Skipper’s Report

23rd January 2017
Time: 1932z
Position: 18°21.5N 045°18.4W
COG: 250°T
SOG: 5kts
Wind: ENE 3
Swell: E 3-4ft
Sky: 3/8 cumulus
Weather: Very nice, but light on wind and shade.

Another scorcher down here at 18° north. It’s the sort of hot that’s gone past fun. We’ve had a real slowdown in terms of pace, and our previous good speeds are a distant memory, as the focus is now on keeping the boat steady enough to maintain the spinnaker and some semblance of progress.

Our latest update from WRI came in earlier, with the expected but not desired news that the lighter airs we are currently experiencing will likely to last until the end of the week. Not ideal, but I’d much rather know and manage both peoples expectations and our supplies accordingly, instead of chasing the false dream that 20kts of breeze would appear tomorrow to sweep us along to Antigua, and on that basis eat all the chocolate in one day. Such valuable victuals must be carefully sustained, for important physical and psychological reasons.

Speaking of victuals, as time has gone on it has become apparent that many of the crew took on their own ‘stash’ in Pasito Blanco. This has been really very interesting, and I’m trying to involve myself in as many of these as possible, without giving the game away. Henry has Nesquik chocolate powder and cereal bars. Moris has a plethora of chips, and the occasional Haribo. Alex is the keeper (and suspected primary consumer) of the official boat Shnacks©, as they live above his bunk. Ty has a fruit stash, and I even found a can of Fosters in his bunk. However, this did not concern me, as I know that a true Australian with any sense of self-worth would never consider drinking Fosters, even if it was the last liquid on earth, so I saw no need to confiscate it.

There was another green flash last night. It was looking like a prime sunset for such an event, so Joe and I decided to keep a close eye on the proceedings. To both our amazement, we were rewarded a second time, with a slower burn, but very much real green flash above the cloud line behind which the sun was dipping.

As I write, Joe is cooking another round of Ivor. Ivor smells better and better every time. This is probably because the more time spent without access to a normal range of meals, the better the rare event of real, fresh meat is. Ivor is officially our tenth member of crew, and the smaller he gets, the more he contributes.

The Suspicious Situation of the Stolen Lighters is raging above me on deck. False assumptions are rife, and the longer the lighters are missing in action for, the more irate the smokers are getting. Little do they know, all three of them are in my right pocket. If there’s no report tomorrow, you’ll know they read this, mutinied, and I’m now afloat in my dry bag, with only a sextant and Kenzie’s Little Man of Bravery for company.

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