Ever-Moving Motion

September 22, 2022  

The ever-moving motion of a small vessel on the open sea is hard to describe, and hard to picture, I think. 

I know that before the trip started I thought to myself, I have been out in the swells, I have been on the open water, I can imagine what it will be like, but I was wrong.  I could have pictured what the first day would be like, even the first night and the second day, even the second night and the third day, but when one is out on the open water for ten whole days, day and night, it is different.  The movement is constant, yet ever changing; it is never predictable.  

If one is up in the cockpit during the day things are relatively easy.  One's subconscious is very good at taking in all of the information around and roughly estimating and preparing one's self, subconsciously or consciously, for the next wave.   

At night, however, or down below, it’s a whole different world.  Each movement of the boat comes completely unannounced.  It is like having three invisible companions constantly trying to shove you, knock you, or throw you around, this way and that inside the boat.  Every, normally simple task, becomes a challenge.  Three points of contact is really a must at all times, but many tasks seem impossible to complete with only one hand, so creativity kicks in, and a hip wedged into a corner becomes a third point of contact.  A knee, taking only a slight amount of weight against an edge, becomes a tripod.  

It is essential to sit down to put on one's pants, trying to do so standing up would almost certainly lead to serious injury.  At times it can be a fun challenge, other times, very frustrating, but there is nothing that one can do to remove the motion, and even under the best sailing conditions, unpredictable waves will hit the boat from the side and knock one off of one's feet if one isn’t constantly prepared    

The noise is another thing that I think is hard to imagine.  In general, sailing is usually thought of as quiet and relaxing, and for the most part I would still describe it that way, as long as one is in the cockpit with reasonably good conditions.  Down below, however, especially when one is trying to sleep near the base of the mast, it is a completely different story.   

The floor, and in particular right around the mast, is the most stable, least moving, part of the boat, and so, this is where we chose to sleep.  We have cushions that fit perfectly in this area, and in fact our bodies ended up fitting quite perfectly in that area as well.  We were well supported on either side so that even in rough conditions we could not be thrown around.   

The sounds, however, are most dramatic in that location.  With one's head on a pillow on top of the floorboards, which are right against the hull, one hears every sound of water rushing past, and at times it can sound very fast.  The mast is also a focal point for every sound that vibrates through the sails and rigging, and even with the best wind, when a random wave hits the boat sideways and she starts to rock, if the jib loses full wind for even a second the sound that comes through the whisker pole and down the mast when the jib fills with wind once again is forceful and dramatic. 

For Jason and I, the constant, yet unpredictable sounds, made restful sleep, at times, quite challenging.