Deliverance

The rules of physics shouldn't apply. After hurtling over the seas for ten days, stars planets clouds fixed overhead as we pass below, stopping that motion seems impossible. As if I would skim over the clear Caribbean water once we dropped anchor, my feet touch land and unsure of the relative solidness (these are rumbling volcanic islands) they trippingly fly over the dark historied soil of St. Lucia. I would keep treading up forested hills and through towns and meet the sea on the other side.
But no.
We sailed into Rodney Bay and dropped anchor at 2am.
The motion all but stopped.
Only a slight rocking of the hull, the wind funneling through the hatch, hands reaching for a well earned rum and tonic with lime.

The delivery. The passage. The boat trip.

It was magnificent. Horrible at times. Much needed to remind me, inspire me, calm me.

This is a briny taste:

Days 1&2:
Stars blah blah blah. Wind on my face blah blah. The majesty of the sea blah.
What the fuck am I doing here? I am never going to do this shit again, I don't care if I'm getting paid. I am wearing five layers and foul weather gear and haven't showered or changed my clothes since we left and I'm starting to get a rash on my ass (where's my Gold Bond?) and my hair is dreaded and I am so tired. Three hours of sleep at a time after four hours staring at the horizon? And that's if I actually get to sleep because of all the pounding into 15 foot waves, the heeling of the boat in 30-40 knots of wind. I can't read or write because I'm a bit queasy. I'm making dinner every night for the rest of the crew because no one else volunteers. OK, so that's kind of fun. Cooking on the diagonal is a distraction and a challenge. And I get a respite from constant salt water in the face. And all this thinking. The memories, the should haves, the worries. Thoughts jumble together, repeat, disappear in troughs, surface again on the next cold wave.

Day 3:
On deck at 6am as we sail into a squall. Finally a change of scene! The fresh water on my face is a welcome after this constant pelting of salty drops. At the ready on the winch to let out the main if the wind climbs, but it doesn't. The rain stops and a spectrum of color bows across the sky from west to north horizons. I still wonder where the pot of gold may be.
Whale! He spins out of the way just before kissing our beam as we cruise close to the Bahamas.
Porpoises! At the bow, spinning, leaping, playing in our bow wake. I stand grinning and clapping and whispering to them as warm waves splash up and drench my legs.
I am in love with sailing, with saltwater in my hair, with flying fish skimming the waves and sometimes landing on deck, with living at 45 degrees, with life (sun moon stars water).
When's my next delivery?

Day 4: I couldn't stand it anymore. I took a shower and washed my hair after stumbling down below after my 10pm-2am watch. Refreshed I fall into a salty bed and sleep until 5:45am. The plump waning moon is setting as the sun rises through cumulus pillows. It is a beautiful day of sailing south. Then north as we have to tack to avoid some islands. It doesn't feel right to be heading 35 degrees when we really want to go 160. But that is a sailboat for you. It's OK because it gives me a chance to snuggle on the leeward hull as opposed to the leecloth I've been pinned up against so far. I'm feeling fine again and can read now, write, make lists of all the things I want to do. My thoughts have run their course through the should've would'ves (process, absorb, forgive) and have transitioned into dreaming, planning, conjuring. The sea is sorting me.

Days 5-10: Is there a life other than this? Is there such a thing as land? Was I a farmer? We four talk and laugh and don't have to sleep for all of our off-watch time. I lay in the forward cockpit, bare foot hanging over the combing towards the water buried leeward rail. Book in hands with a notepad full of ideas fluttering in the stiff breeze, I breathe in deep and look up to watch the ocean.The wind calms to the low 20s, the waves decrease to a gentle 4-6 foot swell with occasional doozies drenching us over the bow.
Humpbacks! They breach and flap their tails and I wish I could hear their sepulchrally tinged underwater voices.
Feet on teak, still staring at the horizon, at the constellations overhead, into my mind.
I am happy.

We weave our way past Anegada and St. Marten into the Caribbean Sea.

We trade stars in the night sky for bobbing pinpoints of light on the mastheads swaying in the harbor.

The motion all but stops.

But my mind, my heart sail forward.