Day 7 – If the Shoe Fits

(Underway, 90 Nautical Miles)

Is it Day #7 out here already? Sheesh. Time flies when you’re having fun! I know these posts are becoming littered with perky cliches, as they say though, if the shoe fits!

When we started out on this crossing we knew the average time it took to cover the miles. We also knew the top end time to complete the distance. Now if you know Gregory, you know he’s competitive to a debilitating degree, and I was sure as we set out we were going to have to attempt to break some laughably, unattainable water-speed record. That’s the thing about Greg though, he’s always surprising me. We’re out here and we are straight up taking our time. No care is given when the wind drops below 10 knots and Oceanna strolls ahead at a previously unacceptable 4 knots. We’re now quite content to drop the sails at 8 pm when the wind dies and simply drift through the night. We know these conditions of flat seas, blue skies, and no squalls are rare and therefore we are going to embrace and enjoy them.

Books are being torn through, amazing food is still being consumed, and bits and bobs around the house are getting done. As promised, Greg hung one of the badass spearguns my Uncle Wayne made him directly over our bed. Not to worry, there’s one over one of the guest beds as well. The mounts and rope fixtures he made are actually quite nice and the guns are basically pieces of art so why not hang them where they can be admired?

Me? I had a latte and you should see how fast my fingers are moving as I pump out some of these posts. If you ask me, caffeine should really be a controlled substance.


I never tire of this view. I do tire of waiting on bananas to ripen.


Back in sight of Ednbal and their lovely spinnaker.


Greg sussing out the hanging height.


A visitor we had this evening.


We were thrilled to have company.


Until he became the rudest house guest to date and began shitting all over the place.


At which point Greg chased him off the bow with a bucket full of water. He quickly turned to and re-established himself precariously on the end of a fishing pole.


One comment

  1. So did Rudi become a house-trained boat pet?
    Greg, that poor bird sounds a little like a weary swimmer off Manuel Antonio beach!

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