Saturday 29 September 2012

So Many Tears

A full day of plain sailing. There's a faint shadow of the Moroccan coast off to Port. Defying it's appearance, the main sail is up and serving well. The sun is out and on full beam, and there's scarcely any traffic. It's all extremely pleasant. The only one problem is that the port quarter winch has ceased to function. It won't hold any weight. It's no more than a bollard now. But, who cares, because the steady land breeze has us set on a nice port tack, with our jib sheet through starboard quarter winch.

It's two in the morning and I'm on shift with Thomas at the helm. Aside from keeping the boat in a straight line, there's sod all to during a four hour shift in the dark. As I did on Pelagic, I've gotten through my share of cereal bars and biscuits - almost exclusively eating for entertainment, rather than hunger.

I take a look up to see how the wind is filling the sail - maybe we could entertain a couple of minutes making an little adjustment and go negligibly faster. There's a small hole half way up the leech - the hypotenuse edge. I'm sure that wasn't there a minute ago. I point it out to Thomas, who takes a peak. Maybe we can ride it out, and just keep an eye on it. I think there might be a couple of other little holes up there.

Five minutes later, the hole is noticeably bigger. Shit. As we bring Valentina into the steady fifteen-or-so knot wind to bring the sail down, the sail begins it's natural motion, violently rolling and shaking left and right. By the time it's down the hole-come-tear is a gash that runs the best part of the length to the mast.

We're fucked, again.

A couple of hours later, we've arrive at the nearest marina. Noone looks surprised as they each surface on deck. We kick the anchor down into the poky little marina of what looks to be a poky little town. There are a handful of small fishing boats, but this place wasn't built for the likes of us.

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