Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I held the frigate in my lap as we wafted along, and Gavin carefully tied a trimmed chop-
stick to its bony, little leg with some rips of a rag. The bird did not resist; it was as though
he knew we were helping him. Once the leg was tied up, Gavin then made a nest out of
some towels and placed the patient inside on the cockpit seat out of harm's way. He also put
a shallow dish of freshwater within reach, and we were delighted to see him eagerly sip-
ping from it. “Ees, that's a good boy,” sang Gavin. He then broke up a cracker into crumbs,
but the bird took no interest in the offering.
“I think he wants some fish; pity we are going so slowly, or we could easily catch a fish in
these waters,” I lamented.
We motor sailed on into the night. I knew that we had to do this in order to find some wind.
It was pointless wallowing about in the calm seas. We had to motor south to get beyond the
convergence belt of the equatorial doldrums. At twenty hundred hours I killed the engine,
and the silence engulfed us along with the dark. We had been hypnotized by the dull thud-
ding of the diesel engine, and I stood up stiffly and stretched.
Looking around, I could just make out a bit of light loam from the islands we had left
astern. There was an inky blackness ahead of us. The boat wafted along silently, rising
gently to the little swells that washed under us. There was a breeze, and she made way very
slowly, but we would have to steer her in these light airs. Gavin lit a lantern and hung it
above on the boom. Our little patient was asleep and not dead as I first thought in alarm.
“Won't you turn on the radio please; let's see if we can still pick up the station at Santa
Cruz,” I asked Gavin. I was happy to hear an announcer speaking softly, and then music
began coming out of the cabin speakers. I kept a lookout for any lights at sea. It was pitch
black; we were all alone, and the prospect of such a long trip ahead of us was rather daunt-
ing.
It may be difficult for a person who has never done an ocean crossing to imagine what it is
like out at sea, day after day, week after week. Time drags, yet the passage of time disap-
pears with no evidence. There is nothing to gauge the passing of the days, the weeks. The
landscape seldom changes, apart from the weather which will cause one to think there have
been changes.
It is important for long distance sailors to keep busy. Morale can dissipate quickly without
purpose. Without the influence of land or of the people who populate it, one's perception
of reality becomes dreamlike and barren even when two or more sailors are present. It was
for this reason I found it necessary to “invent” chores every day. We got into the routine
of sharing the daily cooking, tea, or coffee making, washing the dishes, standing watch,
sharing the twice-daily navigation, etc. In reasonable weather, we would attempt to do light
maintenance. I would go around and check for chafe on the running rigging and sails. This
