We Bob

It feels this way at night. Right before sleep, but too tired to drop my phone, I always end up looking for something I might have missed. Stats, new research, a sudden cure. It’s the last burst of I’m sure it’s there somewhere, followed by frizzy-eyed exhaustion. There is no cure, no new stats. Research is fast and furious… and sometimes a damn rabbit hole.

I wake up later with a bam – usually with phone on/near face. Into real silence. Media and people free. And hot! The rest of Quest’s crew sleep with fans but I find them bothersome. I’m off outside instead. Yeah, and I take my phone.

I’m lying outside under the bright moon now. It feels like semi-daylight. The moon is pooling out into the sea. I’m lying on our Florida turtle pillow with a towel I’ve taken down and wrapped around my shoulders.

The surrounding boats are also lit up – by the tips of their masts. Everyone’s anchor lights are on. As I lie here on the cockpit bench and we bob away, the anchor lights infiltrate. The rational part of me kicks in – after I‘ve considered them for very low stars first. I always fall for it.

No land noises either. Only the rhythmic pulse of crashing waves. A little bit of rain is starting to fall. Whoa – not so little. I’m taking shelter under the cockpit awning. We need the rain anyhow. Quest is sandy red from Sahara dust. The amazing travel of through the wind, over thousands of miles, has stained our white decks. A good burst of rain would wash it all away.

Ahh, rain is done. It wasn’t enough to wash Questie after all. I’m laying back down. The wind has picked up to a low whistle. This whistle is louder than the waves. We are moving around too, swinging and snatching with the wind.

Strikes me that all of this has entered the normal zone. Normal being what you’re used to – on the cellular level. We’ve been on the water now long enough. The constant rock of it, the disqualification in our minds.

Every time a gust pulls at the anchor chain or a sudden swell pitches us into a certain direction, we adjust. It’s got to the point of thinking of land as too still. No movement at all? That’s just strange.

No splashing against the side of your house, or the stiff, constant breeze on your face. What do you mean I’m shouting? Land is quiet in comparison. And where would you go outside to lay down on land – without being eaten by mozzies? The breeze keeps them away.

Saying that, it’s getting a little nippy now. I think I’ll go back – to the bowels of the boat.

Oh dear. I’ve realised I wrote this whole blog just to be able to say bowels of the boat.

See you in the morning.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s