Chapter 3

Hove to, a sailing boat makes very slow progress towards the wind. There's a sort of dynamic stability, with sails and helm deliberately set to maintain a small angle to the wind. Overall, it can mean the boat moving forward over the ground, or back; you have to experience it to understand, really. The point is, facing into the weather, with wind and sea on one bow (usually starboard, right, because of the 'rules of the road') the boat is relatively safe and stable. It just pitches up and down, fore and aft, with a minimum of rolling.

When I got below and took my outer gear off, Serendipity was pitching heavily, but not rolling too much. Grace was wedged in the galley, doing something with a flask and mugs. I carried on through and wedged myself into a corner of the saloon. Grace appeared with a mug and handed it to me; cocoa, made with hot water from a flask and condensed milk. It wasn't what I'd call hot, but a great deal better than nothing.

"Thanks! Good idea."

"I fancied some myself," she said, going to fetch her own. When she returned, "Can I sit with you?"

The way Serendipity was moving, there was no polite sitting upright on the bench seats; it was 'wedge yourself into a corner' time. If she sat with me, it meant using me as the corner to wedge herself into.

"If you really want to, I don't mind." Be half-hearted about it, why don't I?

She chose to ignore my lukewarm response and I swapped my mug into my left hand and lifted my right arm in invitation ... and silent apology. She ... the only appropriate word is 'snuggled' ... against me. Despite any reservations I may have had, her slight form felt good against me as we sipped at the drinks she'd made.

When we'd both finished, she took the mugs and put them in the little sink in the galley, then returned to her place tucked in against me. It wasn't long after that I realised she was asleep. I was half amused and half irritated, thinking I'd disturb her when I got up to check everything was okay. Then, against my inclination and intention, I dropped off too.

I woke, briefly, an hour or so later. Serendipity was still pitching and I could hear rain beating on the coach-roof, but everything felt alright ... especially the young woman leaning against me, snoring slightly. I drifted off again.

The next time I woke was after one in the morning. There was no sound of rain, though the wind was still making its presence known. If anything, the motion was worse.

I eased myself out from beside Grace and laid her on the seat, wedged against the back, and tucked a blanket round her and under the cushion before getting up to look round.

The winds had veered westerly, and Serendipity had weather-cocked obediently, so she was riding still hove to, still a little off the wind, still mostly pitching, though with a little more roll in the motion. Cloud cover meant no stars or moon – it was very dark, and I could make out the glow of the nav lights in the darkness. No rain, thankfully. The sea was still rough, waves maybe six, seven metres. Even if the wind dropped it would take time for the sea to calm down.

I went below again and Grace grabbed my hand as I passed and pulled me back to the seat. I didn't protest ... I didn't want to protest as she tucked in against me again ... and went back to sleep. I must have slept, too ... but something woke me just after five, so I'd get the forecast. 'Low, North Utsire, 978, expected Viking, 984 by mid-day, moving west and filling.' And... 'Tyne, Dogger, Humber, Westerly, 7 occasionally 8, veering and decreasing five or six... '

"Is that good?"

"I'd say so. It's going to stay rough for a while, though."

"Shall I try to boil a kettle?"

The little cooker was set in gimbals, so it was possible. "You can try, if you're careful. I could use some coffee." I climbed into water-proofs, more for protection from the wind than water, though a fair amount of North Sea was finding its way into the air, and put on a life-preserver and harness again. The GPS indicated we'd made a few miles southerly, but not enough to worry about.

On deck, I set Serendipity onto port tack, meaning the wind was coming from the left and ahead instead of the right and ahead, so we were moving roughly west-north-west, rather than south-west, but I didn't try to set a course to the north until Grace finished with the cooker.

She brought me my coffee and disappeared below again. I thought she'd come up with her own drink, but she didn't come immediately. When she did, she was bearing a grilled bacon sandwich, which she handed to me before disappearing below again, then reappearing with her own drink and a sandwich.

"Sosmix," she said in my ear.

Sosmix is a dried, vegetarian, imitation sausage-meat; add water to make something you can shape, fry or grill.

She tucked in against me; 'I could get used to that', I thought, and we ate and sipped, until we'd finished.

"That was really good," I praised her, "thanks."

"Are we going to start sailing again soon?" (meaning sailing purposefully, rather than bobbing up and down, hove to, waiting for the wind to drop)

"It's going to be a bit rough," I informed her.

"I don't mind, I don't think," she answered, ungrammatically. "We could heave to again if it's too bad, can't we?"

"Sure. Shall I deal with the pots first?"

"I'll do it. You know, I'm feeling pretty good. Enjoying this!"

I gave her shoulders a squeeze and she went below. I followed, checked our position, and plotted a course. North-north-west would do as a close-reach. We'd have to bear away as the wind continued to veer, though. When we were both ready, I unlocked the wheel and bore away. Under staysail and reefed mizzen, in that sea, we weren't going to break any speed records (the waves slow the boat down) and we added rolling to the pitching motion. The change made us both uneasy, but that soon passed in the work of sailing as we began to make progress to the north again.

Around mid-day, the wind had dropped and veered more to north-west; I hoisted the main with three reefs in, and we were making five knots a little east of north. The sea was still high, with six-metre waves, but Serendipity was riding easily; I was proud of my ship. By six, we were opposite Whitby.

"Ready for bed, or a night watch?" I asked Grace.

"I think I'd like to sleep, if I can," she said.

I was happy with that, as we were approaching the shipping lanes for Newcastle. She reappeared at two in the morning and took over.

Laid, wedged in the bench-seat in the saloon, I slept very lightly and surfaced when, an hour or so later, Grace came below to fetch me.

"Sorry, Ted. There's a ship..."

"Okay. No problem." I sat up and pulled on boots before shrugging into a jacket. "What have you done?"

"I took a bearing when I first saw it, and I've just taken another. They're near enough identical."

We moved out to the cockpit. "And that means..."

"That if we carry on as we are, we'll meet it nose to nose."

"Absolutely. So what do we do about it?"

"Well ... legally, it has to give way to us, right?"

"Theoretically, yes. Assuming they're keeping an eye out and see us. 'This is the grave of Mike O'Day, who died maintaining his right of way..."

"I know that one... 'his right was clear, his will was strong, but he's just as dead as if he'd been wrong.'"

"Exactly. That ship is much bigger than us, and they're on a schedule, and much faster too. It's no skin off our noses, and much safer, to keep out of their way. Let's alter ten degrees to starb'd."

"Okay. That's about what I thought. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Don't be. It was the right thing to do."

Twenty minutes later, it was clear we'd pass well astern of the vessel. The barometer had risen a little, and the wind was a steady force six from the north west. We resumed our course and I went back to bed. The couch, that is. I still slept lightly, but was tired enough that I didn't wake until the cabin began to get light; a grey, pallid light, to be sure, but ... looking at my watch, it was almost seven. I dressed and went on deck.

Grace looked at me and smiled. You know, that smile transformed her face. "Morning, Skipper. I got the forecast. Didn't write it all down, though," her face dropped a little at that. "They're saying," she paused, "We're Forth, or Tyne?"