After leaving the canaries with unfavourable conditions it became all too apparent that we were going to spend a lot of time under motor. Consequently we went through over half our fuel for the Trans Atlantic crossing, so a quick splash and dash pit stop to Cape Verdes was on the cards. Also we had another generator problem that was frustrating us. We needed the generator to make fresh water if we needed it on the crossing; also our refrigerator isn't working very well under battery power. To prevent food going off we precooked all the defrosted meat into separate meals, don't worry were not going to get scurvy yet, also the pre cooked dinners might prove to be handy when cooking in bad weather. This usually entails lashing yourself to the galley counter, sweating yourself into a dehydrated mess in 30 odd degrees heat, and having ingredients flying all across the shop with the motion of the ocean. 

Cape Verde is an old Portuguese colony; most of the inhabitants are descended from the slave trade to the Americas. Any that were too unwell to make the voyage were left in Cape Verde. The islands apparently at one stage prior to inhabitation had some vegetation but the Portuguese quickly used this resource for their ships, and then introduced goats which then overgrazed what was left, sun and rain then leached all the nutrients out. Now it's another sun scorched rock off the coast of Africa, it's quiet impressive like a phenomenally large Skelligs, the massifs of the main Island stretching up 3,000 metres capturing any stray cloud they can manage to grab, which I'd imagine is the only moisture the Islands get. According to the locals it rained twice so far this year, the last time being July the 11th. For the life of you, you wouldn't even be able to grow a turnip there! Besides its absolute alien nature to us Irish pucas Cape Verde really has its charm, culturally a mix between Latin and African influences they are a lively bunch, they have very little and eke out a meagre existence, but get on with it not bemoaning their situation. Their beaches busy with fishermen unloading banana boats, women grilling the catch and drying it in the sun, children play happily outside, and at night they bop around the place their own music emanating from the few tap houses. The sense of community is palpable here. 

We arrived in Mindelo marina on the 10th of Dec; obviously quite a few other boats had the same issue as us and were stopping to refuel, so we went into the marina in company. We came alongside and Donnacha went to through customs on our behalf, he was jumped up on coffee and we were all a little half delirious from being up since 4am, he came back in the horrors going through a serious coffee crash that doesn't allow one to cope well with the bureaucracy of customs. Meanwhile Derry and Brian tackled the problem of the generator which had a slew of issues mostly to do with corroded sensors and an Italian engine management system with a bit of French engineering thrown into the melting pot for good measure. Not letting that defeat them they bi-passed the temperature sensor tricked the computer put the whiz bopper on the thingy majig and all the whatsits were whirring perfectly again. With the generator humming away and purring like a contented cat the tools were put away and the crew got around to the business of unwinding, we all made our way to the first hurdle, which turned out to be the floating marina bar, so we didn't really make it to dry land for a good while, but the fact that the floor was moving beneath us suited us well after a week at sea. There we ran into an acquaintance of ours we had met in Caiscais, Paul. Pauls a real cocky cockney geezer. When we addressed him as such he informed us that we must be mistaken, his name is Stephen, pretty suspect. Anyway we had a few socials with Paul Stephens before retiring, all wondering what his game is.

The next day we found out that things really move slow here, Island time is a funny thing all these places seem to have their own temporal zone which you'd better get used to while you’re in its sphere of influence. Well John sussed out the diesel, and the guy filling was full of assurances that we'd get fuel, but he must have been covered in treacle because he was filling boats at a leisurely glacial pace, with all the assurance of a guy that knows no matter how many boats he fills there will always be more to come, fair enough. This wasn't good news for us. We filled all the canisters in the local petrol station 340 litres, which should be enough to get us across the pond. Anyway were assured by the downloaded weather charts that we have some stonking good trade winds coming from the east, we set sail into an evening sunset, our sails set to gull wing running downwind heading west and onto the Caribbean.

The next day the wind changed to abaft abeam and we were back to some pleasant sailing, boat canted over and pitching but no rolling. When running downwind with a swell and wind behind you things can get a bit frustrating as the boat rolls, pitches and surfs down waves moving, if you will, to quote mister Miagi from karate kid a "wax on wax off" motion. After 2 days of sailing with intermittent showers, we had our next breakage, will things ever stop breaking! A valve in the crew’s heads lost its seal; Cian good lad rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the acrid miasma to deal with it, fast forward to 4 hours later John delightedly dancing around the table to Cat Stephens on the poop deck throwing buckets of Atlantic water over a pretty miserable Cian. Cians birthday was a better affair altogether, Derry opened a nice bottle of Rioja to celebrate and John made a nice dinner, we contemplated cooking a cake from a can, but none of us were too enthusiastic about it and decided to leave the raft chocolate sponge cake in a can for when we're really desperate.

The morning of the 16th crew just tucked into bed, we felt the boat seem to shift sideways, then a Bang! Shortly followed by a waterfall crashing down the steps into the galley, we all woke pretty quickly. We didn't hear the usual grumbles from Derry only an eerie silence in the moments afterwards, we rushed up the stairs to find the reassuring sight of the skipper wedged into his corner completely unperturbed. His description of the occurrence was that 4 waves travelling different directions converged directly off the bow above the poop deck, and he got "pooped". This apparently is the term for when a wave crashes over you completely washing over the deck and the boat. 

Of course there was another 2 breakages this morning in the early hours, for some reason no day is complete without a breakdown. We lost steering, and the eye of the spinnaker pole snapped when the Genoa backed suddenly after the boat broached going down a wave. "Broaching" is when you’re caught by a wave and a strong gust of wind at the same time and you lose steering way, it's uncomfortable to say the least, it's like the avocet is getting picked up and being pushed, accelerated and pointed in the wrong direction all at the same time. It was on one of these broaches that our helm became unresponsive, not a good situation to be in as we had to rely on auto pilot alone to keep us on track. If that decided to pack it in as well we would have been pretty goosed, at any a rate it was an uncomfortable nights sleep for those down below and Cian and John above were suited up to the nines, while we spent the night slewing around the middle of the Atlantic getting hockeyd by precocious winds. Brian and Donnacha luckily got a patch of calm weather at sunrise and dived into the lazerettes (the space at the back of the boat housing the steering gear and 18 twenty litre diesel containers) and had the job of reattaching the steering wires from the helm to the pulleys and tensioning the whole rig up again. Now were all sorted and ye are all up to date with what’s what here, hopefully it will be all plain sailing from here to the Caribbean from here on out.