There are two things I look forward to most on any sail transit: Sailing at night and watching the sunrise from the water. Depending on where you are in the world and which watch you are on, sometimes you get lucky and get both in one watch. I will always be the first to volunteer for the midnight or early morning watches because I find that in those moments, life becomes very still and very simple. I can feel my heart bursting with gratitude, awe, and wonder.
You might be wondering if I feel the same way in adverse weather conditions, and I would say without a doubt, yes. Maybe that means there’s a screw loose somewhere in my head, but ask yourself when was the last time you chose the unknown and chose something outside of your element? Our best growth often begins the moment we step beyond the edges of our comfort zone.
I’ve had my fair share of midnight watches in gale force winds with hail pelting you in the face as you’re trying to look at your sails or sailing through lightening storms thinking you might be on the tallest thing out on the water for miles…and despite the challenge and chaos, in some magical way, things still find a way to slow down while a sonata or symphony plays in the back of my head. And it’s in these moments of slowing down that I really feel the joy and freedom of what sailing brings to my heart. It’s humbling, terrifying, peaceful, blissful and just plain FUN. I embrace my qwirkiness, I think it makes life more interesting. I knew Port Townsend was the right place for me when I read the unofficial town motto: “We’re all here because we’re all not quite there.”
Last night’s first midnight watch did not dissapoint. For those who sent us some wind after my post, thank you! Just as Rusty and I start getting up for our midnight watch, the wind started filling in from the SE and by the time Brian and Graeme went below to sleep, we were ready to shut off the engine for the first time since we left Sydney. There’s a moment of deep exhale when you are able to shut off the engine after a long while. Inhaling the salt water breeze, feeling Dogbark’s hull glide with ease, listening to the wake of our waves dissapear behind us. Everyone else is asleep and it’s just you and the water.
Mostly clear skies and a nearly full moon was still rising behind us and illuminated our sails while the distance lights off the coast of Newfoundland were on our starboard. Dogbark moved efortlessly. We were cruising along between 8-9 knots with 11-12knots of breeze with us. What more could you ask for a first night?
There is nothing I love more than gazing up at the stars from a boat. There’s something about looking into the infinite and realizing how small and insignificant you are in the grand scheme of the universe. Stargazing has always been a favorite past time. To realize what a miracle it is to exist in this moment of time, no matter where I am in life, whether I’m in a low or a high moment, there is a peace and knowing that I am exactly where I am meant to be.
Last year during a midnight watch in the mediteranean, I watched dolphins play and cross our bow while the bioluminesence sparkled all around. Truly, a magical sight to be seen. Like a Lisa Frank piece of art lit up with a black light. If that doesn’t make you believe in magic, I don’t know what does.
Rusty and I have spent many night watches talking about life, dreams, and aspirations, all while trying to dodge ice under the northern lights. I have a theory though, that I think the best conversations happen between the hours of 3-4am. Everyone is a little delirious, tired, and questioning why we call this fun. Our watch was over at 3 this time though, so didn’t quite get there, but it was long enough to watch the moon set behind us around 2:30am.
As the orange moon dipped behind the hazy fog and below the horizon, millions of more stars started to appear above us, and seeing a shooting star never gets old. It took everything in me not to just clip myself into the deck and sleep under the stars, but the wind was dying and we were hovering just over 5 knots so I knew it would be time to turn the engine back on eventually.
I had hardly gotten any sleep earlier as my body is still adjusting to the watch/timezones (I think I’ve had to adjust to 5 or 6 different time zones in the last few weeks), so my desire to be lulled to sleep with the water lapping against the hull in my bunk (is there any better way to fall asleep?) was greater than my desire to see more shooting stars.
So it was off to be rocked to sleep by the waves for me. Happy, gleeful, and pure bliss radiating though me after the midnight watch.
They turned the engine back on a few minutes after we climbed into our bunks. Oh well, it was great while it lasted!