Happy boat
It is flat calm as I write, the motion of the rocking boat unusually gentle. Marin made the most of it this morning, jumping overboard to scrape algae from the hull.
Simon and Marin are on the oars, having to pull harder than usual without the helpful push of wind and wave.
Simon is asking questions about electromagnetic waves to pass the time. Marin's answers sound very bored.
Simon changes tack:
"What would be your perfect first date?"
"At last! That's a better question!" Marin cries, and conversation and laughter ring out once more.
It is a very happy boat, which is lucky for last night tested our sense of humour to the limit.
We face an extraordinary array of weathers out here. The difficulty and the appeal is not knowing what next lies in store for us.
We had a night of very heavy rain which froze us as we rowed. We hunkered down against it as best we could in our thin waterproofs. It lashed the boat with the ferocity of fake rain on TV. Our rowing action must have looked terrible, hunched over as we hauled hard at the oars, trying to generate some small warmth in our limbs as we crept westwards in the absolute darkness.
I am afraid to say that, when my two hours were over, I felt little hesitation in calling the other two guys out from their warm sleeping bags to take over from us.
Then, fast as possible, I escape into the tiny bow cabin. Imagine being soaked to the bone and having to get ready for bed scrunched under a 50cm roof on an area smaller than a single bed. Soggy, I pulled the damp sleeping bag over my head, and slept.
It was a grim night but it made me appreciate this morning's eerie calm and limpid sunlight all the more. Nothing lasts for ever. Bad times pass, and good times return.
Al
