Tea for two

Two for tea Bill Gardam

A black cloud cuts across our course, pushing a squall before it.White capped waves fan out toward our schooner. My job is to stand by the foremast, halyards in hand, and judge the wind strength. Perhaps the foresail can handle this gust of wind and we will get a burst of speed as our schooner first staggers and then settles down to surge forward. Maybe though, I will look closely and decide it is not worth the risk and lower the sail until the squall has passed with a great rush of tropical air. Then I will haul away at the halyards and up the big gaff sail will rise again. We do need to keep moving and cherish these extra pushes to help us on our way. If this were an occasional event that would be fine, just one more daily variation for voyaging sailors mid way on their crossing from Mexico to the islands of the South Pacific. But we are in the Tropical Convergence Zone now and have been for quite a while. We are just south of the equator where the trade winds from both hemispheres meet and are thrust up creating towering clouds full of rain and squally winds. This part of our long ocean crossing to the Marquesas Islands is wearing us down.

At night, because of course we sail night and day, things are more difficult.We take turns on solitary night watches steering and looking around the curved ocean horizon by the light of the moon and stars. We check over our shoulders for those towering clouds and their pesky squalls coming up astern. Phosphorescence sparkles in our wake and far beneath our keel mysterious fishy lights flash on and off. Since leaving Mexico three weeks ago we have not seen a single ship because we are in a lonely bit of ocean far from shipping routes, but we check around the horizon all the same.

 A steady procession of strong trade winds and rough waves have been our usual lot until recently,but now the winds are fluky and are interspersed with clouds, rain and gusty winds. We would really like to pass through this locale quickly and move on to the islands still hundreds of miles ahead but we have to be patient. This is our first long ocean passage and we are still adjusting to this water world. On our way down the coast from British Columbia to Mexico we made short passages, anchored a lot and visited cities, but this month-long voyage is teaching us to adjust to being part of the broad Pacific. We are losing our land perspectives. In the process we hallucinate, hear voices, strange noises and imagine other ghostly ships. We are now in the magical circle of the ocean horizon that moves with us as we advance. At night we steer by the stars and are aware of being on the dark side of our planet. We watch the moon go through its phases,wrapping itself in scarves of clouds, unlike on land where it might serve as a mere backdrop to busy lives.

This particular night turns out to be a doozy. There are several squalls where,enveloped in clouds, our little ship is whirled in circles and intense rain pounds the waves into smooth curves. The rain drops are huge and bounce back creating a knee high mist. I strip and soap up to have a shower while at the same time funneling precious fresh rainwater into our below-deck tanks. My wife stands at the wheel and sees my shadowy figure cavorting up by the mainmast dressed only in bubbles. A missed step though, could send me overboard and I would be lost forever on this dark night. This ever present danger - knocked overboard, hit by a boom - is one important adjustment we must make.We are always cautious, but accepting of the risks and possible outcomes. It gives a special savour to our lives. We live close to death here,and so find the living of our present moments to be precious.

 Eventually we give up trying to sail and then motor south for several hours and emerge from the clouds at last. Now the skies are full of puffy little trade wind clouds and the wind itself has turned to steady SE Trades .Our sails fill, the boat heels and settles down to making some serious progress. We have found the wind that we will have for many more months as our schooner winds her way through the Polynesian islands of the South Pacific to Australia.

That morning as we find the trade winds again, the sun sweeps away nighttime blues and lights the golden mist on the sea’s face which lifts before our eyes to form more clouds drifting on the wind. I wake suddenly to find the steersman has fallen asleep standing up,- that thump was her falling to the deck. I roll out of my berth, check my companion, and put the kettle on in the galley. Soon I can carefully carry two covered mugs of tea up to the cockpit.We do this every morning, sipping our tea and watching the growing light of the coming day. We laugh about my shower routine during the rainstorm and reminding ourselves of the need to use safety harnesses and lines. There are still no ship sightings to report but my wife tells of seeing a bright light on the horizon during her watch and was on the edge of calling up the crew when it rose to become the moon.

 How grateful we are to have escaped this region of variable winds and clouds.We are optimistic about our arrival in Polynesia in another couple of weeks. We have made the transition from being people of the land to becoming members of a water world. Years later when we arrive home from across the Pacific there will be regret to be leaving this ocean combined with being glad to have survived another long journey. We will fit awkwardly into human company at first, find our true companions among the other creatures of nature we live among and will always see our lives through the filter of that wider, wild world.