Encounters South

Day 42
Noon Position: 41 51S 133 44W

Course/Speed: ESE 6 – 7

Wind: NW 15 – 25

Sail: Twins, poled, half reefed

Bar: 1014

Sea: NW 10

Sky: Overcast, ragged

Cabin Temp: 67

Water Temp: 55
Miles last 24-hours: 172

Miles since departure: 5567

It drew my attention at first because it hung there over the wave as if suspended by wires. Not a petrel, I thought. Petrels have such a crazed need for speed that if the wind isn’t providing, they will flap furiously with long powerful strokes that give the impression of a winged primate swinging through an invisible jungle. An entire race of birds so maniacally focused on fast that I half expect to see them leave trails of feathers ripped from wings by the strain. 

Not this bird. It remained suspended for a time, and then without any apparent adjustments, the body slowly tilted, descended into the nearest trough and with equal slowness and a sense of gravitas utterly foreign to petrels, it ascended the next wave, making a perfect arc before again seeming to pause on top of the wind. 

And the size of it! Well, the only things to compare it to out here are petrels and me, and it was much closer to my size than it was to those spitfires. Long, slender wings with a distinct elbow joint and whose tip gave the sense of a hand. A certain mottled coloration, though mostly white. A chunky, heavy body. A fleshy coloration to its face and beak. 

And then it was too far away to take from it more detail. Except that I could see it arcing and pausing almost to the horizon.

My first southern Albatross. I presume juvenile Wandering!

All night it blew from the NW, a steady 27 to 33 with gusts to 35. At one point the sky cleared for a time. I could make out stars through a kind of haze. Orion very high and erect; the moon, then just rising, yellow, and the thin cloud it illuminated raced by with a speed that made me shudder. 

Before starting my sleep cycle, I had put Mo dead before the wind, and propelled by the two twin headsails a mere half their usual size, she rolled and churned and the boat creaked and locker contents slammed and I got little sleep. 

In the morning, the sea was a boulder garden. Waves, too new to have formed a train, ricocheted around, crashing into each other and mushrooming out. And the temperature had dropped another four degrees. In the afternoon, the wind went west and increased. Then the Albatross. And I thought, we’re really in the South now.

I’ll admit, I’m afraid. I feel vulnerable, exposed. The power of choice has been left in the north; this is not a mountain I can now decide not to climb. No running for cover. No control, except of my tiny capsule. No way to gauge the power of what’s next against my capacity except to keep going and see.

I know I am not an expert sailor. I know my planning and preparation was imperfect. I know how tough I am not. How much will all that matter?

By noon the waves had begun to mature. They’d grown–maybe to the height of three story houses–but had lost some of their steepness. Troughs now had the aspect of valleys that were beginning to elongate.

After lunch I put more south in Mo’s course for two reasons. All evidence to the contrary, this sector is about to develop an east/west belt of calm. If I maintain too much easting, I may get stuck. Also, the low that just passed over us is redeveloping in the northwest and is soon headed this way. If possible, I’d like to be below its power when it embeds into the westerlies. I’m unsure of this second strategy and may go back to a more easterly course in the morning.