Day 9
Everything takes a little bit longer on Leona. Making coffee, getting dressed, walking up to the bow: everything is tuned to the pitch and roll. When opening a cupboard, one needs to take a second to check the timing, as rogue jars of salsa or tubes of toothpaste can pose an aerial threat. One learns to manage single-handed, as the other is holding on for dear life (either to a handle or a cup of tea/coffee/beverage of your choice).
Life on a slack-line.
We have a refrigerated drawer on the port side of the galley that poses a unique challenge. It latches with a pin at either corner, and to open it, both pins need to be removed. I find it safest to sit on the floor to operate, but with the constant rodeo happening beneath us, I often find myself suddenly sliding across the galley floor on my tuckus, the drawer perilously yawning open. I have learned to brace myself with one foot down the aft stairwell next to it, cradling the drawer in the circle of my legs. I pull the pins, wait for a starboard roll, open the drawer to remove whatever it is I am searching for (it better be important) and hand it to whoever is near, wait for a port list to help close the drawer, and attempt to replace the pins before the next starboard roll.
It’s a glamorous life on Leona.
The Fridge Drawer Manouver
Progress continues to impress even a hardened voyager like Jeff: we are still cranking along at 8-9 knots, with a 10 or even 11 appearing on the Raymarine screen once in a while. All models predict arriving at Nuku Hive a week from Sunday or Monday, 16 or 17 days of open water from San Diego. Our time is certain to be a record…well a PB, perhaps.
Inquiring minds want to know: what’s with the patch on the sail?
Forgive me, gentle readers, I was a trifle obscure in my description on Day 6. To clarify, a chafe patch is a piece of sail cloth with an adhesive backing placed at key points on the sail, mainly where it hits the spreader (the horizontal support for the rigging). Think of a blister pad on your heel or padded bike shorts: no-one likes chafing, not even Leona. Georgie’s trapeze act was purely preventative as our gorgeous new Elvstrom sails are in fine fettle.
Love ‘em or hate ‘em, you have to admit the Vikings were in the vanguard of sailing know-how, and clearly they passed that trait down through the ages to the Danish magicians at Elvstrom. They don’t cut the sails, but mold them from three layers of membrane to fit exactly on our mast. An inner layer of precisely woven fibers withstands the stresses and strains from the wind, while the blue edging prevents UV rays from causing more damage when the sails are furled. While the average sail’s life span is 10-15,000 miles, these beauties last up to 30,000. With this voyage taking up around 10,000 miles, we should have years of fun ahead with Leona. EPEX is what the magicians call these. Understandably.
David looking way too happy in the starboard lazarette.
We have had a bit of a catastrophe in the starboard lazarette (the storage space beneath the cockpit bench). It seems there was a coolant leak that landed in an open-topped food bin holding a number of potatoes, onions and, calamitously, three cabbages. The good news is that it answers the long-standing mystery of the disappearing coolant, and Georgie stumbled on the leak in time. The coolant calculations indicate we will continue to have a functioning heat-exchanger at the end of the trip.
While we sent the large potatoes to Davy Jone’s Locker along with half the onions, we were able to rescue most of the new potatoes and all the cabbages, thank heavens.
Since dawn, a sea bird (Brown Booby? Black-footed Albatross? Although I am not a certified twitcher, it does appear to have a more booby-like silhouette) has been accompanying us, effortlessly coasting the air currents and no doubt laughing at our less-than-graceful wave dance, even landing on Leona for a moment. Here’s hoping we can provide him a resting spot for the night. Meanwhile, quicksilver flying fish skim and dart, defying my attempts to capture it on film. Big respect to the Blue Planet crew for their patience and perseverance.