Those are wonderful photos and I would REALLY like to see a video of Milly doing that. Are you trying to dissuade me from bringing up Dura Mater later this year? Because it won't work. I've slept sideways on my boat before and I'm not averse to doing it again. Maybe a bit further out ...
Just last weekend I sailed in the Delta Ditch Run aboard Green Buffalo. Milly was there, too, aboard UNO with Bren Meyer. The first and last time I "did the Ditch" it was singlehanded and this was DM's and my experience:
We approached the point in the sailing instructions that reads, in bold print: AFTER THE ANTIOCH BRIDGE, LEAVE MARK #19 TO PORT. Of course I remembered that clearly, and we passed marker #19 to port. But then I had a bit of a struggle with the spinnaker, my ankle caught between the spaghetti and the gear shift, and before I knew it DM and I were stuck fast in the mud as the tide ebbed and the water got thinner and thinner @ 38.02274, -121.42705.
I kedged, I rocked, I used very bad language. No matter what I did, Dura Mater and I weren’t going anywhere. I waved to all the slower boats as they sailed slowly past. They waved back. I called my brother, Steve, who promised to come get me, but not until the next morning. I called Michael, who keeps a big fancy cabin cruiser up the Sacramento River. He laughed at me and told me to calm down.
As the sun set Dura Mater and I settled in for the night. I threw my danforth anchor out and turned on the anchor light. The depth finder read 4.1 feet and I believed it. I boiled water for noodles, heated up my spaghetti sauce, had half a chocolate bar for dessert, then brushed my teeth and turned in for the night. I will confess to being a little rattled, but what could I do? Surely things would look better in the morning.
I woke up in my VBerth when I fell sideways. Huh? Dura Mater, lodged in the mud, was heeled 25 degrees to port. I crawled over to the open companionway and looked out. The world was on its side at 1:15 am Sunday morning. The water lapped gently against the hull, there were a gazillion stars, and the ½ moon lit up my cabin. Hello, Moon!
I could see Channel Marker #21 blinking green in the darkness and a gentle breeze blew the smell of manure to me. And then, what is this? I heard the cows calling to each other in a field just the other side of that nice deep channel. Well, nothing to do about it. I repositioned my sleeping bag ninety degrees so I could sleep with my head elevated in the v-berth and set my alarm for the start of high tide at 5:30 am. Goodnight, Moon!
When I woke up, sure enough the world was straight again. I boiled water, made some strong coffee, waited for the boat to float, pulled up the anchor and unfurled my jib. Lordy! Lordy! Hallelujah! There was a gentle Delta breeze and Dura Mater, bless her heart, sailed by jib alone into the nice deep channel, ‘round Channel Marker #21 and slowly up the San Joaquin. After a bit the ebb started again and we motorsailed the rest of the way to the Stockton Sailing Club, where people were slowly recovering from the race and its celebratory after effects.
So I am not afraid.
