About twelve days ago we left the port of Montevideo on a surprisingly warm, breezy morning. Since time is fading by either the endless water around you or the disrupting watch system that forces you to short nights and amazing power naps, it can also be ten days, or thirteen. After that, it took no longer than a day to make sure nothing was visible at the horizon, the sky or the radar. We started to become part of a big family on a limited, swinging space. Our world became smaller. Our world was limited to the wooden planks on deck and a few miles around us during the day. At rainy, cloudy nights, it was only several meters around the ship.
The course is set to South Georgia, our heading is fluctuating up to ten degrees around that. We are all hoping that the captain can find this unique island full of wildlife, as he did before. During the 8
o'clockies, when desserts are served and bowls are scraped, sometimes like never before, the captain keeps telling us we are making progress and points out on the map where we roughly are.
During my flight to Montevideo, I saw a movie about a single handed sailing race around the world which actually happened some decades ago. The man in the movie foresaw rather quick that his chances to finish the race were minimal, let alone to win it. He chose to trick everybody and started reporting immense progress, while he was making circles in the Atlantic. Everybody believed him.
This can happen to anybody. Since our world has become smaller, there are only limited ways to check our chances to get to the promised land by ourselves. It is the decrease in temperature we feel, especially during dog watches. It is the change in the colour of the water, that moved from deep ocean blue to a colour that is slightly greener. It is the absence of any airplane trails and any other signs of ships that tells us we are out of the neighbourhood of civilisation, which feels great. It is the spotting of blows of some whales a bit further away as you would like them to see, but nevertheless awesome to see signs of live of these creatures in these waters. The passing of a huge iceberg this morning was quite convincing to me that were are heading in the right direction. I am honestly
believing we are getting there. But not yet. According to the latest 8 o'clockie, we arrive in the first-to-visit bay somewhere in the morning. Before that, I am making sure my stuff is getting completely wet in the best dog watch so far. I am certain we won't see land during this watch, since rain severely drops the visibility and the clouds make sure that the almost full moon is taking a power nap as well. Haven't seen this dog watch friend tonight. In ten minutes I start steering this beauty of a tallship again, in the dark night, gliding over cold Antarctic waters, trying to keep the right
heading for South Georgia. Tomorrow we will be there...