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Asante - Day 11 of the never ending poem

Day 11 had us a gazing, as the sun rose up in awe. There is something very magical. A beauty not ashore. The sails were up, no reef was in. The Atlantic waves did roll. Asante took them in her stride, for her it was no toll. Today I started early. To make foccaccia bread. With olives and dried tomatoes, as the crew they do need fed. So the fishing rods were out again, and despite the Sargaso weed, that’s started catching on our lines, we have crew that need a feed. And lo behold the reel did go. For supper we had a dish. For James had caught a beautiful, wahu Atlantic fish. But other things did happen, that helped us pass the day. There is very little work to do. Most of the time it’s play. The SSB was crackling, as we made our daily call. To other yachtsmen out there. In boats both big and small. Nick was pretty busy, doing press ups on the aft. To many that sounds dangerous. And to others it just daft. For don’t forget the challenge. It’s harder than at home. Cos’ the floor that he is working on, never stops its move and groan.


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