Race 10 - Day 17
Crew Diary - Race 10 Day 17
14 April
Day 17 Pippa Jephcott
Sailing senses
“Da dumdum thud.” Deep breath. A limited readjustment in my little bunk as I try to find sleep again. “Da dumdum thud.” The hull lifts up beneath me and then settles back down with a gentle loll to one side, the easiness of the motion belying the power of the waves underneath. We are currently on a beam reach, flying the Code 2 (the workhorse of our asymmetric spinnakers) in around 20 knots of North Pacific breeze, which brings with it a light drizzle. I am off watch and have only 90 minutes left to sleep. “Da dumdum thud.”
Having been aboard Perseverance for nearly four months now, each of her noises has become a familiar soundtrack to the rhythm of life in the watch system, and anything out of the ordinary niggles like an itch unscratched. I negotiate my exit from the bunk (on the high side; if you know, you know) and go in search of the new sound. The on watch are wooling the recently dropped Code 3, swapped out on account of a pleasantly diminishing sea state, which means they have stretched the immense sail along the length of the boat and are busily tying wool around the fabric to restrain the sail. Even amidst the chatty industriousness my wayward sound obligingly presents itself. The tie on the accommodation bulkhead door has come loose, allowing the door to bang against the neighbouring bunk. I re-tie the door, pause listening to ensure my successful diagnosis, and, satisfied, return to my bunk.
Sailing has become for me a multitude of these small moments, and the last four months have sharpened what I think of as my “sailing senses.” Future problems are hinted at with whistles, clicks and metallic clanks. A knot of extra boat speed signalling the end of a wind hole is announced by the gentle bubbling of the beginnings of a stern wave. Even a crew mate’s bowel habits are laid bare by evermore vigorous pumping noises coming from the forward heads. At night, occasionally with red light, but mostly in total darkness, I am often reliant on touch; my wet hands skim the body of a winch to ensure three coils with no riding turns neatly loaded and guided entirely by fingertip over the stripper arm and into the self-tailer. The lift of a following wave through my feet as I notice pressure in the helm and steer accordingly. The smells of diesel in the bilges (hmmm… further investigation required), stinky whale breath when we are lucky to have them surface close to us, and welcome wafts of spaghetti bolognese, a personal if unoriginal favourite, escaping the companionway at the end of a long watch, stirring my stomach to hunger.
As all of these moments and many more become embedded in my experience and sensory competence, I find I grow in confidence at sea. I’ve yet to discover what parts of the boat I need to lick to become a better sailor… when I figure that out, I’ll be sure to let you know.