Thursday 11/1/18 - 3rd Day of Passage

​​I just finished updating our journey through Wednesday, and while it is fresh, I decided to continue writing.  I am sitting in the saloon, down below.  The sun is making its way across the water, the breeze has been a constant 15-20 knots all day, and the boat is listing to port, gently pushing me against the settee cushion.  ​

This morning, I practically jumped out of bed at 0540, eager to take my watch at 0600, get behind the helm again, put another line in the water, and claim the day a success with more fish on the line, and more miles under my feet.
 
As I’m sitting here, reflecting on the better part of the day, I failed on the fishing front through no fault of my own - the winds have been so heavy, and we have been close hauled all day, so that the heeling of the boat would make it dangerous to even go aft, let alone try to fish.  That said, it’s been a great day.
 
My three-hour shift at 6 began on a high note.  I helped Scott reduce sails to flatten the boat a little, brought a boiling cup of coffee on deck, and hand-steered for the better part of an hour.  I watched the sunrise just off our port bow, as we are on a South East approach toward Bermuda.  The waves gently lapped against our hull, and the warm breeze off the water slowly escorted fluffy clouds across the calm morning.  I’m convinced there is no better time of day or night to be behind the helm.  As exhilarating as a midnight sail under a glowing moon can be, watching the horizon turn from dark blue to deep red, then fade to yellow and light blue is the definition of peace.
 
The pleasant start to the day was somewhat marred when Richard appeared, told me to man the sails instead of cutting the corner on our way points, and took the wheel from my hands by turning on the auto-helm down below.  Calm yourself, Royce, his boat.  Instead of devising a plan to mutiny and return to the helm a pirate on the high seas, I went to work trimming the sails.  In a few minutes, I saw the validity in Richard’s chastisement, as our knots increased, and the boat held steady to her original course.  Well played, captain, well played.  After admitting defeat, brooding awhile, I finally asked if I could hand steer, to which Richard happily obliged as long as I could stay the course.  Once again, I was master of my domain, at peace, and happy.  Good lesson in listening to the leader, instead of winning the argument.
 
As the boat came to life, I relinquished my watch, and sat in the cockpit, talking to Victor and Richard.  I peppered the captain with questions about the boat, selfishly gleaning all I could about the inner workings of my forthcoming vessel.  I’ve noticed than when I ask about the price tag of certain things, politely asking him if it’s OK to ask him, I receive a recognizably canned response of “I really can’t recall”.  Um, you can’t recall what you bought this boat for, yet you know the diameter of the intake hose for the diesel-powered generator’s cooling system?  Riiiiggghht.  Either he’s hiding something, or he is no longer insurable for long term care.
 
Anyways, great morning.  I reheated the chicken picanti, and did my best to feed the crew for lunch, making coffee for the afternoon shift, and cleaning the kitchen below.  Everyone seems appreciative of my help as I’m doing my best to be a good crew member and build some comradery.  After all, Bermuda is only a day away, and I’ll need some drinking buddies to shepherd me home after several rounds of Bermudian rum.