The Red Watch from Midnight to 4 a.m.
What a luxury, gazing at the stars in the here and now. My sole focus is on the course, constantly requiring adjustment at the helm. I listen to the wind, shifting subtly with every small correction. I hear the wind itself, and sometimes the sails flutter briefly.
It is now about half past one. We just experienced a brief, intense tropical shower in the dark. One of us rushes inside for a cup of tea, another pulls their hood tightly over their head. I hear some grumbling, and above all, the gentle splashes of warm rain. Not unpleasant. Strong wind accompanies it. The Eendracht rocks on the waves, rolling heavily.
Yesterday, seawater sometimes spilled over the port side rail. During the day, we watched one or two whales swim alongside the starboard side for hours. It seemed like a game. One whale approached, and when it came close, we saw its belly turning toward the ship gorgeous white. The water, which first seemed so impenetrably black, suddenly revealed itself as transparent; you could see the whale gliding beneath the surface.
And now, in the night, we barely recognize each other in the darkness. I see the outline of a tall figure at the helm. Because Cees is nearly two meters, I assume it is him. The sky is full of stars and haze, mist swirling along the horizon. We watch the Big Dipper slowly emerge at the horizon, first vertical, then gradually tilting. Paula says it will soon be “in the drying rack,” upside down.
As I write in the day cabin, I hear sounds from the galley tosties being made. Meanwhile, two of us conduct an inspection of the hold. Outside, our quartermaster Jeroen methodically climbs and checks the sails’ tension and whether all ropes are secured.
Soon it will be four o’clock, and the watch will be over. If we skip breakfast, we can sleep until half past eleven, just in time for lunch essentially a brunch for us Hounds. Then probably back on our feet, ready for a tack?
This entire voyage proceeds at a flying pace. Perhaps the Eendracht has never crossed the ocean so quickly, averaging nearly ten knots, I think. In the past days and nights, we’ve sailed hours at twelve knots, working relentlessly at the helm as the swell continuously alters the course.
I realize what a bunch of fools we really are, rushing daily back home in the rat race of digital devices, smartphones, and constant WhatsApp messages.
Eveline van der Pas