19 March DAWN WATCH

Where that first night of our voyage the sea had a quiet menace to it, the wilder sea of the Ionian is pure fierce energy. Dangerous, terrifying and also wonderful. Perfect wind for experienced sailors but chaotic for us others. No time to contemplate, no time to think. We’ve had it too easy. The endless hours on calm waters have been no preparation for this. The waves look big, but are they only so because they are the biggest we have seen yet? They come from starboard along with a healthy twenty knot wind. Eve is at a ridiculous angle, there’s more than forty percent terror here! But yes, we did want wind. We wanted to sail and now the engines are off. Last night I stayed up for some of Dan’s watch, and Mark stayed with me for some of mine, Dan accompanying him for some of his. Wordlessly, we didn’t want to leave anyone alone on deck for too long, this first night of big seas. It was the first watch where I hid under the spray hood. I couldn’t write anything but this song:

the day mount etna swallowed the sun we started out from Lipari
Under cover of darkness we’d begun our journey to our third sea
calm days with the sun holding high had shown our days for a week
through the gap at the toe of italy to the wild ionian sea

she smoked her stack, our only cloud overtook us for a time
we headed east just like the navy and the sea surrounded us wild
in Lipari we had wine, we had it fine and I found my brother in song
earth’s fuse burned on the skylinem the weather told us we must push on

played guitar with Italian Joe I’d found the place to bring my wife
although the captain says it ain’t too strong I’m a touch fearful of my life
Eve she tilts 30° to 45° anymore and I feel the threat
I’ve done so much to endanger my life but never thought so much of death

there ain’t no answer but to push on there ain’t no stepping off this bus
I’ve thought so much, I’ve sang many songs, now I only can think of us

On waking up I had no idea which way was actually up. Too tired to have working body mechanics, automatically now using my system to dress. The small piece of floor in my cabin holds my clothes in a sequential manner, as I undress I position everything for easy access the few hours later so at the start of watch it takes me less time to get prepared. It had taken me too long to dress, the first couple of times trying. Then the system kicked in. And now with the boat pitching I have to shove my back against the port hull, my feet holding me steady against the engine compartment and try this system. Completely confused, I had put on my leggings, then my right shoe, before I remember I should put on my waterproofs before my shoe. So I put my right leg through my waterproof and then both shoes. Laces tied, I realise that this didn’t work the first time either so off with the left shoe, on with the waterproofs, and finally both shoes on. It took too much time to find the right order of things. It should have been easier, yes? No? Jesus, such a simple thing, so bloody difficult!
I dream Shay is about to move house to a place where I was going to move to before. The whole street is under six inches of water. I told him it was “normal because the road heads east.” Then a hilarious dream where I was part of a successful BBC improvisation pilot show with Bill Bailey, amongst a clutter of comedic stars. All I remember now is the exploding helicopter and our indignant rant against climbing instructors, bursting in to an adventure centre, “You can’t just stick children up on the wall!” The show is a success, we hug as a winning team. As we part I try to explain to them that this is a dream, my dream, but that if we’re all dreaming this, in some kind of communal way, then they should get in touch with me when they wake up. “My name is Stuart Doyle, I’m from Dublin, find me on facebook.” I wake up laughing and remember that I’m on a boat.

Wind has dropped, I think this is better, for now. I can write with less difficulty, anyway. There’s not much “should” at sea. There’s “must” and “do”, but should? Okay, we should have bought more pasta and coffee in Lipari. Ice-cream too. But that was land, plenty of “shoulds” there. Fuck it, we should have stayed in Lipari. One extra day. The weather further on east that quickened our exit didn’t materialise. Forecasts are rarely accurate on land so why should I think they are correct out here on the water? The skippers talk about land being where the real danger is. But there you can stand up, sit down, run and jump with no problem. I think I needed one extra day.

Dawn. The sun surprised me. All of a sudden she’s up. Good morning! 6:55am, Greek time. A salad would be nice. I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday, except a couple of biccies. Belly feels bit better now. Just don’t mention rabbit stew.

7am GMT+2
37°31 114N 18°14 093E
COG 98° Heading 103° 5.5kt
I eat two biscuits with cheese. Downed with water. Just as satisfactory as yesterday’s breakfast. Adam is ahead, and the lights that have followed us all night are revealed to be a sailing vessel like ourselves. I’m still reluctant to call Eve a yacht. She’s a good boat, however, I have more trust in her now, just! Perhaps our stalker isn’t the same one that sat on the horizon behind us last night. The lights of that one were more likely to have been a fishing vessel. We’ll see. If she catches up today we’ll know. If she stays there, then who is she? She looks bigger than us, something regal in the way her sail sits, westward from my position. Nice to see a bigger boat, it reminds me of that monster ship we saw yesterday. Must have been an aircraft carrier. Who knows what’s going on? We could be heading into a war zone. Syria’s a mess, Greece is at breaking point, what’s going on in Turkey then? I’ve heard that our destination, Gocek, is a hive for Turkish mafia. Intriguing, I have no idea what to expect other than clean showers.
The boat behind doesn’t seem to keel over as much as we do. The binoculars reveal it to be a single hull. It’s gaining on us, I think. I’m so unsure of everything. The wind holds at eleven knots, our speed around five. I’ll wake the Captain soon. In the morning light ahead of us, Adam looks like a Chinese junk ship. I still barely believe that the mechanics of sailing works. But it does and has for so long. As Dan says, “Now, there’s free energy!”

1625 GMT+2
37°19 890 19°18 037
Our stalker passed us, a slightly bigger yacht. Not so much bigger, I’m realising that perhaps we look equally regal on other ships’ horizons. Eve is a capable girl, she handles the wild, choppy seas better than my stomach. I didn’t eat much for twenty four hours but Dan and I were able for lunch today. Since his wonderful omelette under Etna I’d only had a couple of biscuits and that piece of cheese. He’s peeled spuds for this evening and has them in a bucket of seawater. Salty dogs now we are. I had my baptism (and communion) yesterday when a breaking wave hit the boat and partially soaked me. Made an interesting pattern on my fleece’s back, so I was told. It’s much calmer now, just as we were getting used to the motion. But I’m not complaining. We’ll be better set up for the next time. And we saved fuel. And food! Wind’s down again to nearly nothing. 4.3 knots. Pilos, our next chosen stop, is about twenty hours away at this speed. We made amazing time with the wind. Even with twelve knots wind, the boat hits seven herself. Capable, indeed. And the more I understand how she works, the safer I feel. Imagine, Mark and another crew crossed the Atlantic last year in the same model and size boat. I’m glad my first voyage has been so forgiving. The Ionian is quiet now, we haven’t seen anything since our stalker overtook us bar one jet plane. Quiet. Too quiet? Once again, we’ll see.

18th March 2012

The day Mount Etna swallowed the sun.

The engine changes revs and I bolt out of my bunk and dress quickly for I know we are at the straits of Messina. The lads laugh as I climb out of the saloon as Mark had told Dan “This’ll get him up.” We’re tuned to the boat now, able to notice differences where as before only the skipper would. Sicily is starboard, the Calabrian coast ahead, we approach the entrance to Messina. Two huge pylons that used to carry the power lines that supplied the whole of Sicily announce the entrance. A very large modern cargo ship with a pilot boat in front overtakes us to take the shipping channel. We circle on the spot a few times to indicate that we have no intention of crossing in front of the massive boat. As we do this, the current takes us, pushing us into the strait a little earlier than we wanted. Luckily there are no ships coming out of Messina, our way is clear to cross at this, the narrowest point. We hug the shoreline of mainland Italy, surprised when a train shoots by, intrigued by the noise of the early morning traffic of cars and people.

The ferries that cross the strait depart with just a belch of black smoke as a warning. We can see cars still boarding the closest one as another, further along, leaves under it’s temporary cloud. It’s surprising how small a gap exists at Italy’s toe, but not as surprising as what greets us after breakfast.

Mark had told us that if we were lucky, Sicily’s massive volcano, Mount Etna, would be visible but that normally it’s shrouded in cloud. We passed by on the clearest day possible. It’s huge, over three thousand metres high, it’s peak dominating the north east region of the island. Massive, covered in snow or ash, we’re not sure. A recent lava flow is visible as is a small puff of dark smoke coming from the top, peaking white as the sun catches it. Then the smoke stack increases in size. And continues to increase. As we slowly pass it by, the tiny wisp grows into a full blooded ash cloud, eventually becoming enormous. The cloud splits, the heavier ash blowing east, the lighter water vapour climbing still. Etna puts on a wonderful show, blocking out the sunlight which had lit her slopes, and finally filling the skies above us. We watch her for hours. Unreal. Vulcano is a wee baby compared to this monster.

Eastwards of Catania we turn towards Greece. Adam is a long way ahead now, they hit Messina before us as seemed to take better advantage of the current. We travelled fast at times, the tide increasing our cruising speed by three knots at least but they must have arrives there at the perfect time. We had entered the Strait without much distance between us, but now they were barely visible. Etna’s cloud follow us both. A ridiculously huge ship on the southern horizon must be military, an aircraft carrier maybe. It dwarves a cargo ship that is at least half the distance away. Heading to Syria we think. I’d forgotten about all of that, and I hadn’t the opportunity in Lipari to read any news. Is there western involvement in the war there? What’s going on? The southern tip of mainland europe is north of us, to port. And for nearly the first time since France, the sun is blotted out, only this time by a cloud that came from within our earth. I’m not at all annoyed by this cloud. It overtakes us, looking strange overhead. We can see the weight in it, it seems to want to descend. I come up from a nap just in time to see the sunset. From our exact position, it looked like Etna had swallowed the sun hole, it sank right into the crater.

We are in a new sea. The Ionian. Each of the last two had different characters, I wonder what this new one will be like.

17th March 2012

Newton’s Law states that every action has an equal an opposite action. A drinking law states that every great night leads to an equally great hangover. The morning is difficult, but we make the best of it. I only realise it’s Paddy’s Day when we meet another sailor, Maria, a friend of the two skippers. She’s on the way to Scandinavia with a German crew who are apparently no craic. With a can of Guinness drunk out of two mugs she bought for Mark and Pete, we toast our patron saint.

It’s a hot day. We wander through the back alleys of the town, down to the old harbour. A funeral procession passes, a statue of Jesus seems to be watching us. It’s too hot, we order pizza and rose for lunch. I write fifteen postcards. It’s a struggle. Can’t find an open internet cafe either. We buy some provisions and plan our all too soon exit. It’s similar to being on the road, you arrive somewhere beautiful but have no time to enjoy it properly. After lunch we head to the supermarket via the cathedral. A quick visit to this impressive church, you know how the Catholics are. Bronze doors with stories of war and the sea carved into them, we head inside to say a wee prayer for our travels. It’s calm inside, but then the priest approaches me.

In Keith Richard’s book, Life, he talks about the warning his mother gave him regarding priests. “If you see one coming, cross the road. If he’s catholic, turn and run in the other direction.” This black garbed shepherd of the flock comes up to me and starts explaining the history of the place. In Italian. I’ve read the tourist information, I know about the steps outside, with high walls at the bottom so when the invaders were on the stairway, they would close the gates behind them, trapping them for an easy massacre. I was ready about the Norman history when I smelt bad breath. He was too close to me, Luca on his other side raising eyebrows to the high ceiling. My cousin walked away. I could have too but I felt a ridiculous respect for the Father. It was his church, after all, my hidden catholic upbringing told me. Then I felt something brushing along my groin. The back of his hand, dangling too too close. He lent in to me. I ran. What a deluded individual, my only solace is that as I’m thirty eight years old, I could guess that he’s simply gay, and I shouldn’t presume anything more, priest or not. I joke about going back and slitting his throat. Not much of a joke, though. I’m a bit shaken, and my knife is very sharp.

I meet Mark and Dan at the fuel dock, it’s late afternoon. Another skipper has a story from when he was fueling here on a blustery day. His boat was banging against the dock, easily pushed around by the larger than normal waves. The guy filling the tanks says to him, “You have a dangerous job!” He looks up, “You’re selling petrol on a volcano!” Touché. It’s the only place where it seems compulsory to smoke when filling your car at the petrol station. They have a free attitude, somewhere in the islanders’ psyche they know it could all end very suddenly. We moor, somewhat illegally perhaps, on a disused pontoon for dinner and wine, some Irish traditional music playing out our day. Then bed at nine thirty with the alarm set for 11:45 for a midnight departure. Unfortunately I’d somehow forgotten that my phone is on twenty four hour time so my alarm was set for the next morning. Luckily, Lyndsay texted me at 23:57. On hearing the beep, I just about woke up, a small bit of curiosity raising my head from the pillow. “Mark… Mark!” He wakes and we hear a shout outside. It’s that confounded Dutchman again. As I climb up the gangway he calls again, “Are you awake?” “Just about” I reply, climbing on deck as Adam’s prow silently appears at our side. Up and at them, we go, leaving this wonderful island and their beautiful people. It’s a bit too soon for me, I feel I needed a bit more time on shore. We’ve timed our leaving so we’ll arrive at Messina at the right time for the tide. There is a tide in the Mediterranean, just about, and it affects the thinner straits. We want to hit it a few hours after the high tide at Gibraltar, so instead of fighting the current, we go along with it. So, to sleep for a few hours knowing that tomorrow we’ll have to be somewhat alert.

March 16th 2012

What a difference a day makes…

Boat Captains tend to go the same way. Different reasons for different boats. Shipping lanes rule in straits and gulfs, on approach to large ports, passing around capes, headlands etc. Small vessels, such as us, should cross these lanes at ninety degrees or as close as possible to. On the open sea it’s a bit looser. The big ships have radar and AIS, a ship identification system. We have our eyes and our attention span. If on a collision course with a ship, it’s always best to change course, Or slow down. Don’t presume that the other vessel will, even if power should give way to sail, as it says in the sailing book I’m studying. From the western Mediterranean, a yacht on a voyage east would always pass north of Sicily and then head through the Straits of Messina, even though the gap between that island and Malta, to it’s south, is much wider. Three kilometres to ninety. I would have thought that the smaller vessels would go south to stay out of trouble in such a busy area. But the waters south of Sicily are shallow and actively volcanic. Bad things can happen. We’ve had three thousand metres under us for the most part. Three whole kilometres of molten cubic force under our fiberglass hull. I step lightly.

Last night’s watch was the strangest yet. Suffering from lack of sleep, only now I realise I had got about forty five minutes in twenty four hours. Can that be right? I think so, I had been up since 3am. Overtired, I didn’t sleep before my midnight watch which was until three so, yeah, the snooze I had on deck yesterday was about it. I stayed in my bunk but couldn’t sleep. Went on deck at midnight to see a huge cruise ship quite close to port, Dan smiling cheerfully at it. “A floating Christmas tree!” It had passed across our bow, in between us and our companion boat and was heading away to our port quarter. He pointed out the few ships around us, none as close as the quickly vanishing representation of overkill, and went below. The lights of the various ships dwindled as they moved over the horizon and once again Adam and ourselves were alone. I was filled with anticipation, and ultimately a sense of foreboding. Some shooting stars and a couple of dolphins only served to startle me. I was freaked out. My mind full of questions. Are we really here? Is there anything out there? Will we arrive where these islands are marked to find nothing? The sea had begun to shift under us again and we had clouds above for the first time in days. Ominous clouds. But it might have just been me. Might? It was just me. My imagination was firing on all cylinders. It was quiet, no ships in sight. Too quiet, a movie script might say.

A little before half two and I noticed something ahead. On the horizon? No, a little above, higher than the light atop Adam’s mast, not a ship then. It was the barest of red smudges against the night’s black. I grabbed the binoculars and steadied myself against the spray hood. The glimmer flew back and forth until  I focused in on it. A slow explosion was unfolding before my eyes! Could it be? It was higher than the horizon. Are we that close? It’s very far away, it must be massive! Is it? It is! Fuck! Fuck! What’ll we do? Where do we go? A flurry of thoughts passed through my tired mind. It was 2:25am, I went below and woke the Captain. “Mark… Mark… I think we’re heading straight for an erupting volcano!” He shifted in his bunk and quietly told me, “Stuart, it’s the moon.” The words stopped me right in my tracks. My brain scrambled for thought and I went on deck again, just in time to see a red crescent moon disappear behind some cloud. If only I had waited a few more seconds before going below to wake the skipper, I’d have realised it earlier. Man I felt foolish but Mark cheerfully assured me that this was normal, especially due to lack of sleep and too much sun along with the general sense of overpowering awe that I’d been feeling and that on the fifth day at sea things are always this way. I hadn’t seen the moonrise yet on my watches, it had always come up whilst I was sleeping. Dan had thought it was a spaceship coming out of the water on his first watch. I’d forgotten the story, the moon had been nearly full and had risen bright as a car’s headlamps. Quickly too, by his account. I remembered all this as I was sent to bed, barely able to take my gear off. So goddamned tired, slightly embarrassed, no dreams.

Then… this morning. Wow. I’m currently looking at an active volcano, smoking, not exploding. The sea is glass itself. Our last few hours on the Tyrrhenean Sea, the sea where nothing happens, was full of action. A pod of dolphins, turtles, sunfish and frolicking whales in the distance. Through the Aeolian Islands, we are nearly at Lipari. Beautiful. Jesus wept and so did I. This morning has been incredible. Awoken at a bit past nine by Mark, “The day’s nearly gone”, I came up on deck to another world. A glassy sea, the thin clouds mirroring themselves, the horizon uncertain. Sitting facing starboard I noticed a few fish jumping in the distance. Tuna? Heading to or away from us? We’ve had a fishing line out for the last few days but no luck as yet. I happened to be holding Dan’s camera, my batteries having died. The fish were coming closer, faster and faster it seemed. Bigger and bigger too. Fish? They were dolphins, a pod of twenty maybe, zooming towards us with little jumps in and out of the water. Jesus the speed of them. They reached us and we raced to the bow. What a sight. Clear blue ocean with these gorgeous mammals playing underneath us. Submerging to a depth and then flying back up. A little jump, roll to the side, a little grin, perhaps? I could swear one winked at me. So clear, so visible, amazing. I managed to film some of it on Dan’s camera, although his batteries then also died. Mark got the photos. The clarity of the water, the big fishs’ clarity of purpose. They roll, jump, grin and astound us. And the conditions were so perfect, the cloud burnt away as this unfolded, we have unbelievable luck. Suddenly they leave us and we can see them remain active in one area, maybe they used the boat as cover for hunting. We’re left speechless, yoiu can’t expect something like this. We laugh with tears in our eyes, what a sight!

As we continue, now past Alicudi with Filcudi to port and Salinas to starboard, an old turtle is sunbathing. Mark steers us towards it with me manning his camera. Expecting the turtle to dive, I rattle of a bunch of shots with the zoom but he stays on the surface as we get near, even lifting his head as if to say,  “What do YOUS want?” I got a couple of nice shots and then we see that our change of course is bringing our fishing line too close to the poor beast. “Jesus, don’t catch him!” The line passes over him a few metres from the hook, he ducks his head as it does, appearing not to care. We cared. In our state, if we’d hooked that turtle, we wouldn’t have been able to face ourselves.

This morning continues with a bunch of whales in the distance playing on the surface. Seems everyone’s enjoying this fine spring day. We can’t tell what type or how many of them there are, so far away that it’s hard to get much detail through the glasses. I see three birds out to port with tuna jumping around them. The fins of two starfish are visible soon after, another turtle passes as I take a well earned shower, the first since leaving dock in Canet, a world away from us now. All this and the impending promise of land. What a day!
Each island of this archipelago is more interesting than the next. Alicudi and Filicudi mirror each other, and there’s a submerged volcano northwest of them. Salinas is the highest, about one thousand metres. It plunges into one and a half thousand metres of sea. If there’s more submerges ones, it’s possible they are on the other side of the three islands to port, on the way to Stromboli, which for a short time we could just about make out in the distance. Apparently, instead of saying that there are seven Aeolian Islands, it’s more realistic to say that there are currently seven Aeolian Islands, as these things change or have changed in recent history. Salinas looks like it blew it’s top many moons ago, but as it passes we can see Lipari, and further away, Vulcano. It has an active crater. We disown each island as the next one nears. The perfect smoking crater facing us prompts me to life. We must have phone coverage again! I ring home and talk to Da and Jamie. What can I say? I open with, “I’m looking at a volcano!” I can barely believe it. I’ve only seen one once before. It was from the plane taking off from Phuket on the way to Australia, a quick glimpse. In one morning I’ve seen so much, it feels like my experience down under has been beaten, condensed, and served up. My mind has blown.

We approach the harbour with a lovely anticipation for food, wine and ice cream but most of all, people. I wave at a couple on a fishing boat and am truly delighted to get enthuasiastic waves back. We finally get to the bay on the east side and head to the harbour. A cop boat shoots across us and we have to swerve to hit the bow wave head on. Eve jumps up and slams down, the most violent move she’s made yet. It gives us an indication of what she may be like in bad weather. Within ten minutes we are docked and reunited with Adam and her crew. The unsteady walk we made to town, my god. Single file along a skinny busy road. No pavement, we giggle with the lack of balance our sea legs give us.

People. Smiling, nice, people. The stevedores who helped us moor the boats were chilled and friendly, like most people seem here. What a place. Bar Luna is a name I’ve heard so often from Mark’s lips. We stop there first. Cold beer, olives, bread, nuts, thinly sliced fresh tuna. Oh so nice. Into town and shops, stuff everywhere, so much to look at. We’re hungry, we head for pizza. Even on this small island, the Italians have their designer shit going on. This restaurant seems posh, in an overly flashy kind of way. Food ordered, I ring a few people at home. Pete’s mate Fred sits beside  me. Interesting guy, they and Luca have been having a ball. It’s probably a different experience, the different boat. I confess my exploding volcano story and Fred tells me, “Don’t worry, I’ve sailed a lot, I own my own boat, but that night I thought the moon was some sort of art-deco installation. It took me a while to figure it out, I was trying to think who would put something like that there, and why?” We eat and get very quickly drunk. We have to get out before we cause a ruckus. As we finish, well dressed families are filling the place. Back to Bar Luna we go. To my delight I find a guitar in the pub. Two weeks and I haven’t touched one. I can’t remember so many lyrics, but enough to give Elvis and Jimi and few renditions. Our bargirl Maria rings her friends and a bunch pile in. I barely notice, so happy I am to sing and play. Joyful, really. Then somebody says that one of the locals played a bit. I pass the guitar to a quiet guy sitting on the stairs. He plays, it astounds me. Emotional Pete’s eyes water, he’s saying something about this song being a hit in the Netherlands. Great lyrics, intricate playing and such a voice! Real Italian, but sung in English. And it’s his song. Who is this guy? The night continues with Giovanni Ullu and I passing music between us, drunkenly singing everything from Myri’s Marianne Faithful sons to Yukina’s Eight, with Giovanni shouting encouragement at each chord change. He then crowns it all with a version of Bridge Over Troubled Water sung in a variety of voices including Robin Gibb, Bruce Springsteen and Pavarrotti. I’ve found a brother in song. I must return here, it’s the place I’ll bring my wife. The older Captains and crew had vanished and eventually us cousins staggered home to finish the night chatting on deck with Vulcano smouldering over Luca’s shoulder.

March 15th 2012

The Tyrrhenean Sea. The most interesting thing about it is it’s name, according to Mark. “Nothing ever happens here.” It’s 10.20am, I’ve been up since 3am. Squeaking helm wheel is a nightmare in the cabin, keeps interrupting my dreams. Night before last I dreamt of Electric Picnic crossed with Royal Ascot. Aine and Lynds were with me but when they turned to speak to me all I could hear as their mouths moved was the squeak of the wheel. Comically cartoonish. The wheel stays quiet during the warmth of the day. WD40 should sort it out. We have none. Last night I dreamt of a punk gig in my old house and a huge music festival in Dublin city. I wanted a chicken panini but couldn’t get one. And who is that girl? She’s appearred a couple of times. Sad and soaking wet. Hmmm. Beltbuckle Overdrive on the ship stereo, we’re at 40°09’432 11°37’846E. I must tell the lads!

Passing through the Straits of Bonifacio and then Maddalena was awesome. Land all around us, evidence of life! Evidence, anyway. Posh holiday homes for the ultra-rich. I heard from my cousin in Milan that one of these super-rich Italian politician/businessmen had a place up here with a jeep at the ready to escape, a la the drug runner guy’s “Donkey” in Romancing The Stone. Or was it a mule? And was Michael Douglas cool back then? The craggy island of Corsica made way for gorgeous Sardinia and with the binoculars I scanned the beaches for people, just to see someone, anyone, walking their dog, maybe but not a soul stirred this early in the year. We finally saw a couple of lads working on one of the many lighthouses. Nice to see other human folk, not that they paid us any mind. The rocks on the land on either side of us seemed full of spirits, as if to make up for the quietness. A fishing vessel confused our many issues as we passed Isola delle Bisce, near to Isole Cappuccini. A large tanker crossed our bow heading to a non visible Sardinian port. As the dark falls, this side of the island looks wild.

We’d had phone coverage all day but nobody texted me back. I felt deserted so I rang Da and Lynds, and left messages on the twins’ phones. Funny, it was very important for me to wish them a happy birthday. This journey really has that effect, you realise how much people mean to you. I’m realising I’ve got quite the list of postcards  to send. From the early morning first sight of land and after hours and hours where we didn’t want to miss a thing, a gorgeous sunset finished our busy day. Strangely enough, the open sea was welcome after our brief fling with terra firma. Maybe it’s because we’re on the way now to Lipari, as Mark has talked the place up so much. And I don’t expect it to disappoint.

I played the Yukina setlist in my head during watch last night: THE LAST, SERIOUS NATION, SKINNY WHITE CHICKS, OTHER GUY’S GIRLS, EIGHT, SAYONARA BABY, BATTLELINES, LAS ELVIS. I’m sure Al will have something to say. Hehe, I’m sure he had something to say about me doing this with a festival appearance coming up and I admit for sure I miss my guitars and the bands, but it’s sunny, we’re cruising, this rocks.
My turn to cook pasta today, no more stew for Stu!

Later that day… I awake from a sun-induced nap where I thought again we were back in Canet with a noisy tractor parked beside the boat but this time I thought I was on the wrong boat. I was sure I was on Adam. On the wrong boat without my stuff. At dock. But neither of these were true. The fact was, we were motoring across the Tyrrhenean towards the promised land of Lipari. What state we will be in when we get there I don’t know. And this is only the first stage. Lipari to Turkey is yet to come. I obviously haven’t realised that I’m here. Or that I should be. I feel like Dougal in Father Ted. Does that make Dan Father Jack? Poor man. Too much sun, too much everything. Sensory overload. We’re all going a bit gaga, it spirals. I get up and struggle to bring myself back to reality. The Captain askes, “Where’s Lisa?” I dive below to the stereo and find Lisa Hannigan’s album, Passenger. It works, we calm down. I thank you profusely Lisa, you may well save our lives. On watch tonight I’ll be sure to wear the tether. Not that the sea’s rough, it’s not. And although I promised my Dad I’d wear it, it’s really because I don’t trust myself to stay on this boat. It’s too unreal. It’s like a movie set sometimes. When I figured the only way to find out if it’s real or not is to jump into the sea, I put on the tether.

Mid-March and the sun is baking. Southern Europe will roast this summer. Maybe the global warming guys are right, maybe it’s the sun, maybe the Mayans were right, they were right about at least one thing. No breeze, nothing in sight except for Adam and the odd ship, one turtle we passed earlier and the poor unfortunate little birds that circle us wondering whether or not to land. They are doomed, they shouldn’t be out here. Fish food. One set down on us and it’s partner kept flying around, unwilling to follow the example, then it disappeared. We’ve left a bottle cap of water and some nuts up on the bow. Maybe we’ll save one, but I doubt it.
Our cigarette smoke hangs listlessly in the air, our 6 knots corresponding to the lightest breeze. Our 6 knots that will bring us back to land. Land that I secretly pray is still there. I can’t help thinking that nearly anything in the world could happen and we would know nothing of it. Save a nuclear holocaust, I guess we might notice that. I wonder if Rome, east northeast of our position, falls, would we have a clue?

18:15 Sunset. Unspectacular as was sunrise this morning save for a small line of birds purposefully heading east skimming the water’s surface. Ten or twelve of them, flying faster than our equally purposeful crawl. It’s nearing the spring equinox. Equal day and night for everywhere on the world as the sun sits over the equator, a dividing line between winter and summer for both hemispheres. Dublin will be different when I return, full of the growth of spring and about to pass into summer. I wonder how my garden will look. Well, Lyndsay’s garden. I look forward to seeing what she’s doing with it.
As the sun drops and the damp comes in it’s important to prepare at the right time to keep in the day’s heat. Especially after a hot day. The body can lose it very quickly. I have some essential clothes drying in the hotpress after doing laundry today. These essentials, however, are the clothes that I laid out on deck or tied to the lines to air. But I left them out too long and they’ve gotten damp. No bother, they’ll be okay after dinner. Thank jayzuz for the hotpress. Yep we’ve a hotpress. There’s a bit of room in beside the hot water tank under one of the saloon benches. We’re well posh! I’m still not used to the idea that Eve is a yacht. I’m glad to say she at last feels like a boat to me now. I trust her more although I imagine that has everything to do with the fact that we’ve been motoring since about 36 hours after leaving France. Calm seas, not a sausage of wind, she plods along perfectly upright. Wonderful when it’s omelette for breakfast and your coffee won’t spill, bad if you’re paying for the diesel. And except for Adam we haven’t seen any other sailing vessels. Not too many ships yet, either. The days have been quiet, and my watches too. Did I write about the French Naval helicopter that buzzed us 50 kms off Canet? The most exciting event to date! I was alone on deck and suddenly it appears, having approached us on our blindside (we can’t see through the Genoa). I called skipper up and we waved at the easily visible pilot. He flew over to Adam and then fecked off. Oh I’d better sort my clothes. The clothes I washed are for land, as will be my shower and shave tomorrow morning. Land. And then stage two to Turkey, with a possible stop in Greece, weather depending. We need wind, we can’t do the whole trip like this. Too much fuel and too little to do. Three men in a tub, rub a dub dub. We need to sail, this is a yacht, isn’t it? But no complaints, when we get high winds, big seas and rain I’ll curse these words. (I’m glad I’ve only written them down, such words are not to be spoken) I’d better shut up.

I sit here watching the sea. Each wave with it’s own mini-life lasting for milliseconds. This sea is calm. Like old leather but in constant change. Some waves merely ripples, some higher than others, all with their own personality. And us, in constant movement across it. That’s the thing, I hadn’t thought about it before. We haven’t stopped. There is no stopping. We continue, on and on, over the never ending water. There ain’t no stopping this bus! It’s too unreal. I control another irrational urge to jump into it, as if I again need to convince myself of it’s reality. I am going mad. Getting cold now, I go down below to get my hat, Mark is cooking, “Nothing to report, Sir!” I imitate Master & Commander. “Carry on Mr. Doyle!” We laugh. But we have gone that bit mad. Apparently it’s normal. I ask myself, “Did I forget to log our position at 1900 hours?” but then realise it’s only 1845. We’re at 39°40′.267N 012°35′.729E, by the way. Speed 6 knots, course over ground 125°T. Bang on. 131.4 nautical miles to our next waypoint near the volcanic island of Lipari. Tomorrow, land, pizza, wine, phonecalls home. It’s getting dark, I have to figure out how to dim the navigation unit, hold on.

I could sit here with my thoughts or I could write them down. Everybody expects songs from me about this trip, myself included. A tune I wrote in 1995 still needs lyrics. It was always a seafaring tune, I’ve never been happy with the words I’ve put to it, and I’ve tried over and over again. But if a love song cannot be written if you’ve never been in love, so a mariner’s song cannot be written by a landlubber. So finally am I a mariner? Taking after my Pop, my Dad’s Da, a Howth fisherman? Is this small easy journey enough to qualify me? It should be enough, I think. Should it be enough?
I remember now earlier today, as I was hanging out my clothes, Dan says to me, “You must be disgustingly proud of yourself!”
It’s the way he tells ’em.
Small rolling waves follow us obediently. They look suspicious, I hope they have a sense of humour.