Dancing in the Moonlight

Shift times have been moved to be inline with sunset, so at 1900, at the end of my afternoon shift, we´re out in the dark with a increasing wind putting a reef in. Reefing is a manoeuvre that involves one or two more ropes than I am presently comfortable with. The nature and purpose of the manoeuvre - reducing the amount of exposed main sail - implies the sea is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. And now in the dark, comfort is near nil. I´m on my knees, tethered to the port side of Pelagic, thrusting a winch handle round and round to finish the manoeuvre. I almost sense the sea as it sneaks up behind me and dumps huge big bucket of water over me. I suspect this is revenge for my pissing off the stern. But, still. What a bastard.

Captain Chris is extremely purposeful, thorough and cautious. He retains all ten fingers, (which is about fifty-fifty for the regular Cape Horniers) He watches over the crew and as we follow instruction. His teaching method isn't sympathetic to how poorly a Microsoft Excel functions skill-set transfers to rope work, but, that's reflective of the situation. I'm increasingly learning that the sea would kill without sympathy, the wind would kill without sympathy, and winches and cleats would be equally unsympathetic to eating fingers.

In my study of teaching methods, there seem to be two worthwhile scholls of thought. There is Mr. Muyagi´s "Wax on, Wax Off", and then there is Uncle Xian´s "Kick a tree with your shin, until one breaks." Both are highly effective. For lack of the necessary production facilities to make a sailing training montage, I´m learning by way of hook and crook, which errs more toward the Uncle Xian method. It´s working, though. I often only risk life and limb twice before I do it right.

On the second leg of my night flight, crossing the Atlantic, I was staring out of the window, desperately searching for the strength not to murder several young, loud, shitty little children in front of their equally soft, undisciplined parents. Out the window, I could see a city of lights where no city should be. I didn't think anything more of it. I now suppose that what I was seeing was, most likely, one of these armadas of jiggers.

I climb up into the doghouse for our 2300h shift. I can just about see the dancing reflections and shadows off of a dolphin or two to our starboard. What´s more striking is the horizon. The jiggers are now all distant, but their lights are so bright, each one looks like a moon on the fringe of rising on the horizon. There´s fifteen of them running all along our starboard. It´s a clear night and the real moon is up high and is set to full beam.