07:50

I refill my cup with stout fine coffee, the kind I personally find too expensive to drink. It is an offering from the Vallero brothers, San Francisco coffee importers who are aboard the ship and must maintain their caffeine standards. The steam roils above the mug as I emerge from the companionway. The plume does not whip away, but slowly swirls, confirming there is still no wind. We should round Point Conception at the end of our forenoon watch. There, we are told by Eleanor with a small degree of glee, “the conditions will change.” NOAA, in a droning electronic voice, corroborates her forecast. “Forty-five knots … at twelve feet … building…midnight…” For the moment though, there is not a breath of wind. The sea rises before us in swelling heaps. Visibility is poor. Beyond the bow the world is gray, featureless and void. Read more

I jerk awake as adrenaline squirts into my veins. Have we hit something? A whale, a container, a crate of shoes? No. The thump is on the sole, not the hull. I take a long breath. Has something fallen? No. The boat is neither pitching nor yawing nearly enough to toss some heavy load onto the floor. I peek around my lee cloth to see the dark figure of the First Mate Eleanor pulling on her shoes, illuminated by her red flashlight. She has launched herself from the bunk above me to prepare for the change of watch, her third watch in 24 hours. She is covering for a mate stricken with seasickness. Read more