Night Watch

The night watch on an offshore passage can be a unique experience. It offers a ringside seat to the granguer of the sea, the weather, and a star filled sky.

It starts with the passing of the guard. Each is bundled up against the cold night air. Harnesses to tie in to the boat jingle as we move. Headlamps glow red to preserve our night vision. The outgoing crew briefs the incoming with a description of whatever has been going on, usually a description of the weather conditions, boat configuration, or anything else interesting. Then one is gone and the other is left alone with the night.

There often isn't a lot to do on the night watch. That's by design. At dusk we shorten the sails to slow the boat and reduce our exposure to squalls or any other unexpected weather events that can be difficult or dangerous to react to in the dark on a pitching deck.

The wind vane does all the steering, holding the boat at a set angle with respect to the wind. With that, all the watch has to do is, well... watch.

That's not to suggest you can see much on watch. You can see very little. It is pitch black when the moon isn't out. There are no other boats for hundreds of miles, no lights, no land. There is nothing to see but the glow of a few intruments giving you a sense of what is going on around the boat. They are a gauge to calibrate your other senses by: the feel of the boat's movement, the sound of the waves and the wind.

The winds are light, so we have the whisker pole out tonight. It holds out the corner of the head sail to keep the sail from flogging when the swell rolls under the boat. It doesn't stop the rigging and boom from clacking and clanging, but at least the sail isn't battering itself with every roll.

Sometimes, sitting alone in the dark in the cockpit, it sounds like someone or something is swimming around the boat. A wave slips, another one splashes. Was that something coming up for air?

There are also times when I'm sure I can hear conversations or singing just beyond my range of hearing, so close to being recognizable.

Then the wind picks up. I can hear it in the lines. The Genoa fills with a pop and the boat surges. The sound of water rushing against the hull gets louder and the rigging starts to sing. It's time to hold on. This little rocket is starting to fly.