Equatorial Rain

On deck, the sounds of limp canvas beating against the mast, break the silence of the tropical morning. The bright starry sky that ,not so long ago covered the entire hemisphere has now become invaded and ,although the moon is still below, the monsoonal cloud that lurks across our watery world is clearly identifiable. It's dark grey, puffy outline frames its black centre, darker than the moonless night.

So often now do we face such long periods of calm, that the only wind we get is with the rain. These downpours have become, to a point, predictable and I find myself beginning to enjoy the cool change and freshness they bring.

The warm wafting breeze turns cool and begins to back as the first sharp gust reaches our canvas. A gust that pulls the sails to the extent that her sheets allow and forms them into drawing curves. The natural force that drives our ship is once again giving us headway.

The "on" watch, casually sitting around the deck, inquisitively find their feet and gather by the weather rail to view the situation. "Yep, this ones gonna get us wet". In the darkness to weather , the distant patter of large monsoonal raindrops flattening the seas surface progresses towards us. A sound so clear and distinct in the darkness that I swear I can see the line coming. We prepare to accept it.

After a moment or two of hasted shuffling we are all once again mustered to weather rail kitted out in our rain coats. I find myself dressed in a long "drizabone" riding coat. Over it , a "Stormy Seas" Inflatable life jacket and EPIRB. Comments are passed on the unusualness of such a combination of garments. Something you'd only get away with wearing on a tall ship in the dark I suppose.

I'm happy now however. The rain has started falling. Heavier and heavier but I'm still dry. With the rain comes the wind and with the wind "Duyfken" wastes no time in gaining great momentum. The helmsman stands dry in the cabin, steering with ease. It seems the best place to be at this moment. I find myself standing up forward near the break of the focsle head, peering down at the hull. The gurgling glowing white spumes refract from the bow and flashes past my fix un-effected by the rains desperate efforts to flatten them.

The sounds of the rain , pouring off the foot of the already water logged mainsail remind me of the winters rain at home, falling down the drainpipes and splashing into the puddles below. The fresh water lapping against my bare feet is much softer than sea water. It is both cool and refreshing. With every small roll the fresh rain runs into the decks perimeter and wastes itself into the Indian.

I begin to wonderÖ Where such liquid is so rare, so necessary and so sparingly available onboard it seems so appropriately fortunate that such large volumes are gifted upon us and yet so baffling that what we get from the tank is treated like it's the last on earth and yet the same stuff is let to drain over the side and destroy its purity by mixing with salt.

Much effort is made to catch what water we can . Water sheds from the poopdeck and plummets to the maindeck. Although the water from the deck is not really fit for drinking we catch it in buckets to save for cloths washing. The desires to strip off and soap up in the waterfalls is extinguished by the fact that we may be caught with our pants down in the fickle weather conditions. Not to mention that there is probably a more appropriate time to have a wash than in the rainy darkness at 2:30am.

Duyfken strides along in the following sea, positively progressing despite the fact that she knows the fresh rain that falls upon her decks is necessary for her crews survival but over time can rot her rig and timbers.

Our red , green and white light sectors luminate the decreasing number of raindrops that pass through their beam and before long the rain has all but given way to a swirling mist. To weather appears a light blue band ,mistakeably faint at first but brightens like a dawn. Through the dissipating cloud , stars begin to shine . The cool breeze turns to warm and the sails are eased from their strains. Duyfken glides back to her strolling pace.

The "on watch" shed their coats and retire to their resting poses. Occasionally a stray droplet falls from the rigging and plummets into the top of my dry head , trickling down my neck. It triggers a short unforgettable moment Ö. A simultaneous concentration of senses. The smell of fresh airs . The cool breeze on my sweaty arms . Where before loomed the blackness, the whole universe is in sight Ö Every little star is visable . A deep yellow moon rises and sheds light on the beauty of our voyage . As the deck and sails dry quickly in the warm tropical winds the shower of rain seems a distant experience.

Greg O'Byrne
2nd Mate.