Judging by the activity on our website over the past four days, you’ve probably already realised that Lady Mary’s chief chronicler has been in no state to write. The moment we left Albany, the ocean switched to rinse cycle, and mountain-high waves have been patiently rocking the boat in every possible direction. Along with the boat’s insides—the crew—and the crew’s own insides. Except for the captain. He is invincible.
The wind is on the beam at 20–25–30 knots. Today, 30–35. Once a day we put the mainsail on the third reef, and once a day we take it down. Tomorrow they’re forecasting 45—a proper storm. But we’ll probably manage to slip past the epicentre. Going out on deck is once again like stepping into outer space. Trousers, Velcro fastened tight, jacket, hood, lifejacket+tether. Carabiner, click. Even my jacket is space-age—bright orange, from Ksyusha in Perth and Shell. The jacket appears in the video our young sailor and her friend Mila made for Cosmonautics Day. Have you seen it? It’s really cool, and it’s on our channel, yotube.com/c/travelyfamily. So the outer-space comparison isn’t even an allegory. It’s a shame there’s no one to film all this. Our young sailor doesn’t go out on deck in weather like this; we’re soaked and salty from head to toe, and our hands are busy hauling sails and lines—no time for a camera. For some reason, the action camera—new and expensive—gave up the ghost after letting salt water into its supposedly watertight body while we were filming the huge, tame stingrays in Hamelin Bay. The video will be released on our channel as soon as we reach Tasmania.
While taking down the mainsail this morning, I thought: if only we had our Yulia here now—once she’d got her sea legs, she’d shoot footage every bit as good as the Volvo Ocean Race. This passage is the real thing. Full-on, with salt in our hair, the captain shouting, “Pull some more!” and me saying, “I can’t anymore.” How different this is from champagne-style yachting close to shore! After such a long spell laid up, we’re getting used to simple things again: not being afraid someone will be washed overboard at night; stuffing rags into places where salt water seeps in (neither rain nor pouring water from a bucket revealed any leaks in the sealed windows. But a wave finds the weak spots).
Food and sleep. For the first few days we ate without much enthusiasm, but at least we had fresh produce—sour cream, assorted cheeses, vegetables and fruit brightened up the captain’s bachelor menu. The girls and I were working our way through 16 chicken patties, bought instead of four out of sheer greed: if you buy four, they cost 13 dollars a kilo, but if you buy 16, it’s 8.5 per kilo. A reminder: there is no fridge on the yacht ). Fortunately, it’s cold in the cockpit locker now, so we’ve set up a makeshift fridge in there. The day before yesterday, I even managed to fry sunny-side-up eggs and asparagus. Yesterday, my culinary genius advanced as far as buckwheat and mushrooms in sour cream. But today the wind has picked up and the sky-high waves are back. I’m savouring the nausea. We don’t yet know what we’ll eat.
I can’t sleep on passages. To give you an idea of how much we’re rolling: overnight, the hair at the back of my head tangles into a dreadlock. Even though the pillow is arranged and wedged in such a way that my head can’t roll very far from one side to the other. During the first few days at sea, I always feel terribly sorry for all the wasted time: you just lie there like a vegetable, unable even to read. And audiobooks haven’t really worked out for me yet: you have to download them from the shared library onto something, and keep that something close at hand to listen. From now on I’ll take the night watches: I don’t sleep anyway, so at least I’ll be some use. While I was complaining to you here, and then we read Harry Potter aloud with the children, the wind dropped to 15 knots and the sun played across the waves before sunset. By nightfall it will die away completely. We’ll stand towards Tasmania. We’ve made contact with outer space. A request came in from Immigration demanding that we provide a police certificate confirming that we aren’t criminal elements. And just like that, the first item on our list of things to do in Tasmania has appeared: we’ll go and turn ourselves in to the police.
The fifth day of the passage has begun. We’ve covered 460 miles. Coordinates: 41S 126E. Friends, you can follow our track under the Route tab on our website. Many thanks to Dmitry K., Iouli A., Maksim V., and Hobby Technologies for supporting the expedition’s ship’s fund and contributing to our circumnavigation via paypal.me/travelyfamily and sobe.ru/na/travelyfamily
And in the next post, we’ll tell you how Lady Mary’s current provisioning differs from every previous shopping trip. Hugs! Yours, seasick in the Southern Ocean.