I go up on deck for the 11pm to 3am night watch. It is total darkness. No moon, no stars, no light at all. I can only just make out the crew by a darker outline and the occasional flash from the fluorescent stripe of the shoulders of their jackets. It’s a dark and gloomy place out there.
I clip on and slide along to the helm station to take a stint at the wheel. After standing for five minutes alongside Skip to acclimatise my eyes to the darkness, I still can’t see anything other than the faint red glow from the instruments. There is no reference to steer to whatsoever other than the feel of the wind on my right cheek and the sound of the wash in my left ear. We’re aiming to steer to a wind angle of 45 degrees for maximum speed, but as there is a delay in the instruments the information is yesterday’s news, which tends to make for a wiggly line when trying to steer by them, slowing the boat down.
Out of the gloom appears the faintest of lights on what might be the horizon, then it disappears. Then it comes back again. It’s a vessel. Could it be one of ours? Skip checks the plotter and AIS and confirms it is. Yep, it’s Ha Long Bay, Viet Nam on our starboard beam, about 8-10 miles away. Game on, I’ve got a free reference! I wedge myself into the back of the helm station and lower myself down so I can just see the light between the dull outline of the guard rail and the stanchion. If the light moves forward I can bear away. If the light moves back I can head up and still maintain the 45 degree wind angle. I’m feeling for the sweet spot on the wheel when I can just feel the slack in the steering cables, meaning there is no side thrust on the rudders which would cause drag and slow us down.
We’re bashing through the waves at 10 knots and sailing a 70 footer by feel and senses. After one and a half hours of maximum concentration the light on the guard rail has moved back by about 6 inches. We’ve gained half a mile on them. Thanks Ha Long Bay, Viet Nam, that’s what I’m talking about! That’s living alright!
Graham out!