Mike wakes me an hour late for my second watch as the wind picks up a little and there are lots of fishing boats around but my watch turns out to be uneventful. There are no stars around now and even with my fleece on I am chilly and resort to wrapping a towel around my legs as I have shorts on rather than trousers. Towards the end of the watch I see some dolphins swimming and leaping in the distance but they don’t come to play.
Jim gets up around 7.15 am so I have company for the last part of my watch and a cup of tea. After breakfast, as my stomach is still not right, I take to bed and doss around until lunchtime, getting up for a sandwich. I look incredulously at the helmsman’s seat which has broken while I was downstairs. One of the bolts that holds the back rest to the seat has sheered through completely. Jim just grabbed hold of it and the whole thing fell apart – it was a good job he wasn’t actually sitting on it and leaning back as it would have been a nasty backwards tumble. It now has a series of ropes attaching it to the seat and up to the bimini frame. Actually, although not aesthetically pleasing, this arrangement now makes the angle of the back more comfortable to lean against, so every cloud has a silver lining. Now, if they could just fathom me a foot rest …..!
Photo: Tastefully arranged ropes keep the back rest upright
We are all sitting in the cockpit in the early afternoon when there is an ominous bang. Normally that bang means one thing to Mike and I – the outhaul has broken – but this is usually accompanied by a furious flapping of the mainsail, and today, there is no noise. I go the the back of the cockpit and peer up and sure enough, although the outhaul seems to be intact, the mainsail is not pulled taught to the back of the boom like it should be and is slightly slack, just not enough to make it flap. Peering at the mast, Mike then realises that the new block holding the outhaul to it has pulled away completely – it is not the outhaul which has broken, but the pin in the block. This was fitted brand new in Grenada in December. Mike secures it with a thick rope which will suffice for now. Hopefully we will find a metal worker in the Galapagos who can make a new one. Jesus, what next? Prophetic words indeed.
Mike and Jim both have a sleep in the afternoon and when they come back up, I go down for mine. I take a sea sick tablet and feel sorry for myself. Not only do I still have the upset stomach, accompanied by occasional griping pains, but the seas have now turned lumpy and uncomfortable, just the sort of horrid motion that I just don’t seem to be able to take. Sea sickness makes me so miserable and that in turn makes me homesick. Oh for a bed that doesn’t lurch and roll and cool, dry sheets.
The wind changes direction for a while by 180 degrees, no doubt due to the squalls in the distance, and it stays grey, with one shower which does nothing to clean the boat, which is filthy despite Jim washing it twice while we were in the marina.
I get up, shower and wash my hair, always interesting when the seas are throwing you around, although this time I manage to stay upright. When I come up, I hear about breakage number three. The interim measure that we put in place for the outhaul (the rope securing the block to another block on the mast) has caused the teak step onto the salon roof to pull away. Mike is now thoroughly pissed off and has furled all the sails away for the day and we are motoring with both engines on.
Jim makes dinner – thinly sliced steak marinated in a mixture or oriental sauces with rice. I eye the steak suspiciously as this is the same batch that we ate the other night and although no one else has been ill, I can’t help giving it the evil eye. Although I still feel a bit grotty, I’m hungry and tuck into it as it smells, and tastes, good. If no one else is affected this time, I know it’s definitely OK.
I only have one watch to do tonight – Jim is doing the double stint. I go to bed and start watching the Sex and the City movie, waiting for the ominous stomach gurgles to start, but after an hour, nothing has happened so I turn the light off and instantly fall asleep.
Our position is: 1 deg 27 min S, 84 deg 23 min W
Distance so far: 2263 nautical miles
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