It’s not all sea creatures
and sunsets you know…
The camera doesn’t capture
the visceral nature
of the wind and waves,
the pressure and gravity on your bones
as the boat sways and lurches
Waves breaking against the hull,
dumping icy water down your back
salt spray stinging your eyes and cheeks
It doesn’t capture
the white knuckles
and jamming of feet
Things taken for granted on solid ground - the comforting ritual of making tea
to warm your shivering soul
turns into a practice of sheer will
and Shiva-like skill
Fingertips grasp the countertop
as you sway like a sober, drunken sailor
leaving one hand to pour boiling water
into a sliding cup, in the dark
Drawers crash open,
a kettle flies through space
spilling its wares onto paper charts
You don’t know it yet,
but when dawn breaks
and the storm subsides
you’ll pick your way hazily
through the dried seaweed and debris
towards the sanctuary of your sodden bed
The camera can’t communicate
the stolen sleep that
leaves your body jittery like a
and your mind as clear as tar
The suppressed anxiety
of your only crew mate falling over board
while you’re below deck
in a shadowy slumber
The dread of climbing
the companionway stairs
to take up your watch
to find no one there
The camera can’t convey
the intensity it takes to watch
instruments and waves
with hawk-like attention,
striving to find solace in
predicting the un-predictable
Squinting at the tightly packed
rows of coloured rope
muted by the confusion of darkness,
like criminals in a line up
the wrong choice could bear
deadly consequences
Trying hopelessly
to block out tales
from countless books
of disasters at sea
React quickly but carefully,
don’t guillotine your fingers
in the heavily tensioned lines
that strain against
the immense power of the wind
Imagine, if you can,
an endless, inky-thick darkness,
open ocean
no point of reference
except the tiny red and green lights
up ahead, either side of the bow
All other light source killed
to preserve night vision
watching intently for shapes and lights
that might emerge from the shadowy night
Not only are you battling the elements
you’re also tasked with not slamming headlong into another vessel
or floating jetsom
that could entangle the prop
and leave you entirely
at the mercy of the storm
-
both almost impossible to make out
amongst the white wash of
bewildered waves
A change in the energy
two weather systems merge
without warning
sea water sloshes across the aft deck
creeping into the footwell of the cockpit
and down the hatchway stairs
The track on the old girl malfunctions
glueing the main sail halfway down
wind building erratically
from all directions
pinning the stricken/ troubled sail in place
The little boat heels all the way over
one way and then the other,
body tethered from lifejacket to boat
by one small metal loop
Leaning back with all your might
desperately hanging on,
willpower and strength alone
controlling the unruly boom
as it smashes violently from side to side - the main sheet relentlessly pummelled
by the wind from every angle
The 10 tonne lead keel battles underwater
to keep us from capsizing
as the struggling rig above
makes the eery sound of a caged beast
trying to break free from its chains
Knowing you’re 10 hours from land
10 hours from safety
Mind racing with safety procedures
cut, stream, close, maintain -
wide-eyed, jaws clenched
whole body shaking,
not with cold
with fear.
Glanced looks,
unspoken words
silently transmitting
camaraderie amongst the chaos
Off the stern,
two titanic lightening storms merge
flash bangs of red and white
against an inky black sky
like a scene from a war film
except it’s real and so close
you feel drawn to its mighty power
Just two people
insignificant and alone
silently whispering prayers
to this 42 foot floating fibreglass ally
the only thing between us
and the vast, tumultuous
expanse of blackness below
a watery graveyard of
sea creatures and shipwrecks
Sleep deprivation
causes the squeaking of the rudder
to morph into a chorus of imaginary voices
as the tiny white light at the top of the mast
sways violently from side to side
in the gathering swells
Hold on, just hold on.
A scattering of stars emerge,
welcome pinpricks of light
a cloud-covered moonrise
reminds us we’re never really alone
Vast galaxies above
gradually make way for
an uneasy sun to rise
Like the morning after heavy night,
blurry and confused
a hazy, ethereal light emerges
the first promise of reckoning
in these lawless waters
Disbelieving eyes
through heavy lids
watching that long night
as it creeps away
The boat and it’s weary inhabitants
still rocking precariously
in the following swell
taking turns to snatch moments
of coma-like sleep
laying on opposite sides of exposed,
salt-hardened wooden benches
exhausted, spent and amazed
Four hours till landfall
absently adjusting the course
all remaining faith in the battered autopilot
steering us to safety
This is offshore, night sailing in a storm
it’s exhilarating and it’s dangerous
and if you can hold your nerve
it’s a feeling
of being fantastically, profoundly alive.
