And today marks three whole months of adventures out on this ‘ere ocean for Dippers and I. One quarter of one whole year. We celebrated by rowing. Even splashed out by doing so in the right direction. And crossing into the next degree. The sea had obviously been informed as to the occasion for we were ceremoniously soaked at regular intervals, generally only moments after I thought it safe to take off my jacket. Thankfully the sun popped out from behind the clouds almost as frequently and so the soakings weren’t too unfunny. And I have passed three months without having a flying fish land on my person. Phew.
3 months at sea has produced:
-1 lean, tanned, sun-bleached, salty-round-the-edges rower with(quoteth my dear Mum) ”guns any artillery would be proud of”(unquoteth my dear Mum)
-A happy absence of scurvy and insanity (the latter may be open to debate)
-1 Rower’s Bottom
-1 heavily depleted chocolate stockpile, 1 completely decimated biscuit stash, 1 half guzzled bottle of Port
-A crazed collection of quotes and scribbles on the cabin wall
-A few barnacle communes on the hull and rudder, various attempts at slimes around the scuppers on deck
– 3 large bags of rubbish
– 2 empty gas cannisters
– 1 broken oar, 1 dead stove, various losses to the deep
– Numerous diary tapes and films
– Various artistic repairs and modifications (mostly with gaffa tape)
Perhaps most importantly, it has also produced a beautiful squiggle across the blue, too – 2,986 miles complete with knots and hairpin bends, fine latticework and knitted wonders – thankfully the current end of said squiggle being closer to the Rum Punch than the last drink I had in Oz. Three whole months ago. It was an OJ, for breakfast. With pancakes and fruit and yogurt and muesli and *drum roll* a real knife and fork. Yum with a capital Y.
Besides the squiggle, our three month’s voyaging thus far has treated us to the most brilliant adventures, trials, spectacles and wonders, too. Roll on the final 1,000 nauties – let them be a fine vintage, Westward in nature, sunny by day and starry by night, punctuated by many serendipitous encounters with some fellow seabies.
Here’s hoping July has fewer issues with troublesome wind than poor June did. And May. Poor dears. They suffered something chronic.
Frankie Owens – My one real regret is not bringing a plankton net, ID guide & magnifier! Lots of whales…
Barry Gumbert – There are sea mounts out here though and currents with lots of food in. And some species are migratory and wide-ranging. I think they must all be appearing when I’m not looking…