Noon Position: 48 48' S, 164 13' E, SOG 5.5, COG 150, Days Run 112nm.
For those of you not on intimate terms with my joys and sorrows, likes
and dislikes, even my whims and peccadillos, allow me to set the stage.
There are few things in life that give me greater joy than pulling
untold lengths of sodden canvas from the ocean. Not cold waves down my
neck early in the morning, not discovering that I made tea with salt
water instead of fresh, not even chipping burnt sweet potatoes from the
pan. Yesterday afternoon I was greeted by the always welcome noise of
flogging sails as my furler decided to indulge its passion for chafe to
a new extent and gnawed straight through the furling line, unleashing
the (no longer) partially furled jib upon the world. By the time I
managed to drag the jib down I was wholeheartedly wishing that some
genius would invent a hank-on furler. Jib safely on deck, I took the
furling line below for repairs, but was no more than halfway through
when I heard a sickly slithering sound behind my head and watched the
compass turn 30 degrees off course. Being fully aware of the
aforementioned joy that I take in extracting sails from the sea,
Odyssey, as always with my best interest at heart, had slipped the
entire jib over the rail. Now, the three corners of the sail were still
attached to the boat, normally a laudable thing, but the resulting 40
foot long scoop dragging through the sea resisted all efforts towards
recovery. Finally I cast off the tack and let the sail stream like a
flag, allowing me to finally drag it back aboard, lash it to the bow,
and return below to my repairs, sullen, soaked, and sweaty.