Liquid Vibrations

Everything is liquid and vibrating, inside and out. So much water. Waves as tall as castles. They crash onboard with their fairytales. They toss Juniper up into the air or knock her rails down into the water. They tell Juniper that she will melt into the sea then turn into an octopus. Juniper likes the sound of that. She perks up and follows the wave that told her so.

My foulies are soaked through and through. Now, I just wear a bathing suit with my jacket on top. It’s the easiest thing to do.

We hang our wet foulies in the shower, beneath them is our trash, beneath our trash is our water. Next to all that is the head (toilet). You can imagine how peachy it smells in there.

Last night Josh was sitting on the head and a wave knocked him and the seat and the lid right off the bowl and onto the floor. There seems to be no way to fix its broken plastic parts, plus none of us can tolerate the stench in there long enough to try. Instead, we just brace harder now when we use it. Hugging the mast, gripping the sink. Hoping we don’t fall in or down.

I think that’s the hardest part of sailing for me. All the things lost and broken and stolen by the sea along the way. I don’t mind the lack of sleep or getting drenched as much.

The mermen are having a tough time with the conditions of the ocean and boat. They said that they are pretty miserable and exhausted out here. I feel awful for this. I didn’t know how much the ocean was going to try to get in. That it was going to fall in from the ceilings and prisms and corners and hatches and portholes and floorboards and cockpit.

I think, too, that I can get so hyper-focused on a goal that sometimes I can be careless or not notice how the people who are helping me get to that goal are feeling. How long have they been so glum?

I have offered to cover their watches so that they can sleep more, but they said it’s no use because they can’t really sleep anyways.

I feel terrible about another thing too. I was blinded by my upset over the blatant disregard to certain boat rules by one person onboard, that I have failed to fully recognize the rad things that they have done. And that has taken a toll on both of us. I’m trying to be better about this. Letting my bitterness about the resistance go. Not letting it seep into every interaction.

But sometimes I wonder, if I was a man, would I be ignored or looked at with disgust, if I said “Please only use water set aside for showering to shower.” Or “We need to all take turns cooking, here is the galley schedule.” Or “Wet gear stows in the shower or out on the lines.”

There is a lot I have to think about to keep the flow going out here.

At 3:00 pm today the jib aka Janice, ripped. I was asleep-ish when it happened. I’m not surprised. The waves would kick us so off course that she would luff in a violent fashion. I could feel her shake down to the keel and back. But we were flying high 6s and 7s, so I let the waves do with her what they must, during their brief and unwanted encounters with us.

When Josh woke me up to let me know about the rip, my eyes drooped with dreams. I was only halfway anywhere. Halfway here. Halfway there. Halfway somewhere.

The three of us furled the jib and hoisted the staysail, but we were moving slow like that. 4 knots tops. I proposed that we take down the jib and sew it. They agreed.

I was so groggy that I tried to drop the jib off the furler while still on a reach. I’m such an idiot. Of course I couldn’t get it down until I got the boat upwind.

It’s a 6 foot rip. Josh and I sewed and sewed and sewed until sunset. My fingers are bleeding. We hope to finish it later today.

I mostly use my staysail to point higher and gain speed upwind. I have never sailed with it on a reach, not once. But it ain’t too shabby. If the wind is strong enough our speed is over 6 knots. Plus it’s a mellower kind of ride.

I’m trying to sleep now, but the breaker for my running lights just tripped. I tried it again. It kicked the D.C. amps up to 40 and tripped again. I suspect salt water has done some of its dirty work.

From now on I’ll call salt water, Sirena.

Good night.

***Want to know where we are? We have a tracker. Donate any amount you feel to receive the password for this adventure. Check the “Contribute” page or “Tracker” page via the main menu on Wildernesofwaves.com both will lead you there. It automatically sends a message to you with my satellite email in copy when you donate. If you donated and can’t find the email, look in your junk mail for a message from Olivia & Juniper Or Olivia.wyatt@gmail.com. If you still can’t find it, message me on my satellite email – oliviaowyatt@satxgate.com and I can send it your way.

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6 Replies to “Liquid Vibrations”

  1. Sirena is relentless but so too is the captain’s spirit. Cooperation will be the easiest way on board and the captain’s rules make a lot of sense. So impressed with how you’re handling the unexpected variables.

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  2. Aloha – This new blog entry reads like a chapter from John Caldwell’s (aka Johnny Coconut) classic late 1940’s sailing memoir, Desperate Voyage…
    You got this!
    Think strawberries! ⛵️ 🤙🏼

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  3. As a leader work to bring out the best qualities in people through servant leadership. All of us think you’re doing an amazing job, please stay the course. Also, meditation helps.

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  4. Looks like you’ll be able to make Sunday church services in Papeete.
    OK, questions;
    Please let us know who first gets to yell, “Land Ho!!”
    What are you most looking forward to on arrival?
    I always missed something crunchy while at sea, but the first thing I usually got was ice cream. Or maybe it was alcohol. Once, after a month long voyage, I got two scoops of vanilla. Guy at the ice cream store opined that that was pretty boring. Little did he know how wonderful it was for me.
    Your weather guy probably has better info than me, but it looks like Juniper will be more off the wind as you get closer to Papeete. I’m sure a more comfortable (and faster) ride will be mana from heaven.
    ~eb

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