Spinnakering South on Christmas Day, snacking on crayfish and coral trout. Dirk- the autopilot- doing the hard yards while we washed the lunch down with a cold beer. I appreciate it is getting a bit much, but the moon was full that balmy night and the gentle Northwester faded to silent calm while we anchored in Harald Bight.
I expected a cyclone or iceberg or dismasting in return.
There's not much story to these pictures. Mix and I hung out in Monkey Mia until Hadewych and Sergio arrived by plane from Perth. A bit of sailing and floating in the hot tub overlooking the sea.
Louie joined the party in his new boat and we headed to Cape Dubout for some kitesurfing. We gave two windsurfers in search of the perfect speedrun a lift on the boat. With special boards and sails and 2 GPS-es each they made it to 38 knots that afternoon, which they found disappointing.
Toebiting, bottleblowing and fishslapping were other inventions of idleness and too much sun. And keeping count everytime someone bashed their head on the pop-up hatch. Mick and Serge had a nosehair tugging contest.
A gentleman is one who can appreciate modern music, but doesn't.
Brian reckoned his eyes had deteriorated to the point he could only see halfway to the stars.
Cyclone Melanie was hovering off Exmouth but decided not to. Yet.
I repeat: Shotover is a mudbarge that's slower than a sack of shit, do you copy?
Sergio's brainwave was the boatlicking ritual, with or without salt, lemon and tequila. And his camera:
-This $10000 camera of yours, that would bee waterproof? No? Ooops! Micks spent ages up the mast pretending to drop it. Dummies were spat and kittens were had.
