Course: South sou' west, Speed 4.5 knots
Wind: North, gentle breeze
Weather: Partly cloudy, warm
Day's Run: 108
At last a bit of wind, though it would be nice if the seas were a bit smoother. We have quite a steep following sea, more than I would have thought accompanied the gentle breeze we have been experienced and consequently Sylph is rolling quite a bit and the mainsail is still slatting on a regular basis, not at all good for my nerves. Every now and again I go on deck and shout at the mainsail to be quiet. Completely pointless but helps to relieve my tension that builds up in me each and evry time the mainsail flops across and goes crash, shaking the whole boat and especially the rig. I can feel the mast shuddering and it does not feel good. One day the mainsail is going to crash over and either the sail is just going to fall apart or the whole mast is going tocome splintering down. But until then if we hope to get anywhere I just have to put up with it, clench my teeth and every now and again go on deck and blow off some steam.
We were overtaken this morning by another yacht, Nervida. The crew, a lady single hander, called me on the radio and we had a bit of a "gam". She told me her last port of call was the Canary Islands and that her next port of call is the Canary Islands. Initially I thought she meant the Cape Verde Islands but after a moments confusion on my part she told me she is just starting out on a non-stop single handed voyage around the world. There seems to be quite a few of these strange people who want to do this non-stop sailing thing. I for one have come to realize not only have I no desire to do such a non stop circumnavigation, nor have I ever held such an ambition, but even if I wanted to I doubt whether I could spend that much time by myself without going crazy. Anyway idle speculation, I am just trying to stay focused on my own pointless goal and then finding something else to keep myself amused - hopefully something a little more meaningful.
I finished Proust's "Swann's Way" this morning. Virginia Woolf is quoted as saying, "My greatest adventure was undoubtedly Proust. What is there to write after that?" Well clearly she thought she had something to say and wrote amongst other things "To the Light House" which is the only book of hers I have read and, heathen that I am, I reckon will be the only book of hers that I do read - another boring book for the literati. Will I read the rest of Proust's trilogy "In Search of Lost Time"? We'll see, but probably. But for now I think I will get back to something a bit more down to earth, Columbus's Voyages.
All is well.
The conditions improved markedly last night but still a bit noisy up there. I have become resigned to my monotonous diet of hard tack (kibbles). At least it seems to be keeping body and soul together, allowing me to pursue my life's work . . . . Zzzzzzz.