The Midatlantic Scrabble Circle
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Sun 24 Jul 2011 14:42
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39:18.67N
048:24.44W
Let it not be said that Summer Song can't organise
a party, dear reader. Oh no! As we passed the halfway point of the Azores leg of
the passage yesterday, an epic shindig was organised!
Only four people could make it, but in a 6ft square
cockpit, that seemed plenty. For the toast, the skipper mixed some warming Ty
Punch from finest Martiniquais rum, lashings of lime and brown sugar. There were
peanuts a volonte and a bottomless beef jerky fountain. After a brief speech in
praise of Summer Song, for having safely ferried us this far, we turned to the
serious task of partying. The Travel Scrabble was brought out of hibernation,
and the iPod put on shuffle. At one glorious moment, Alex was mulling the word
'yeller' to the warbling of the Marriage of Figaro, as large white-crested waves
towered over the transom. The revels went in late
into the afternoon, as Chris passed up an excellent bean stew. We didn't get to
bed until, oooooooh, 9 o' clock.
It was a dark and sploshy night. Summer Song forged
through the darkness, buffeted by the burly hands of unseen waves. If
sleep was tough in the rodent hole that is the stern cabin, things were
infinitely worse in the fo'c'sle, where the sensation of flying is at its
strongest. This is flying through a thunderstorm, though, with violent
turbulence on every side and regular, echoing thuds as a wave slaps squarely
into the hull. On the plus side, I doubt there'll be a barnacle to be seen below
the waterline when we get to the Azores.
Our blistering pace continues, albeit slightly less
precipitate then in recent days. We're lurching along at six to seven knots with
just 800 miles to go. Every hour seems to bring twofold progress, as it carries
us further from Newport and closer to Flores. Life aboard continues in its
minutiae. I had the first 'cockpit shower' this morning. This is nothing more
than a few bucketloads of seawater over the head, followed by a trickle of
precious fresh water to remove the salt. However, its restorative effect is
legendary.
In the meantime, and due to the notable absence of
fishing opportunities (a blend of excessive speed and omnipresent seaweed), I'm
mulling a pizza lunch. We'll have tomato salsa, cheese, olives and peperoni on
burger buns, while Elise will have to have it balanced on a rice cake. It should
keep the wold from the door a little while longer.
Spirits, though weary after a ragged night, are
high.
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