Thank Goodness it Happens
February 10, 2014

It is 0400 hrs and I just came on Morning Watch. The night is heavy with drops falling from the rigging. One just went down the back of my foulie collar and it is very cold. The dodger is foggy yet I can see through the zippered opening now rolled up. It is a black night with only the stars for light save the nav lights. As usual, I have a towel over the stern rail to block the bright white light of the transom nav light from blinding my view. We have all the instruments set to very low display settings yet it seems they are bright but no enough to cast light beyond the cockpit. Winds are steady at about ten knots and the sails are drawing smoothly. There is no sail noise. In fact, the only noise comes from boat creeking and the sea as we glide along in at four knots. At first glance, and at first sense, all is well with the boat and her set. Bear had hooked up and drawing well when she went off watch.
The first order of business as I take the helm is to fully wake up. The second is to arrange the cockpit cushions to fit right. Bear has one way of doing it and I have another. Now that she and Scurv are tuning the snoring instruments below, this is my place. I have just taken possession of the universe, or at least my little part of it. The strong coffee helps run the sand man off and one can hope it helps the attention span for the next four hours. As mentioned before, this is my favorite watch. An hour or so into it, I will start to gaze eastward for those first rays of today. Long before that, the stars lowest in the eastern sky will give way to the nautical twilight. Then, the fingers of daylight start to claw their way into the paleness. Not much later, but before seeing the actual sun, one gets a preview of the morning. One can see the outlines of the clouds in silhouette. It is always a great scene. Failing that, one might just see nothingness of fog or overcast. The momentary spirit is set at the mercy of those first views
At some point, thoughts turn to food. Perhaps not a traditional breakfast but a fine dry roasted peanut breakfast will do. We keep a jar in the cockpit for just such moments. It might not sound good but the crunch is welcome to stave off the sandman. After a hand full or two, the urge to have a real meal is gone and it is back to staying awake. It promises to be a great day, unless something breaks. At that moment, I realize that I am not in the cockpit of Why Knot. We are not making way toward a long anticipated anchorage in the back waters of exotica. I am not at the helm. Heck, I am dreaming again in the rack at home in the Hill Country of Texas. Then again, it happens often as we dream of being back aboard Why Knot in a month or so. Thank goodness for a vivid old man imagination. Sorry Bear and Scurv for all the twitching. Now, can we all go back to sleep?