47 South and Sleep

Day 46
Noon Position: 48 02S 103 59W

Course/Speed: SE 6-7

Wind: W 25 – 30

Sail: Working jib, wind on starboard quarter

Bar: 1009

Sea: W 10+

Sky: Overcast

Cabin Temp: 56

Water Temp: 47
Miles last 24-hours: 142

Miles since departure: 6459

Three times I’ve gone on deck to raise the main, just a scratch of a main, and I don’t. The working jib is flying solo as it has done the last 24 hours. Wind is on starboard quarter, 25 this morning and 30 this afternoon. We make 6 and 7 knots with no apparent strain. And each time I go on deck, I decide to leave things as they are. 

Chafe duty called after breakfast. While on the bow replacing a snapshackle pull string, I noted the working jib furling line chewing at the drum opening. Again. This needs fixing permanently, I thought, or may cause serious problems later. So I attempted to move the drum bail up, but it was up, so I moved the final fairlead block down. It’s odd to me that I would need to do what two previous owners did not (I haven’t made changes to the drum position), but none the less…the lead is now fair. 

For my trouble I got a seaboot full of water when Mo decided to duck her bow before I could escape. Frustrating. Once sea water permeates clothing, it can’t be got rid of except with fresh water, of which my supply is limited. So, I have been extra careful since “entering the south.” I never go on deck without foulies; never wear the sheepskin boots on deck; always tuck the foulie legs over the rubber deck boots etc. My failure here was that I’d not strapped the foulie leg to the boot. The water shot up and under as high as my knee. 

One change I have made is to course. I’ve thrown more south in it today as my previous straight-on approach to the Horn has seemed too shallow, leaving me exposed to an expanse of raw coast in the run-up to Diego Ramirez. Today and tomorrow are my best shots at solid southing. Wind will go SW for a time soon, and following that I’ll be well into the meat of the next low, which looks to pack winds of 35 and 40, and which may largely dictate heading. 
We’ve averaged 145 miles per day for the last ten; thus, at under 1400 miles away, Cape Horn is not far off. 

One juvenile Wandering Albatross. 

I know the look at a glance now, the wing profile, the speed and motion, the slant it takes to the waves that makes it different from other birds, but when I focus in, I am still surprised by its size. Is it really possible that that flies here? The gadlfy, the storm petrel, by dint of repetition, have a defined normal for here for size. Next to which the albatross, an interloper. 

And the way that size weaves its way so slowly, with less effort and apparent concentration than a strole, over the madness of waves just below. Juveniles are said to spend their first five years entirely at sea, and 95% of that time is spent flying, alone. They even sleep on the wing. Over this unchanging, every changing mass goes the albatross, motion in motion over motion, each seeming perpetual.

It is interesting to consider dispersal. The birds in my back yard, say the Anna’s hummingbird, the white crowned sparrow, the tohee, the junco, likely have a territory of about a square mile. That’s typically all they need to get fed. Likewise, we creatures of the land tend to think of edible fecundity as concentrated, for example, a heavily-laden fruit tree; a field of crops, a run of salmon. 

Out here, not so. The Albatross covers my sparrow’s territory in five minutes. A meandering hunt–not a route–over a vast area–not a territory–looking for the odd squid, unwary flying fish or piece of trash. 

We think of the ocean as fecund, and it is, but what these animals seek is diffuse. The difference is vastness; here is two thirds of the planet. The Wanderer’s territory, this entire ocean. 

The gadfly, the storm petrel, the shearwater, the albatross have population in the several millions. But you never see more than one or two at a time. I’ve only seen four birds all day. Imagine all the races, the millions and millions of ocean birds…but typically their search is a solitary one. 

I’ve watched sparrows glean and hawks catch rodents, but in all my time watching pelagics, I’ve never seen one stop for a find. They only soar…so much so that it’s easy to forget that in soaring they are on the hunt.