Tuesday afternoon, and the waves coming up behind us are lifting the back of the boat up. It's an odd sensation, being propelled horizontally, but nose down and tail up. It feels just as though we're rushing downhill on a roller-coaster. There are even times when the horizon comes into view. Not so unusual you might think, but from the bunk / seats at the rear of the cabin, a good foot lower than the front seats, all you would normally see is sky when looking forward through the front windscreen.

Fortunately as the afternoon wanes into evening, the seas calm down somewhat. It's just after midnight, and I'm on my first watch while Alan and Steve sleep. We're heading south-east, and about twenty five miles offshore from San Francisco.

Once again I'm marvelling at the phosphorescent plankton glowing in our wake, but now I can see something different. Normally it's only where the water is stirred up that you see the pinprick glows, but in the dark water beyond the wake on either side of the boat, there's something else. It's not just the usual mass of green fairy lights but large clumps of the stuff about a foot below the surface.

Every few seconds I see what looks like the mysterious lights of an underwater landing strip. Shades of Thunderball. Or, since we're reading our way swiftly towards the denouement of Michael Crichton's "Sphere", perhaps what I'm looking at is something more sinister.

Four hours after my first watch ends, and I'm stirred from a drugged sleep to begin my second. "Clive, it's time." Steve's words are delivered with the solemnity of the padre arriving at my cell door to escort me to the hangman. Doing a two-hour watch isn't that bad, really.

Now we're passing Monterey, and Carmel (morning, Clint). The sea has flattened off completely, and we're making 18 knots with no bumps. It feels great. It's also the first time in about a month that the luxury toilet (dive platform) at the back of the boat has come back into play, along with the shower hose. For the last month, we've lived in a 6ft by 8ft cabin. The air temperature's still not that high, but at least we can see it won't be long before we can start to enjoy being outside once more.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
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