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Milanto - Log Day 3 (The start Part 2)



Day 3, we start to restart.

However sophisticated weather computer modelling is these days, what you actually wake up to each day retains more than a modicum of mystery, andthere is something pretty uplifting about that isn't there. We may have moved on from actively worshiping the sun (although looking along the impressive length of the sun cream display in the Gatwick branch of Boots you could be forgiven for assuming the faith was still going strong), but really we are still on Chapter One of the book of 'What will the sky do tomorrow?'

In fact on Milanto, and all our neighbouring boats in the Marina, we are still on the prequel 'What the F*** will happen today?'.So with this in mind, we decided to throw caution to the wind and leave.Once we start we are to go back to where we finished and restart, but our suspension time cannot be deducted from that of the elapsed - so all pretty clear really. Safe to say would be underway at around 1pm today (Monday), so 24 hours later than planned.

The sun today was of the blazing variety, and we spent the morning practicing hoisting, jibing and dropping the spinnaker; and of course roasting and sweating. The former is a routine which needs more than a little practice for us even to attain 'adequate' status, but the latter is something at which we all naturally seem to excel.

Needless to say we were all itching to go and there was a frustrated sense of excitement on board. We finally drop our lines at 13:50, not this time to brass bands and cheering, but better still, when we reach our restart position we were met by a lone Pilot Whale, its blow hole producing a neat 3m high water spout to mark the spot. And we had re-started.

What followed was a frustrating 5 hours of seemingly physics defying shifting wind, which sent us in ever decreasing circles en route to a mystical destination known as the 'Acceleration Zone'. This was an area just off the end of the Island, which apparently once we were within, turned into 'The Train' which would whisk us off south to the trade wind proper and our far off Isle.

Now if all this sounds impenetrable jingo to you, then you would be in good company, but then we all had the advantage of the translation skills of first mate Keith, now known as The Windmeister. But even so, we are left with the inevitable conundrum, that we wouldn't know we were in it until were in it, and even then we might have to wait for it to arrive.

This train did not have a timetable


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