Land-Ho

As the TTA (Time To Arrival) dropped from days to hours, the vibe amongst the crew turned from anxious to zealous with the notion of making landfall on the other side of the ocean, which we had set out on 14 days before. I was woken up at 0600 with Stiv, Leslie, and Elton, for our 0600-1200 watch. As the sun rose we eagerly scanned the horizon to the east, trying to discern low-lying clouds from high, rugged islands. I stood at the bow, armed with the ships’ bell and binoculars, ready to ring in the standard “LAND HO!!”

Clive caught me off guard and pointed our collective gaze to the small outcrop of rock that makes up the north end of the island of Horta. We shook the bell and cried out, slowly rousing others from their bunks below. Wing on wing, we were headed straight for land with only a few hours and miles between it and us.

Eventually we were all on deck, all smiling and laughing with the mutual excitement. For many of us this was our first ocean crossing, a kind of experience that puts people and the planet into an otherwise unobtainable perspective. Some of us stood at the bow silently, smiling at the accomplishment that was soon to be realized.
Clive took the helm and began our final approach through the channel to the harbor. As if instinctual, he delicately rode the wind in a way that saved us unnecessary tacking and made sail dropping easy. While perfectly skirting along the breeze, he orchestrated the deck crew in a frenzy of sail dropping, line running, and fender tying.

We tied up to the colorful customs quay and leapt for land. Taking full advantage of the solid earth beneath us, we ran, jumped, and laid down on the terra firma that we often take for granted. Unfortunately a few of the crew were more comfortable on the boat than on the ground, and stayed aboard for a few hours to avoid land-sickness.
Approaching the marina, I was struck by the brightly painted docks and pontoons. Apparently it is bad luck to leave Horta without leaving a mark, making the marina a colorful collage of sailors’ art. Behind the marina lies the town of Horta, an old whaling town turned charming village on the sea. Much of the history remains intact, as narrow cobbled streets weave through eclectic and dilapidated buildings. The people of the island were very welcoming, offering smiles and kind words for sailors who have been without contact for probably too long. In short, it is good to be back on land. After a few weeks of solitude at sea, we eagerly embraced the freedoms and comforts afforded on land. However, we all look back fondly on the ocean we’ve crossed; the ocean that taught us so much about the amazing world we are a part of.