Under African Skies

Although we landed successfully and safely with good use of wind, I'm slightly conscious that the boat still is not quite 'shipshape.' My greatest concern is the obvious absence of life jackets and safety gear. I asked Thomas before we left, and he assured me we had a few life jackets and jackstays - lines that run front-to-back on both the port and starboard lengths of the boat, onto which you can tether yourself for deck work in rough water. I'd followed up on the assurance and found two or three foam life jackets - though, you can't sail with large foam blocks strapped to you. My old pal, Captain Chris on Pelagic, was safety conscious, to what I thought was the extreme. That was a valuable lesson to me. He'd never have considered leaving the harbour without a full compliment of fully functioning, fully tested safety equipment - the kind of safety equipment that you entrust your life to. Here and now, the life jackets are highly questionable and our emergency raft is in a bag with a written confirmation that it was last tested in 2004. But, noone else is making a fuss and I don't make fuss.

Aside from those missing parts, I'm told that we weren't able to repair the navigation nor anchor lights before leaving. And since leaving, we've also discovered that the light on the mast-top windvane doesn't work, and the lack of a cockpit light for even the compass might make helming a given course at night - 'steering' to landlubbers -  somewhat difficult. In the kitchen, we've failed to repair both the fridge the left-hand cooking hob, which is quite a limitation on the culinary feats I might like to attempt. Most comically, the moment the boat heeled over yesterday, all the drawers began edging open or shot across the saloon. There's still a melon rolling around somewhere down there. Apparently, Valentina was last in the water about five years ago.

I'm quietly hoping someone else will realise the more obvious deficiencies and we'll spend some more time in harbour here until everything is fixed and sourced.

Despite what, in my eyes, are reasons not to sail, Thomas is still keen to push on. And so, after fencing-off all the draws with wood screws and rope. We're bound for Morrocan waters. As we start off towards the distant shadow of Africa, I fire some insurance text messages at Dug, Vidal and Captain Rich.

"Sailing out from Barbate, Spain to Lanzarote, direct. The boat is called 'Valentina'. ETA within 10 days. If I don't confirm my arrival in 12 days, please send the Spanish or Moroccan Navy. Thanks"

I know they'll take it seriously because it will be the first message they've ever received from me with more than two words - most often "OK", "Yes" or "Beer?". My mother receives a shorter less perilous version.

We setup three four hour night shifts, with the three seasoned sailors partnering we three young boys. David is appointed the principle cook, having worked in a kitchen. I might have wanted to muscle in on the job, but given the state of the kitchen, it's not going to be super-great fun. Worse though, David doesn't eat pork and Manuel isn't a big meat eater. On the other hand, I sense that Thomas, Jean-Pierre, Roland would readily kill and butcher a pig for it's delicious fleshy insides.