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Windleblo - Day Eleven



I had the 2 to 4 a.m. watch last night. The stars were out in force. The only problem with the 2 to 4 a.m. watch is that it ruins any chance of a good night's sleep.

With four on board, we have it relatively easy, compared to double handers or other short handed crew. We adopted two hour single handed watches, with a dog watch from 4 to 6 p.m. so no one gets stuck with the same watch every day. Plus, the watch schedule stays on UTC so while we move west the solar day moves with us, creating even more variety to the watch times. With six hours between watches, each guy should have ample time to rest.

None-the-less, I have started to find that after the 2 to 4 a.m. watch, despite the star show, I am more depleted than after any other night watch. No amount of cat napping or afternoon siesta renews me. Only a night or two of better sleep seems to cure the fatigue.

So I was a bit groggy as I emerged from my berth this morning.

At my initiative, we had made a habit of "checking in" every day or so as our voyage began in Gibraltar. Knowing that communication among the crew can help keep spirits high, the idea was to get everyone together for chance to talk. The format was open -- each man could take a turn to talk about whatever they wanted -- but typically we would cover "highs and lows" since the last checking in and "aspirations" for the next 24 hours.

For the first part of the voyage, we did a good job keeping up with our checking in practice. But any rhythm we attained was interrupted by our time on the dock in Las Palmas, and we never quite got back into the groove since then. And while no news is usually good news, the lack of communication perhaps contributed to some thoughts and feelings being bottled up.

This particular morning, the cork came out of the bottle.

It started not as a "checking in," but rather as a discussion about the need to conserve resources -- power and water -- in case we would need our diesel to motor through possible calms ahead. The logic was if we conserve our resources, we won't have to burn so much diesel to charge the batteries or make water and more of it could go to propulsion.

The conversation then took a different turn. John started by observing that we were nearing the halfway point of the voyage. He wondered if each crewman was getting out of the experience what he wanted.

Before we shoved off, I had asked the crew what they wanted to see happen by the end of their time aboard. The Coach had said he wanted richer relationships. Joules wanted to get to St. Lucia safely. John saw the voyage as a right of passage into manhood. I wanted to practice seamanship and work on leadership skills.

Now, John suggested we assess our progress. As the conversation turned, one thing became clear. The entire crew wanted to get to St. Lucia and say they enjoyed the experience to the fullest extent possible. Just like any "first time," none of us would ever cross the Atlantic for the first time again, and it needed to be done right.

A consensus emerged that more fun was the missing ingredient. The atmosphere on board was too "tight," what with watch schedules, radio nets, weather forecasts, and duty rosters. "Perhaps a five percent relaxation of rules would result in a 50 percent increase in enjoyment," was John's synopsis. Everyone concurred that fun would never take precedence over safety.

To up the fun, I appointed John as "Head of Extracurriculars," which everyone welcomed. As we coast along on our 1,500 mile run to St. Lucia, we'll work on loosening up, relaxing, and keeping it light.

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