28 days ex Cook Strait. 1,298 miles to go. The first month was OK, but now it’s getting quite hard. We’re both over it. fresh food’s finished apart from a few spuds. Still, we should hit the 1,000 mile mark tomorrow afternoon. There’s a Starbucks and big sign there. Then we’ve about 8 more days’ sailing I hope. Or we’ll start having to suck on old tea towels. I’m getting little frissants of excitement. I had another exam dream last night – only a week in which to learn Spanish.
Sailing’s much more enjoyable when you’re going fast and comfortably towards destination. Having been becalmed for 2 days in 42 south, we’re now sliding along in an 20 kt NW wind over the smoothest of smooth seas. Dry decks, full main, yankee and poled-out staysail. 1480 miles to go.
This lovely wind came in after Dave had settled down into Ken Burns. I had the solitary, genuine pleasure of re-rigging the boat to suit the new breeze, watching the outcome of my efforts in green luminous numbers and feeling the acceleration in the seat of my pants.
This change in circumstance generates long-forgotten benignity, soaring spirits and an immediate thaw in relations with my crew. After a last sked with Inspired Insanity (still alive and just going out of radio range), 5 hours of deep, warm and comfortable sleep.
(Later)… I’ve been dancing with my lovely boat over the remote landscape, under a silvery moon. All alone. The iciest of breezes blowing straight from Antarctica means no other bastard’s mad enough. I’ve come in to fix the zipper on my polartec jacket and warm my earlobes. Schubert will help me.
Oh, I sneezed today. Jesus, did it hurt. Felt like a decade’s herpetic neuralgia truncated into a split second.