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Domini - Sailing At Night



Hello again Boatbloggers,

I'm not sure why they call this particular crossing, "The Milk Run." We've just been hit by a number of squalls, with winds gusting up to gale force and horizontal rain whacking into your eyeballs. I think I'd call it "The Water Plume," or "Cyclonic Irrigation." Even "The Adrenalin Rush." But Milk Run? Nah. 

But first of all we'd like to thank the ARC committee for the spectacular display of shooting stars that they treated us to on Wednesday night. Absolutely fantastic.

Quick quiz...

How big is the average shooting star?

Is it...

a) About the size of the moon

b) About the size of a double decker bus

c) About the size of a pinhead.

The answer my friends may surprise you. According to my Patrick Moore Guide to the Night Sky It is (c) about the size of a pinhead. Apparently a shooting star is little more than a particle of dust bursting into flame as it enters the atmosphere. Though how they figured that out I've no idea.

Hope that surprises you as much as it did me. We here at theboatblog dot com seek to inform as well as entertain.

It's hard to describe the feeling you get sailing in the moonlight, knowing you are following in the wake of Christopher Colon and the other great navigators on their epic voyages of discovery, with nothing to guide you but a compass and the light of the stars. Well, the light of the stars and the GPS of course. And the radar. And the electric plotter. And AIS. But it's basically the same idea. You, your little boat, and the great big ocean.

But the night is also the time when things go wrong. Or more accurately, when things go wrong at night, they seem much worse. On Thursday night for example, just as Lyn was coming off watch, there was a loud bang and the autopilot gave up. Now, when you are only two handed, the autopilot giving up is a very big deal. It's like losing a crewman. Actually, it's worse than that, because you can pick a new crewman at the next port.  And this is the perfect crewman. This crewman doesn't eat all the chocolate biscuits during his watch. This crewman doesn't moan when it's cold and miserable. This crewman just sits quietly on watch, steering the boat far better than you could ever do yourself.

And this crewman just died...

Ju quickly crawled out of his pit, and it was not too long before he discovered that the cotter pin that holds the bolt between the RAM and the quadrant had broken. Now those of you that know Ju and his infamous DIY skills will be amazed at this statement. You will be surprised that he even knows what a cotter pin is. He has been banned from any type of maintenance ever since he managed to plumb the washing machine into the gas main. (That is a true story.) 

Actually, truth be told it was Lyn that found the broken cotter pin. But that's just a detail.

Now read on.... 

Quickly he got out his new set of Halford's spanners and a monkey wrench, and set about replacing the pin and tightening up the bolt. As you read this in the comfort of your own home, this may not sound so difficult. But bear in mind that this is in a completely inaccessible hole at the back of the boat, in the middle of the night, at a 30 degree angle of heel, bouncing up and down like a fairground ride, and with the bolt moving every time the rudder turned. 

It wasn't easy, but eventually he managed it. 

What a hero!

And so for now, touch wood, it seems to be working.

We have just sailed over The Tropic of Cancer. So I guess that we are now officially in tropical waters. 

Not that you'd know it from the weather.

Keep on trackin'

Ju & Lyn

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