Along the Edge of Hurricane Irma—Under Sail

Along the Edge of Hurricane Irma—Under Sail. Chronicles of Crossing the Caribbean Sea Along the Edge of a Hurricane, Hoping for a Fair Wind. Days 1–2 Goodbye, Mexico! We enjoyed being your guests. Even if it was very hot. . A Sudden Start Until about 2 a.m., I sit the night watch. The light headwind allows us to carry the genoa and mainsail almost on the centreline; the sails are working well, and today the engine is chugging so steadily that you hardly notice it. The warm wind blows in a special way, promising new countries and adventures. On the day of our departure, Nastya and I mostly wear glum expressions, anticipating seasickness and leaving our comfort zone (well, we’d got used to it here, and almost everyone felt like one of our own). But then there was no time left for glum faces: the children were told that we had to get under way quickly so we could reach the edge of Hurricane Irma in time and ride it all the way to Colombia. Otherwise, we would first have to weather the hurricane here in the bay, then tack against the trade winds and the oncoming Gulf Stream. On that cheerful note, we weighed anchor. It was important to leave before dark: the entrance to the bay is riddled with shoals. We managed to shout goodbye to Chris, our neighbour at the anchorage, who had taken us out on his sailing proa canoe. We wished each other good luck and headed out of the bay. According to the captain’s cunning plan, we would work our way south-east until the weekend in light headwinds, motoring part of the way. The hurricane had disrupted the entire trade-wind pattern (imagine that you are blowing steadily on a candle flame, making it lean over. But then someone suddenly appears between you and the candle and starts whirling a rag around. The steady airflow is broken, the winds blow every which way, and the flame thrashes about. That is what a hurricane does to the trade winds). Then the monster named Irma would come closer, and Lady Mary would draw a tangent to her, towards Colombia—or perhaps all the way to the island of Curaçao, wherever we could make it. We never did reach the Cayman Islands, and the shrouds still needed replacing; perhaps we would replace them in Curaçao. The full Moon points the way. Lady Mary gently slices through the waves, straight along the moonlit path. A good sign, I think to myself, smiling into the wind of change. I try to photograph the Moon’s enormous wheel of cheese against the sails, but nothing comes out. Either the equipment is wrong or the photographer is. “Andryukha, do you think we’ll end up in the hurricane?” “No!” the captain replies firmly. “Probably,” he adds just as firmly a second later. To be honest, I’m a little afraid. But I’ve become so used to trusting the captain that I understand: my fears are a kind of counterbalance, making Andrei calculate everything once again and rule out even the slightest chance of us getting into trouble. \ Electronics—Into the Oven Through the night, Andrei and I take turns keeping watch in the cockpit or sleeping in the saloon. Ladunya has settled in beneath the table in the saloon, where she has her seagoing travel bed: the breeze reaches her, she is close to Mum, and it is less seasick-making than the forward cabin. Breakfast is fruit, fried eggs, tea and sandwiches. Then the boat turns into a reading room. Even Ladunka doesn’t read just three to five pages, as usual, but simply lies there and reads until she gets bored. Then she listens to music—exclusively songs by the rock band Provereno. “Mum, I love the way Rita sings! She has such a voice: it can be low, and high, and in between. She really has talent—just listen to how she sings!” Rita is a close friend of mine and the leader of that very same favourite band, Provereno. After discussing the singer’s virtues for a little longer, we immerse ourselves in our books again. The wind is light, and every so often we start the engine. We’ve run it so much that we have more electricity than we know what to do with—let’s at least boil the kettle with it. Only one ship flickered across the horizon all day. By evening, the sky to the south-east had darkened and begun to flash. So menacingly that the first mate, in a fright, hid the computers in the oven and told the junior crew members to put on rubber slippers and be ready to dive into the saloon on command. Well, I couldn’t think of any other way to entertain myself while waiting for the lightning. We changed course to skirt the heart of the thunderstorm. The rain came pouring down; we collected a couple of jerrycans’ worth from the sails and even managed to wash in rainwater. . “Girls, come up quickly—look at this miracle!” We all spilled out onto the deck: a rainbow! A real one! What was so miraculous about that? Simply that twilight had ended long ago, and the lunar disc had emerged from behind the thunderclouds. It was a nocturnal moonbow! For about an hour, its arc hung astern of us, while ahead the full Moon grinned, pleased with the effect she had produced. It brought to mind another unusual phenomenon four years earlier: on 22 December, during the longest night of the year, there was a thunderstorm in St Petersburg. Sleet, lightning and thunder. Can that really happen? Evening aboard Lady Mary rolled into night: the captain admired the Moon, the children watched Fast & Furious 6 on the laptop, and I ingloriously conked out right there in the cinema until my night watch. In the morning, a large mahi-mahi took the hook. So instead of airy éclairs and porridge for breakfast, we had sashimi and steaks fried with onions and soy sauce. Mmmmmm—delicious. By lunchtime, the wind had died away completely. We bobbed helplessly in the doldrums. Was this the calm before the storm? Meanwhile, Hurricane Irma was apparently already tearing the Caribbean to shreds :(. Our coordinates: 19° 19′ N, 84° 00′ W In two days, we covered 230 miles. There were 775 miles left to Cartagena, Colombia, and 980 miles to the island of Curaçao. You might think: how far can it be from Mexico to Colombia? Yet it is almost half the length of an Atlantic passage. P.S. In the main photo, our young sailor is camouflaging herself as a Caribbean Indian—she dusted her face with talcum powder because of the heat :). And then the very edge of the hurricane arrived—with waves, squalls, flocks of kamikaze migratory birds and a waterspout. To be continued!