Day 2 - approaching Morocco
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Mon 22 Nov 2010 11:30
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26:25.69N
015:44.60W
Nerves soon gave way to excitement as we manoeuvred
ponderously our of our berth in Las Palmas yesterday, waving goodbye to Mission
Control. We'd gone for a leave-at-the-last-minute strategy which saw our
neighbours heading off first. With four onboard and six weeks of food, water,
and fuel, Summer Song was a bit sluggish through the water, but that suited us
fine as we had 30 minutes to cover the half mile to the start line.
There were boats everywhere. I had planned to cross
the line a few minutes after the gun so that we didn't t-bone anyone before we
were even out of sight of land. But Alex - usually fiercely anti-competition -
came to life with a fiery look in her eye and started demanding that we spread
more canvas to try and be first across the start line. She started criticising
the sail plan of other boats nearby and only stopped short of proposing the
spinnaker.
We settled into quite an easy rythmn after the
start. There were hundres of boats in sight, with local vessels weaving in and
out taking photos and shouting encouragement. A news helicopter nearly got blown
out of the sky by the starting rocket from a Spanish navy ship. Then the
airwaves were alive with chatter, including a couple of boats announcing that
they were heading back to port for repairs. Later on, we heard about a couple of
boats that had blown out spinnakers or lost mainsails in the 'acceleration zone'
of stronger winds round SE of the island.
We caught up with our friends from the harbour,
Toby et al on Tigris and the French on Wanako. Then, an hour or so later after
night had fallen, Fabian on Wanako called up again with the cryptic message
that 'Les caci ne marchent pas'. Caci are fruit a bit like persimmon and, as
with the rest of our fuit and veg order, had been delivered in vastly excessive
quantity by the greengrocer on Saturday. We'd stowed them in nets hanging from
the saloon roof, like the French. But apparently theirs had more or less turned
to fruit juice with the violent rolling of the boat as it was tossed on the
swell. Ours were on the verge of doing the same thing, so we chucked them in a
bucket and are eating them for breakfast, lunch and supper until they're
gone.
Otherwise, all is going well. It wasn't a wildly
restful night, and the crew is still finding its sea legs. Will felt so green at
one point that he refused bacon. This was soon revealed as a ruse, though, when
he perked up at the prospect of someone else going below to cook it on the
stove.
We're doing about 5 knots goose winged - the gib to
starboard and the main to port with the wind dead astern. We caught up a few
miles on some of the fleet during the night, but are now in the process of
losing it again. There are plans to hoist the spinnaker after
lunch...
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