Day 16

Another frustrating day of no wind. We only managed to do 20 nautical miles since 10am today, whereas on some days we could average well over 200nm in a day. It is at times like these that you are glad you have no access to the RCYC tracking system, as even the thought of everyone else moving while you are sitting still is soul destroying in itself. Especially when you know old Gerry is out of the high pressure, and this delay will allow them an extra few hours of sipping cold Heinekens before you arrive.

With the sun dropping below the horizon, the first bit of breeze has trickled in. It is wind from the most peculiar angle, but then again no wind this weekend has come even close to what the weather has predicted. During the last few days we have found ourselves no longer dealing the cards, but having to play the cards that have been dealt to us. Not that much fun, especially when you get dealt a rubbish hand.

Everything on the boat is still going smoothly. Ryan has snatched defeat from the jaws of victory on one too many occasions, and has now moved to challenging Brennan at draughts. I made the mistake of promising Michaela a book of her choice at Exclusive Books for every book that she finishes on this trip. As I write the tally sits at 3. Thank goodness the only books left on the shelf after this one is an old Louis L'amour western and a book on the subprime crisis, neither of which should inspire too much reading.

It was after six odd hours of not a breath of air today, and nothing but bobbing around all chaos broke loose. The time had come, the kit was off, and a well deserved swim was had by all. Swimming is taboo when it comes to racing, but at that moment it did not matter. The sea below was indescribable. The water was an intense shade of blue, and ever so clear.

There was a little bit of concern around the possibility of Bruce the Shark hanging about. Bren did however quickly clarify that our lack of even a nibble over the past 10 days of having a line out was testament to the fact that there was zero marine life in the area.

Brad and I have been stuck doing the grave-yard shift together. This is the shift between 12am and 2am, and probably the toughest to survive. Besides bulking up on coffee and energy sweets, we have now taken to waking Ryan 30 minutes into our shift. Not because of the level of skill that he brings to the watch, but because of the level of entertainment. He has started his own imitation of Uncle Carlos the Portuguese potato farmer, which has us both in stitches.

Tonight is another beautiful evening. The sky is scattered with stars, and only a little slither of moon is in view. The Southern Cross lies faithfully up in the sky, with her two pointers shining brightly just below.  Shooting stars are in abundance. Brad is sure that he is going to run out of things to wish for by the time he reaches Rio given the many shooting stars.

Many others out here no doubt are wishing that those shooting stars in the night sky are like aeroplanes. Specifically post the frustration that two days of no wind brings. But I think it is safe to say that this crew would not trade those shooting stars for anything