Unusual Encounter At Sea

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Unusual Encounter At Sea
Unusual Encounter At Sea

Video: Unusual Encounter At Sea

Video: Unusual Encounter At Sea
Video: 31 SCARY ENCOUNTERS OUT AT SEA (Military, Paranormal, Unexplained) - What Lurks Beneath 2024, March
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No wind. "Maverick too" sometimes only makes progress under the machine

Since the start four days ago in West Palm Beach we haven't really gotten going. At first we had a lot to do at the 60 mile long crossing of the Gulf Stream, for days there had been strong north winds against the current, which was setting at 3.5 knots from the south. Wind against current - that always produces a confused sea, in our case almost four meters high, short waves. But as soon as we turned starboard into the shelter of the Bahamas on the first night, the waves and later the wind calm down.

Since then it has been very calm out here, and the wind is currently having a particularly boring phase: We are bobbing at 2.5 knots in the Atlantic swell, being pushed north more by the Antilles Current than we would sail. Many small birds, the size of swallows, use our "Maverick" as a small island in the middle of the ocean, land on deck and rest for a few hours. Yesterday I almost stumbled over someone who was sitting on the deck and looked at me puzzled: "What are you doing here?" They are not afraid of us at all, calmly stay where they are. Maybe after the long flight you are too exhausted and indifferent, just want to sit.

Ship ahoy

"A ship comes up from astern," yelled Cati last night. She is sitting on deck, reading a book on her Kindle, while I lie in the bunk and in my off-duty hours look at the textbook for the sports boat license. "Unusual, there is actually no freighter route here," I mumble. Cati climbs to the chart table and looks at the AIS. "Class B. This is a sport boat. Makes a speed of 5.8 knots. But you can't read the length." - "Either something really fast, or he's motoring," I think. Four hours later the ship is clearly recognizable as a small sailing yacht, about our size, ten meters. "Castelhana" is now on the AIS, sounds Spanish. Or Portuguese? In any case, one seems to be on the move. The sails flap around uncontrollably on deck. Another hour later the ship is only a hundred meters behind us. "That's a Canadian," calls out Cati. She can make out the flag at the stern with the binoculars. "Wow, he'll come close."

Ten minutes later the small yacht is right next to us, the older man on deck is waving the radio. I give Cati the spark. "Hey, where are you going? Are you sailing back to Germany?" We hear from the loudspeaker. "Yes, but first to the Azores", replies Cati - and hears itself in the echo, because the single-handed sailor has apparently set its cockpit loudspeakers so loud that their voice echoes over the water to us. "I want to go too," he replies, "because that's where I was born. But first a stop in Bermuda, because the ARC rally fleet will be in the Azores when we arrive. I want to avoid the chaos."

Lonely together

"It's unbelievable to meet a single-handed sailor here on the Atlantic who comes over to chat," I am amazed. And we chat. The man emigrated to Canada many decades ago, hence the Canadian flag. "But I don't want to go back there, too cold," he laughs. After a little chat, we wish each other a good trip and stay in his wake, after all he is three knots faster. "But we will surely see each other all night," he says - and Cati adds, "It's nice to know that we are not the only ones out here and that we have obviously taken the right course."

Hardly is he three miles away when the swing becomes too miserable for us, and we also start the engine. Not that we could cover longer distances with an engine - our diesel is enough for about 400 nautical miles. But sometimes it helps to get out of larger areas of calm. And it works: five hours later we are in a wind field again, can roll out the Genu, connect the monitor (wind control system) and put our feet up. We sail through the night at 4.5 knots.

Today the wind is relatively slack again. In the morning we sometimes sailed 5.5 to 6 knots close to the wind, now only 3.5. The Canadian is still in sight and just as bobbing in the doldrums. "We could actually take the poor guy out to dinner tonight," I say to Cati. "Simply retrieve the sails, briefly alongside, come over, dinner and let the ship drift. Where should it go in the calm. We'll catch it again under the engine."

But maybe the wind will come up by then. Unfortunately, we have not yet had any success with receiving weather maps via shortwave. We can no longer get in the station in Louisiana, through which we received good cards in Florida - and for the next one, in Boston, we are probably still too far away. Fortunately, friends keep us informed about the weather via email.

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