea sprawls ahead like a slick of tar. My ears become hyper-sensitive as my eyes adjust to the unending inky darkness ahead. My body becomes the boat as both fleshy and fiberglass vessels are now entwined in a blindfolded tango.
Shifting winds. Diminishing winds. On-the-nose wind. No wind. Sails full of wind. Downwind. Apparent wind. True wind: All observations made during the witching hours while captain snoozes and I sit alone at the helm, trusting that I am in fact more capable and more confident than I give myself credit for.
The anticipation of my nightshift is exponentially more stressful than the shift itself which I actually began to enjoy (that might be a strong word) towards to end of our journey. It was all made sweeter by the return of dawn and the light-bearing optimism and caffein that a new day brings, and of course the expectation of a few good naps.
It feels silly writing about something that thousands of cruisers take in their stride but I am sure that everyone’s first shift rouses feelings of apprehension whether spoken or unspoken. I’m in a place where I can say that I enjoy sailing, and in fair weather I could honestly do it forever, but the moments that are unfavorable or conditions that I deem frightening are not enjoyable. It’s a real balance for me, but the destination ALWAYS makes it worth it. I’m a silly kind of sailor Sea Wench doing hard things and vastly enjoying the fruits of our labor.