We’re riding out the storm hove-to. Or rather, we were; now we’re flying along. There isn’t even that much wind—35 knots (Force 7–8). But for the past few days we’ve been sailing close-hauled (partly into the wind). And when you’re bucking into head seas against a strong wind, you desperately want to be lying on the planks of a sun-warmed pier, building campfires and sleeping in a tent—anything but all of this.
By nightfall, we decided to take down the mainsail (the main sail) and fly close to the wind under the staysail (the small forward sail) and mizzen (the sail on the second mast). While I was setting the staysail, a wave shoved me back against the shrouds. My heart skipped a beat—what if I’d gone overboard? Even clipped on, it’s still frightening. Just imagine: you’re hanging over the side on a short tether, probably upside down. There’s a storm, it’s cold, and waves are sloshing around inside your trousers and jacket. And somehow you have to climb back aboard. Brrr... I thought, then carried on with my heart skipping beats and setting the staysail.
The sail had barely opened its arms to the wind when—ta-da!—it collapsed onto the deck. Well, not exactly collapsed. Half of it slid into the sea and began dragging the other half after it. The halyard had snapped. Well, why not? Nothing had broken for five whole days—it was about time. First Nastya and I wrestled with the sail, then the captain came to help with a straitjacket—or rather, a rope. We folded it, tied it up, washed our faces in salt water, and left a scrap of the genoa up until nightfall.
Hove-to in a Storm
“Marinochka, if our speed through the water goes over 6 knots, reef the genoa again,” the captain instructed me before retiring to his bedchamber.
At two in the morning, the 14-ton Lady Mary began leaping from one oncoming wave to the next, sometimes stumbling, sending torrents of water flying over the coachroof.
“Andryukh, I think we’d better reef.”
“Uh-huh,” and a minute later the cap was already emerging from the cabin, clad in his unfortunately leaky waterproofs.
Once we were already working on deck, we decided to spare our last headsail and lie down on the mattress—that is, heave to. We’ve grown lazy, apparently; we don’t fancy battling 35 knots of wind and the waves at night.
Closer to noon, we got under way again and hoisted the genoa. The wind had just swung round behind us (on the wind map it looks exactly like a centrifuge), while the old swell remained, right on the bow. What a treat, guys! Pitching and rolling too, with our well-being matching the motion.
Seasickness
We’re trying to do schoolwork, and every now and then I ask:
“Kids, I can’t work out which one of you is making me sick?”
Lady Mary is bouncing, and so are the innards in my stomach. On the bright side, Australia is drawing closer at up to 6 nautical miles per hour. Yesterday Ladunya and I tried to beat the captain at chess, but the experiment failed. I did manage to checkmate our young sailor, though—pondering every move as if I were playing Anatoly Karpov. Lada took one look at that and went off to learn forks and skewers—chess tactics—from the captain. Oh, I won’t be enjoying my chess victories for much longer. And there is absolutely no way to enjoy the passage right now. So I’ll have to wrap this up. Especially since Andryukha has just been drenched from head to toe on deck. I need to shove him into the shower immediately...
A Celebration
Though he shoved himself in, and emerged breathing perfume and mist. We were right to give him cologne for New Year. Now our floating amusement ride is positively steeped in a festive atmosphere.
And while all this was going on, our main laptop with the email program conked out, and the captain spent two hours trying to break the spell on it. He more or less succeeded. The wind, meanwhile, eased to an acceptable 20 knots from astern. The swell, however, remained on the bow.
Warm greetings to everyone from the already distinctly warm 40th parallel south! Thank you for your letters and comments. We’re about to make contact again now, eagerly anticipating another batch of mail. We love you, friends! Australia is 1,087 miles away. Soon a three-digit number will appear on the screen, and that will be a happy moment. We wish you wonderful spring holidays, “two in one”—pancakes and tulips :).
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