Hidden Aircraft Carrier, Crouching Catamaran

If it had been daylight instead of pitch black at night, it would have looked like this….   (Photo by Defence images, UK Ministry of Defence)

Normally the night watches are calm, peaceful, serene times for reflecting upon the larger issues of life: ‘Who are we?’, ‘Why are we here?‘, ‘How big is this galaxy really?‘, ‘How can I eat both my sardines and the Can Opener’s at tomorrow’s breakfast without him noticing?‘

But this night was different…

It’s amazing how your depth perception fades to useless at night. It becomes difficult to tell the size of objects, to judge their speed, even difficult to judge what angle and direction they are travelling at. 

You can’t believe how challenging this is till you (don’t) see it.

Until last night we had been blessed with next to no traffic – the Med’s not too busy this time of year. Just a few commercial vessels’ lights passing on the horizon, nowhere near us.

Every 15 minutes as usual, both the Can Opener and I would scan the horizon… and this time we noticed some lights were NOT moving across our bow. Rather they stayed lined up with our course. 

This is a bad thing and can make even the best of us super antsy!

But they weren’t any kind of lights we’d seen before in life or in a textbook. 

There were about a hundred little white lights lined up horizontally above the water, and masses of lights – all white – by their bridge. And no sign of any port or starboard lights to tell us what direction this monster was moving in.

The lights came closer and closer and then a hulking giant something loomed out of what was near pitch blackness. No moon this night.

Suddenly a searchlight swept around and their horn blasted five times… and we saw it was an aircraft carrier. Holy great Bastet! I nearly had to make an unplanned trip to my sandbox.

The horizontal little white lights were lighting up an aircraft carrier’s runway. The bridge flicked on their nav lights and we could finally see it was port-side to us… and realised it was parked… in the middle of the Med!

Quickly I ordered the Can Opener to steer decisively around it. 

To our left, a giant aircraft carrier, and to our right now, another unknown ship (that we had previously noted but that was not on a collision course with us) was pulling up not too far off. 

We seemed to be passing through some kind of NATO military configuration or exercises on the high seas. Gulp.

The Can Opener was strangely unmoved, but I had to go below for a restorative sardine.

–Captain Cat

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

Cooking At Sea

By the fourth day, the seasickness had vanished and a cooked meal seemed delightfully appealing. Even the Can Opener was starved. 

So I set him to work in the galley, chopping and dicing under my expert tutelage. In no time flat, a brightly coloured meal hit the stern outdoor dining table.

Fresh salad with cucumbers, tomatoes, celery, red and yellow peppers, onion and fennel – beautiful for the weirdo herbivores on board.

And a chorizo pasta for the right-minded:

• onions, garlic and then a LOT of chorizo in olive oil to fry
• a little red wine for more good flavour
• red peppers and mushrooms added in next
• salt and pepper to taste
• all served on some fluffy butterfly pasta

Naturally the accolades were many and I tipped my feather hat to my appreciative crew. 

The Can Opener of course deserved an honourable mention for his efforts and I’m sure I did mention this at some point in my speech. 

–Captain Cat 

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

Sleeping In Shifts

It took about three days for the crew to get used to each other and to the daily routine. We had been doing the night watches in pairs, so this meant about two shifts per night. …And that our catnaps were only about 3 hours long max.

Since everyone was groggy with the seasickness and the with lethargy that seems to settle at the beginning of any longish voyage, the 3 hour shift sleeping continued (though less formally) throughout the day too.

But by the third day the mild nausea had worn off – even with the anti-seasickness pills, we had all been feeling a bit queasy. One moment saltines were the only thing I wanted and then like a veil lifting, suddenly it was all gone.

Thereafter I set up a one crew per watch system. And with so many crew on the boat, this meant only one watch per night. Delight!

At first the Can Opener and I would automatically wake up after our three hour snooze, alert and ready to pull on the foul weather gear, tie on our life jackets and climb up to the helm. 

Then we’d realise that we weren’t due on shift until the end of six hours, stretch luxuriously, roll over and snooze on.

Funny though. Both ways were fine.

We never felt really tired at any point at all. 

We slept when we were tired and woke when we were refreshed. 

The excitement and contentment on being on a boat on the water makes life just purrfect, no matter how you slice it.

–Captain Cat

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

On The Open Sea

Out of sight of land, we sailed…

  

…and sailed…

…and sailed…

…and sailed…

 

 … from the Alboran Sea to the Balearic Sea to the Algerian Basin. For 5.5 days straight.

And it was awesome.

 

–Captain Cat 

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

Dolphin Sighting!

Absolutely beautiful. They played in our bow wave for ages.

They were about 6 feet long and probably some of the ‘Striped Dolphin’ (Stenella coeruleoalba), common in the Med. 

The Can Opener refuses to let me retain one as a pet. Most unreasonable, wittering on about bathtub size and water salination issues. He is becoming obstreporous. 

–Captain Cat

 (transcribed by the Can Opener)

The Night Watch

Last view of Spain as it slips away…

The first night watch was upon us. 

I had arranged the night’s schedule in pairs tonight: two on each watch for company, team bonding, and as the crew were adjusting to a new routine. The Can Opener and I were on first shift.

I brought out my tome of preparatory notes, settled on the First Mate’s lap under my evening cape and began to expound upon proper watch procedure, duties and etiquette. The First Mate was riveted. He always is.

Quickly, however, it became too dark to read and we each became lost in our own thoughts. We listened to the slapping of the waves against the hull and watched the moon set behind us. Land had long since slipped away. 

Every 15 minutes we scanned the horizon for any sign of lights indicating ships, but tonight there were none.

The wind was behind us at a steady 12 knots and all was well.

–Captain Cat 

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

The Real Passage-Making Begins

I become accustomed to the early morning rises, the breakfast sardines at the stern dining table, the peace of a darkish young sky as it blooms golden.  

The crew has already fallen in to a rhythm, each smoothly backing up the others as they prepare the boat for takeoff under my supervision.

And all rendered more piquant by the knowledge that the mid-morning, post-lunch, late afternoon and early evening catnaps are just around the corner. 

We followed the Spanish coastline for most of the day…

And finally, leaving Spain on our stern quarter, we headed out to the open sea, our bow pointed firmly towards Sardinia.

The first night watch was upon us…

–Captain Cat 

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

Hugging La Costa Del Sol

For two grueling hours we cruised along the Costa del Sol, eyes straining and ears perked. 

Our quarry, the evening’s fish restaurant in the next bay with the legendary garlic shrimp, beckoned from out of sight of La Herradura and beyond the headland. The Can Opener, however, refused to turn on the engine to speed things up. 

And so the dreary slog continued. 

At last! My keen eyes picked it out ‘midst the gloaming, a mere dot on the coastline among so many…

Note: It’s behind the rock…

We gybed and headed in to the last berth we will make before the mighty passage across to the Algerian Basin. Land beneath my paws never felt so good. 

And the garlic shrimp were spanking.

–Captain Cat 

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

Casting Off The Bow Lines: The Delivery Begins…

Good bye Caleta del Vélez! 

Up out of my comfy cabin bed at an unseasonal 8am. Provisions and personal belongings already stowed. Sails prepped and at the ready. A hearty crew breakfast of chorizos y chocolate…

… and then we’re off!

I organised the Can Opener and the crew to cast off the spring, bow and stern lines, let the wind catch my bow to spin us around and then steered a confident course for the open sea.

These catamarans carry quite a lot of freeboard – at the wheel I sit nearly 9 feet above the water. It’s kind of like driving a small office building across the Med. Ah me, new experiences every day…

 

And hellooooo Alboran Sea! 

–Captain Cat 

 (transcribed by the Can Opener)

Provisioning The First Leg

Saturday early mornings in Caleta del Vélez, there’s a market that sets up and lines the waterfront street by the marina. 

Vendors and canopies pop up over rickety tables, mountains of goods are carefully laid out. Clothes, toys, sunglasses, bedsheets… and piles of food. 

From my perch on the Can Opener’s shoulder and by tweaking his ears starboard and port side as needed, I deftly steered him towards the prepared meat section. 

…Somehow, we still managed to arrive in front of the area targeting that evolutionary wonder, the herbivore. 

Nothing against herbivores. Most are quite tasty. Living with one, however, is another thing altogether*. Quite messes up my laboriously planned 5-course meat menus. 

Despite my clearly reasoned arguments in favour of daily steak tartar rations, the Can Opener was not to be deterred. He and the crew loaded up on (brightly coloured and admittedly beautiful in a still-life-in-oils kind of way) fruits and vegetables. We were planning a 5 day crossing of the Alboran and Balearic Seas and the Algerian Basin, so spoilage was not an issue.

The Can Opener mumbled something about scurvy as he passed the oranges to the vendor for weighing. Then he added ginger, packs of pasta and rice, and jars of tomato, pesto and British-mild veggie curry sauce to our satchel at the next stall (accompanied all the while by a mini lecture to me about bland food and seasickness).

I don’t need a lecture on seasickness, I know all about it. I’ll be bed-ridden for the first 3 days at sea as usual, and expect to be waited on hand and foot till it passes. Happens to the best of us.

By dint of much abuse of the First Mate’s ears, I was finally able to get him to relent and load up on copious amounts of sardine tins. Enough to get me through to Sardinia anyway. 

We do not eat kibble.

–Captain Cat

 (transcribed by the Can Opener)

* Note: The Can Opener is not an actual vegetarian, just a near one. He tries a lot and then fails… every time a juicy steak walks by. On passage, however, he sticks to his idealised agenda. There are no burger franchises at sea.