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Skyelark of London - 10/03



A rainy day is a rainy day, whether in Portsmouth, San Francisco or the South Pacific. The hatches must be shut, so the saloon becomes stuffy. The laundry can't be hung on the rails, so dirty clothes remain just that.
Chocolate in the drawer melts from the heat, so the cookies, biscuits in the mother tongue, are disappearing too quickly. Cold showers feel good, but they are nothing like even a bad shower at home. One leans, slides, sits,
crouches, curses. Bruises appear everywhere in the shape of boat hardware. Cleats. Winches. Blocks. Skin turns brown for some, only red for others.

Even the most safety conscious must steer shoeless, for her boat shoes are soaked. Some smart phones fail, not the iPhones, so someone (nameless) appears, mystified, an hour early for watch. Food is reduced to the least common denominator, no ginger, no chili, less pepper & salt. The bananas are gone, and the cabbage comes out. We are in our second week.

Then, soon, the sun. Blue sky. Stars to steer by. The moon lights our look out for mammals. This is a rally, not a race, but two boats on the water is always a race. We have our second 200 nm day, and we log the sixth
fastest 24hrs of any of the boats on the fleet, including catamarans and bigger boats. Skyelark is screaming across the South Pacific Ocean, likely halfway by tomorrow, and all debts are forgiven.

Sherri


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