Day 17
sunrise off Leona is as beautiful as the sunset
The official overnight marine report:
“It wasn’t as boisterous.”
Jeff Taylor
This morning’s status shows clear skies, a moderate sea, and a 13-knot wind, east by northeast. This means the waves are more aft of the beam and Leona is back to her happy rocking-horse moves. She continues to eat up the miles: less than 250 to go at an average of 7.5 knots.
And your trusty chronicler is back on form also, having discovered some of the inherent gifts necessary for all sailors.
balance.
OK.
understanding physics.
not my strong suit, just look at my high school Physics grade. Actually, don’t.
a sense of direction.
of course.
an ability to sleep whenever, wherever, under any conditions necessary.
Like others in my family (not mentioning names) I am sorely lacking in that skill, hence my system shut-down yesterday. After two weeks of 4-hour restless nights and random daytime catnaps, rebooting me was the daily challenge Leona threw at the crew. 9 hours flat on my back with A/C and Advil PM did the trick.
And most important of all, an overwhelmingly positive spirit.
Jeff, David and Georgie have that in spades.
Linguine Puttanesca , always a fan favorite
And now for a quick Provisioning Update.
We continue to eat very well and not everything is in a wrap.
The Shrimp and White Bean Lemony Stew made a reappearance here three nights ago, Linguine Puttanesca (one of David’s faves) two nights ago, and Madras Coconut-Lime Chicken Curry with a Red Cabbage-Carrot-Jicama Slaw was last night’s dinner. Georgie shows all the traits of a truly stellar galley chef: invention, courage, humor.
And she has excellent balance.
“The catering has been first-class!”
Jeff Taylor
Vegetable tidbit:
jicama (hik-a-ma) is a Southwestern root with a slightly sweet taste and slightly chalky texture that is a pain in the a** to peel and hard as s*** to chop. But it lasts.
I confess I have not yet lived the dream of baking my own bread. I practiced several times in my Rancho Relaxo kitchen, but we just haven’t needed it out here. The carefully stored flour remains in its bay-leaf guarded Ziplocs.
For now.
This morning I finally broke out the oatmeal. Unlike the true porridge stans out there who will only use oats stored in a sporran for three weeks, water from a peaty burn, and a pinch of hoarded salt, I prefer Coach’s oats, an equal ratio of water to coconut milk, said hoarded salt, and a topping of toasted chopped nuts, raisins, and honey. It kept the crew happy.
Some linguistic tidbits:
a stan is an zealous enthusiast or an enthusiastic zealot.
a sporran is a pouch fashioned from the pelt of a small furry animal that the Scots wear around their loins and use to store precious items. Like oats.
a burn refers not to a sassy insult or what the sun has done to Jeff’s knees, but, in this case, to a Highland stream cascading down a heather-covered brae from an icy tarn.
I love Scotland.
breakfast of champions
Lest our nature-loving friends think we have forgotten them, a word about other pelagic critters out here.
The booby visitations have lessened. Although Billy Booby did return for a few more early morning fly-bys, he has left us in peace. Meanwhile his cousin the Masked Booby examined our references and deemed us unworthy of leaving a calling card (one less poop to clean), but she regularly looks down her beak at us from her lofty position on the thermals.
The Masked Booby, also known as the Shy or Snooty Booby,
regularly soars above but never lands on Leona
Other seabirds appear and disappear again, although we did have another overnight guest. Not wanting to emulate the paparazzi, I refrained from snapping any pics of our exhausted visitor as Georgie helped him find a quiet corner of the deck to recuperate. Perhaps one of our birders out there can help identify? He fit into Georgie’s hands, was grey with a white underbelly and chest, and had a small beak. I am thinking a petral of some sort.
We have witnessed several marine versions of a Taylor Swift ticket release: squabbling ocean life of all sorts leaping and diving on each other in a life-or-death struggle to win that rare prize. I saw a spectacular tuna (or some other largish fish) leaping vertically several feet into the air. In the words of a beloved Galapagos guide from that trip long ago, “it’s a feeding frenzy for sure!
I cannot quite wrap my ahead around the fact that we will complete this leg of our trip in less than 48 hours. David regularly calls a crew meeting (conveniently coinciding with our daily sundowner) to plan our island visits.
I add nothing to these conversations.
While I know that I will love the waterfall hikes and volcanic horseback rides, the azure water snorkeling and white sand beach exploring, I am living in the here and now,
in Leona’s embrace of relentless rocking,
in the ever-present wind and water,
in the peaceful moments to look inward.
