Wednesday, November 23, 2005 at 10:00 a.m.

We have been doing math problems. If you are sitting approximately 6 feet above sea level and visibility is unlimited, we estimated that you can see 15 miles to the horizon. Since you can see 360 degrees around you, how many square miles can you see? We determined that we can see approximately 708 square miles. No one is in sight (outside of the crew on Welcome III, of course).

It appears that this will be the last full day of our voyage south. We are at 20 12.305 N 64 53.114 W. We have traveled 797 nm since Bermuda and 1,501 nm since Boston. If we steer the rhumbline, we have 109 nm to go to check in at customs, and another 20 or so to get to Penns Landing, our winter berth. Winds are less than 5 knots, but should build a little out of the SW. After dealing with strong winds out of the south yesterday, and being forced to deviate from our course, the seas turned placid and the wind disappeared overnight. We have been using the iron sail to make progress. Blue sky, clear water, a few clouds as a garnish - it is quite wonderful.

This morning we stopped the boat and went for a swim in the calm water. There was almost no drift. We scrubbed our bodies with Dr. Bronner's Magic Soap, and jumped in to rinse. Ann made coffee and bran muffins to replenish our energy after such exertion. The water was 82.3 degrees - warmer than most swimming pools. Donna scrubbed the waterline. We threw in the Crew Overboard pole with the strobe light and horseshoe ring to see it work. The Crew Overboard pole is meant to wave high above the waves to aid locating a lost crew member. Shockingly, it sank. One should test gear before using it.

We have taken on the rhythms of the day. Most evenings, Ann serves a hot, one bowl meal at around 5 p.m. Shortly after sunset, all but the person on watch retires for the evening. We have taken on this practice without discussion. In part, it is because cabin lights will hinder the ability of the person on watch to see in the dark. Also, we want to be rested for our middle of the night watches. Most sailboats this size, including Pacific Seacraft, declare that the boat sleeps six. That is not true. Right now, this boat sleeps three. The aft bunk, next to the engine compartment, has been dubbed the MRI unit. To get into it, you have to slide your body into a box which is 21 inches high and 36 inches wide at its widest. It tapers as it goes back. It is a single. Going forward, in the main salon (which implies that there is a minor salon - not true) there is a settee on port. With the back cushion off, this becomes a bunk, 23 inches wide, at its widest. It tapers as it goes forward. However, it is only useful as sleeping quarters at a mooring or on a starboard tack. If on a port tack, you spend most of your time in it trying not to roll out onto the cabin floor. This berth is now being used to stow all of our duffel bags and to hang our foul weather gear and other wet items above. Michael and Donna rigged a lee cloth for it. A lee cloth is netting or cloth fastened under the cushion and then tied to the hand rail above. It prevents items from rolling on the floor. It is usually used to keep a person in a bunk, but we suspect it would be claustrophobic. On starboard, there is another settee, but this one is wider due to an insert which expands it to the edge of the folded table in the center of the cabin. This berth could be used for a human and a cat, but not two humans. The table acts as the lee cloth on a starboard tack, and the wall provides support on a port tack. All the way forward, past the head (the bathroom to you landlubbers), there is the princess cabin. This is the boat's version of a private room. It supposedly sleeps two, but in order to do so comfortably, the two would have to be very small, or the boat would have to be at a marina and not rocking. The starboard wall provides support on a port tack, but one has to wedge one's feet against a cabinet in order to feign sleep on a starboard tack. The cabin also has two tiny hanging lockers (for clothes), three small drawers, access to the anchor chain locker, and two small cabinets. It is useful to have one person on watch since the boat sleeps only three in practice. The person going on watch gathers up his or her sleeping bag and pillow and tosses them on the pile of duffel bags. This frees the berth for the person coming off watch. No one gets to sleep in the same bunk for the whole night. Jay, who has watches at 10 and 4, sleeps in all three berths each night. Donna, with watches at 7 and 1, uses only two. Under all of the bunks are oddly shaped compartments into which hardly used gear is thrown. Under the forward and aft berths, there are the two 40 gallon water tanks. If full, one can feel the water sloshing in the tank below.

Night watches can be awe inspiring. Watching the moon rise, steering by the stars, seeing the cloud formations play with the night time light can be overwhelming. And if you do begin to doze, you can watch the chart plotter announce the number of days, hours and minutes until your destination. Gusts of winds spur the boat forward, and the minutes disappear. The one steering for 90 minutes is often startled by the person coming on watch. Exchanges are made about appropriate attire (is it cold out, or warm, or wet?). We whisper about wind, direction (always south), waves, shooting stars, and signs of traffic. A quiet “sleep tight” is offered.

The crew is well rested and excited about landfall Tortola. Our weeks, days and hours at sea are waning. We have learned much about the capacity of the boat, our capacity as individuals, and our ability to work as a team. Michael jokes about a T to B quotient. The query is whether he would willingly join the sail back to Boston. A ten means that he would definitely sail the boat back to Boston in the spring. A one is, well, there is no chance that he would do it for a million dollars. This day has been a ten for all of us. The voyage has been a good thing to do.

Welcome III