Position: 18:30.16N 64:22.14W

Quest is happy! We finally got those white, flappy things out again and stretched her sea legs. Helming for a large part of our passage was our Captain Snoopy. ‘Come on, Lu! Forget your Saturday lie-in and come steer!’ Our true tweenie groaned a little but she came up and held Quest tight in upper-teen winds, full genoa flying. Not such an easy feet since in these conditions, Quest becomes an excited dog straining to smell the bushes. Our destination was North Sound at the top of Virgin Gorda, Branston Pickle’s Necker of the woods. Sailing the 15 nautical miles from Tortola usually means beating against the trade winds and yesterday was no exception. Pencil cases exploded onto the floor downstairs. The cutlery drawer escaped. ‘Isn’t it time to reef the sail?’ one of the Charlie Brown crew piped up. ‘No!’ came the shout from the steering wheels, ‘now get on your winch. We’re going about!’ ‘Who’s scared?’ the new crew member said, looking around for such a swab, ‘I’m not scared.’ That’s my mama. The helming crew grabbed onto this information like a juicy bone, ’Yeah, stop being such a scaredy-pants!’ The bikini lady smiled up at the clouds. Captain Snoopy held on and Quest barrelled through the waves. 'Ok, guys,' I said, feeling the hot eyes of mutiny on my tail, ‘but on Sunday we’re sleeping!’ 

I’m relieved to say that we got there in the end… put those white, flappy things away, passed Pickle’s islands and dropped our chain off Prickly Pear Island. About two seconds later, the most Caribbean of locals came like clockwork to say hello. Peace again. 

Love from Quest and her crew xx