We met David aboard Flight for coffee and some weather/routing talk first thing in the morning. The plan was to head out on the afternoon slack, and the weather looked perfect. It’s always nice to have another experienced sailor to vet plans with, especially when they seem to have a similar risk tolerance. We agreed to do a final weather check/touchbase before departure, and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful, if light air, passage.
Around 1430, we slipped our lines and headed to the fuel dock. We filled up our main tank but decided to skip filling the day tank since we had more than double what we’d need to make Southport. All our dock reservations have us on fuel docks, so we’ll be able to top off no problem. While we fueled, we were also able to get both heads pumped out. Now, this may not seem like a big deal, but let me tell you, it was. I don’t like to discharge overboard if I can help it, even though we can legally do so once offshore anyway, but our overboard discharge on the aft head is blocked and there are no functional pump-outs anywhere we’ve visited in the Bahamas. That meant our aft head was out of commission all winter as the holding tank was full and we had no way to deal with it. When you’re on a dock/mooring/at anchor, that’s fine, but when you’re on passage, it SUCKS to have to use the forward head. Unless you sail, I don’t think you can properly understand my joy at finally having the aft head functional.
We raised sail once we got to the commercial anchorage and had a beautiful sail out of Charleston. We got a text from David that he had to take a conference call and had slowed down to maintain reliable signal so we should go on ahead. As the wind got lighter, we shook the reef we started with and took off. We passed a boat that was about a mile ahead of us when we started – on Silent Sky, we were always the boat being passed. It was strange but a nice change to be out with other boats. Usually it’s just Windara out there, maybe one other sailboat off in the distance on AIS, but this time we had at least four other boats within AIS range.
Just before sunset, we noticed a distant thunderstorm in the western sky. It was obvious that it was still far away, but given our recent experiences with weather, it put us on alert. We tried to pull up radar, but we were too far away from a decent signal to get it to load (again, another case for having satellite weather). While the wind was still beautiful and Windara was eating up the miles under full sail, we learned our lesson on the way into Charleston and ultimately decided to drop a single reef in the main before dark. I was going to sleep on deck in case the storm came our way and Chris needed me on deck, but I quickly realized I wouldn’t get any rest that way. I went below and spent the next four hours waiting for sleep that never came, as is so often the case early in a passage.
My 0030 – 0430 watch was just beautiful and reminded me how small we are in this giant universe. The moon hadn’t yet risen, and the world was a deep charcoal, illuminated only by the glow of stars overhead and the occasional twinkle of bioluminescence below. As my eyes adjusted to the night, more and more stars became visible and the Milky Way stood out clear. Scorpio slowly moved across the sky, his giant tail curling behind him. I’m sad that my friend Orion is no longer there to keep me company, but he escorted me all the way south and saw us through our time in the Bahamas, and I know he’ll be waiting to join me for our next southward journey. The night was still, and the wind faded through my watch until it no longer made sense to sail. I was sad to roll up the jib and turn on the engine, but given a choice between that and some of the sportier conditions we’ve been dealt lately, I was glad for an easy night. Around 0300 a half moon rose a pinky-orange blush, partially obscured by distant clouds – so much so that I initially didn’t even recognize that strange light on the eastern horizon – turning pale yellow and then white as it climbed in the early morning sky.
Sometimes when I’m out there in the middle of the night, I reflect on my journey. I don’t just mean two near-complete trips to the Bahamas and back, although that’s part of it. I mean all the little things that happened along the way in order for me to find myself in command of a 46′ sailing vessel offshore in the middle of the night and the tremendous growth that journey has required, both in skill and as a person. And I’m still learning and growing, and that’s one of the beautiful things about this lifestyle. There are always new challenges and new opportunities to push your boundaries. Those opportunities aren’t always welcome, and they’re not always enjoyable as they’re happening. But each time you come through to the other side, you have that much more strength, skill and understanding and you’re slightly more prepared for the next challenge.
On my second off-watch, I fell into a deep sleep, a rarity for me on the first night out on passage. But the sense of peace and calm that set in at the helm stayed with me and I awoke to a quiet morning and a fresh cup of coffee. We motored most of the rest of the way to Southport but decided to kill a little time as we neared the Cape Fear River and rolled out the jib to bob on the ocean swell for a little while longer so we wouldn’t arrive at the marina too early. As we approached the channel, we saw a huge pod of dolphins feeding and several squadrons of pelicans flying formations overhead.
I’m excited to be heading back to Southport, especially since we didn’t get to visit on the way south this year, and I’m thankful for a peaceful passage.