Day 20 - Some competition at last
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Fri 10 Dec 2010 12:38
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14:06.40N
47:26.83W There was a festive mood onboard last night. Not of
the holly and mistletoe persuasion, you understand; Good King Wenceslas and his
bright moon seem a long way away. But during the night we passed the 1000-mile
mark, and felt that celebration was in order. The crew of Summer Song raised
their voices and their glasses to the heavens to toast Simon Bates, Comms
Director of Dairy UK, and provider of fine Spanish bubbly. "Long may he navigate
the Thames in peace," quoth all.
Simon very kindly left a bottle onboard Summer Song
in early August, while she was up on stilts in the boatyard at Totnes. He was
there on the day we were supposed to have launched but, due to technical
difficulties, we were in fact with Mission Control in Dorset, planning some
final jobs. I think Simon at that point doubted our intention to cross the
Atlantic, imagining it to be a ruse to quit Dairy UK with head held high. Well,
we have photographic evidence of the fact his bottle was uncorked some 700 miles
from the nearest land, namely Suriname on the South American
continent.
It was a quiet, if rocky night, and we racked up
some good 20-mile plus watches, averaging well over 6 knots. This morning we
crossed the 47th meridian, putting us less than 800 miles from St Lucia.
However, the wind has died down in the night and we find ourselves wobbling
along at a more stately pace, with the sails goosewinged. The forecast is for
more fine, strong trade winds, so we're hoping it'll get up a bit this
afternoon. We've all got used to surfing along at 10 knots.
We spoke to a Norwegian boat lat night, which
hailed us just before nightfall. Their name escaped us, but they were a Konsort
32, crewed by a couple and their five year-old son. I can't imagine how
punishing it must have been to have sailed 2,000 miles with only two active crew
members, but they sounded quite happy over the radio. In fact, there was the
noise of contented five year-old burbling in the background. On a darker note,
these guys are in our class and are therefore our direct competitors. At two
feet shorter than Summer Song, they should be behind us, so we're going to have
to pull something special out of the bag over the next couple of days to outpace
them. There was an air of friendly competition between us when we
spoke.
In my mind, this all points towards the spinnaker,
which may have to be rehabilitated. Unfortunately, that first means retrieving
the hakyard from the top of the mast. Perhaps if ew can turn it into a
competition, William will be induced to have a go. Then again, there's nothing
very clever about hauling the heaviest crew member to the highest point of
the boat in a rolling swell.
Morale is still high, as shown by the excellent
quality of victuals to be sent up from the galley. Graham showed some serious
culinary flair in the most testing conditions yesterday by sending up a
pittabread pizza, topped with tomato paste, sardines and cheese and stuffed with
refried beans. All this while rolling through 60 degrees and surfing at 10
knots. In the meantime, the Skipper seems to have overtaken William in terms of
eating capacity, which is affording him the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to
crack fat jokes at someone else's expense. I maintain that the vast pressures
and responsibilities of captaincy more than justify my permanent
peckishness.
I've just asked Alex if she said anything funny or
clever yesterday for recording in the blog. She replied, "No doubt I did..." but
neglects to provide details. Enough said. She's been deeply absorbed in her
book, 'Too Big to Fail' which catalogues the near demise of the world's
financial system since 2007. It's lasted her since North Spain, about 4,000
miles ago, so it must be a belter.
Toodlepip for now. No more fish in prospect because
we're outstripping even the most belligerent wahoo at this speed. Just the odd
flying fish which hurls itself on board during the night - last night nearly
assaulting the skipper. |