1st Day of Passage to Newport - Sunday 5/13/18

It’s 2315, and I’m back in the cockpit.  Tonight, I’m sitting on the same side of my previous watches (to port) but holding on for dear life, given that we are on a port tack, and leaning to starboard.  I would sit on the other bench, which would snuggle me against the dodger, but I woke up an hour early and am not yet on watch - my iPhone is still stuck on Bermuda time, while the boat has moved onto East Coast time.  Alejandro will come off watch at midnight, when my watch officially starts, and Hank is behind the helm.  Our new watch schedule means I relieve Alejandro, spend my first 90 minutes with the captain, and my second 90 with Goose.  I expect there will be lots to unpack with these two characters over the next few days.​

We have now been back on the water for 12 hours, having cruised through the harbor mouth of St. George at 1130.  We set the main sail before leaving the harbor, and after motoring an hour through the channel to avoid the reefs encircling Bermuda, we unfurled the jib sail and cut the engine...officially underway.

The winds have been blowing steady at 12-15 knots out of the southwest.  Given that we have a northwest heading, the wind direction puts us on a port beam reach - a very fast point of sail.  We are cruising at speeds of 7.5-8.5 knots.  At this pace, we’ll check off the 635 miles to Newport by Thursday.

I’ve been very alert to the transition I was feeling this morning, going back to sea having been on land for a half-week.  The great news is that I have no signs of nausea.  My sea legs are under me, and although the boat is now healing in the opposite direction, I am right at home.  I noticed how the crew all broke off during the day and found quiet places to read.  We are now a tighter knit group then when we departed St. Maarten, which seems like months ago.  Our conversations come easily if there is a desire to talk, and the crew is equally comfortable finding a quiet place to contemplate their own personal adventure.  

Goose took charge of dinner, and we all enjoyed multiple bowls of shrimp gumbo.  One cooking take-away from this adventure has been to prepare simple meals in the large pot on the stove and dish out a hot meal into bowls that can be enjoyed topside.  Foods that just require water, where dumping in some fresh or frozen meat (like shrimp), really unburden the cook and cleanup crew.  One pot on the stove seems a lot safer as well, when the seas churn up, or we run into nasty weather.

On that note, I’m somewhat holding my breath.  I want to endure some of the Gulf Stream’s furry, to take home some prized lessons in heavy weather handling.  On the other tack, I’d like the peaceful rhythm that we’ve enjoyed most of our passage to continue.  Why ruin a good thing?

I expect a little of both in the end, and as the Atlantic breeze gradually cools with each degree of latitude, I’m anxiously awaiting the ocean’s next surprise.
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