I start watch at midnight. There are still squalls in the distance but amazingly nothing comes near us which is a pity as we could do with some rain to wash the boat down. Everything you touch is salty and wet. Quite disgusting.
Mike wakes up a couple of times and comes up to check things but I shoo him back to bed and eventually it’s nearly 5 am before I go off watch, content that he has had some quality sleep. Then I manage another few hours. I am starting to feel human again now.
When I wake up the boat is flopping along pathetically in less than 10 knots of wind and Mike decides to put the main sail up hoping that this will stabilize her a little and stop this feeble wobbling. To be honest, it doesn’t but it’s too much effort to put it away again so we just leave it out.
After lunch Mike concedes that we just aren’t going to go anywhere unless we have some engine power and sticks just one of them on. We put the genoa away but leave the main.
It’s really hot today and very humid – definitely a day for no clothes. During the afternoon, while Mike is asleep, I am using the washing up water left after doing the lunch dishes to wash down some of the surfaces we touch the most often in the cockpit (you don’t waste water if there’s another use for it) when I hear the rumble of an engine. I look around and approaching really low towards our stern, and I mean REALLY low, is a small aircraft, about a 12-seater or so. I scuttle into the privacy of the cockpit, never quite sure how much you can see through them in bright sunshine and watch it swoop over us and off. There is no writing on it but I think it could be one of the customs planes.
Sure enough, a few minutes later the VHF comes to life and a voice asks for the white hulled catamaran to identify herself. Putting my very official and best London accent on, I reply “This is sailing catamaran Jeannius – Juliet, echo, alpha, bugger what’s N? I can’t remember but there’s two of them, then India, umbrella, sierra. Sorry I can never remember the bloody things!” There’s a pause (no doubt they are sniggering here) before he repeats it back, pointing out that N is November and U is uniform and not umbrella but he is friendly and we have a little chat about the weather. He tells me to stay safe, no doubt concerned that my lack of nautical lingo means that I don’t know what I am doing. He’s probably right.
However, as if to prove the opposite, I decide to take the main down by myself. It is flapping from side to side and the jerking as it does so is really getting on my nerves. Now I have never done this by myself, and I never go near the ropes on Mike’s side of the cockpit, so this should be interesting. I tighten up the topping lift, hoping that the noise of me doing this on the winch doesn’t wake Mike up, then let down a few feet of sail. Crossing over to the other side of the cockpit, I pull on the two reefing lines (reminding myself that these are the ones coloured like Opal Fruits (sorry, Juicy Fruits I think they are these days) until I can pull no more in, then let down more sail, then back to the reefing lines. In this way, bit by bit, I get it down and into the sail bag. I had intended getting it all down and therefore confusing Mike but he comes up in the middle of all my activity. I may not have confused him, but instead, he ends up impressed and now he thinks he can make a real sailor out of me. Oh look, there’s a pig!
I go for an afternoon nap but it is just too hot below. I find a small patch of shade in the cockpit and curl up, dozing on and off for an hour or so. I have two watches tonight. Joy of joy!
It is a beautiful night during my first watch. The moon is full and high, and casts so much light, it almost feels like daylight. There is cloud around but it forms a gold-tinged circle around the moon. I do wish my camera could capture it but the night setting requires the use of a tripod (which I have) but for that tripod to be left on an unmoving surface and when do you get one of those at sea?
Our position is: 10 deg 45 min S, 136 deg 35 min E
Distance so far: 11551 nautical miles
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