Rum Cay to Dominican Republic, Day 1

We cast off, with some much appreciated help from Peggy (and valiant attempts by the Rum Cay kitty to stow away), at about 8 a.m. ship's time on Sunday, March 9. I say ship's time, because we decided to ignore daylight saving until we found out what the Dominican Republic is using. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the wind was not too bad and in a reasonable, if not great, quarter.

We are circumspect in our alcohol consumption during crossings and cruises. A majority of boating accidents and drownings are associated with liquor + boat. WW also confidently informs me that men peeing over the side is a bad thing...a very good way to produce a man overboard (MOB) situation. That said, we marked our entry into the tropics at about 1 p.m. EST by a small glass of wine. Then we settled into occupying our little home for the next three days. A lot of reading is done.

The wind, instead of slacking as it was supposed to, picked up. We were bucketing along between 6 and 7 knots for much of the time. Django didn't like it much, since she was pointing almost directly into the wind and waves. The wind finally moved to a more advantageous bit of the compass and we were able to raise genny and mainsail. We watched Rum Cay vanish into the distance; the next bit of land to the south would be Samana Cay.

When the sun plonked itself into the ocean, we dined and began our two-hour watch rotation. It was much easier than I had thought it would be, although catamarans go bang alot as the centre connecty bit (I believe that's the technical term) is slapped by the seas. They also go thump when one or other of the bows buries itself in a solid wall of wave. Below can be rather noisy. And bumpy. Our berth is forward and one of the not good places to be during a cruise, so we took turns on the salon bench. It was actually very comfy. In future, we will use the stern berth on which I store cabbages, eggs, bottles of wine, and such. We think it will be much quieter and the sleeper will not be bothered by the watchkeeper making tea or checking the plotter or shining a Ginny-provided headlamp on the charts.

That night was my first experience of the fabled phosphorescence of the sea. WW tells me it is created by little shrimp-like creatures--the fireflies of the sea. They were just sporadic sparkles here and there in our wake, but lovely withal. WW says you can hit great congregations of the critters and your entire wake becomes awash with light.

The main trick with keeping night watch is, of course, staying awake. You can't read because the light would mess up your night vision and you REALLY want to know if a cruise or cargo ship is anywhere nearby. There is even a setting on the chart plotter for night which is far dimmer than the day setting. WW achieves wakefulness by worrying. I achieve it with my Nintendo DS, a Christmas present from the boys and GG (and for which, many thanks). It is a little pocket video game player on which I can do sudoku and puzzles and other drivel. It can be closed and reopened later to pick up where you left off. That means I could start something, shut it, check all the dials and course and wind and speed over ground, and restart it just by opening it again.

With WW worrying and me solving mindless puzzles, we did very well.

We passed Samana Cay just before dawn and WW had news for me.