Page 77 of The Hitchhiker in Panama
I made my plate from the smorgasbord platter on the table and climbed up to the cockpit. Eivind sat in the sun, one headphone in his ear, arms stretched out on either side, staring up at the sky.
When I sat next to him, he didn’t move except for his head, watching me with a small smile on his face. I offered him a bite of my lunch and he growled, biting ferociously into the bread. I giggled.
His alarm went off at noon and he stood up and stretched. Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to my lips.
“Ready for your watch?”
I nodded, swallowing my last bite of food.
Setting the plate down on the cushion, I sat up and we both turned our attention to the electronics.
“Since we are so close now”—Eivind zoomed the chartplotter out so we could see our final destination—“we have the autopilot set to take us to this waypoint.” Eivind pointed at a red X on the chart. “That means instead of the boat moving with the wind, we have to adjust the sails and the boat stays on course.”
“Okay, so what do I need to watch for?”
“No numbers this time. You need to listen to the sails. If you hear the sails flapping or the boat starts to heel over too much, get Jonas.”
“No numbers?” I frowned. “How will I know if the boat is heeling too much?”
He just kissed my forehead. “You will know.”
I harrumphed. I didn’t like the sound of subjective sailing.
Eivind chuckled and went downstairs.
I kept an eye on everything like I always did. Not long after I was left alone at the helm, the sails started to flap.
Poking my head down into the main salon, I called out, “Jonas, the sails are flapping.”
“On my way.”
A few moments later Jonas stood beside me at the helm.
“So, what do we need to do?” he asked.
“What? You are supposed to tell me that.”
Jonas grinned. “You have read the sailing book—many times, I think. Tell me what you think we need to do and I will tell you if you are right.”
“Okay, the sail is luffing, which means the wind has come too far forward. So . . . we have to tighten up the sails a little bit, right?”
“Ja.”
“And the genoa is . . .” I put my hand on a winch with a line around it. “This one?”
He nodded. I grabbed the winch handle from its holder and fit it to the winch. I pushed the handle one way—nope, too hard—I pushed it the other way for the higher gear, then cranked with one hand, then two, breaking into a sweat.
“Is that enough?”
Jonas leaned out of the cockpit to look at the sail. “Not yet.”
I took a deep breath and cranked a few more turns.
“That is good.”
I wiped the sweat off my brow.
“What will you do next?”
