Somewhere off Cape Breton. My bunk is wet again. I've moved cabins once; the first one was wet too. A hunt through the ship to find & mark the leaks. We patch the ones in our cabins with diapers taped to the ceiling.
Motoring under staysails, at 3-4 knots. They are not optimistic about getting to Belfast in time for the festival there. The wind is mostly against us & weather not looking better for days. It took 3 hours to furl the squares this morning. The foghorn has joined the sound of wood creaking, generator rumbling, and bilge pumps groaning.
Whales ahead, quite a few little ones, & maybe some humpbacks. At night, greater shearwaters sitting on the sea cackle in alarm as we disturb them. Imagine, sleeping peacefully on the waves, when suddenly this huge THING plows through the middle of your flock!
... Well, yes... but it's all MINE, and it's got WALLS, and a DOOR.
NOW it looks like paintings of ships in the middle of the ocean. The sea is bigger here.
Lunch is interrupted by the news that the main t'gallant yard has just broken. Everyone scrambles on deck. There it is, snapped in half, the yardarms pointing backward making an arrow, like a crooked road sign showing our course. The two halves will have to be got down & spliced back together, & while we're at it, the t'gallant mast & royal yard are coming down too for maintenance.
Coolest thing ever this morning: common dolphins in the bow wave. I hung over the bow & whistled, & a few more came, so a couple of the girls decided I must be the "dolphin whisperer". They were so sleek & streamlined, light & dark, sliding effortlessly along under the water & hopping over one another beneath the smooth translucent part of the wave -- like they were under glass.
