We're at 38:23.86N 31:28.07W - about 135 miles from Horta.
So this morning, for the first time in 1200 miles (since 20th May) the wind failed us and we resorted to the chugger. We tow a turbine on a 100' length of rope (keeps the batteries topped up whilst we're sailing) and as this was brought into the cockpit (prior the putting the engine in gear) we discovered a Portuguese Man-of-War had done a 'Sue' and got caught up on the line. (The turbine spins, turning the line which turns the generator - yeah its a bit technical). We figured R would be the best at scrapping off all the left over man-of-war - (after all who's going to notice a Scotsman with blue, poisonous gungy bits hanging from his body?). Anyway the cockpit now has a distinctly fishy aroma (as does R) but I suppose one must remember the poor old M-o-W. It must have had a hell of a turn! (Ha ha).
There's something of a slightly hysterical, end-of term feel to things out here. Its almost certainly our last night on this leg and C (tonight's chef) is amassing cans in a manner which I would call haphazard and indiscriminate. (+ we've got wine tonight.). We are already discussing hangover cures for Thursday morning. R has the knot book out and is practising a Waggoner's Hitch (sounds like a shore-side knot if ever there was one). Meanwhile I'm baking the fifth or sixth loaf of the leg.
We're heading for Horta on Faial. This harbour (with marina - and with SHOWERS) offers better protection that Flores and there's some 'weather' is due here Thursday/Friday . All being well I guess we'll arrive about 1900 GMT tomorrow.
Talking of weather, we had a little last night. A series of fronts went through - each with its own change in wind strength/direction so we we're up and down all night like the proverbial - fiddling with the sails. Up til this point Molly (the wind vane self-steering) has steered the ship and the man on watch had only had to worry about what book to take and taking care to make no noise whilst raiding the goody box. The wind has just kept pushing us along like some warm, benevolent hand ushering a child into a classroom (good metaphor - hem, hem). Called up Fia Tira just now but clearly they're already celebrating - they had difficulty in operating the push-to-talk button, coordinating the pushing of the push-to-talk with actually talking and further difficulty is uttering anything remotely coherent. There's going to be one hell of a party tomorrow.
Love from Three Men nearly out of a Boat.
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