Say Hello to Ralph, My Little Friend...
Sometimes, the weather guys are just a bit off on timing. They forecasted a steep low pressure in the Gulf of Alaska, and we finally ran into it, or it into us. The effect is the same.
The wind has picked up as the center approached, and with it the waveheight. As we are headed west and it roughly east, the winds have been behind us, but that will change: the wind direction has started to rotate toward the south, and will sooner or later be on our bow. Quartering seas are not too bad a ride, the roll so far pretty gentle. The bad part is the pitching... the nose dives followed by the climbs back up. Every few minutes we encounter a deeper dive, that ends with slamming. Slamming... a term known by sailors everywhere, and entirely self-explanatory and self-descriptive. Slamming is followed by a shimmy that runs the entire length of the boat, akin to a guitar string vibrating along it's length.
The motion sets everything to making noise. The pitch from the big medium speed diesels changes up and down as the props dig deeper into the water and have to work harder. The ceiling panels squeak as the ship structure flexes and they get pinched longwise, doors creak as their frames are misshapen. I wonder how I will sleep tonight, but I suspect that I will wedge myself in my sleeping bag, and somehow fall away. Strange how laying down is almost worse that sitting up... my body mass itself rocks and sways with the ship, even as I lay still, like the water moving in a fishbowl when you carry it. No matter how careful and slow, the water still sloshes. The naval architect in me knows that the force is all about the free surface of the fluid, but it's still strange.
Just finished a wonderful but weird run of e-mail with Julie... because of the slight delay in getting messages, we fell into a routine of two tracks of conversation. Each of us is typing at the same time, then replying to the second-to-last message from each other. It is pretty neurotic, but it works when there is no other alternative. But anyway, in the hour or so between starting this entry and doing the e-mails with Julie, I can feel the boat starting to roll more now as the wind has shifted southerly. We are still slamming, but more roll added in, like a cork-screwing figure-of-eight.
I would be remiss, gentle reader, to fail to mention my good friend, meclizine hydrochloride. As of yet, I have had no seasickness. No desperate need to see the horizon. Only the ever-constant need to hold onto something solid, lest I roll across the deck. I only hope that I can continue to hold Ralph off thru the night and into tomorrow. 'Cause as every sailor knows, as soon as you embrace Ralph, you're gonna have to hug Alice and Huey, too. And that just sucks.
KML
The wind has picked up as the center approached, and with it the waveheight. As we are headed west and it roughly east, the winds have been behind us, but that will change: the wind direction has started to rotate toward the south, and will sooner or later be on our bow. Quartering seas are not too bad a ride, the roll so far pretty gentle. The bad part is the pitching... the nose dives followed by the climbs back up. Every few minutes we encounter a deeper dive, that ends with slamming. Slamming... a term known by sailors everywhere, and entirely self-explanatory and self-descriptive. Slamming is followed by a shimmy that runs the entire length of the boat, akin to a guitar string vibrating along it's length.
The motion sets everything to making noise. The pitch from the big medium speed diesels changes up and down as the props dig deeper into the water and have to work harder. The ceiling panels squeak as the ship structure flexes and they get pinched longwise, doors creak as their frames are misshapen. I wonder how I will sleep tonight, but I suspect that I will wedge myself in my sleeping bag, and somehow fall away. Strange how laying down is almost worse that sitting up... my body mass itself rocks and sways with the ship, even as I lay still, like the water moving in a fishbowl when you carry it. No matter how careful and slow, the water still sloshes. The naval architect in me knows that the force is all about the free surface of the fluid, but it's still strange.
Just finished a wonderful but weird run of e-mail with Julie... because of the slight delay in getting messages, we fell into a routine of two tracks of conversation. Each of us is typing at the same time, then replying to the second-to-last message from each other. It is pretty neurotic, but it works when there is no other alternative. But anyway, in the hour or so between starting this entry and doing the e-mails with Julie, I can feel the boat starting to roll more now as the wind has shifted southerly. We are still slamming, but more roll added in, like a cork-screwing figure-of-eight.
I would be remiss, gentle reader, to fail to mention my good friend, meclizine hydrochloride. As of yet, I have had no seasickness. No desperate need to see the horizon. Only the ever-constant need to hold onto something solid, lest I roll across the deck. I only hope that I can continue to hold Ralph off thru the night and into tomorrow. 'Cause as every sailor knows, as soon as you embrace Ralph, you're gonna have to hug Alice and Huey, too. And that just sucks.
KML
posted by Ken at 11:03 PM
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