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La Contenta - Day 10: Squalls to the left of me, squalls to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with you!



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.
 

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