Imagine lying in your bed in your cabin in the dark. There is no air conditioning, and you are near the equator; it is so hot. We have air conditioning but do not turn it on to save fuel; no ice maker for the same reason; however, we can make limited ice in the refrigerator freezer, and it is cold ice instead of the hot ice in the ice maker. Did you know ice maker ice is near 32 degrees and freezer ice is often 27 degrees to 22 degrees or less; it makes a massive difference in your whiskey or cocktail; did I tell you we do not drink alcohol on passages?-and in this heat, water is best. A cup of hot coffee will cool you off and perk you up.
I do have the hatch above me open tonight. Cool air is sucked in through the hatch cover, flooding your body. This is better than any air conditioning. Through the hatch is framed the brilliant moon that is nearly full. The moonbeams are lighting my cabin. That was my experience at 3 AM this morning. We are not supposed to open the hatches on a passage, but when I entered my cabin at 10 PM last night, it was like an oven holding all the day's heat. I quickly opened all three hatches, and in minutes, the entire cabin was pleasant; however, the walls, bed linens, and everything else still radiated saved heat. I closed two hatches and laid down under the last hatch to consider my options – close the last open hatch and sleep on deck or leave the hatch open and sleep in my bed. With the hatch open, it may rain, or worse, a rogue wave could wash the deck and scoop gallons of seawater into my bed. Either way getting wetwill wake me up, and I will close the hatch. The sea is flat, and rouge waves often occur near the poles, not the equator. Sleep interrupted my thoughts, so I encountered the moon through the open hatch at 3 AM. I thought I had been lucky; I did not know how lucky I was until I started my watch on the flybridge.
My watch began at 6 AM; the sun was rising. Where is the clear sky that most assuredly allowed the moon to shine brightly in my cabin? I came to find out we have been hand steering all night dodging thunderstorms, not to miss rain or wind, but to miss lightning. We have two cases of lightning taking down our electrical and navigation systems. Even though yesterday's problems were not caused by lighting, we freshly remember the experience of losing navigational gear and do not want a repeat.
As soon as the sky lights up, we spot land. In the Pacific Ocean, we spot an island, Malpelo. Cliffs rise hundreds of feet straight up; the profile is so impressive. Indeed, it has been used in making movies. Maybe it would be a good place to hold a survivor reality series. The watch ends peacefully, but black clouds are looming ahead.
John's watch brings on thunderstorms and rough seas but without lightning. The wind and current are on our nose, so the progress is slow and bouncy. Bella Donna's beautiful cherry wood is talking, creaking, ouch. The bow is pounding hard, and Bella Donna is shuttering. Occasionally, a wave breaks on the starboard bow as it dives into the ocean and drops gallons of seawater on the salon windows. We ask for a weather forecast over satellite. There is a patch of thunderstorms ahead; as we make our way west tomorrow, thunderstorms will be much less likely. We decide to reroute more south to slice into the oncoming waves and allow us to raise the staysail to lessen the pounding and make more speed. The rest of the day is better; we are still motoring with no sails up, light headwinds, and a current against us, but flatter seas.
God Bless Bella Donna.
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