43 Days Alone at Sea: A Journal (Week 5)
Day #29
A few days ago I meant to write about how the barnacles had mutinied, and that I was now at their mercy, because they were causing Mara Noka to inch along in a nice breeze with calm seas. It seems that now, however, they feel inclined to steer us, barreling along, towards shore. I hope this is just a terrible fantasy, and I am happy for my sea room.
The swell is still large and quite messy, preventing me from making any other decision than to keep the wind on my hind quarter. I’ve been moving at over five knots since yesterday, and at this rate I’ll be seeing land in 48 hours. But that would be the coasts of Bahia or Espirito Santo, and that would put me way off course for my planned trajectory of rounding Cabo Frio east of the Campos oilfield, out of danger from shipping.
The wind is supposed to swing more north in two days, and I hope for us that we have that long. I’m not mentally prepared to deal with a landfall that soon.
It must be noted how great of a boat Mara Noka is, riding through this washing machine stoically. I am grateful.
Day #30
“...we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea - whether it is to sail or to watch it - we are going back from whence we came.” - JFK
To my delight, the wind dropped down to about 12 knots last night and I got to sleep on a calming sea. When I woke up, though it was still a bit messy, the swell had also lessened considerably. With these conditions I was able to point Mara Noka in a more southerly direction.
I’ve been moving along at a slow three knots since then, gently gliding over the leftover turbulence from the past few days’ blow. In two days there should be some north wind.
Moving like this keeps me from having to make landfall up here. I’m not quite ready to leave my life at sea. In some way, I feel like I’m just now fully adjusting to it. As I write this I realize that today marks the length of my previous longest crossings — the North Atlantic in 2019 and again this year 2022, each taking 30 days.
I spoke on VHF with a cargo ship yesterday, bound for Rio de Janeiro. After receiving some weather information and wishing each other well, I realized this was the first human I’ve spoken with, verbally, in one month. Now the ships, more frequent on this stretch between Salvador and Rio, kind of feel like my friends. How terrible is that?
I wonder if I’ll arrive in ten days’ time… I’ve never been too good at timing…
Day #31
Today I feel very lucky to be aboard and at sea in my little ship. The weather is beautiful, and not so hot as it was closer to the equator. We’ve been making slower progress, but in a much better direction, nearly due south.
While investigating the extent of my barnacle takeover, I found some looking to be near or over two inches long. What a strange creature. It reminds me of an alien phallus — not that I’ve ever seen one.
Every day that passes I get more used to being out here, with no other company than Mara Noka and the sea birds. But I know my ship would like to rest its wings soon. Ropes are beginning to fray, as I’m sure are other things I’m less aware of.
That reminds me, I forgot to write about the atrocity that almost was. Two days ago I found a serious issue with my autopilot. A modern day sailor’s nightmare. Luckily for me, all it took was two minutes and a sheet bend and we were back on track. Thank god for sheet-to-tiller steering.
I’ve thought a lot about the weary, yet incredibly strong boats, like Elliott’s Second Wind, which make their way around the world without the pleasure of a rest, and I’m sure they feel as much excitement as their skipper once arriving, finally, back to home port.
I wonder if I can find a way to meet Elliott at his Montevideo drop…
Day #32
It’s one of those never-ending days, and I’m feeling quite emotional. But I must remind myself that I am very tired. Though I don’t feel it, I haven’t slept for more than two hours at one time in over a month, and most of the time much less than that. It might also have a little to do with reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez and his romantic writing.
Nevertheless, I feel like I am grieving. Grieving over missed opportunities and lost love; reflecting on my intense insensitivity and exasperation during this year; grieving the proximity of the end of this voyage and the year 2022…
I want to be a better person. I hope to be.
“Wisdom comes to us when it can no longer do any good.” -Love in the Time of Cholera
Tonight the moon is full.
Day #33
Today is grey, but feels very nice. The air is the perfect temperature, and the wind is not too strong. I’ve been flying the Argentenian sail again since last night, and have made good progress for it.
As the wind starts to back towards the north, my progress becomes more southeasterly. I plan to jybe tonight, or first thing in the morning. From there I will have some 650 miles left until I reach Ilhabela.
I seem to be taking on water in the starboard hull, and I’m not sure from where yet. One of the bilges I had pumped dry 10 days ago, I found to be sloshing full, and it hasn’t rained enough to have been the culprit. It’s nothing alarming, just another daily chore…
Day #34
The sky rains and I bleed. In between some rain clouds I manage to make myself breakfast and tea, as well as take an Ibuprofen before the pain becomes too severe. It’s interesting, I feel more feminine than I have in a long time. My body has seemed to relax during this month of solitude.
I’m glad I find myself in this tender state no later than today, because I am told that in two days I should expect 26 knots from the north, and I will need my strength then. I don’t know if it’s because of the current fragility of my mental state, or because of my proximity to land, shipping, oil rigs, and my imminent arrival, but I am feeling afraid of the upcoming blow. Not a usual sentiment for me. Besides, I have seen those conditions many times. So my uneasiness disturbs me.
The low but powerful thunder off in the distance does not bring much lightness to my discomfort. But earlier, while it rained, I drank sweet hot chocolate and worked to finish this romance novel. The poeticness of the moment made me happy and thankful.
I must mention that yesterday I had the pleasure of two blue–faced Boobies in my company, and at night, three of the same birds from up near Recife perched on Mara Noka’s tillers and stayed until sunrise, trying to sleep with their beaks in their wings, and balancing on unstable sea legs.
I wonder, once I’m on land, how long it will take me before needing to head back out to sea…
Day #35
Today was good and calm and I got a lot done. Three more noddy terns spent the night on my tillers last night, and it was nice to see them again. I like their company.
I’m feeling rather weak today, and totally uninspired in the galley (save for the outrageously good pan bread I’ve been making the past few days). I just ate my last apple. It came out of the refrigerator box and was crispy and juicy as ever. What a treat.
The sun has just set and the sky is clear for the moment, giving the inclination that I will rest well tonight, as I have been able to do this entire trip. Bless Yemanja.