After arriving in Bermuda, Andy Schell, a capable sailor if there ever was one, joined the merry crew of Kinship & Ben flew back to his day job. The boat was cleaned up & fixed up, loads of salty laundry laundered anew, and fresh provisions were bought in anticipation of sumptuous victuals at sea. Of course, all was not work, as we all took time to enjoy much needed shore leave in which great quantities of Dark & Stormies were consumed during the ARC Europe BBQs, fish fries, and other fun events.
The start of the second leg from Bermuda to the Azores, was exciting as a moderate breeze enabled the fleet to jockey back & forth, angling for a good position at the starting line. Then we all filed out the narrow town cut like a flock of white herons, craning our bowsprits toward the open sea, kicking up our watery heels to the press of our great white winge. We all sailed different courses, and so we were spread wide apart, like so many handkerchiefs strewn on the sea.
This is our 3rd day at sea now, sailing ideal conditions with a fresh 15-25 knot wind on the starboard quarter. For those of you checking the ARC website Fleet Viewer, you might wonder what the heck we're doing going north when the rest of the fleet went almost due east towards--well--the destination! In fact, one friend emails the ship to say we were doing great--in first place--if our destination was Newfoundland!
Lest friends are concerned about our sense of navigation, thinking there must be a madness to our method, be assured that we did replace the broken ships compass in Bermuda, and that there actually is a method to our madness. And lest you think that we have no common sense since the goal lies east and we're heading north, be assured that we do have sense...it's just not common sometimes.
You see, after studying various routes recommended by the grand poo-bahs of the sailing world, and after pouring over the weather forecasts--especially grib files that show the wind and the location of the Azores High Pressure System that generally dominates a large part of the North Atlantic, we decided to take the northerly route (just below the ice line) to hopefully catch the westerly winds in the northern part of the clock-wise rotating Azores High, rather than get stuck half-way across the ocean in the variably light winds that predominate in the middle of the High. At least that is our thinking. Our strategy is to squeeze between the top of the High and below the Low Pressure system that if north of it, where the winds are blowing up a gale.
So, as we sail further north, we add layers of clothing for our night watches, but otherwise, the daytime has been warm. With the lusty winds and rollicking seas, we all took a couple days to gain our sea legs. And although we weren't specifically suffering from mal de mer, we rather seemed to be suffering from a strange form of sea sleepiness, for all we seemed able to do was stand our 3-hour watches, feeling like Picasso in his blue period--all eyes & nose & brain jumbled up and disconnected. Then we immediately crawled back into our bunks, cocooned in lee cloths. But today, on the third day out, we all perked up, bright and cheery, like four Rip van Winkles, aroused from our slumber. We finally have our sea legs and are getting accustomed to the restlessness of this great body of water.
It feels good to be back at sea again--except this time we aren't sailing its azure perimeters, but rather crossing a real ocean--Oceanus Atlanticus. Beyond all marker and buoys and signs of civilization, we are on our own. The ARC fleet has long scattered over the horizons of this vast ocean, and generally there is none other than us, a few dolphins and an occasional man o' war.
Strangely, there is a fullness in an empty sea.