I get up. It’s 06:30. Last night I slept from 20:30 to midnight, then did my two-hour watch. It was a super-starry night, 24-knot stiff breeze, the boat creaming along at 7.8 knots. The sea is not so rough and at this speed we’re less affected by it. At night, always this feeling that the boat is going really fast. I rest for a moment to gaze at the stars, my mind wandering between the universe above and the abyss below. The horizon is all around, you can’t stop looking at it. But looking for what? Is it admiration or looking for something to break this flat line.



The horizon here is two-dimensional, a line between sea and sky, broken by the swell. The air is fresh and humid. The wind is rising, now 27 knots. The boat picks up speed, starts heeling, keen to push on. I roll the jib in a couple of turns and ease the mainsheet slightly. The beam on my headlamp helps me see what I’m doing. I keep an eye on the sails and the boat’s trim. Sir Ernst is back to doing 7.2 knots. It’s safer now, a nice feeling of being in control, making these adjustments in the middle of the night. I am so much more aware of the boat when sailing solo at night. I return to my bunk at 02:00 until 06:30.  My nights are long and my sleep deep and restorative. This morning I get up to write my news. That night we covered 80 miles in 12 hours. We have all had a similar night when on watch. We’ve been on route for 15 days now with this constant movement, surrounded only by nature.