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Cleone - CLEONE Leg 22 Day 6 - The One That Did Not Get Away



More Sweat, Less Blood
 
Or as the Americans say, Train Hard, Fight Easy.  It was quick, it was cold, it was brutal, it was bloody but my goodness, it was effective and efficient.  Team Cleone finally bought home the bacon, no scrub that: Team Cleone finally bought home the tuna.  Victory was sweet, and our fans are over the moon.  I could, of course, write about this epic for pages, but I will try and keep it brief.  Picture the scene; Shayne is duty cook, and he is already peeling and scrubbing.  Pots and pans are bubbling and simmering, and Shayne alternately scratching his (no, not that word - Ed) ok, watch, and chewing his pencil, as he amends and reamends the menu, refines his time-plan and chooses a suitable wine.  The fishing line (like the sun) has been out all day; the line remains empty, the reel silent.  But as the clock ticked, and as Shayne prepared to wield - yet again - the every-ready tin opener on yet another tin of bully beef, the reel gave a scream.  Smoothly, with no panic this time, he's away from his stove and poised at the stern, muscles bulging as he slowly battles the might of the sea.  The tuna, a small, family sized fish, just right for supper, gives up with little fight - he knows he's up against a practised professional, and he'd rather end his days warm and sizzling in our pan than feeding himself bit by bit to some shark in the cold South Atlantic.  And so it proved; within half an hour, the menu had been re-typed, a new wine chosen, the seasoning adjusted, and we were tucking into fresh tuna steaks, mashed potatoes and boiled carrots.  Further evidence, if needed, of puny man's ability occasionally to triumph over nature.
 
Apart from that, it's been a challenging day's sailing.  Eschewing the engine, we kept close-hauled on the port tack all day.  There was no real shortage of wind, but we moved further and further above the Rhumb Line.  By suppertime, we were over seventy miles adrift.  But after supper, in the first watch, the wind eased slightly.  Just before midnight a squall drove through, leaving a flat calm in its wake.  But this pressaged the promised change, and by the time Graham and the Skipper re-emerged sleepily from their bunks four hours later we were able to lay the course for St Helena once more.  But come the dawn, come the calm.  The Mizzen Staysail is up, the wind is flukey and we are making only gentle progress towards our first goal.  But the magic "thousand miles to go" mark was also passed yesterday evening, so morale is high.  As I write, we have but nine hundred miles to go.  And Bruce promises the advent of the trades, hopefully soon. 
 
And, you know, once these Hunter Gatherers get into their stride, there is no holding them.  With Grahsm's help, Shayne has just landed and butchered a magnificent Dorado.  And the sun is nowhere near the yardarm.
 
All well on board, and best wishes from
 
James, Graham, Jenni and Shayne
Yacht Cleone
24o59'S 007o11'E



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