It’s the last hours of the day

and your body is screaming to go to bed and get the “doctors prescription” of 8 hours of sleep before the next day begins…you pop your head up in the cockpit to breath in some fresh sea air and everything is dead quiet. You are in the marina and you are surrounded by 50 boats. No wind are howling through the rigs of the surrounding ships, and no ripples on the water are making cluck sounds when the creep around the hull. This night, at 11.50 pm, everything was dead quiet… So quiet it felt like the wind and the sea had left the world for that night. Should i go for a midnight anchoring?

Your mind starts to wonder how magical is this? How many times does this happen, and how does it look outside the comfortable shelter of the marina? My mind quickly settled on that this is AWESOME, and started a discussion with my body…”Should we do this”? Should we go for a midnight anchoring?

Warmer clothing came on and the mighty Vetus engine started it’s soothing 4 valve beat accompanied by the coughing of exhaust. Mooring lines are untied and the once peaceful marina is interrupted with me and my boat sneaking out with low revolutions. This is how it began…

Heading out for a midnight anchoring

Turning the red buoy on port side the scenery that met me was mind blowing. It really felt like the god of wind and Poseidon himself had left the building. Even outside on the sea the wind was gone and the waves were flat as a pancake.

Old Frigg was cutting through the water like a warm knife in butter and even the wake didn’t  bothered to turn white or make a wave bigger than a few centimetres.

The trusty Nikon d7100 DSLR came out and I started snapping; pushing the camera’s light sensitivity to ISO 6400. It was dark, but colours was pastel under the full moon’s powerful light. The sound was calm and soothing; it was dead quiet and the only sound present was the man made ones coming from land. A perfect evening onboard.

As a liveaboard this is the kind of moments you have to aim for. Your house is boat and should be treated as a boat. A house can only contain moments; a boat can go and give, as well as contain moments.

I continued a little bit out of the marina with old Frigg cutting the buttery sea with the camera snapping away… The 15 kg Bruce anchor went through the surface with a small splash and continued to the bottom 4 meters down. There was only me, the dead quiet and Frigg.

Peace

The mood was magical and very meditative. In those moments, and generally in sailing, you have these moments where there is just you (without a mobile connection) and nature. This is where you really meet yourself. In the good and bad way.

I stayed up for a good hour or so; just watching the moon continue it’s slow rise over the night sky; the seas lazy ripples and the bright lights of Aarhus battling the light of the moon. The moon of course wins 🙂

 

The anchor had it’s grip so i did not want to disturb it; so i went to bed and got “not what the doctor ordered” 3 hours of sleep before I woke up to the rays of a new day.

 

Back to reality

With a smell of hot brewing coffee coming from the galley (kitchen) I pulled up the anchor and turned the ignition. The mighty Vetus engine eagerly started it’s beating and coughing.

With a cup of coffee in one hand and the steering stick in the other, me and Frigg motored back in to the Marina….taking our time, taking in the early rays of a new day.