My day started long before dawn. Wearing a headlamp for light, I worked down my mental checklist:
turn on the VHF for weather reports and start the water for coffee…
crank in ten feet of anchor chain…
pour the water and press the coffee…
crank in ten feet of anchor rode…
ahh coffee and NOAA weather my morning ritual at sea…
crank in ten feet of anchor rode…
uncover the main, tiller, and dodger…
ahh coffee…
crank in ten feet of anchor rode…
rig the jacklines, set the PFD/tether, and prep the auto pilot
ahh coffee…
crank in ten feet of anchor rode…
turn on the instruments, start the engine, hoist the main, start the days log book entry
ahh coffee…
crank in ten feet of anchor rode.
Down to 40 feet of rode it is go time. I have taken to raising the rode in ten foot increments over time because it allows the chain above the water to drip dry before finding its way into the locker and I find that I haul up less mud with this system. This morning I’m in about 20 feet of water so the final 40 feet will come up in on final push.
As I rest the anchor in chocks on the bow sprit, the eastern sky begins to glow. Drifting now on a flooding tide in a narrow channel, I hustle to secure the anchor and stow away the bucket, bush, and windlass lever. I take the helm relieved that the light winds and racing current have only pushed C’est la Vie down the center of the channel. Sheet the main, shove the throttle forward, and C’est la Vie responds by moving confidently towards Beaufort Inlet with a full moon nearing the horizon off our bow.
Nearing the Beaufort Channel I’m surprised by the volume of outbound traffic. I’m certainly not alone out here. The conditions are forecast to be pleasant so I guess many of the local anglers are starting the weekend fishing a day early. The ocean swell is moderate and the winds are light out of the northwest. We slip out into the ocean with the sun rising on our stern. I can see the silhouette of the Cape Lookout Lighthouse rising from the Cape. Rounding green 11, we depart the channel and set a course for Masonboro Inlet. Once the irregular seas associated with the inlet subside, I turn the steering over to Otto, our autopilot, and pause, my first moment of reflection of the day.
Satisfaction mixed with a bit of pride. Things are going smoothly. I make breakfast and crack open the next Bob Morris novel, A Deadly Silver Sea, pause for a moment… I hope there is no irony in my choice of novels. The horizon is clear, the weather is delightful, and Otto is silently working the helm. All is well.
ahh, coffee. if i were on board you'd have to make some for me and turn on npr. missing you and i am so proud of you for doing all this on your own. Thank you for holding down the fort so that I might go to NH.
ReplyDeletelove, love, love you..
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