Into the doldrums

We make our way south across the doldrums, currently latitude 7n by 29w. In four days time we should cross the equator. Navigation and weather have made this particular part of the passage successful so far, tracking the wind and making the best speed.

I was just stood out on deck by the mast, holding onto the cap shroud, looking out to the east at the rising sun, looking big and pale in the low lying grey clouds. We left permanent blue skies and sunshine in higher latitudes and now sail through this humid, cloudy few hundred miles.

It's taken me a while to get around to writing this blog. The truth is that I have had quite a sense of unease in this week. For the first 5 days, the sea state was intolerable and in the last few days, the further away from land that we are, the more the extent of what I am doing, the situation I am in has generated a sense of low level anxiety. The fact of the matter is that I have found myself in an "alien and hostile" environment where all of familiarity has been removed. My world reduced to a tiny plastic bubble in the vastness of the ocean. It was affecting my appetite and making it hard to get restful sleep, which was leading to periods of fatigue. 35 degrees of heat no doubt was not helping either!

However, I am happy to report a change in my feelings! Literally yesterday I hit my rock bottom with it and happily ascended from the depth with a new perspective in which now I feel very happy and safe to be here. Well, as much as one can with possibilities of gear failure, rogue floating shipping containers and...krakens!

Yesterday afternoon in the clear water alongside swam four small fish, streaks of silver, blue and pink, occasionally one would jump clear of the water and then rejoin his fellows to sleek along the side of this big foreign object ploughing up the water as she goes.

The other day a brown sea bird came, circled, plopped down in the water 20 yards off, sitting bobbing in the swell, then I would go past and he would take off, do a couple more turns and then do the same thing again, alternating sides. He would come in for a close look more times than not. This went on for an hour or so.

The fish still are flying, sometimes landing on the deck, I fried one up for breakfast the first time it happened.

The sun has just come out proper so it's time to put out the solar panel to port and try to dry some bits and pieces in the boat. The sea has at last become my benign friend, support and guide. Her moods change, sometimes by the minute. I am thrilled and privileged to be here.

I think I'm approaching about half way, I'm probably 600 miles from the nearest land and there are 4 miles of water under the hull. It's a sobering thought to be in this level of isolation but I have a little team around me that I stay in touch with by means of magical modern technology, so in many ways I don't feel alone.

(Posted by Nick. Whilst at sea Dan has a text-only email facility which he's used to email me this blog.)