Recovery

Lia Ditton updates with her latest stream of consciousness from mid-Atlantic in the Faraday Mill OSTAR

Listless might be a good word to describe my present state of mood. However listless, [without a list?], might suggest that I have nothing to do, or dare I say, that I might be verging on boredom. This is not the case. Shockwave is reaching at a pace of 9-10 knots with full main and I am standing by to leap on deck to reef. To delve into the linguistics of our foreign neighbours, ausgeschlafen [German, meaning quite literally 'having slept out' or having had a lie in] might be my second descriptive choice.

After yesterday's dramatic start to the day, I slept from mid-afternoon way into the late hours of the evening. Shockwave was left ticking along by herself at a cruisy 4-5 knots so there was no reason for me to have woken up either. The second cause for this unusual state of being, might be that for once, in the trip so far, I have no needs! I have eaten, my feet in their plastic socks, are dry and my foul weather gear even saw a brief few hours of airing this morning. My previously redundant, wet socks have even been craftly hung between reefing lines, along the boom to dry. Perhaps it is just that.

The sun is shining, I have the perfect amount of wind, Shockwave is humming along as if running on rails and here I am: Alone. It is at this point, that one would ordinarily turn round to one's companion and failing the most basic of English pleasantries, 'Isn't the weather glorious?!' if nothing else, smile. Am I only now discovering the pitfall of single-handed sailing? Is this the sunset scenario? In Hampi, SW India, I climbed a rocky outcrop in search of the absolute vantage point to watch the sunset and the moon rise simulatenously.

The glowing sun sank, a slice of irredescent orange and the moon crept into the sky whiter than coconut, but when I turned to whisper, 'Isn't that something? there was of course no one there. I could only climb back down in the darkness pondering the existentialist thought - and so did it really happen? 'Do you remember that time when...?' is a phrase

I cannot have since used. 'I am in the most beautiful place in the World and you are not with me,' says the man in the Vodafone advert wandering the cobbled streets by himself.  
 
The race so far has leapt from one extreme to another. We parked off Lizard Point on the first night. The other competitors were peppered around me in the dark, their masthead lights making a fringe of white spots at the edge of the night sky. The following day the breeze petered out again around the Scilies; Shockwave drifting backwards on the tide, perilously close [well 0.8 of a mile] to Wolf Rock, that I thought I might have to abort the race and motor away. To have the sun return on day 9 has been a pleasant surprise, so much so that I found myself earlier rubbing in suncream [a foreign entity in itself] with a rubber gloved finger.

Have you ever tried to open a jam jar with wet hands? For one, on Shockwave if I didn't wear some kind of glove, my hands would be permanently wet. Pulling lines with wet and cold hands leads to the abrasion of more layers of skin that one notices at the time, and the worst case of bath-tub shrivells you ever hope to see! It was time to exchange the 'Sailing glove,' [which are generally designed for either helming [static use] or line-pulling [with leather and no fingers] for something a little more industrial. On the transatlantic delivery on Moxie [Phil Weld's 1980 OSTAR winner] Myles Manns introduced me to the 'Maine Commerical Fishing Glove'. Between the four of us, we must have held every glove brand on the market, but it was the Telly-Tubby blue, seemless plastic/rubber combo fishing gloves with basic fleece lining which became the most sought after pair. I doubt that you would catch Alex Thompson or Nick Maloney wearing a pair of Marigolds , but believe me they should give them a try! On this race, my fetching blue 'horriblies' [as my father calls them], with in-palm grip ['For hands
that do dishes!'] have become a second skin.
 
While sharing a Pindar crew house last year, Mini Transat sailor Ian Munslow told me the account of a fellow Mini sailor who had purposefully jumped over the side. The poor chap was hallucinating so badly, from sleep deprivation, that he was convinced that spiders were pouring out of his mast. Thankfully, another Mini sailor was sailing near by witnessed this occurance, picked him up, restored him to his senses and put him sensibly back on his boat. Fortunately in a similar state, I only hallucinate voices [!] and in case they are superbly entertaining, but I couldn't help being reminded of the tale while I was bailing out the foreward compartment yesterday. For thanks to Raymarine, I have a spare autopilot. The exact same model as the one now in control of S'wave. They remain cling filmed up in the box like arachnic crysalises.
 
An update, would not be an update without including at least one line regarding the current state of my boots! Alas they are still wet and will probably require a good stuffing with newspaper and a night or two parked next to a boiler in Newport, to make them any different. Perpetually in search of the dry foot, in the meantime, I have progressed to the 'triple' bag! Similar to the plastic/tape construction one might create in order to shower with a broken leg, I believe I am close to a solution. Leaving ones feet in plastic bags for any period of time cannot be at all good for the health of one's foot [I have even taken to sleeping with these novel socks on, for ease of readyness if Shockwave needs me on deck] and so have decided to try including desiccident sachets in the plastic sock layering system. These sachets can be found in the frieze dried food packaging between the instruction cover and the inner foil. I am hoping that this will reduce the casserole effect which threatens to have ill-consequences for the odour of my socks.
Nice!

Drawing that subject nicely to a close [what more could possibly be added?!] I look forward to wearing Flip-flops around Newport, if my father would be so kind as
to pack them with him!
 
As for my leaky situation yesterday, I have nothing as yet to report. The forward compartment has been restored to a relative state of dryness. In any case, I returned both the main cabin and the forward compartment into water tight bulkheads, making patches using the 'Kollision Kit' with a 'K.' Were the vessel to continue leaking, the water would not get any further than the thru-hole bilge beneath the forward compartment. I was hoping to know one way or the other as to the success of my repair, while the wind had dropped last night, but of course I have screwed the dinghy-type inspection hatch cover up so tightly, that I can now not get it open it at all! Perhaps it is best left at that. Short of another coat of miracle-chemical; underwater epoxy, that is, assuming the soft patch I found was the source of immenent disaster, there is little else at sea that I can feasibly do. Attempting to put epoxy down the daggerboard case itself would involve the dangerous removal of the daggerboard  [which is a two-man lift] and the possibility of jamming up the daggerboard on the glue afterwards. My strategy now is simply to ease off [slightly!] on the pedal and aim for safety at the other side. I am the only woman left in the race.
 
On the subject of sex, I must confess that I did not discard the magazines, albeit sopping, found yesterday. Even if were titled 'Eve' and 'House & Beautiful,' [offering a 20% off voucher for a discount to use at all Debenhams] I could not resist ripping the plastic and having a quick thumb thru the pages over breakfast. A quick thumb through it transpired to be, because it only proved possible to turn the pages by the chunk, short of ending up with a torn handful of mush and my attention span for the 'half-an-article' soon waned. I did sieze the opportunity, however to bring myself up to speed with this seasons choice of must-have parasol and the best shopping location for accessories with butterfly print.