the night before: yacht, hours offshore. headwind, rain, swell. motoring straight into it. nose scooping up waves over the yacht. whether a leak or a hatch not tightly sealed, water sloshing down through my bedroom in the fore: bed and bags soaked through. then, the engine just stops and won’t be started. sail back easily but risk be blown against the shelterless shore bar the one marina we left from? sail into the wind, zigzagging slowly to where we were going and try sailing into a bay and dropping anchor under sail? the latter. hours later, sunset has passed, wind is dying, the lighthouse on the headland that marks the entrance to the bay has been dancing in front of us for far too long as windshift after windshift after wind dying after wind teasingly blowing. finally, wind plays a friendly hand and we’re into the bay, anchor chain meticulously prepared and the sound of the waves crashing on the beach seemingly meters away, furling the genoa, turning into wind, crossing fingers, dropping the anchor, hoping it will hold: can’t really be a plan b.
after tossing in the waves all night - not the best for sleep - clamber out to see a beautiful sunrise, and the facilities of the harbour across the bar.