There are these moments of utter elation – at night, eyes on the sea, mile after mile slipping by in the dark, and yet the headway we make matters only so much just now. Only the present, only now. No such moment ever lasts.
A few days later, with Jan, who’s visiting, southward on the IJsselmeer. The sails in the first reef. Beating upwind. Interrupted only by the tacks, we're simply deep in talk, just like yesterday. Good to be out here with him.
On the routine glance around, I see that the starboard lower shroud has suddenly lost its tension. One look is enough, and I know something is wrong. My eye is already searching – once through the rig, once round about for other boats or buoys in the way. In my mind I hold that there’s no shallows immediately around us. There – the baby stay, normally tensioned forward from the middle of the mast to the deck, giving the mast its slight forward bend – the baby stay is lying on the deck. All of this happens in one, perhaps two seconds. Tiller over, bear away, take in the headsail, briefly back up to the wind and hand the mainsail. Another minute or two. Once again: the present, the now. Only the moment. But a different one. – It’s always a bit stressful.
We motor back to Makkum with the wind behind us. Made an outing to Harlingen, ate frietjes, did some shopping. Back on Koraki we cooked a Jan-and-Christian risotto. And: talked. The conversation never runs dry. This morning a walk on the beach, and then Jan was off back to Cologne. I went up the mast again. And tomorrow, Monday, I hope to find a good solution with the rigger here.
It’s always a bit stressful. The phrase I’ve heard from many who sail single-handed. The feeling most single-handers know. And somehow we do it anyway. Or precisely because of it? Something unforeseen is always lying in wait. Roll with the punches. Take the moment as it is. As now, too. In the wind and the sun on the beach at Makkum.