A can of beer
Sat 2 Dec 2017 19:10
It's been sitting in the fridge waiting for its time. Its time draws close.
There are in fact three small 33cl cans, but I don't fancy my survival chances if I try and quaff all three one dark night watch - two of my fellows are eyeing daily, their share of this treasure trove. They were not brought along for reason, merely left over's. They will now serve as a minor reward of either distance or time. Time would now seem inappropriate, as we lolled our way at excruciating pace for the first week, so we now seek excuse, of the distance type. We note that we are already over half way of total, but the real half way is mid point of the big puddle jump. Thus by present pace, we still have 3 days to wait. Darn it.
Forgot to mention the yellow wave from a few days ago. Increasingly a good phenomenon that occurs on the cockpit deck every one to two days. This one occurred in the kitchen. Poor Bosun, on a particularly 'lively' sea state evening, couldn't brave himself outside and had to go. Brave and Bosun are seldom found in the same sentence. The kitchen is a limited space, so with x86 pitching bow to stern, the wave ebbed and flowed at length, and with considerable sea state of its own. I couldn't be bothered to locate my well stowed sea boots, so sloshed about barefooted in the wave for the several minutes it took to get it under control. Bosun looking down from the saloon, at yellow feet in yellow wave, smirking uncontrollably all the while. Darn it.
The ARC HF SSB radio net has been getting more tenuous by the day, as the winds are now spreading the fleet. Often it's hard to hear and you only get a smattering of the action. One guy has wind, one girl has something in the oven, and the net controlled briefly stopped proceedings with a nonchalant announcement that he has no lead in his pencil. I kid you not. I fear soon that we will be the only boat on the net, calling for a radio check in a radio silence. Are they there, or have they black balled us, and migrated to a secret frequency? Darn it.
The readings on the two fuel gauges are now unsettling scant sleep. After three days of engine running to charge batts, and make wet stuff, the gauges read the same. Wonderful, lots of fuel, will last forever at that rate. The trouble is, one remembers so well those cheap and crappy cars of youth. You'd never put more than a fiver's worth of benz in, as you never had more than a fiver to your name. The fuel gauge would read a quarter full for an age, and you'd throttle happy your every which way, ignoring the inevitable. How often did blood pound when needle went suddenly from quarter to 0 end stop. At least out here, you have plenty of room to 'pull over', and alternate source of motion. Still, wouldn't be good. Darn it.
All's well in a lively sea state, bucking and kicking, on x86 in the night time.
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