Day 10: Squalls to the left of me, squalls to the right, here I am stuck in
the middle with you!
We have had a full on day of squalls. The clouds have been grey, the
sea has been grey, the sun has been absent and squalls in varying shades of grey
have been all around us on the horizon. Some assume a density of colour
that tends to pewter, giving an intensity to their presence that becomes
malevolent. They show up on our radar as pink amoebic blobs. Pink is
such a gentle happy colour for these beasts of the sea. We can see them
form, grow, move and fragment. The art is to avoid the high winds and rain
associated with sailing through them and the potential wind void on the other
side, whilst maintaining our course without too much deviation. Not an
easy task. At one stage today we were surrounded by a complete ring of squalls
rather like the numbers on a clock face. As a consequence we have spent
much of today in oilies. Our swimsuits of two days ago a distant memory.
As we popped out from the final squall of the day we found the wind shift that
we had been hoping for waiting for to take us south west to Saint Lucia.
This evening we have passed the half way point as measured in
longitude. The moment passed with little ceremony as night watches were in
progress, but we have a bottle of bubbly chilled for tomorrow. It feels so
good to feel that the closest land is now ahead of us and not behind us.
Only another 1500 miles to go.
Today the birds have been conspicuous in their absence. We have
missed them skimming across the water. Their presence has been a joy and
we have been full of awe at their ability too survive in such a remote and
potentially harsh environment. We have seen no other wildlife for days and
that includes fish. We are still waiting for our first catch.
Today Ewen had been chef of the day. I am beginning to notice a
pattern; when its Ewens turn to cook LC gets excited. The winds and sea
align with her to create the perfect roll and pitch to thwart even the most
seasoned of sailors and chefs. Bowls fly, ingredients launch themselves
and gravitate to the most inaccessible part of the floor, and any cupboard
opening sees a missile attack of contents. The scramble to find escaped and
needed ingredients whist holding a hot pan on an unpredictable wobble platform
has produced some amazing faces, interesting language and stunning
suppers. Jenny you are in for a treat when he gets home – cooking at
Rosside will seem so easy.