Dark Cabins and Sleeping Mates
May 7, 2011
There is something akin to getting up very early on land in rural areas. It is when you finally reach consciousness below on the boat, when the faint light of another day filters past the shades and curtains and you become aware that battles you were losing to some hideous sea monster was actually a dream. All is quiet except for maybe a fan or a pump and the small world below is starting to have a dimension beyond the hull as you see things through the portlights. In our home port, one seldom misses that time since the darn seagulls usually wake up before the crew. It is not so along the Atlantic Coast from what we have experienced, at least the Florida Coast. As I sit here, I can hear no birds. Could it be that they have been blown to the estuaries of the Gulf Coast by some storm? Anyway, it is quiet at 0530 and there appear to be no other folks out at this time. First light to a mariner is a special time. At sea, it means a chance to start the new day after discovering there are no giant sucker marks or scratches from sea creatures on deck. Flying fish are not stuck in the mainsail. At anchor, it is a time to confirm that the hook did (or did not) stick last night and you are (or are not) in the same place. At the marina where none of those things are happening, it is a time to decide some critical things for the day: one or two cups of coffee; what’s for breakfast; finish yesterday’ project or not and for this old scurvydawg, whether or not to tackle the joker valve replacement today. Without a plan for the day, one simply middles through the morning delaying the inevitable chores of keeping Neptune from eating the boat. There is always stainless steel (grossly misleading nomenclature) to polish. There is always something to repair. There is always “The List”. Then again, in the absence of one’s mate, who from the sound of things is still finishing out the other chord of wood, there is simple quiet, soft light, and the memories of places visited on the cruise. These are the things that are easily forgotten the longer one is off the boat but they are special little morsels that temp the taste buds of the mind. I hope we can recall them when we can no longer sail. Now, Bear, finish that wood pile and join me for the day.