Atlantic Crossing. Days 19–20

Atlantic Crossing. Days 19–20 Calms again. Yesterday we were still making some sort of progress. Our beautifully spread sails carried us towards our destination at a speed of 40 miles per day. The captain spent the night in the cockpit, keeping an eye on the butterfly-wing sails to make sure they behaved themselves. In the morning, further resuscitation measures were required, so we took down the “butterfly” and hoisted the colourful, pot-bellied gennaker. The jib went up to keep it company, along with the mainsail and mizzen. Thus, over the course of the passage, we have used almost every type of sail plan available aboard. We have already tried reefed sails, singly and in various combinations; thank God, we have not yet had to resort to the storm sails.... But let us return to our (muttons) gennaker. After the aforementioned modification, Lady Mary hurtled along at the cosmic speed of 1 knot. Admittedly, not quite in the right direction.... During our daytime swim, we twice observed the weather-and-yacht phenomenon known as “completely dead in the water”: you jump in, and barely drift away from the yacht; the line does not even go taut. We are pointing southwest, while the navigator says the yacht is moving north at 1 knot, carrying us past French Guiana, which we have already set our sights on. The young sailor has been ordered to conjure up the right currents; today she has already held a council with the water spirits. Meanwhile, we are conjuring up the right wind, howling, “O wind, O wind, how mighty you are!...” although the captain warns us that the last time he heard this incantation, during a regatta around Sicily, two-thirds of the yachts failed to finish because an 11-force storm broke out. Well, should that happen, we have our home-grown fairy Lada; she knows the counter-spells :). Swimming We moved ship’s time back another hour, so now everything happens six hours later here than in Moscow. From ten in the morning, the young sailor starts whining that the heat is unbearable and we must go swimming right away: “Mum, you promised we’d go swimming at the hottest time of day.” And it is rather difficult to explain that the worst heat will come later when the person doing the explaining already has a sweat-drenched face numbed senseless by the heat. By eleven, Mum overcomes her shark phobia, and the entire female contingent of the crew straps on harnesses and clips on carabiners. After an hour of shrieks from the young sailor, dives by the senior young sailor, and the chief mate anxiously swivelling her head through 180 degrees, two of them climb back onto the deck, while the captain descends into the ocean to join the little young sailor, who passionately loves swimming and does not believe in sharks :). “Well, congratulations! Nobody has eaten us again!” the chief mate pronounces, and heads to the galley to prepare a celebratory dinner in honour of twenty days in the ocean. Dreams of Tasty Treats For the same occasion, we fortified ourselves with peaches in syrup for our afternoon snack and saved a packet of crisps for the evening film :). While making the celebratory “bean risottumpkin” and pizza, Nastya and I dream that the moment we see land—and a McDonald’s ashore—we will charge straight in and eat at least a kilogram of unhealthy food :). Such are the simple fantasies filling the heads of those who have dared to make romantic, impossible dreams come true :). And who would have thought! While this opus was being written, a light southerly close-hauled wind sprang up (on the port bow and dead against us), which, together with a current running the same way, for some reason began carrying us southwest, just as we wanted. And under the gennaker, no less—a sail the chief mate had previously known only as one that favoured following winds. Hallelujah for this extraordinary turn of events!—and we are getting ready for dinner. And after dinner, the programme includes another couple of equations several storeys high, with roots and assorted fractions and brackets—the sort the senior young sailor was always afraid of, but now, for some reason, solves better than her highly educated mother :). We really ought to check what year they study equations like these; we have a feeling it is not at the beginning of Year 8. There are 180 miles left to the first island off French Guiana, and 365 to our original destination. We have covered more than 1,500 miles. ...And the wind has died away again in an instant (. Wishing everyone forward motion! 🙂