Beaufort Force 7

Getting the storm jib hanked on.

Dan got very fast at sewing the new slides on.


N38 05 W130 21
350nm to go

The ocean is a powerful entity.

Well, we didn't really think it would come to this, but we decided to take down the mainsail this morning when the wind piped up over 30-kts. sustained. We were actually almost overpowered with the triple-reef, and burying the entire leeward deck, so we opted for the trysail, which we had lashed on to the base of the mast the day before. Dan and George went forward with Herculean effort to strike the main and hoist the trysail, which immediately felt like a much better motion. But within seconds
the top two slugs (that hold the luff of the sail to the mast) blew out, and we knew it was only a matter of time before the rest would zipper. So we lowered the sail and Dan went to work sewing new slugs on. After another attempt to raise, and another blow-out, we realized that the lazyjacks had been mounted wrong and were the culprit of the blown slugs. So Dan sewed yet another set on. And in the meantime the wind moderated a bit, so we are back under triple-reefed main, with the trysail ready
to go. Forecast is for this strong wind all the way home. Woo-hoo.

Here's a little stream-of-consciousness sense of life on the boat right now. It's like riding a bucking bronc. I imagine taking a small bed and lashing it to a mechanical bull in a cowboy bar. Then you climb in to go to sleep, as someone sticks a quarter (do they take quarters?) in and the thing begins to buck. You haven't had any sleep for a while so you tell yourself this can work. You will close your eyes as you are bucked around. But what's that thing digging into your back? You move the camera
box that has slid behind your mattress and and try again. Who put that jib car in your bed? Your knees are getting jammed into the wall, so you flip over on your back. No that won't work; your head is rolling side to side too much. Okay fetal position. Here we go. You try to think nice thoughts, not ones like, I only have three more hours before I'm on watch again and I haven't slept for 24 hours. You imagine maybe you're at a spa, getting a massage; the massage therapist is working on the knots
in your back that are as tight as Confetti's rigging. Ouch, you're thrown into the port-hole knobs. Okay fetal position on the other side. You look at your watch: two hours to go. You imagine your hairdresser massaging your scalp with warm soapy water that smells really good. Mmmmm. But then the boat launches off an enormous wave and you wonder if that really loud whumpf! has done anything bad to the boat. Probably not. You check your watch again: one hour to go. Back to the massage at the spa; this
time Enya is playing and the sweet smell of lavender is wafting into your nostrils. The table seems to be moving up and down, but it's nice just the same. The massage therapist is rubbing your feet, which are very sore and tired, so you are glad. Now she is pinching your toes. Why is she pinching your toes? She says, It's time for your watch. And you wonder why she is telling you this. And then you realize she's not a massage therapist at all. So you sit up with as big a smile you can muster (no
one wants to wake up a grumpy person for watch!) and you say, Be right there! As if you had just had the best night's sleep of your life and can't wait to get on deck. Which is no different from the bucking bronc down below, except the wind is really loud, and if your attention lags for just one second you might get a wave in the face like a hard, cold water balloon. Then you curse the company who makes your foulies, angry that they didn't make the seal on the neck and wrists tighter, as water saturates
your long underwear. But then you admit to yourself that you probably neglected to fasten them tightly enough in your haste not to be late for watch. Your hands grip the cold stainless steal of the dodger as you scan the horizon for ships. You feel your aches and pains. The waves are really big! Oh but there's an albatross soaring around the boat, and the sun is rising, trying to peek through the clouds, and what's that? Your lovely, lovely husband is poking his head out of the companionway with
a big smile and a steaming cup of coffee for you. And you think, life couldn't get any better than this.

Flying the trysail.