4 am - Second Night At Sea
06 January 2011 | at sea
Another night passage. There won't be many more. Maybe after Wineglass Bay we will anchor each night; after all, there will be two more people aboard, and they're inexperienced, perhaps scared, in the ocean at night.
Funny, how you never get used to it - the sea at night - yet you do get more and more accustomed to the routine, the keeping watch.
The stars smell musty tonight. What an odd thing to say, but I thought it. Better, would be: the stars look watery, look blurred, tonight. In the pixilated dark. One exception: the morning star, which is not a star, it's a planet, and it has risen in the east, so bright it throws a pathway on the water, and the eye is light enough to walk across this pathway, without sinking.
The boat is rolling, rolling, rolling. Listen:Things crash, slide, clink, bonk or creak, click, or rattle. The wash of water alongside the hull might be imagined as the millrace, the sluicegate, the spillway, or as the rush of mountain stream over rounded stones, heard with one's ear to the grassy bank. There is, too, a gurgling, also sounds of tanks filling; and more sounds: indecipherable. One is tired, in spite of sleeping in the daytime.
It is cold. The body aches. Things like "miles" seem harder to understand, as the mind wanders, immersed in sound. The darkness has its own sound too; you will have to imagine that.
I know I must go on deck, search the horizon, and come back, down below, back to chatting with you, so - let's go: there are no ships up there, but how do I know that?