Location: Underway to Spain
Roberts anchor watch was relieved when he woke me, a tap on the ankle with a cold, wet hand. I rolled over and saw his hooded silhouette over my bunk, the sleeves of his jacket dripping on my sheets. 0650, and I, todays skipper, was to rouse the crew for breakfast. He took the deck again to watch the wind instruments spike with a passing squall. I sat up in my bunk and blinked the sleep from my eyes. The dream about returning to boarding school as an adult student was fading with reluctance, and I wished it were lighter out to help my body emerge from the depths of slumber. The deck was pitching up and down in the darkness as a swell had set into the anchorage, and I set about rousing the crew for breakfast, stumbling through the hallway to each cabin to give my best motivational monologue on why they should rise to meet the day and its adventures. A few cabin hatches had not been dogged against the rain, which dripped and dribbled into the vessels interior. Eggs were on the go in the galley to be served on croissant bread, and the cold rain would have us depart from our usual practice of eating on deck to enjoy a brekkie in the warmth and light of the salon on this rare occasion. Indeed, autumn is well upon the Med, and the sun, too, is becoming a late riser. The wind continued to pick up until I heard a low grumble, like thunder reverberating through the hull, only there had been no lightning flash, and this was not thunder. This was the ominous, unmistakable grind of the anchor dragging across the ocean floor towards the rocks in our lee. Rob heard it, too, and came below to see what I thought. I checked the weather forecast and felt my spirits dip as I saw that yesterdays gale forecasts for the coming week had intensified. We would be just fine today but had to make some quick decisions to ensure wed make our westerly progress before the gales set in mid-next week. A common theme during our voyage of discovery will be the winds of change, and the crew took the news of a readjusted itinerary with enthusiasm, understanding that as a sailing vessel, we go where the winds blow and heed caution when they BLOW. Passage prep has become a challenge to be completed in record time. Argo was ready to make way again in under an hour, and our spirit for adventure would not be quelled.
The cliffs of Mallorca were a spectacle as we made our way along her coasts. On the southwestern tip of the island is Dragonera, a rock as long as a large town and tall enough to be wet by the clouded cloak of the sky. Perched upon the crest of the steep cliffs is my dream house, for I would love to be a lighthouse keeper. This particular lighthouse overlooks the Med to the west, has a marvelous view of Mallorca to the east, and in the late afternoon sun, which slanted through the low clouds against the red cliffs, looked like the picture of peace, able to stand resilient and shine brightest for others in the darkest of nights.
We were each absorbed on deck by the thought of the solitary yet beautifully simple life of that lighthouse keeper in his towering perch when somebody broke the silence with a cry of Mola mola! A sunfish had made a slow pass down our port side and was nearly missed. What a rare sight! These fish can grow up to the size of a small hatchback, but this one, a juvenile, as our scientists Amanda, Anna, and Will told us, was a modest coffee table size. In fact, it resembled a coffee table in shape as well, for a Mola mola is a most peculiarly shaped creature, disk-shaped with a rounded point for a beak and modified dorsal and pectoral fins which scull rather than a tail for mobility. Slow and dopey, this one was in no particular hurry as we came about for a closer look. The crew hustled alarmingly quickly to catch their own glimpse of this alien-looking fish. Amanda was close to tears, which put into perspective the majesty and value of this encounter.
Dragonera and the lighthouse grew smaller into the gloom of the darkening sky as the day drew its curtain upon the Med. The lights of Ibiza and Formentera glow beyond the starboard bows as we make passage into the evening. A burnished sky saw us through dinner of tortilla chip soup, which has done wonders for those a little green about the gills from the rolling, more vigorous than weve seen since beginning our journey from Civitavecchia. A familiar adventure beckons with the coming night watches, and a new adventure waits behind the sunrise.