Sweden Sailing - Day 8

​Where is Royce? Click to Sail Along ⛵

“Ease the sheet!” Andy yelled from the helm, with more urgency than panic.  “Easing” I hollered in reply.  The 35 knot gusts of wind (40+MPH) whistling through the rigging, complimented by the crashing waves against the hull created a symphony of noise and chaos that drowned out any communication.  It was 23:00, Thursday, and save for the faint red glow from a few instruments on deck, the only source of light was the eerily peaceful spotlight of a 3/4 moon.   What returned the moon’s gaze was the dark boiling cauldron of the Baltic Sea.  I was getting everything I asked for a few days earlier.  At the captain’s inquiry, I requested tumultuous seas, heavy winds, and a dose of fear in an overtly confident tone.  Check, check and check.  Idiot. 

Andy took over the helm a few minutes before shouting his instructions, so he could orchestrate the “depowering” of Ice Bear.  Alejandro and I had been on shift since 8PM, and after three hours of beating into the waves against 30 knots of wind under a main sail that was already lowered to it’s 2nd reef point, the boat was heeling too much and struggling to keep course so the captain decided we should reduce sail further.  I sprung to action by helping Andy furl (roll) in some of the jib sail (sail at the front of the boat) by easing the line controlling the sail while he rolled up several feet via a button in the cockpit.  I was beginning to feel nauseous again, which had been an unwelcome visit earlier in the day, due to the washing machine ride we were experiencing.

Now was the tougher job.  Three of us would have leave the relative safety of the cockpit to go forward a bucking ship in rough seas to lower the halyard holding up the main sail and bring her down to a third reef (reduction point).  I would go on the low side of the boat - the closest to the water if you can picture a boat severely heeled over to one side.  My job would be to tighten the sail via a winch once the main had been lowered.  Two other crew took the high side and worked on lowering the halyard.  We worked as a team, which made my trip out into the elements more acceptable - I couldn’t be the one to backdown. 

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​All of us wear PFDs (Personal Flotation Devices) that inflate upon contact with water, and are tethered to the boat via two 3-5 foot elastic lines.  Carabiners are attached at the end of these two lines so we can unclip from one anchor point on the boat and clip into another, without ever losing a connection to our vessel.  I pictured slipping off the deck and being dragged through the black water by my elastic tether.  “Ready to go?” Andy shouted?  ’Do we have to,' I thought.  “Ready!” I answered, uncertainly. 

That was last night.  It’s now 13:05, the following day (Friday).  I’m snuggled up in my down sleeping bag, attempting to gain body heat from my last watch that began at 8am and was over at noon.  As you might imagine, attempting sleep on a 60-foot boat enduring the conditions mentioned is aspirational at best.  Despite having the best birth on the boat, the lee (down) side of the couch where the heel of the boat suctions me into the back cushion, I couldn’t fall asleep.  Gregory Allen Isokov, delivered through noise cancelling headphones helped block out the shouting, banging and whistling rigging above, but could do nothing to slow the pitching and yawing of the boat.  So, I didn’t get much sleep during my first 8 hours off watch, but will try again now. 

It’s now 20:30 (8:30) on Friday night.  Sorry for the break in the action but sleeping has been my only remedy to kick those last nagging remnants of sea sickness.  I’ve kept all my meals down, but all day as we bucked the Baltic, the warm cabin below came with the burden of close your eyes and lay horizontal, or visit the nearest head. 

So, how am I feeling?  I asked for danger and got it.  I didn’t ask for nausea, though one can’t cherry pick everything, and got it.  I wanted adventure - who the hell has ever sailed the Baltic Sea, or more generally, could point it out on the globe?  Got it.  Meet random dudes with interesting back stories - check.   

Tonight, as my little Costa Rican helm mate and I steered the boat at a comfortable 8 knots, under a light (12 knot wind), on flat inter coastal seas as the sun set over the horizon, I was reminded why I love to sail.  Of course the bragging rights of a much-inflated survival story back home are worthwhile, but I’d have to be more shallow than you might already think to do this purely for others.  Your opinion of me is none of my business.  I can sit here now and smile at having survived one leg of an adventure, unscathed, with a fun story to tell, and an experience I can recall for a lifetime.  And, my grandkids will dig how cool I was back when we drove our own cars. 

In an hour we pull into dock, downtown Kalmar, Sweden, which I’m told has it’s own castle.  It’s Friday night, and I’m on vacation, so the castle will have to wait - I’m going to find rum. 

​Goodnight!