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June 20, 2009 – Gulf of Alaska, 54 55N 156 53W
by Herb McCormick
(June 20) Today’s news begins with the weather, courtesy of the helpful folks at the National Weather Service in Anchorage. Here’s the forecast for Ocean Watch’s current waters, which are roughly 300 miles northeast of Dutch Harbor, a place I can safely say we all were visiting right now. It describes the situation much better than I could:
“…Small craft advisory through Sunday…
“Today…SW (southwest wind) 25 kts. Seas 10 ft. Highest winds and seas Pacific side. Rain showers.
“Tonight and Sun…W wind 25 kt. Highest winds and seas Pacific side. Seas 10 ft.”
I could go on, but you get the idea. From where I type, in the main cabin, I can see Andy Gregory and skipper Mark Schrader drilling holes and applying goop to the port overhead hatch, which has been dripping prodigiously down below for the last dozen hours, just missing the navigation station and our bank of computers and electronics. I’ve just stumbled from my bunk but I’m assuming this is the first second they’ve had when it’s been dry enough to attempt a fix. I’d go out and help, but clearly they’ve got it under control, plus it looks very cold out there. At the moment, I’m finding typing enough of an adventure.
The rodeo began last night just before the midnight change of watch. It had been a pretty good day until then. We’d been cranking along at 8-9 knots for several hours on a close reach with the reefed main, staysail and jib. Watch-mate Dave Logan and I had enjoyed listening to the Seattle Mariners’ comeback win on XM-Radio, a victory fueled by Ken Griffey’s dramatic 8th-inning homer. We were “hauling the mail,” as they say, toward Dutch.
I was just stirring from a nap to go on watch at twelve when the opposite watch tacked the boat, sending me flying across my bunk. I could hear the commotion; I knew what was going on. The wind had obviously risen and gone forward. I scrambled into my foul-weather gear and looked out, and up on the bow I could see Andy and David Thoreson, harnessed up, trying to wrestle the staysail to submission. Our skipper was at the helm, trying his best to steer as gentle a course as possible through the moguls. As I stepped out of the cockpit to assist the lads-it seemed like the sporting thing to do-Mark said, “Be careful, it’s slippery out there.”
It was. And damp. Very damp. We got the thing lashed to the foot rail.
The witching hour had struck, the full crew was on deck, it was getting dark. The prudent thing to do was tuck a second reef into the main while everybody was up and dressed, so that’s what we did.
The old watch went below, the new watch took over. Logan went down to plot our position and once back on deck, said, “I’ve got bad news and good news. The bad news is we’re aiming directly toward the Shumagin Islands, which we’re trying to avoid. The good news is they’re 180 miles away.”
It was a dark, stormy night. (I couldn’t resist.) Then, something ridiculous happened. (Well, something else ridiculous happened.) The sky overhead cleared. It was full of stars, the first we’d seen in eons. It was still blowing the dogs off the chains, but the night was beautiful. It lasted about 20 minutes.
Mark, David and Andy came back on watch. I wasn’t going to mention the stars, because I knew they wouldn’t believe me, but I did anyway. They looked at me, individually and collectively, like I was hallucinating. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.
Back to bed I went. The breeze continued to howl, directly from the direction we’re trying to go. The aforementioned forecast suggests we’ll be watching this movie for the next day or two, at least. Yippee!
And then I had The Dream. I’ve only had it once before, but it was in very similar circumstances: In the cramped berth of a small boat on a big piece of water. It goes like this. I’m walking through a small town chatting up folks but each time I engage a conversation I ricochet off in a new direction. I go into a bar and order a beer but when I reach for it I’m catapulted head over heels out the door. Everyone stares at me in shock and disbelief. But try as I may, I can’t control myself.
Then this: I meet a fetching lass but when I ask her name I’m shot straight into the sky like Old Faithful. I was right in the midst of this last scenario when I bolted awake, in the same state of mid-flight in both my dream and in my bunk, a gut wrenching segue from fitful sleep to harsh reality. The crazy motion of Ocean Watch, pounding into these kooky seas, had fueled my dreams of motion.
The Dream was over. There was shouting on deck. The nightmare continues.
- Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson
This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos
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