ADVENTURESS - " Music"

2015-01-18

Every dawn up 'til now has been a wet start. Whether damp to the shiver or humid to the sticky. Today the deck was dry, and the warm air carried the breezy-beach beer-bucket smell of dancing Caribbean reggae crowds. We're thirsty, and talking about it.

 

Every dawn up 'til now has been a wet start. Whether damp to the shiver or humid to the sticky. Today the deck was dry, and the warm air carried the breezy-beach beer-bucket smell of dancing Caribbean reggae crowds. We're thirsty, and talking about it. The crescent moon behind us hung above big, dark, puffed-up clouds silhouetted by the pastel-yellow rising sun. A sail change to put layers on our lady and a clothing change to shed layers off of us. A sunshine rain shower, faint double rainbows, and a teasing nip of a Windward Isles slow-down, winter skin turned pink on the way to tan. A couple buckets of sea water tossed for a shower. Air dry, sun bathe, and a back resting siesta. It can be a torturous pleasure, for boat-bounding speed and the hawse-pipe drinking ink mean a strong finish to Martinique. But for now, a gentle sway...
Bach's cello suites are sweet foc's'le sounds along with the dark side of Vivaldi's violins. Bandana brandishing 80s rock ballads fuel galley fervor. Sad cowboy blues play in a headphone reverie. The Mississippi Delta make-a-deal-with-the-devil guitars lead to head bobbing bass line funk. Ibiza djs for the cleanup party drop, and Mad Mike Hawk lets Eminem accompany his literary afternoon.
Calm, quiet minds prevail, and it's Adventuress's symphony that tells the tale. A pocket of easy wind, and we're listening. Groaning wood, creaking leather, slapping sails, whining blocks, stretching lines, and water slipping by the sleek, curving hull. A fix and a trim and a tweak and an ease, and we listen again, waiting to here that cool blue sound of whoosh and blow. A wind in a lull and a wind on the rise, backing and veering and swinging and knocking and lifting and ignoring our pleas or aiding our cause. The waves build and subside, cross and roll, push us on and rock us sideways. Music.
At times it's sit and wait with a sailor's swivel eye, laughing in the face of difficulty, like an egg yolk broken before the plate. Other times it's a mighty bout of time consuming travail, finished just in time for conditions to change. Back into the fray for an aspirational rematch, ever ready to exalt in the agonies and critique the small joys. It's been a blistering mosey southwest to warmer climes. Griffin wrote in the log, "A keen eye on our conditions and a sharp focused palm on the wheel should steer us closer to success." Now our girl asks us to dance, a delicate step in light air. Music to move to and elegantly dressed spars for style. Toward Fort-de-France, and a celebratory finish of so many successes, agonies, and joys.
- Jeremiah Bailey

The crescent moon behind us hung above big, dark, puffed-up clouds silhouetted by the pastel-yellow rising sun. A sail change to put layers on our lady and a clothing change to shed layers off of us. A sunshine rain shower, faint double rainbows, and a teasing nip of a Windward Isles slow-down, winter skin turned pink on the way to tan. A couple buckets of sea water tossed for a shower. Air dry, sun bathe, and a back resting siesta. It can be a torturous pleasure, for boat-bounding speed and the hawse-pipe drinking ink mean a strong finish to Martinique. But for now, a gentle sway...

Bach's cello suites are sweet foc's'le sounds along with the dark side of Vivaldi's violins. Bandana brandishing 80s rock ballads fuel galley fervor. Sad cowboy blues play in a headphone reverie. The Mississippi Delta make-a-deal-with-the-devil guitars lead to head bobbing bass line funk. Ibiza djs for the cleanup party drop, and Mad Mike Hawk lets Eminem accompany his literary afternoon.
Calm, quiet minds prevail, and it's Adventuress's symphony that tells the tale. A pocket of easy wind, and we're listening. Groaning wood, creaking leather, slapping sails, whining blocks, stretching lines, and water slipping by the sleek, curving hull. A fix and a trim and a tweak and an ease, and we listen again, waiting to here that cool blue sound of whoosh and blow. A wind in a lull and a wind on the rise, backing and veering and swinging and knocking and lifting and ignoring our pleas or aiding our cause. The waves build and subside, cross and roll, push us on and rock us sideways. Music.

At times it's sit and wait with a sailor's swivel eye, laughing in the face of difficulty, like an egg yolk broken before the plate. Other times it's a mighty bout of time consuming travail, finished just in time for conditions to change. Back into the fray for an aspirational rematch, ever ready to exalt in the agonies and critique the small joys. It's been a blistering mosey southwest to warmer climes. Griffin wrote in the log, "A keen eye on our conditions and a sharp focused palm on the wheel should steer us closer to success." Now our girl asks us to dance, a delicate step in light air. Music to move to and elegantly dressed spars for style. Toward Fort-de-France, and a celebratory finish of so many successes, agonies, and joys.

- Jeremiah Bailey

 

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