Having spent yesterday sweating over the stove, it was my turn to sleep blissfully through the night, uninterrupted by night watches. Alas, the squally weather had made our cabin unbearably humid and I sweated my way through a nightmarish sleep which offered little in the way of actual rest. Up on deck I could feel the listless rolling of the boat and hear the screech of gear and the dissatisfied grumblings of the watch as she slammed into the Atlantic swell.

 

Sometime towards morning, the trades finally returned and the boat came back to life and by the time I stood my watch, she was running seven knots under main alone. The glooms of yesterday lifted; again we had a purpose and a goal.

 

Incredibly, the toilet broke again. All my unblocking had clearly conspired to cause further problems deep in the bowels of the pump, unused to dealing with an unrestricted flow of water. Having got the bum deal last time around, it was Otto’s turn to try to get to the bottom of the problem. He recruited Carl as his rather unfortunate Number 2 for this job. It took them most of the day.

On deck, Steinar, ivory and I shortened sail before a squall settled in. Dropping the mainsail and setting up the genoa and a poled out headsail so we could run butterfly before the trades. As we happily lugged sails across the deck, I got the occasional waft of foetid toilet water from the portlight by the heads to remind me that not everyone was having such a lovely time. Unfortunately, it was around this time that a sudden gust of wind blew off Ivory’s rather fetching musto cap. She has been sporting this accessory for pretty much the whole voyage so was rather distraught at its loss. It really should have been me who was distraught as it was my hat that Ivory had pirated, after refusing to bring one herself under the claim that she didn’t need one and thought caps were ugly. Now we have just one hat left between the two of us. Let the battle begin!

 

At lunch we had an unexpected visitor in the form of a Frigate Bird, which circled us a few times before alighting by the shrouds. In the air he was elegant, but once aboard, he looked incredibly shabby and exhausted, shuffling about in a tramp like manner and eyeing us suspiciously. The crew has long since become old news, and we greeted the stranger with a sociable vigour long since dispensed of with our fellow crew members. Nevertheless, he had little interest in us, and our offerings of fish left him unmoved. After an hour, he became bored with our company and flapped off.

Otto and Carl emerged some time after lunch flushed with success having managed to make the toilet work again. This time the impellor had failed. It really hasn’t been up to the job.

 

After lunch Ivory and I retired to the front deck and took our watch sprawled on the gennaker bag, reading books and gazing at the inky blue sea and feathery whitecaps which race by, the soft warmth of the tradewinds irresistible. We have 930 miles to go!

 

//Sam

 

Photos; Frigate Bird and Sam (Sam with the beard)