“I invite you for a romantic stroll on deck!” The captain’s face disappeared from the doorway, replaced by the trouser leg of his foul-weather gear.
Realising that I couldn’t dream up a better morning workout, I reluctantly crawl out from under my sleeping bag. We put the third reef in the mainsail, ease the genoa a little, and waddle along dead downwind towards Kerguelen. “Well, conditions will keep getting worse for the next nine days, but after that it’ll get warmer and more fun,” I think. Then I remember that autumn will begin after Kerguelen. And September in the temperate latitudes is hardly any nicer than August.
I put the kettle on, and the captain, who has only just come down from deck, climbs back into his foulies.
“Where are you going? Haven’t you had enough of your walk?”
“I’m going to expose my... to the rays of the morning sun.”
“Face?”
“Not my face, Marinochka, but that which must not be named.”
And the captain disappeared into the thick pea-soup fog. It’s a good thing our sheets are colour-coded—you can see them even in the fog. Once again, I remembered that it was time to get my boots out, and sat down by the heater with my feet tucked under me. After an hour, it had warmed the wheelhouse to +14°C.
“This passage somehow feels drearier than the others,” I share my morning mood with the captain.
“It really is a dreary passage! No month-long storms, no waves over the coachroof. Boooring! Broad reach, 15–20 knots, sitting here drinking tea. If only it would blow at least 50 knots! ...All right, it’s cold, and there’s fog. But generally speaking, of course, it’s not as much fun as it was around the Falklands—I agree!” And I laugh along with Andryukha.
“You’re right, we really have no cause to complain.”
Dear Africans
Sunny South Africa has been left behind somewhere in a parallel universe. How wonderful it would be to leave this icy fog in the middle of the Southern Ocean and find ourselves in the wine country near Cape Town right now. To cook a braai—that’s what South Africans call a barbecue—to hike up Lion’s Head with Mila at five in the morning, or drink coffee at Tanyusha’s farm.... When we were sailing to Cape Town from Chile, Tanya was already waiting for us. We exchanged messages from the ocean, and it was such a wonderful feeling—to be sailing through storms for the first time towards a place where someone was waiting for you. During the three-plus months we spent in South Africa, we found several people who became “our own,” people we want to return to. “Without farewells there can be no reunions,” I tell my daughters, while trying myself to be glad that these people were in our lives rather than sad that we had to part from them.
Although finding joy every day on a two-month voyage takes a certain amount of courage. Especially when you assess the distance already covered and how much still remains. In three weeks, we should have covered 2,100 miles along the rhumb line and now be approaching Kerguelen. In fact, we’ve made 1,600 miles along the rhumb line, plus another 400 or so miles zigzagging in other directions.
The Endless Journey
We pass north of the Crozet Islands—a French domain in subantarctic waters. The islands aren’t particularly suitable for an anchorage. The wind is variable and gusty, and all night long we have to help Iron Felix hold our course. Otherwise, when the wind eases, Lady Mary starts slatting her sails, or when it picks up, she goes hurtling half-sideways into it. The wind sensor is erratic, displaying either the speed or the distance from the bowsprit to the stern. The contacts at the masthead have apparently oxidised. And yet, despite having to keep such a vigilant watch, I prefer sleeping in snatches in the wheelhouse to sleeping for several hours at a stretch in the aft cabin. I don’t understand this phenomenon, but during a passage, the bedroom is no place for sleep at all. I feel downright awful there, even when I’m only half asleep.
For the second day in a row we’ve been watching the same picture on the monitor: us and the Crozet Islands. Today we’re only a tiny bit farther to the right of them than we were yesterday. Our speed seems good, but we’re making little progress eastward. Well, if I stop whining, whichever way you look at it, we’ve covered a third of the distance even along the rhumb line. Australia is 3,050 miles and, by the optimistic forecast, 30 days away.
What the Captain Dreams Of
“No, Marinochka, I really do want to go to the tropics after all!”
“Then why are we sailing through the subpolar latitudes, darling?”
“Well...”
I was just rereading Jessica Watson’s diary. She crossed the Indian Ocean between 36° and 38° south; the weather was wonderful and the wind relatively steady. Perhaps we shouldn’t have dropped down towards the fifties? But the forecasts say the wind in the warmer latitudes is completely useless right now. Meanwhile, Andryukha is reading Moitessier’s The Long Way, which says it’s best not to go north of the 40th parallel, so as not to lose the steady westerlies. Yesterday we put the clocks forward another hour. We’re now living on Samara time (and Dubai time). Greetings, dear old Samara! We’re with you :). In the mornings it’s 11–13°C inside our little house. We’ve been running the heater for almost a week. Everything is as usual—Groundhog Day. Ladunya does her schoolwork or invents performances, while Nastya is diligently learning her profession. Albatrosses and petrels are no longer our only fellow travellers. We’ve also been joined by Antarctic terns—I think that’s what these small birds with mottled white-and-coffee patterns on their wings are called.
Valentine’s Day
Exactly one year ago, on Valentine’s Day, we celebrated... New Year! Nastya’s birthday, both Christmases, New Year and Old New Year had all passed during our Southern Ocean passage, where Father Frost couldn’t find us. After all, when we left Polynesia, he had no idea that we would suddenly turn towards Cape Horn in the middle of the ocean. So Father Frost finally got a fix on us in Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world. We bought loads of tasty treats, made Olivier salad while watching The Irony of Fate, and drank children’s champagne as the Kremlin clock chimed. And the next morning, we found presents under the tree.
This morning I hung a plush scarlet heart in a prominent place. The captain took the hint and gave me a set of small African gemstones for the “herbarium” I keep with our young sailor. How thoughtful of him! He was the only one to prepare for the holiday in advance. We’re egging Nastya on to bake a charlotte and contemplating festive borscht (in the end, we baked vegetables with cheese in the oven, while Lada is making a chocolate cake).
The wind is due to strengthen tonight, followed by a shift from the warm northerly to a cold southerly. No storms are forecast yet, but the swell has already come bounding in and is enthusiastically battering the boat. Things and people are beginning to fly around the saloon. Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone, friends! We wish you someone dependable at your back and a beautiful love. Hugs from 45 degrees south latitude. Thank you for being with us! We always look forward eagerly to your greetings and comments—they make even a frosty day feel warmer.
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Thank you, our wonderful shore team! Sent via satellite. The photograph symbolises our nostalgia for warmer latitudes :).