44 14N 08 37W
How many sailors would cross the Bay of Biscay with a poled out genoa and a north-easterly surfing along with the dolphins?!
Jeremy (Nicole’s not Rob’s) holds the record at 11.3 knots, although the runners up are snapping at his heels.
We only saw the lights of Skyelark and one other yacht during the night. Conditions were tricky – keeping on a steady 210 degrees almost impossible, especially when the cloud obscured the stars. Now I understand how difficult it is to steer at speed at night with a following swell and a fickle wind. (By the way, typing at sea ain’t that easy either!)
At night, when lying in one’s bunk rolling around, the calm voice of our skip Emily, accompanied by crashing and bangings of sail changing, only causes fear when it goes quiet and you wonder if you should pop up and do a quick head count!
As on previous nights Skyelark has increased its lead. Stephen reckons we catch up when the lasses are on the helm, but he may just be flattering us! During the day we shorten the gap to Skyelark, or are they letting us catch up? Love between skippers doesn’t often include such generosity!
A dinner of spaghetti carbonara and pesto garlic bread ensured our centre of gravities remained low – the warmer weather means we’ll soon be able to compare bruises! Talk has now turned to which tapas bar will have the pleasure of our company tomorrow and how long we’ll have to recover from our hang-overs. We can almost smell the beer and Sangria! (Sorry, cerveza)
The friendly crew has gelled well, the only cross moment being when no-one warned Jeremy (Rob’s not Nicole’s) that the hatch was closed when he came on watch, bleary eyed at 3am. Sorry!
Time to sign off. Beards are growing. Clothes are being shed(!). Undergarments are maturing. Fishing lines are being reeled out.
To be continued………