In which Sid and Doris might learn how to pronounce “Nereus”.
“What’s inside it?” asked the Mole, wriggling with curiosity.
“There’s cold chicken inside it,” replied the Rat briefly; “ coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchrollscresssandwichespottedmeatgingerbeerlemonadesodawater——”
“O stop, stop,” cried the Mole in ecstacies: “This is too much!”
“Do you really think so?” enquired the Rat seriously. “It’s only what I always take on these little excursions; and the other animals are always telling me that I’m a mean beast and cut it very fine!”
Sid and Doris arrived in Florida on a steamy Saturday evening to find a scene of crew near-collapse after their work stowing Joe’s picnic. The victualling requirement was to support a crew of 7, doing what was hoped to be a non-stop 4 day delivery trip, but with the option of stopping at various ports of refuge along the way if there were any problems with the boat, and particularly with the engines. Betka had sent Joe out with a complete meal plan backed by a comprehensive and generous shopping list and had even tagged each item with the aisle number in the local megamarket. However if it became a daytime-only stopping trip it would take longer, and it looked as though Joe had been very suspicious of the ability of any of the major sea ports and marinas in Florida, Georgia and the Carolinas to supply additional food. The quantities had been doubled, or in many cases tripled, and other items added. “Please open cupboards cautiously as the contents may fall out and engulf you” as the airline safety warning says.
So, here we are on Nereus. Which, as we Brits know, rhymes with Amadeus. ner-RAY-us.
Apparently not. Nereus is a Greek god, “the only completely benevolent sea god” as Mr Wiki helpfully reminds me, and therefore Nereus should be pronounced like Zeus. NeROOS.
The crew of seven include Joe (he of the Heroic Multi-Trolley Dash), Cap’n Ben, Tall Phil, Mainsheet Rich and Nice Tom. Everyone is well equipped with a stock of when-I stories, which will make the shifts pass faster – we’re operating a 4 on 8 off shift system which btw turns out to be a very effective fix for jet lag.
In the morning we make preparations for sea, mainly including trying to remove and stow the Ee-Zee-Up external stair system, which comes in four separate and enormously heavy parts although it is apparently made of carbon fibre. Still, as we have 3,800 gallons of fuel aboard (fret not, gentle and climate-aware reader, these are tiny little US gallons) a couple of hundred extra kilograms of stairs won’t make a huge different to the boat trim.
As long as the engines behave themselves the plan is to run up the coast non-stop, picking up the Gulf Stream and getting a warm-water boost of some 2-3knots on top of Nereus’s (which rhymes with serious – NEARyus) ideal cruising speed of 10kn. There is a mild trade wind abaft of some 12-13kn so we are apparently (although not truly) travelling in dead still air. The world shrinks to a blue circle some 12 miles across from our perch on the fly deck, all shipping vanishes and wildlife is reduced to 2 stormy petrels and 4 flying fish. The crew settle down to keeping a sharp look-out at all times and making inroads on the picnic.
This journey is very instructive for anyone tempted to do an Atlantic Crossing, as Doris was before we set sail. Basically it will be: leave shore, sail in gentle weather (dull) or active weather (fearful), wait, arrive. Hmm.
By the way, it turns out that Nereus rhymes with heiress. NARE-us.
A squall brings a surprise passenger on board, alas not spotted until it was too late for the passenger but still able to be instructive for the crew – one of the larger type of flying fish. (NOTE if you are tempted to do this at home, be aware that it takes much scrubbing and many hours for the strong smell of fish to leave your hands. Still, it was handy to know where Cap’n Ben was at all times, sniff sniff.)
The calm weather means that Nereus’ (which apparently is pronounced like heiress but with the stress in a different place – Nair-ESS) engines are running less hard than normal, and consequently sooting up. The gentle aft breeze means that we are sitting in a cloud of smoky particles which cling to EVERYTHING. The crew are roused for some boat cleaning action, suitable for even the least boaty of landlubbers.
With the approval of both the captain and the owner, Nice Tom is entrusted with the serious task of looking after the steering wheel while some maintenance is done on the bridge.
The final part of the journey takes us inshore to the Chesapeake Bay, a major shipping channel leading to Washington, Annapolis and Baltimore. The entrance crosses a part-causeway part-tunnel road link from the southern end of the DelMarVa peninsula to the northern shore of Norfolk, VA – if you look carefully you can see the causeway running along the horizon in this stylish and artistic sunset photo.
It’s getting dark when a highly professional voice comes over the radio. “Nereus” (turns out to rhyme with puss – N-RUSS) “this is EnormousContainerShip95”. Economically he establishes that his need for the deep water channel is greater than ours and asks us to be prepared to move over in 20 minutes. With a relative closing speed of 15 knots (his 25kn and our 10) that means he is over 5nm away, just starting to clear our horizon, but completely indistinguishable in the jumble of fixed, boat and shoreside lights.
The shifts change and Doris leaves Sid, Joe and Cap’n Ben to their steely-eyed scrutiny of red and green buoy lights (on the wrong side and pronounced wrongly too, it is a miracle that any British sailor manages to succeed in these waters, but maybe that is the point).
In the morning Betka does a marvellous French Lieutenant’s Woman impression on the pointy bit of DeepWater Point before running round to welcome Nereus (however you pronounce it) to his new summer home. Now, how do those carbon fibre stairs fit together again?
