"Oh my God, look, LOOK" screamed my mother, jumping to her feet, pointing west towards the cape.

My heart is still pounding, hands are still shaky, and palms are still sweaty. There it was, a space rocket shooting up from the horizon, tailed by a fierce orange glow, and an opaque white streamer, flanking the big, low, orange sun.

My hands trembling with sweet excitement, but my palate turned bitter with a feeling of impending doom, I fumbled for my camera to catch this spectacle before it was over.

"What if the boosters land on us, what will we do", she shrieked.

A few clicks on the camera was all the time there was, and then... my heart sank with sickening destiny, as the rocket arced directly over us, seeking out its involuntary trajectory - and there - clear as daylight, the two side boosters departed from the rocket, right over our heads.

Please don't land on us, please don't land on us, please don't land on us, repeated the beseeching mantra in my mind. All eyes were firmly pinned to the heavens, and then, my heart literally stopped. My left hand grabbed hold of my father's arm, with eyes still fixed but now bulging wide with startled fear, and my right hand pointing to a long black object falling directly above us, out of the deep blue.

"Oh - God - no", I said to him under my breath, disbelievingly, restraining the spread of fear by silencing my alarm; the object appearing to break through from the infinity beyond, growing in size as it headed a catastrophic course for our insignificant, lonesome vessel.

Then the relief, as my heart leaped back in to its comforting rhythm. It was a frigate bird, soaring high, mischievous eyes tricking my over sensitised mind, not a rocket booster at all. However, my eyes stayed fixed to the azure blue of the darkening sky for some time, long after the bright orange flare had disappeared in to its dark and distant orbit.

BOOOOOOOOM

A deep guttural explosion was heard, that denoted such inconceivable power. "What the hell was that?!" At first I assumed it was the sound reaching us from the point of launch, but then I realised; it was the sonic boom created as this phenomenal machine smashed through the sound barrier, streaking across the sky at implausible speeds. I kept watching the sky, but we saw no trace of the falling rocket casings.

Finally, as the sun dropped behind the sea to convene with its new orbiting companion, we were left with the rocket's trace, that had now been wisped by the wind into something like a tangled superman calling sign, illuminated by the sunken, retired resident star.

Comments [2] | | More

This morning, peering through the rain, the dark clouds seemed a little brighter around their edges, backlighting flashes of lightening, confirmed it; Yes, these clouds really do have a silver lining.

Last night, moored in Fort Pierce, at half a gallon of wine past gin o'clock, I expressed my unhappiness to the crew. This sparked some frank talking from all, with some, shall we say, tense dialogue. At one point it became too much and I drunkenly decided I should buy a pack of fags and smoke some of them.

I ran half a mile to a 24 hour 'gas' station, shoeless and legless, loving the sensation of solid ground beneath my bare feet. At the gas station there were some very colourful black guys buying bits and pieces. One put a dollar note down and asked for a cigar. Just as the attendant put the cigar down, the guy took the dollar note back and said he had change in the car. Cheeky, I thought, he had no intention of getting the change, and the attendant had no intention of doing anything about it. They were big, and it was not worth the trouble.

Running back, feet padding on tarmac, I thought; are experiences and observations like that not what travel is all about? To feel and see the country, experience the people, encounter the foreign folk. Sailing seems to be an escape from the realities of the world, where you can hide away from the rich and complex fabric of this social species - Isolation; voluntary, solitary confinement; escapism; reality avoidance - populace dodgers.

With the dark clouds now zinc coated in fresh, intoxicating optimism; galvanised by the heady alcoholic breeze that shifted the thick and fractious air to sea during the nocturnal tête-à-tête, I now felt good about the day and the new plans. To make some ground up, we have headed out to sea to catch the north bound gulf stream and will be sailing (or motoring) continuously for the next two and a half days, straight across the concave bit of the coast, north of Cape Canaveral, to hit land again at Cape Fear (ooh, scary!). We should make it, as long as we are not sunk by fifty tonnes of falling steal. The US Coastguard has put out a warning to stay out of the Cape Canaveral fall out zone, due to plummeting booster rockets, as they are launching spaceships today. We are at present bang in the middle of that zone! My eyes are turned upwards.

Comments [1] | | More

Oh, the misery! Yesterday I felt quite depressed. There was nothing exceptional about the day to cause it; I just felt done in, probably due to an amalgamation of many small things.

The frustrations of problems and delays had undoubtedly caused frayed nerves and a fractious atmosphere. There was no wind so we motored slowly through the rain and booming thunderstorms. The yawing of the boat and puffs of air caused the main sail boom to swing and slam, which caused a tremendous crash, that is transmitted through the mast, just out side my berth where my tired and depressed head lay.

I asked my self what the hell the point of me being here was. I don't do anything. Nobody really does anything. Set the boat to autopilot, so it drives itself, in a straight line, and look out to make sure it doesn't crash in to any other boats, for which the chances are slim - and if it did, at least you might have something to do, like swim for your life!

My original observation of boats was really starting to ring true. I felt like I was in a floating prison, and to make matters worse, my girlfriend is probably going through the hardest time in her life, at home, and I'm incarcerated in this buoyant reformatory unable to offer her my support.

But, what really did it for me was the realisation that I can't see the pleasure in this past time; I felt defeated. I hate not understanding things, and I hate missing out even more. It's like pasta; it annoys me that some people love pasta. I think it's alright, I don't dislike it, but I can't love it, and would never order it in a restaurant, it's just a kind of bland consistent mixture, lacking variation and surprise.

So what the hell do all these people see in sailing? I bet if you ask them they can't tell you. "It's great!, you sail somewhere, drop anchor, or go in to port, have a meal, go to sleep, sail back again; Smashing!" Do you mean that the best bit about sailing is NOT SAILING??? I would rather take a cab, mate. I think you have to be born with a silver boat in your mouth to like it, a thing you inherit from your parents. For them, it's like going back to the comforts of a maritime womb, but for the rest of us, it's more like going into an uncomfortable drunken nightmare set in a rolling, heaving, surging detention centre. Oh, God no... stop... no. Let me out! LET ME OUT!!! AAARGHHH!!!!!

Comments [2] | | More