A few professional writers I know speak with awe about old-school newspaper reporters, back in the days of clacking typewriters, smokey press rooms full of reporters, and print rooms that smelled of newsprint 24×7. What impresses them most is their ability to generate a story while under time pressure. If your story isn’t done by the deadline, it doesn’t get printed. I feel that way this morning, alone in Hazel’s saloon with a cabin fan running for air circulation (the bow hatch and port lights are all closed because it’s spitting rain). It’s 0500 Italy time and I’ve got about 30 minutes to get a post posted before I need to start final preparations to sail, to make my 0700 planned departure time from the Reggio Calabria Marina on the toe of the boot of Italy. Timing is important given that we’ll be launching out in the tidal strait that is the Strait of Messina, it’s spring tides (the highest tidal differentials of the month, generating stronger currents), and we need to get that timing right. After all, while the actual locations of a lot of Homer’s tales are in question and hotly debated, there’s no question where Scilla and Charybdis were—right where we are sailing today. To bring this closer to my US friends, New York City’s “East River” is not a river at all, it too is a tidal strait, connecting Long Island Sound to New York Harbor (the Strait of Messina connects the Tyrrhenian Sea to the north to the Ionian Sea to the south).
On Saturday, August 17 I made the micro-post Groundhog Day on the tracker on the hjsailing.blog home page. You’ll see it’s just before I made an abrupt (in sailor’s speak) “right hand turn.” I was feeling pretty good about things as I recall, settling down for another windless night but in striking distance of reaching Syracusa the next day (about 35 miles). No wind observed on deck, no wind predicted the next 12 hours, nice dinner and sunset, I set my AIS and radar-guard alarms, and watch timer and get some rest. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the wind comes; although the wind was not expected, what I did expect when I felt the first zephyrs wafting across the silky calm water is that is would be “on the nose” (blowing directly from Syracusa)—and I was right. The only thing predictable about Mediterranean winds are their unpredictability.
After tacking back and forth a couple times trying to make some progress as the wind built to an ideal strength (~15 knots). I finally looked at my charts, my next day plans, my subsequent plans, the wind direction and sailing angles we could achieve on both port and starboard tacks (starboard tack would head us south in this instance, and port tack north), and decided to fight fire with fire. I would respond to the Mediterranean’s unpredictability with my own unpredictability. Aloud, I said “_______ it” tacked onto port and headed north towards my original destination of Reggio Calabria. (In case you are wondering, the underlined word is the same word—the one word I’m told—that Robert Redford uses in that movie where the boat sinks. I say “I’m told,” because I’ve never seen it. I make it a point to not watch sailing movies where the boat sinks, which of course means that I don’t watch a lot of sailing movies.)
Although Reggio Calabria was at a range about twice that of Syracusa (70 miles versus 35), the wind angle was much better and reaching Reggio Calabria would set me up better for my subsequent sailing (which I’ll be undertaking shortly).
However twice the range meant that I’d likely not arrive until some time around sunset the next day or into the night (I actually arrived about 0200 local time the next morning). That last day’s sailing was eventful, from light winds to 20-25 knots on a close reach with a short and nasty chop. The kind of upwind sailing where HJ is crashing into the waves at speed and you hope the old-girl will stay together. I had to deal with thunder and lightning, a squall, lots of commercial traffic, and the Italian Coast Guard contacted me directly to keep a sharp watch for a missing windsurfer. I’d find out later that a couple hours after I arrived at the marina is when that big yacht Bayesian tragically sunk off the northwestern coast of Sicily.
The double-entendre of this post’s title relates to the emotional side of singlehanded sailing (at least my singlehanded sailing, I won’t speak for others). I find when the sailing is not high-pressure and does not demand my full attention, my mind is like a cassette tape player—but the only cassettes I have available are short loops that repeat endlessly. The genre of “music” ranges from regrets and remorse, to offenses and anger.
The phrase “Last Day Sailing” is my latest mantra to try to break these loops. What if today were my last day that I could ever sail? Would I worry about these things that repeat in my head? If the answer is “No” (which it inevitably is), Why am I worrying about it or focused on it today?
One of these days I will be right, it will be my last day sailing. I’m pretty confident that that day will be a “natural” ending. That is, I recognize that my body and mind have slipped and I’m not capable of sailing at the level where I want to sail. Or, maybe I look at family and home and say, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” I guess there’s always daysailing around home in a small boat.
Who knows? In the meantime I’ll keep working on my mantra and report back.
Well…I’ve missed my self-imposed deadline so need to get going. Once clear of the Strait of Messina, today‘s plan is to sail west along the north coast of Sicily to the town of Milazzo. From there, I’ll be looking for a safe place to leave Hazel for a few days so I can rent a car and explore Sicily.
