How wild we have become in this ocean.
For five weeks not a single ship. Then a couple appeared, and after that emptiness again.
Night watch tests your eyesight, and the only lights are blue plankton winking in the wake.
And the stars.
The southern constellations have disappeared beneath the rim of the horizon. The Great Bear has gradually appeared overhead, followed by the North Star.
Orion has gone nowhere. It brings stability to our starry world, and the captain examines us on the stars of Orion's Belt: Alnilam, Alnitak and Mintaka.
The measured Groundhog Day schedule was broken in the previous post by the appearance of the Land of the Rising Sun in our shipboard life.
The happiness of nearby land and occasional internet came with a side effect: the sea is cut into sections of fishing nets and garlands of fishing-fleet lights.
We had to switch the radar detector off because it screamed continuously.
During daylight it is still manageable: at least you can see how far away a vessel is.
At night, just hold on.
Lights surround you in the darkness, shining from everywhere.
Fishing fleets cover half the horizon in a friendly crowd, and you have no idea whether they are one mile away or five.
And, as usual, the wind dies precisely when you are sailing fifty metres from a growling vessel.
There is no time to run into the wheelhouse and start the engine.
Your teeth chatter from cold and nerves: “Don't die, wind. Just don't die.”
And that is how, like the Flying Dutchman, you saw straight through a garland of fishing lights while remaining completely anonymous on the instruments.
Neither they nor we have AIS switched on.
One little ship was so surprised when our sails materialised out of the darkness that it sounded its horn.
Startled, I sounded ours back: “We see you.”
Near Tsushima in the Korea Strait it becomes a complete carnival.
Besides the fishing fleets there are major shipping routes: Korea–Japan and the Sea of Japan countries to the rest of the world.
That is a song all of its own.
You barely escape the dazzling trawlers, step into the wheelhouse to warm up, and then a modest little constellation of lights creeps toward you.
On closer inspection it is a two-hundred-metre cargo ship.
The huge thing is already cutting across the water toward your wake.
And you breathe: “Oh, Mum…”
That is how I spent my night watches.
Add to this that when the wind dropped to zero we started the engine. Then someone had to stand at the outside wheel around the clock because the electric autopilot died halfway through the passage.
When the wind returned — and the main trick was noticing it because other instruments had died too — we had to set sail quickly, since our fuel tanks are not bottomless and we still have a long way to go.
The Korean coast
The strait between Korea and Japan is divided into two parts by Tsushima Island.
Our shore team member Sergey reminded us that on 28 May 1905 Russia lost a major naval battle for the first time, near Tsushima.
Russian sailors fought heroically, earning deep respect from the Japanese.
The strait between Japan and the island, as you have guessed, is the Tsushima Strait.
On the other side of Tsushima is the Korea Strait.
That is where we sailed, among garlands made from countless fishing vessels.
A sailing yacht is not a bus.
It cannot always follow a prescribed trajectory.
Sometimes it gets carried much too close to shore — in our case, the South Korean shore.
Buildings and lighthouses appear in the morning haze. The approaches to land are studded with flags marking fishing nets.
At first I did the proper thing and searched for the beginning and end of every net.
But under sail in light wind, manoeuvring room is limited.
At roughly the hundred-and-twenty-fifth net I look ahead and realise: No. We are not going to clear it. We are heading straight for the flag.
I rush into the wheelhouse and start the engine.
Throttle!
It revs and smokes perfectly, but there is no propulsion.
How we got around the flag I have no idea.
Otherwise the captain would have had to go swimming again and unwind rope from the propeller or rudder.
On the approach to Japan we had already caught a piece of net covered in seaweed on the propeller.
The propeller immediately began making a different sound.
Fortunately the skipper was on watch. Nastya and I would definitely have missed it.
Stop engine.
Heave to.
We had to spend half the night drifting.
I woke the captain around eight, and he went swimming.
Outside our “yaranga” it was already +15°C in the morning and the water was colder still.
You understand: sailing life near Asian shores is difficult and unbeautiful.
But the joy of nearby land and internet appearing here and there compensated for everything else.
Stowaway passengers
Pigeons are beautiful birds, but apparently very stupid.
One poor thing arrived today.
We were fighting into twenty-five knots of headwind when it reached us: a handsome light-brown bird with a wet chest, presumably after already hitting a wave and almost giving up its soul to God.
Then it saw us and our flat deck.
It made it, silly creature.
Stupid because all day we have been unable to feed or water it.
Water and bread sit in an empty tin from our preserved meat.
But the moment we move the rescue supplies toward it, the pigeon flies away and once again barely manages to catch the yacht.
Now it is sitting sadly.
I hope it does not die.
No land is visible around us.
The nearest island is thirty miles away.
The night before, a tiny bundle was squinting on a solar panel.
I shone a torch and the bundle revealed two bright bead-like eyes.
The little creature slept, then flew away by morning.
Land was still nearby then.
Sailing with a border escort
A second escort appeared from a Korean rocky islet and called us by name.
We stared.
We are sailing without AIS, yet they not only called “Lady Mary” on the radio, they even gave our radio call sign.
It was simple enough.
First an aircraft arrived, circled above the mast and disappeared into the mist.
Then came the radio call.
They had apparently looked us up online.
There is nowhere to hide.
Standard questions: Where are you going? Where did you come from? Country of the yacht? Country of the crew? How many people aboard? What are you doing in these waters?
Goodbye. Go to channel 16.
It was the Korean Navy.
Later an escort ship arrived too, made a ceremonial circle around us and left without saying anything.
The first escort, two days earlier, worried me more.
The haze near the Japanese coast suddenly exploded with a powerful roar, but nothing unusual was visible.
That is how jet fighters sound, I thought while chopping onion for borscht.
Soon the roar was directly above us.
Two points appeared in the sky and transformed into dark-grey supersonic aircraft.
They circled us and headed back toward Japan.
Then they returned.
Again.
And again.
Right, I thought. This is it.
Some helpful soul has reported that Russians are in territorial waters, and fighter jets have come to frighten us.
Just in case, I sent a message to Olesya in the shore team and to Laura in Japan.
“What is this?” I asked.
Laura reassured me.
That morning a convoy of two Russian Navy vessels and two Gazprom pipe-laying ships had passed through the Tsushima Strait.
The aircraft were watching them.
So yes.
Fighter jets do not circle overhead very often in peaceful life.
But during that hour, as they flew around us, I vividly imagined the horror felt by mothers — and not only mothers — when something like that flies above their heads carrying death.
God, switch off wars.
Peace to your home.
We are waiting for our home shore with both joy and anxiety.
I do not even know which feeling is stronger.
This is not at all how we imagined returning home.
Thank you to everyone who is with us, friends.
Thank you to those whose comments bring warmth and optimism.
Our heartfelt thanks to Alexander Z., Yuri N., Igor, Dmitry M., Oleg V. and the owners of cards ending 7375 and 3047 for supporting the morale of the entire crew through YooMoney.
May your dreams come true.
Hugs.
Sent again by satellite at the beginning of day 55 at sea.
Coordinates: 37°42′ N, 131°42′ E.
Vladivostok is 340 miles away — three days if the wind does not play a trick.
It can.
Our current position and track should be visible under the Route tab on our website. It shows the path from the Rockstar Iridium 360 tracker provided by MVS Telecom.