Flying fish

In point of fact the breeze arrived after half an hour last night and we had fresh northerlies all night. 7.5 knots under reefed main and yankee. That hole must have been Sao Anton’s wind shadow.

Today we are both rested and I am settling back into the awkward, lurching, too hot/cold existence we call cruising. The sun is shining and the seas are deepest blue.

A dozen fat flying fish are lying stranded on deck. Last night you could hear the flutter of their wings on the deck as they fought vainly to get off the ship. Perhaps moved by a lecture I had received in Mindelo from a Sea Shepherd vegan, I helped a couple of them back into the ocean, but eventually gave up.

Now it is time for a beer, Ian’s excellent vegetable stew, and a imaginary cigarette to top it all off.

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