The Roaring Fifties. It Has Begun

The Roaring Fifties. It has begun. Thirty knots of wind on the beam. Some of the waves, as big as houses, not only lash over the coachroof but also come crashing into the cockpit in little waterfalls. The boat is flung sharply from crest to trough and back again. Once again, the crew crossed themselves in gratitude that the most troublesome hatches had been sealed up tight with sealant. Though on particularly violent waves, salt water forces its way through the aft windows, spitting onto the bed. The southerly wind brings cold. But a couple of times the sun peered half-squinting through the clouds. This morning even the young sailors felt a little seasick. We dropped the mainsail. We are carrying the staysail and mizzen. We are flying at up to 7 knots over three-storey waves. We do not go out on deck. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Everyday chores turn into an adventure. You have to avoid scalding yourself while filling the thermos and tipping a saucepan over yourself. And on a steep heel combined with a lurch, seawater splashes out of the head. Since, before spilling onto the floor, it has passed through every circle of hell in the toilet bowl, it must be wiped up immediately, its transparency notwithstanding, and the toilet must be pumped through as thoroughly as possible. Especially since the water flows over the sill from the head into the saloon and straight into the forward cabin. .. .. .. It is great that there is a second helm in the wheelhouse, and we also sing the praises of our windvane self-steering system, named Iron Felix. Our fifth crew member stands watch so brilliantly that we spend as little time at the helm as possible. .. .. .. Drops and trickles of condensation have become part of everyday life. I dread to think what will become of all this later on. Everything in the recesses will get soaked, from pencils and books to cloths and clothes, and the bulkheads will grow mouldy. And there is no point spending half an hour emptying every locker when an hour later water is running down the walls again. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. It is 5 degrees above zero outside. Perhaps it will not get any colder—who knows. Today someone wrote to tell us that we most likely will not be able to visit Antarctica, because permission has to be obtained all the way back in Moscow. We were not particularly planning to go there, but once you know for certain that the answer is no, you feel a slight regret that it is not yes. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Sometimes Andryukha grumbles that we are making the boat roll. But life aboard the floating swing goes on. During the day, our young sailor staged a little performance: first came a quest involving a dozen notes, and the winner received the honorary title of magician. The title could be passed on to someone else, which the crewwoman who won the quest immediately took advantage of, handing it over to the young sailor. Lada launched into a magic show for the crew using a special young magician’s set. And now she is playing the card game UNO with the captain. Nastya is reading Ostrovsky’s How the Steel Was Tempered, while I switch from an article about Pitcairn Island to my diary entries. .. .. .. We marked the final thousand miles remaining to Cape Horn. Though after the Horn, it will still take us another two days to reach our anchorage. To celebrate, lunch was a dish we dubbed The Bum’s Dream. A tin of lentil porridge went into the remains of the coconut curry with vegetables; there was rice in it too, and then, to bulk it out, we added water and a packet of Chinese instant noodles. We have about three packets for emergencies, and today was just such a day. Nobody felt like a long bout of acrobatics in the galley. Still, The Bum’s Dream went down nicely; nobody even grimaced. And with tea we had cake to celebrate the final thousand. I am off to choose tonight’s film. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. So we may as well answer the questions about our film library. Most of the films are stored on a single 4-terabyte hard drive in a nice silicone sleeve. There are also a couple of smaller flash drives. The films have been patiently downloaded in various places, starting in Russia, and sorted by subject. There is probably at least one film in our collection for any point on the planet, and sometimes as many as a dozen. So we get acquainted in advance with the place we are heading to, so that it is not just some meaningless dot on the map. Though of course we look for the dots too: fortunately, the cabin and wheelhouse are hung with charts, and there are also a couple of atlases lying in prominent places. BBC, Discovery and NatGeo; brilliant Russian films such as the recently watched Vostok Station: On the Threshold of Life; and Irina Bazhanova, beloved by children and adults alike, with her Planet Without Prejudice. She has several programmes about Patagonia, including two specifically about Ushuaia, featuring the naked indigenous Yaghan people of Tierra del Fuego. We are watching the BBC series Wild South America. A year ago, Panama and the rainforests were relevant; now it is Penguin Shores and the Southern Ocean. Besides that, there are educational and historical films. The film library grows as we travel. We swap films with other crews. Friends along the way download some especially for us. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. We watch lots of good films with the children, including those that inspired dreams and daring exploits in you and us. Comic-book films and stupid cartoons go straight into the bin. We often pause a film for discussion. Even our young sailor can explain why the Reds used to be portrayed as good and the Whites as bad. I also often provide historical context, referring back to earlier films and books. For example, when we watch a film based on Fenimore Cooper, we explain where on the map the action takes place and what was happening in Russia and Europe at the time. As in: this was the era of The Naval Cadets, and this was the year Catherine II ascended the throne. And that Fike there is Catherine herself, the very same one. Meanwhile, in the Pacific, Captain Cook was searching for the Southern Continent, and 13 years later the mutiny on the Bounty took place. And here we have Notre-Dame de Paris and the French Revolution, which we celebrated on Fatu Hiva six months ago. Such-and-such events were good for these people, while those other poor devils were well and truly in trouble. .. .. .. I think we are managing to put the history of the world into the children’s heads without unnecessary clichés, so that they can understand different points of view and see the motives and pain on every side. They can draw their own conclusions. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Friends, thank you for your warmth, advice, support and questions in the comments! Without you, we would have gone sour from boredom by now—or frozen, we are telling you!. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Special thanks for their substantial contribution to those who have become members of our shore team despite the thousands of miles between us! By supporting the expedition through PayPal.me/TravelyFamily, you inspire us to send more dispatches from the heart of the cold Southern Ocean. We thank Mikhail T. from Samara, Konstantin K. from Moscow, Ksenia S. from St Petersburg, Dmitry M. from Moscow and Alexander E. from Novosibirsk. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Meanwhile, Cape Horn is 910 miles away. In all, along her track from Bora Bora—sometimes beating into the wind, sometimes cutting across it—Lady Mary has covered 5,000 nautical miles. Coordinates: 94.31°W, 55.45°S. The house-sized waves continue. Joy to you all!