4/18/25 - Night Watch

Where did he go?  He was just there….he has to be here somewhere?  Hmmm…Steve said that that glow is the glow of Charleston.  Since the little dipper (or big dipper?) moved overrrrr theeeerrreee…I guess he went to Charleston…? 

Orion.  I very clearly pointed him out to Addie when she was up here during the first part of my night watch.  Perhaps Orion went to bed like she did?

It’s 2:32AM and the stars have shifted, my friends.  The moon has risen since I went to sleep.  Steve says it was the color of the “stop” light on our engine panel--bright orange.  Yes, that’s how I remember it.  That’s the color it was for me a few weeks ago when I was on watch during that fateful night when our engine died.  I remember dozing off and waking to something big and bright and orange off of our portside stern.  I was so confused at first.  Was there a fire on the water?  My eyes were hazy and having trouble adjusting.  Oh….that’s …THE MOONRISE!  Gorgeous.

Hang on, friends…I need to check the engine gauge.  ***  213.  Up from 212 fifteen minutes ago.  I think the needle moved.  Or am I imagining it?  I’ll check again in 15 minutes.  I have set a repeating timer.

I thought twice about bringing my computer up here on watch.  I think Steve questioned it, too.  But, it’s so calm and so bright out here tonight (no rain in the forecast either) that I should be okay.  Plus, if I have all of you with me, I won’t get bored or lonely and the activity of writing will keep me awake.  Win-win-win.  So let’s go on watch together, yes?

Please be sure to grab a lifejacket and clip yourself in.  ***  Ready?  Great.

By “clip yourself in,” yes, I’m serious.  Even on a clear and still night like this, we clip in.  I learned that lesson on my second night watch and it’s a lesson I’ll never forget.  Back in July 2024 when we were bringing Layla up to New Bern, NC from St. Augustine, I was on watch at night.  I remember being so nervous leading up to it.  I was going to be in the cockpit AT NIGHT.  Eeks!!!   (Cue Wizard of Oz tempo: Sharks and Storms and Darkness—oh my!)  Captain Blaine stayed with me for my first night.  Parts of the night were calm.  Parts of the night weren’t calm at all.  A squall or two popped up.  We were sailing.  I have a vivid memory of Blaine yelling (only because the rain was so loud) from the companionway to keep the needle between two ten degree points by staying laser-focused on the wind angle gauge and adjusting our position by pressing buttons whenever needed on the autopilot.  It was like playing a real live how-fast-can-you-react video game:  If the needle passes THIS point, press the button!  If it passes THIS point, press the other button!  Fast! Blink away the rain!  Don’t let that boom swing in this wind!  There was flash lightening.  There was hard rain.  I was nervous because it required a lot of concentration.  However, I felt like I faced a lot of what I was scared of in that first watch and I made it through.  I was okay after that.

 Oh right….I was talking about clipping in though.  Sorry!  Hang on.  Timer just went off.

Well, if it wasn’t at 213 before, it is now.  Ugh.  The engine continues to heat up.  We texted Blaine earlier and he said it should be at 180.  The Perkins manual says it should operate between 195-220.  Please don’t overheat.  Please don’t overheat.  Steve really needs his sleep and I would reeeeeeeally like to get to Charleston without any engine issues.  *sigh*  But….if we have to have engine issues, weather-wise, I guess it’s a perfect night to have them… 

I’m waving to the boat/ship that’s passing us on our portside.  By “passing and waving,” I mean that he’s many, many miles away and of course he can’t see my wave, but waving is a thing that you do when one boat passes another and so I will enthusiastically continue on the tradition.  I love seeing boats (from a good distance) at night….it feels community-esque.  I wonder if that guy/lady has tea and a fig bar like I do? 

Right, before I get to clipping in, let’s do a scan of the horizon and see what’s happening (see Dad, I’m paying attention! 😊).  Nothing. When I got out here a half hour ago, there was a red dot infront of us on the port side—that was the ship/boat that just went past us.  (I only see the lights and can’t tell if it’s a ship or a boat and unfortunately, our Raymarine system is so old that I can’t read that info on the screen right now.)  There was also a blinking red light up ahead on the starboard side. Blinking = buoy.  Steady light = boat/ship.  That blinking red light is now one of several blinking red lights that has mixed in with the shore lights of land.  Right now we’re passing……...lemme check Navionics……..Cape Romaine.  (Hmmm…is there lettuce on Cape Romaine?)

**engine check**  Engine temp is holding steady at 213. Good.

Right, that blinking red is now almost lined up with us on our starboard side.  That marks the end of the shoal (shallow water) and means we’ll be able to start our turn in a few minutes.  We’re in 34 feet of water right now and we should be good to go for the turn, but I’m playing it super conservative and going to wait a few more minutes.  *** Actually, Navionics is already pointing towards our next waypoint, so I will make the turn.  And THEN (!) I’ll talk to you about clipping in, okay?  Great.  You’re so patient with me.  Thanks. 

Now what button to push….remember, don’t stick your hand through the steering wheel, Holl—always over the steering wheel.

We did it.  Navionics says the angle should be 242 but 245 looks better to me, so we’re going to go 245.  Done.  Horizon scan: there’s a suuuuuper faint dot of light (can’t tell what color yet) up ahead of us.  He’s (why do I say “he?” Hmmm…) super far away and the Raymarine shows that there’s a gray triangle up ahead just barely on our port side.  Noted.  Engine temp check: Ugh.  214.  Going up slightly.  Just let him sleep…he can change the impeller if we need to when it’s daylight.  Actually, I can help him hoist the sails when we switch watches to give the engine a break.  We have 13 knots of wind coming in at 40 degrees portside now that I’ve turned.  If Steve was in the cockpit we’d be sailing by now.  To self: You’ll get there, Holl.  Of course, if we switch the engine off in the middle of the night, the kids would think something went wrong…they probably have PTSD from the last time the engine abruptly stopped in the middle of the night.

Horizon scan: I can now see that the light waaaaay up ahead is red.  That’s HER (yup…I’m becoming aware of my boat captain pronoun biases) portside light which means she’s going to pass us on our portside.  Raymarine says the same and that she’s getting closer (but still super far at this point-6 miles?)  Going to stay aware.  We have 27 feet of water under us and plenty of room towards the shore (we’ve passed the shoaling) if we need it. 

*deep breath* Clipping in.  Thanks for your patience.  It’s important to clip in.  The end. 

Just kidding! 😊  Where was I?  Right, my first night watch with Blaine.  That night was full of lovely, peaceful, deep conversation with Blaine, mixed with some light ukulele lessons mixed with hard pounding rain and sheet lightening and staring at/adjusting the wind angle like my life depended on it and getting drenched.  If I’m honest, I felt pretty hard core (“hard corps” for my AmeriCorps friends) when it was pouring down rain and lightening and we were sailing through it.  Had Blaine not been there, I would have been terrified.  But he was there and I wasn’t terrified and because of that night, I saw that I could handle it, the boat could handle it, we could handle it.  I may not have known what to do on my own yet, but I could follow instructions and get the job done. And I would eventually learn what to do on my own.  And I still will.  (Engine check: 213.  Hmmm. Went down a bit?  Horizon scan: That boat is getting a lot closer – still 2-3 miles away?  The Raymarine shows that we’re almost on top of one another.  I’ve adjusted by two degrees.  I just took a photo for you so you can see what this looks like in real time. 

Yup…that’s a boat on the horizon. You can see the distant glow of Charleston on the right.

We’re going to be pretty close to this boat. I mean, not shaking-hands-scary-close, but close enough to see her.  Yay!  A new friend! 😊 *Pause* Yup….she’s getting closer.  Going to put computer down.  Hang on.  Look to the portside!  On a clockface, she’s at about 11:00! 

Pausing to enjoy nighttime boat friend.

This is our sailing friend. As you can see the water was very calm. Long may that continue!

We passed her.  She was a sailboat like us…but she was sailing. We have perfect sailing weather conditions at the moment.  Soon, Holl, soon.  Be patient. You’ll get there.  We passed her and she was about 200 yards (?) away.  I’m glad we adjusted the course heading.  Go us!  We did it! *chuckle* I have to laugh, I’m here celebrating our accomplishment, but that sailboat captain may be cursing me right now for being so close.  After all, she was sailing.  That means that WE need to adjust since we are motoring.  And as she came closer, I could see that her top light was on (top light = “I’m sailing”), as opposed to her deck light (deck light = “I’m motoring”).  So much to remember at 4AM! (Engine check: 213.  Good.  Horizon scan: Absolutely nothing ahead by sight nor by Raymarine.  Also, we’re going to stay at our heading of 247.  It lines up nicely with our Navionics waypoint.)  Anyway, I saw her, we adjusted, all is well.

***

Clipping in (Gosh, you’ve been so patient!).  You’ve now heard about my first night watch with Blaine.  The second night Blaine (and Steve and I) felt confident enough for me to be on my own.  If I needed anything at all, I should not hesitate to wake Blaine up.  He was going to be sleeping in “Sid’s Room” and all I needed to do was yell or knock on the bench in the cockpit above his berth and he would hear me.  No problem.  I have my first night watch on my own.  While I was a bit nervous, truthfully, I felt pretty cool.  I got this.

I had my lifejacket on and I had clipped in.  Felt good, but a bit strange to be clipped in.  Like being on a leash. I had asked Blaine the night before if, in the over 250K miles (or 300K?  Blaine?  Can’t remember…) he’s travelled at sea doing boat deliveries, he has ever fallen overboard and actually needed the line.  I think—I think—he said it’s happened seven times.  WHAT????  SEVEN TIMES?  Well, my oh my, that is absolutely terrifying.  He told me that the key is to tuck yourself into a ball and try to keep your back to the water until the crew pulls you in.  Uh….riiiiight, Blaine.  Noted. 

(Engine check: 211.  Booyah!  Horizon scan: Clear, but Raymarine says there’s a boat about eight miles away and on our portside.  Behind us, if I squint, I can still barely see the top light and the stern light of our sailboat friend).

Anyway, there I was enjoying the gentle breeze and the stars that night.  The sea was pitch black.  If a whale had popped up to say “hi” 15 feet away from me, I wouldn’t have seen her (please note my whale pronoun awareness 😊).  I have quickly learned that there are different levels of “dark” and it was DAAAAARK that night.  I was probably singing “Southern Cross” by Crosby, Stills and Nash because I always think of that song when I’m on watch because it’s a song about sailing and there’s that line “but on a midnight watch I realized why twice you ran away…”  Ha.  Now it’s in my head.  Gosh, I love that song….wait. (Checking phone.) BOOM!  We’re close enough to shore—I can get Spotify!  Now it’s on. 

“She was making for the trades on the outside.  And the downhill run to Papeete.” 

*sigh* Ahhh….What a gorgeous place Papeete is… *chuckle* I’m thinking of you, Michelle (my much-beloved cruise ship roommate who gave me the initial low down on the man who would become my much-beloved husband).  “Holly, you’re in TAHITI!  You CAN’T sleep in in Tahiti!  Thank you.😊)

So….I was happily and quietly singing “Southern Cross” to myself and sitting on the cockpit bench just behind the helm (just like we are right now) enjoying myself when--all of a sudden from out of the blackness—a wave came over the starboard side of the boat and completely knocked me off of my seat. The force was so (!!) strong and so (!!) unexpected!  I instinctively put out my arms to brace myself and almost pushed the center bench cushion overboard in the process.  I grabbed it just before it reached the edge and I landed on the floor of the cockpit just next to the still-on-autopilot-as-if-nothing-happened wheel.  

Whoa.  I mean………WHOA!  I just sat there for a few seconds.  Stunned.  Terrified.  Relieved.  Grateful.  Awed.  I was drenched.  I was on the floor.  A cushion that had just been under my butt had almost gone overboard. 

O. 

Ver. 

Board. 

Holy #$%.  This is real.  This is very, very real.

So….I don’t care at all what other people do.  We Swifts?  We lifejacket and clip in at night.  Always.

Engine check: 210.5. Yee-ha! Horizon scan: Two very, very faint lights on the horizon.  Too far to tell what color.  Raymarine says there are three boats far away on horizon.  I can only see one.  Zoom out.  Nothing. Again…zoom out.  Nothing.  Raymarine frozen.  Restart.  Got it.  Daytime mode is blinding but much easier to see the screen.  “Close” boat is three NM away.  Other boats on screen are 12 miles away.  The light that I saw is actually two boats that are “close” together.  “Close” is such a relative term.  Can I really see something that is 12 miles away?  Hmmm…I guess so.  I now see two lights super close to each other in the distance, so I guess that’s them….      

FYI – Blaine nonchalantly told me the morning after my rogue wave experience that he heard me moving around after it hit otherwise he would have come up to check on me.  Steve said that the wave had come through the porthole in “Addie’s Room” and it felt like someone poured a bucket of water on him in the middle of the night.  *chuckle* Oh yes…it was very, very real.

It’s 4:50AM, Friends.  Thanks for keeping me company.  You and I are doing great tonight.  Thanks for your help.  Fingers crossed that our engine stays relatively cool.  Hang in there, baby….

Cue music: “Got out of town on a boat for the Southern islands.  Sailing a reach before a following sea….”