16:43.121N 082:46.101W
Shaya Moya
Don & Susan Smyth
Fri 13 May 2011 17:40
|
Hi ALL!
Finally things have happened that make writing a
blog a little more fun. It's been a rollercoaster ride getting through the last
few days. There have been ups and downs but mostly ups and then some downs. One
of the ups was watching this huge Cruise-Liner go by just a mile off at 0300
yesterday morning. It's moments like these that you realise just how far cameras
still have to go to capture a moment like our eyes do.
 Since we turned the corner off Cuba and started
moving south east, we've been beating to wind. "Beating to Wind" is sailor speak
for when one sails towards the wind, meaning the wind comes at you from between
30 to 45 degrees left or right of the bow (pointy end). The first two days
beating made me wonder why some salty sea dog would call it that. I realised that beat as a verb is used in two connotations.
Firstly, beat could mean to win, but nobody's winning when you sail to wind. The
boat's not winning because it takes a lot of strain. The occupants definitely
don't win because it's hard to feel like a winner when you're green. So the wind
wins? Well no it's racing the wrong way!! So it must have something to do with
the other meaning of "beat", such as smack,bash, flog, whip, beat as in to get
beaten up. That makes much more sense. Now that I know this I've decided to roll
with the punches and Shaya Moya back!
So we've managed to find a great point of sail and
have been making reasonable speed pretty much in the direction we need to be
going. Unfortunately we keep having to make slight adjustments to dodge the
numerous reefs and atolls out here in the middle of the ocean... I know, weird
huh? Weird but true this patch of blue we're sailing through is dotted with
shallow rock or coral outcrops which makes it all much more exciting. Yesterday
whilst passing over one of the 20m deep reefs we caught our first Yellow-Fin
Tuna! I say we because Dad helped out this time. He passed me the
rum to kill it and then returned to the safety of his death-free
cockpit with his characteristic "He's killing it!" _expression_. That's
not to say that once it was gutted, filleted, washed, cooled, minced, spiced,
baked and presented as today's Fresh Tuna Burger with Red Onion Salsa he didn't
thoroughly enjoy eating that poor fish.
After catching our little Tuna... we spotted a
fishing vessel doing just what we had just done but with a little more success.
Through the binoculars we could see a whole football team of fisherman standing
on the decks holding big fish up and waving at us. Unfortunately we could not
capture that image with the camera but it was nice to see men obviously enjoying
their job on that day.
 So after all the excitement of the catch and seeing
other people for the first time in 4 days, I was just settled down around 1800
to do my watch till 2200 when we got a visitor. I was in the middle of an
Infinity Blade (Game App) match when I was interrupted by a winged
intruder who infiltrated the saloon with great precision and landed on the
table. My first thought was "don't sh** there" and then I realised the little
Swallow (I looked him up in our bird book) was obviously lost, alone and very
tired. I tried to set him up with a drink but he wasn't having it and he
wouldn't eat anything I tried to feed him either so we just settled down up in
the cockpit and got to chatting.
 After reading that Swallows feed on flies etc I
explained we had no flies on the menu and presented him with a piece of the
tuna. I got to work on his accommodation, using a cardboard box and some kitchen
towel. At first he was a little sceptic I think but he soon settled into a
routine of flying off for 5 to 10 minutes at a time and then returning to
his reece-made nest. I had found my Wilson and he wasn't some intellectual
over-the-fence-looking neighbour or a volleyball in it's packaging. Wilson is a
Swallow... or at least he was a Swallow.
I'd like to take this moment to wish farewell to a
very special friend. We shared a special friendship for three whole hours. It
was during the take-off of his last flight for that night, that Wilson perished.
It is difficult to know what led to his fatal ocean landing. Some might say he
was tired and had not eaten for god-knows how long, others might say he was
disoriented and just gave up hope. I know for a fact, that He was already 5
years old (110 human years) and had come to die after he completed the last
wish on his bucket list... "Share one more sunset with a friend."
R.I.P Wilson the Swallow
 So that was yesterday... It's only 1330 now. What
does this day have in store for me? Friday 13th
I'm going out to see...
|