Having spent the best part of 2 days astride the
boom or dangling from the mast drilling out sheared-through bolts and replacing
them, very laboriously, I am pleased to report that Mr. Mainsail is back on
the job again. He has been spruced up with a couple of new patches stitched
onto his leech, which was looking a bit tatty (holey), to say the
least, and he now looks almost presentable. Anyway, he is back in
harness again and we have 3 fully functioning sails once more. Only
trouble is we have no wind!! We have entered the
Azores 'High" where, in the summer, the air circulates in a clockwise
direction - very slowly. Right now the centre of this system is to
the north of the Azores putting us into a
head-on airstream hundreds of miles wide. In days gone by the old
square-riggers must have just wallowed here for days or weeks on end,
which is probably why it took them months to cross the Atlantic Ocean with
their cargoes of slaves, tobacco and syphilis. Today we have a motor for which,
I suppose, we must be thankful. But I hate the bloody thing. It sits in a hole
next to my cabin where it grumbles and growls all night while burning up my
hard-earned loot and spewing toxic diesel fumes into the otherwise pristine
Atlantic air. Also, Carole complains constantly that it does not go fast
enough. Truth is she would be much happier with a gas guzzling gin-palace
anyway - especially one well-stocked with gin. Ah well, best settle down on
the aft deck with a fishing rod and my own thoughts. One good thing though; the
young whipper-snapper does not seem to have found my latest cache of chocolate,
yet!
Log authored by
Peter.