With all this talk of the difference of having two girls as
part of this crossing compared to two years ago (clean heads, delicacies for
supper etc), I thought I might correct any impression that Fatty and I spend
our time cleaning and cooking. In truth there is a very fair division of
labour, with Paul a more than dab hand in the galley and Frewie was even caught
yesterday baking bread. The best thing about being Mother for the day, and in
total charge of all meals, washing up and cleaning the cockpit, is that for the
next two days we can legitimately do nothing in the galley and just listen to
the crashing of pots and pans without feeling in the slightest bit guilty. We
have a very good routine with pretty much three hours on and six hours off
throughout. Catching up on sleep is important, but as it is so much nicer to be
around when everyone else is, every now and then we get told to take ourselves
off, and that includes Frewie who I’m pleased to say is doing exactly that
while I write this blog.
Today the sky has turned grey and we have squalls all round
but nothing as yet too threatening. It resembles so much the Solent at the
moment, not the blue skies and night watches in shorts that I was
promised....but yesterday we had a brilliant and beautiful day, perfect sailing
with 18 knots of wind and we covered 206nm under blue skies. I’ve come to
measure my increasing competency around the boat with a slowing rate of
acquiring bruises. After the first few days, I don’t think there was a bit of
me without one; a particularly unattractive one on my forearm looks as if I’ve
been violently gripped but I promise I haven’t. The skipper, it will come as no
surprise, does not have a single bruise!
Frewie is the most patient of teachers and he has
painstakingly added to my understanding of both the mechanics of the boat and
the finer points of sailing. But understanding the language of a boat is a
challenge in itself and just when you think you have got the hang of it the same object changes its name, its
function of greater importance: the
preventer becomes a fore-guy, warps can become springs and sheets, of course,
never are. The nicest name for a rope I’ve come across is a Barber Hauler which
is not a rope at all, by the way, but a line... The aft starboard locker has
transformed itself into the emergency locker (rather important to know when we
need the grab bag in a hurry) and even the kitchen, I mean galley, and
bathroom, a head (can anyone tell me why?!) provide more confusion.
I feel there is no need to describe the sea any further as
Frewie does a good job of that but before I left there were some people who
warned that boredom may be an issue. So far I haven’t been bored once and we
are busy all the time and any thoughts of sitting on the aft deck reading a
book have had to be abandoned. Fatty and I have however managed to schedule in
a daily game of Bananagrams, which is keenly fought, but luckily for crew harmony, Paul has
decided to join us diluting our competitive spirit.
More than anything, I feel enormously privileged to be here,
on Juno and in such good and generous company.