We did it!
We survived four weeks of the blues.
And while that might sound depressing, I assure you that these blues were pure bliss.
After a good fight wrestling the mooring ball for our lines,
Papillon sailed out of Saint Helena;
leaving the island to shrink in our wake until all we had was the ocean blues and the sky blues and the stars more of an orangey yellow.
The five of us [and teddy bear] quickly found our sea legs again and fell back into old routines of keeping watch, keeping awesome, and keeping alive.
It’s difficult to explain how a full month of our lives vanished in the vast vortex of Atlantic; but I’m going to try anyway.
The days drifted like the currents, merging into each other.
On happy days, with following seas, there was yoga, swimming [and sort of surfing] off the transom, bat and ball, lazing in the hammock, and much chill.
On still happy [but far rougher] days of clashing currents, waves, and squalls; everything was done with a hint of trepidation; for even climbing out of bed was tiresome.
We had the odd visitor stop in to pay us homage, and some stuck around longer than others.
Ray [and his pilot entourage] followed us for the better part of a day.
Dolphins popped in only a couple of times, but when they did visit, they came in their hundreds!
The assortment of feathered friends was quite astounding.
We took on a hitch hiker one day.
Two the next.
The following day bought ten.
At which point we began fending off the free-loaders with guns (well, water pistols), sticks, and catty.
The flying fish were always welcomed on board and we made sure to always set a special spot for them at the dinner table.
After our first leg, we may have been a bit cocky, for when it came to fishing, we were rather more successful at having our lures bitten off and lines snapped or tangled in seaweed.
Fortunately seaweed soup was a winner.
As was saltwater bread.
In fact, everything born in the galley was amazing!
And as awesome as it is to sail with a crew who share my affinity for chili and spice, seldom a meal passes in which there isn’t some sort of cayenne pepper injury to an unsuspecting crew member sat downwind of you; normally to the eye.
While we may have been out of beer, Saint Patrick’s Day bought with it the perfect opportunity to test our home brew.
It also bought hours of Irish tunes and celebrations, which attracted both dolphins and bill fish.
Would you believe it ended with champagne?
No Saint Paddy’s Day ever ends with champagne.
The seas may have been rough and the skies ominous for the occasion, but we made sure to pay tribute to Neptune as we crossed the equator into the Northern Hemisphere.
With a broken water maker, the threat of fresh water showers from encroaching squalls, had all of us sitting on the deck, soap in hand, waiting.
For hours. In vain.
The second and third efforts were similar [with Todd being closely compared to that “wolf” boy].
When they finally came, we relished them, and lathered up, and washed our hair, and danced and cleaned the boat and it was amazing!
But they kept coming.
And the novelty wore off.
And the boat began to leak.
And beds got wet and heads got flooded.
The countdown began:
3000 miles, 2000. 500. 444. 333. 222.
Each a cause for serious celebration!
Quite dramatically our world of blue turned green.
First the water.
And then the “walls” and the sky too as we entered the rainforest and chugged up the Suriname River.
The last 15 miles.
3910 miles later;
28 days 6 hours and 33 minutes
We arrived in Saint-Laurent du Maroni, French Guyana.