Mo Slow

April 12, 2019

Day 189

Noon Position: 24 45S  21 16W

Course(t)/Speed(kts): NxW 3

Wind(t/tws): ExN 4-5

Sea(t/ft): NE 2- 3; S 5

Sky: Clear

10ths Cloud Cover: 0

Bar(mb): 1021+, steady

Cabin Temp(f): 82

Water Temp(f): 82

Relative Humidity(%): 73

Sail: Big genoa and main, reaching on starboard

Noon-to-Noon Miles Made Good (nm): 93

Miles since departure: 25,794

Avg. Miles/Day: 137

Leg North Days: 23

Leg North Miles: 2,844

Avg. Miles/Day: 124

Better mileage, hard won, and still slow.

Wind light and unsteady; add in squalls, and the result is that I am at the tiller several times per hour to chat with Monte. Here, and after the usual pleasentries, I make offhand and “if you please” suggestions regarding course, which I want to be due north, not 30 degrees either side.

Monte mentions that “the wind she is fickle” and that things might go easier if I trimmed the genoa just so, which I do. Then he gives a meaningful glance at the main. I trim that too. I do not remark that I have trimmed these two many times already today. And Monte does not remark it either, but he eases north.

I go below. North does not last long. I bring Monte his requested restorative against the heat, a Madeira with a splash of seltzer, and we start again.

All day and half the night in like form. All for around 3 knots of speed.

Am ready for steady wind with a tad more oomph. Likely a day or two before that fills in.

—

Wash day. Starting with the socks that have been hanging in the main cabin for months and smell like fetid sausages wrapped in wet dog and served with a side of peat bog.

A soak in salt water. Drain. Again. Drain. Then a soak in salt water with laundry detergent. Lots. Massage with feet (now squeaky clean). Let soak. Then three salt-water rinses.

Now the socks are drying. Once they are more or less dripless, they’ll get a rinse in fresh water and another extended dry. I have a couple gallons set aside for just these and for some long overdue long underwear.

Already the cabin smells like daisies.

—

When my wife read about the state of some of my well-worn clothing, she wrote:

“Speaking of, my dear, remember I can bring you new cold weather undergarments for the Arctic when I come to St John’s. From what I can tell, what you’ve been wearing should be burnt, preferably while you are at sea and away from civilization. By way of expectation setting: none of that stuff you’ve described is making it into my car, let alone the house. And no, we do not need more rags.”