Favourable winds provided ideal sailing conditions for the journey from La Rochelle to Copenhagen. However, the resulting waves proved a challenge for some. The deck was wet throughout, and kitchen work became a struggle.
The butter had gone hard again. Out at sea – in mid-June – I was glad to have thermal underwear and even wore gloves at times. 10 degrees feels much colder when there’s a steady wind. And we mostly had the wind on our bow. But at least we had some wind, unlike on the trip from Blankenberge to La Rochelle. Good wind, in fact. In just 12 days we made it from La Rochelle to Copenhagen, sailing on a close-hauled course throughout – except in the English Channel, which we crossed in just under two days with the wind at our backs. When sailing downwind, the boat rolls from port to starboard and back again in the waves coming from astern… Whereas when sailing close-hauled, it heels over but takes the waves diagonally from the front. Consequently, the deck was almost constantly wet from the spray thrown up by the bow whenever the boat, after first rearing up in a wave, plunged down into the trough behind it. And from the waves that found their way onto the deck by passing under the bulwark.
For many, it wasn’t just the butter that had gone hard. In the Bay of Biscay in particular, many faces were looking rather pale, and every so often someone on the leeward side would lean over the railing to ‘feed the fish’. Don’t look! Because your own stomach is upset too, and seasickness is, after all, partly a mental thing. So try to think of something else. It did get the better of me once, though. But then it was over. In my bunk, I had some cashew nuts, which I ate whilst lying down. Otherwise, my appetite was severely toned down.
Rodeo bread
Every other night, you’re on deck from 8 pm until midnight and from 4 am until 8 am. At the end of November, during the winter trip, that’s a dark, cold and often rainy affair. I was always done and dusted by the morning. Now in summer, the sun sets after 10 pm, and when you come back on deck at 4 am after a short sleep, the sky brightening in the east already heralds the sunrise once more. I’m still tired in the morning, mind you, but it’s nothing compared to those November nights in the English Channel.
The crew is split into two watches. The watch that’s on deck twice a night makes the bread.
After a deckhand let me in on the tricks last year, I made some bread once and passed the knowledge on to Andreas, another trainee, the following night. The North Sea was once again littered with potholes, and higher waves unexpectedly threw our old lady into an even steeper heel. Working in the galley (kitchen), which unpredictably feels like a cross between a rollercoaster, a shaker and a rodeo bull ride, then becomes a real challenge. The ingredients slide all over the table in every direction. Andreas’s face grew increasingly grim, and inwardly he was probably reciting every curse he knew. The reward for his efforts was a loaf of bread that received widespread praise. That’s Tres Hombres: first-hand experience…
Bath slippers instead of wet socks
What sticks in the memory is the encounter with a large pod of pilot whales that overtook us. All in all, it was a brilliant trip for me: constant wind, only the occasional suggestion of rain, but never really wet. Ideal sailing conditions. We often sailed under full rig except for the flying jib, which we’d already removed from the stay on the bowsprit in La Rochelle as a light-wind sail and which wasn’t put back up until we reached the Kattegat. Only at the start in the Bay of Biscay did our sense of balance and our stomachs have to get used to the fact that good wind inevitably comes with waves.
The shipping company really ought to emphasise the importance of good kit more strongly: ankle-high boots alone won’t protect you from wet socks. Quentin, who came on board in La Rochelle as the relief captain, solves the problem for himself by often walking barefoot in flip-flops on deck and simply putting up with the 13-degree ‘warm’ water. Not my thing.
My tall Polish gardening boots keep my feet warm, even when, whilst dishwashing, one wave after another gushes under the bulwark. But anyone who comes on board with just a city leather jacket for protection against wind and water (even when it’s not raining, you’re occasionally showered by a splashing wave) is going to freeze. Guaranteed!
No praise for my hearing aids, though. When they first stopped working on the way to La Rochelle, I packed them into a waterproof bag along with some rice to keep them dry. In La Rochelle, I breathed a sigh of relief: the things were working again. However, only until a damp sea breeze brought gusts of drizzle whilst we were loading the roughly 20,000 bottles of wine. So I packed them away again. Conclusion: not seaworthy.