It's about 0530 and we're cruising along the South China Sea at a good 4,5 knots on our way to Singapore. It's early dawn and I've been on watch for an hour and a half, and so far I haven't seen any signs of other traffic whatsoever. A bit out of the ordinary as the maximum depth of the are is 30 metres and you can encounter fishing boats anywhere as well as larger commercial craft headed for Singapore.
I've just turned off the lantern, a bit early as it is still twilight, but there's noone around anyway. I'm listening to my Ipod and looking aft, slumped against the cockpit coaming. They say that you, worst case scenario, have 20 minutes from you spot a ship in the horizon until it runs you down - if it hits you in the vast ocean. Some of the solo-sailors sleep in 20-minute intervals so they can scan the horizon. Others sleep 2 hours, trusting in others peoples ability to steer clear, or just the plain improbability of crashing into another craft. I don't know when I checked forward the last time. Maybe 10 minutes ago, maybe 30.
My Ipod runs out of battery and I head inside to put it on charge. As I'm fidgeting with the charging-cable just inside the companionway I steal a glance out of our lookout globe. I blink once. I cannot believe it. There's a sampan, a traditional fishing boat about the same size as our own, about 50 metres, dead, straight ahead! I hesitate for a nano-second, I do not process the equation that says that at current speed we'll ram the sampan in 21,8 seconds, I do however register that he doesn't seem to be moving. Sometimes these guys will cross just in front of your bow to offload the bad spirits they have accumulated lately. Not the case this time, however we are about to offload heaps of kinetic energy into his flimsy wooden frame.
I frantically jump out of the companionway, scattering Ipod and various accessories in the process. Out in the cockpit i tear off the chain that connects the windvane to the tiller and yank the tiller to starboard, after a hyper-brief internal conference in which the conclusion is that I should pass in front of the fishing boat as they often have nets or lines trailing off the back. The sampan drifts into sight as our bow turns to port and I register there's a person in the back and that the boat is anchored. I barely clear his anchor-rode as we pass four metres in front of him.
I connect the windvane again, not really believing what just happened. I have to turn around and look back at the boat to make sure it was really there. Down below Egil is still asleep.
Somehow my watchkeeping vigilance has picked up considerably the last few days....
I've just turned off the lantern, a bit early as it is still twilight, but there's noone around anyway. I'm listening to my Ipod and looking aft, slumped against the cockpit coaming. They say that you, worst case scenario, have 20 minutes from you spot a ship in the horizon until it runs you down - if it hits you in the vast ocean. Some of the solo-sailors sleep in 20-minute intervals so they can scan the horizon. Others sleep 2 hours, trusting in others peoples ability to steer clear, or just the plain improbability of crashing into another craft. I don't know when I checked forward the last time. Maybe 10 minutes ago, maybe 30.
My Ipod runs out of battery and I head inside to put it on charge. As I'm fidgeting with the charging-cable just inside the companionway I steal a glance out of our lookout globe. I blink once. I cannot believe it. There's a sampan, a traditional fishing boat about the same size as our own, about 50 metres, dead, straight ahead! I hesitate for a nano-second, I do not process the equation that says that at current speed we'll ram the sampan in 21,8 seconds, I do however register that he doesn't seem to be moving. Sometimes these guys will cross just in front of your bow to offload the bad spirits they have accumulated lately. Not the case this time, however we are about to offload heaps of kinetic energy into his flimsy wooden frame.
I frantically jump out of the companionway, scattering Ipod and various accessories in the process. Out in the cockpit i tear off the chain that connects the windvane to the tiller and yank the tiller to starboard, after a hyper-brief internal conference in which the conclusion is that I should pass in front of the fishing boat as they often have nets or lines trailing off the back. The sampan drifts into sight as our bow turns to port and I register there's a person in the back and that the boat is anchored. I barely clear his anchor-rode as we pass four metres in front of him.
I connect the windvane again, not really believing what just happened. I have to turn around and look back at the boat to make sure it was really there. Down below Egil is still asleep.
Somehow my watchkeeping vigilance has picked up considerably the last few days....
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