Morning

Twenty-five degrees North, zero-seventy-eight degrees West

Seven-thirty in the morning, halfway through second shift of the passage. It’s Tuesday, as we make our way northwest from the Bahamas toward the east coast of Florida en route to the Chesapeake. So far, lack of wind necessitates the motor, but if the breeze picks up to a consistent eight or nine knots, we’ll raise the sails.

Three cargo ships steam northeast of us. I’ve kept my eye on Carnival Conquest, currently seven nautical miles out, headed in our direction. She’ll pass two miles to our port in half an hour.

Maintain course.

Steer clear of cargo and cruise ships.

Let everyone sleep.

The alarm rings twenty-five-minutes prior to the six-a.m.-watch. Should be sufficient time to brush teeth, make coffee, refill the water bottle, grab a granola bar. At that hour, the red lights illuminating the boat’s interior preserve the helm person’s night vision, but in the low-lit galley, it’s difficult to make out the kettle, French press, and exact location of the coffee.

Six months ago, I spent fifteen days aboard this vessel, so it’s familiar, but now, with precious minutes ticking, I can’t remember the location of the coffee. Then I forget how to turn on the inverter.

Systems to me are what foreign languages are to others.

The inverter converts the DC electricity from the solar charged batteries to run AC appliances like the electric kettle.

I have to look that up. Never studied electricity, but in another life I will teach a year’s worth of sixth grade science: astronomy, weather, water, and energy. It’s all a sailor needs to know.

Meanwhile, the inverter— a button on a panel above the navigation station. Dozens of switches clearly marked, but which ones will facilitate my caffeination?

I hate forgetting which to flip, what to press, and if the sequence matters. With the phone light to illuminate the panel, I flip the AC switch. Allegedly, the up-arrow on the display at the bottom center of the panel toggles on the inverter.

Bingo.

The inverter is on and the water boiled, although my kind captain never points out that I’ve also managed to turn off Starlink in the process.

Watch has started but I’m still below dispensing three scoops of ground coffee into the French press. I eyeball the amount of water and leave the coffee to steep in the left sink, where it won’t roll around. Later, I’ll slip down to pour myself a Yeti cupful. It’ll be too hot to drink outright, but sipping does the job. Already late for my shift, I leave the grounds for D to wrestle with, but she’s forgiving.

Conquest has passed our port quarter on its way toward the Berry Islands, perhaps, to join a few other big ships calling there. We, meanwhile, pass south of Nassau.

The two little boys are awake. They are quiet, but the day has begun.