Sailing By Moonlight (3)

It was 4.30am and virtually pitch-black on deck. I went below with Kylie and checked the water levels in the “heads” (toilets) for the 3rd time that night and then stuck my head out of one of the hatches to check for cloud cover so that we could note it down in the log. The novelty of doing hourly rounds in the dark to check on the ship had paled, and all I could think about was that breakfast (and the end of our watch) was still more than 3 hours away.

At breakfast the day before, Captain Nick had unscrolled a map of the Hauraki Gulf ready for any suggestions about the day’s sailing. My eyes were irresistibly drawn to the huge expanse of water over to the east with the exciting words “Submarine Exercise Area” sprawled over it. Somehow I didn't think that we would be going anywhere near there. His recommendation was that as the winds were good, we should try to sail continuously for the next 24hrs, which would give us the experience of a night sail. We were divided into 2 groups – the port watch and the starboard watch. Christine and Jon were members of port watch and definitely had a harder time of it that day as it was all hands on deck in the morning, then the watch system kicked in at 1pm. So whilst the starboard watch lazed around that afternoon, they continued to be on duty until 7pm.

Around 8pm I took a turn on bow watch and enjoyed the solitude for a while, as everyone else was on the poop deck. With only one tiny fishing boat on the horizon to keep an eye on, I idly began wondering what would happen if I fell overboard. Would anyone hear the splash, or be able to spot what would be left of me after being run over by 300 tonnes of ship? "Just scream as you go overboard" advised Darren when he passed by during one of his rounds. Clutching the ropes a little bit tighter, I concentrated on looking for dolphins in the growing dusk. At least once a day, a pod would appear and decide to race against the ship. Whenever the magical call of “Dolphins!” went up, the VCs (okay, me) had a tendency to immediately abandon their posts and rush to the railings. On our first day aboard, we were delighted when a pod flanked the ship for several minutes. One dolphin idled right under me for a few moments, arching its glistening grey back out of the sea before darting off.

Although no dolphins appeared during my bow watch, later that night we were lucky enough to see the phenomenon of “phosphorescent dolphins” that one of the permanent crew members had mentioned earlier. She explained that their movement activates phosphorescent plankton in the sea water, making the dolphins visible in the dark. I was at the helm at about 10.30pm when the call of “Dolphins!” went up – though it was more of a frenzied whisper as the port watch were resting below deck. Leaning over the side, I saw the shape of a solitary dolphin swimming below me, glowing ghost-silver in the darkness as if there was a hidden spotlight shining on him. For a few amazing seconds, I was mesmerised by the sight, then someone queried sharply: “Who’s on the wheel?”. “Oops!” I said and quickly rushed back to correct our course.

That night the skies were clear so there was an opportunity for some wonderful stargazing. For the first time, I saw the perfect kite shape of the Southern Cross with its four stars. Captain Nick showed me how to locate it from the 2 pointer stars which formed the “kite string”. Higher up was the false Southern Cross (a slightly more squashed kite) and an upside down (to northern hemisphere eyes) Orion. But most exciting of all, just above the horizon I was thrilled to see the long dusty tail of McNaughton’s Comet, which was clearly visible to the naked eye. During a lull in the last hour of our shift, I lay on the poop deck and looked up at the high velocity splatter of stars that was the Milky Way. It was breathtakingly beautiful. There was no light pollution to interfere with the glittering display since we were so far from any settlements. The many lighthouses were just pinpricks of slowly pulsating light on the horizon - I counted a total of 8 on the port side alone.

For the first time, I appreciated how bright the moon really is. It was the strongest light source that we had, as there were no electric lights on deck, and torches weren’t allowed. “Interferes with your night vision” we were told. When port watch came to relieve us at 12am and we went down the “companionway” (stairs) to our berths, I was nearly blinded by the saloon lights after those few hours of working by moonlight. All too soon, we groggily rolled out from our berths for the 4am to 8am watch. This was much less fun, as the skies had clouded over so there was no more stargazing and no beautiful ocean sunrise. Neither were there any dolphins, though I was pleased to hear that there had been some during the starboard watch, so Christine and Jon had been able to see them too.