Gee's Sailing Diaries: Part 7

Crossing the Equator

At 10 pm on February 4th, 2024, CV21 was expertly helmed across the equator from south to north by Anne.

Skipper Max counted the whole crew down in terms of degrees left, and cheers and hugs were shared by everybody on deck. 1 kg of Mini Eggs were newly dubbed ‘Equatorial Eggs’ and dutifully handed out between us in Tupperware boxes. There had been a fantastic carrot cake with that evening’s dinner as well, so the crew had thoroughly been treated in celebration. The wind was with us and we could finally see another light from the fleet on our horizon as we were steadily making back some ground. We sang along to classic pop tunes expertly selected by the incurable romantic in Richard whilst laying on the deck and staring up at a sky full of stars. Finally, I got a night sky to really remember. The familiar constellation of Orion was centred directly above the mast and until the horizon, you could see points of shimmering light wherever you laid your eyes – in part due to the moon not having risen yet, and in part due to a squall (localised storm) having recently cleared the way of clouds. The light that had travelled millions of miles and hundreds of years to reach us. To that place. At that exact moment. One of the few places in the world where you can see both the Southern Cross and the North Star at the same time. Anita and I looked at each other and laughed as we must have been the only people in the whole world at that moment to cross the equator wearing foul weather gear because we were cold. But oh, what a special thing to have done. From here on out I would stop needing to sleep on top of the sails in the sail locker whilst randomly having to dodge waves that crashed through the open hatch because that was the coolest place on the boat. And I couldn't sleep well as it was. From here on, I would no longer be rotating through the two pairs of shorts I had, but through the two pairs of leggings and foulies on top. From here on, it signalled – for everyone – the first part of heading home.

In sailing, there is a tradition that those who have not crossed the equator by boat are called Pollywogs and those that have are Shellbacks. Not all of us started leg 5 as  Shellbacks but we all finished it as such. A Pollywog no more, I’ve once again been transformed by this world: shaped and reshaped by experiences and the interactions I have with those around me. In keeping with tradition, our King Neptune ceremony took place in the light of the next day to officially mark our equator crossing. For there's no rest for the wicked. Even in a wind hole, there are plenty of jobs to be getting on with to ensure the boat remains seaworthy, we all remain healthy and the sailing never stops.

“I renounce my scummy Pollywog status!” I shouted into the sky before taking a sip of a warming mixture from Lachlan which likely included lime cordial, soy sauce and chilli flakes. I crawled under the traveller (towards the helm, where the end of the boom of the main sail is attached) and suddenly found myself face to face with King Neptune.

“Commit yourself to this vessel and confess your sins!”

For a moment, nothing else existed in the world except for me and a long grey-haired, purple tunic-wearing, bearded version of David, brandishing a trident and what looked like a Tupperware box of damp own-brand Bran Flakes.

“I commit myself to CV21 and to the sea! And I confess that sometimes I sleep in my short-sleep bunk without putting my sheet on the mattress first!”

A groan went up from the rest of the crew and King Neptune gave me my punishment. Moist cereal to the face. Cheers and clapping as Lorraine handed me some fizzy gummy sweets as a reward and the crew proceeded to chant the next Pollywog through the initiation ceremony. I picked up my foot to show Max my sole – mushed cereal dangled from a toe and from somewhere near my heel. Max had earlier given an in-depth update regarding our race position and potential tactical decisions we needed to collectively make over the coming days, as well as a summary of what had occurred so far, including repairs and maintenance (we had turned the engine on for an hour or so just to check the repair was holding and it was looking pretty successful as a temporary work-around). Handing over to the round-the-worlders (crew that were completing the entire 11-month race), this is when I had the pleasure of finally meeting King Neptune. He emerged gracefully from the companionway to laughter and applause across the whole crew, before reminding us of several key challenges he had sent our way to warn us off of crossing the line at 0 degrees. Yet, we persisted.

As I watched the remainder of the Pollywogs on the boat become Shellbacks, I reflected again on this group of ordinary people doing something extraordinary. It is unlikely that anything else would have brought us all together in this life. And yet there we were. Drinking the same weird concoction, out of the same cup. Forever with a collective memory that no one else will ever be able to experience or replicate.

This day was a good day for other reasons too. Being a scientist, I was very excited about the prospects of our boat carrying a drifter buoy. Before the equator ceremony, we had extracted the drifter buoy from the lazaret and signed our names as a crew in Sharpie pen. (Think of the lazaret as the basement of the boat, underneath the helm. It's largely used as rubbish storage and contains the steering mechanism, emergency water and a tender or dinghy for emergency boat-to-boat transfers.) None of us expected the Sharpie to last more than a few days but it felt right all the same. Suddenly, a shout came up from the helm: dolphins! LOTS of dolphins! We watched for a moment in silence as a pod of at least twenty or so, including young ones, came closer to investigate us and the yacht we called home. They easily matched our speed and after spending a little bit of time alongside, many of the sub-groups rushed to the bow to play in the waves. Anita and I moved forward to join them and must have spent maybe ten minutes in admiration, pointing out synchronisations and exclaiming to each other over and over again how incredible it must be. What fun they looked like they were having. What a treat to be able to share that moment with them.

The drifter buoy was deployed off the back of CV21 just after midday, in a specifically requested location band. The intention is for the temperature and pressure sensors on the buoy to give data and new insights to organisations around the world regarding this specific part of the sea. Little is known about the area northeast of Australia currently, so over the next few years before the buoy gets retrieved again, we hope that this small act can contribute to a deeper learning of how the world works. I’m glad I got to help in a tiny way. Citizen science and similar are so important to the contribution and advancement of information and technology around the world and it was yet another moment which continued to make this journey so special. There’s a whole world out there and there’s still so much I want to see and be and do. The people on that boat are inspiring in their own way and I’m glad to be taking that with me into my future as a Shellback, regardless of what other challenges might lay ahead. A previous version of me – a Pollywog version of me – would have been sceptical of such a ceremony. Why bother? It’s just a bit of nonsense. But the Shellback version of me loved it. Yes, it was silly. But it brought joy, laughter and unity to those on board. It was special and it was uniquely ours. It’s yet another moment on board this vessel that I’ll never forget.