Womble's Gulf Stream Log - Summer 2001

Day 3 : Friday 29th June 2001

Log Summary

Log Detail

Daily Synopsis

A starry night and a full moon, so bright it makes the eyes wince coming up from the darkness below.

Sometime during the night we leave the Gulf Stream, unintentionally; uncertain as to quite why this happened, we turn east in the pre-dawn light to find our free ride again.

The auto-helm breaks again; this time it is the pin that locks the belt drive cog on the drive shaft. We cut a piece off a 7/64 in. allen (hexagonal) key to use as a replacement, fitting perfectly with some judicious filing. I have yet to find a conventional use for this size key, and it is perversely satisfying to cannibalise it to force that malignant machine back into service...

Much of the day we are becalmed, but this seems little loss, as the Stream hurries us along; the mesmerising beauty of the aquamarine depths lures us in, and we take the opportunity to swim in this warm saline river in the ocean's midst. Line trailing behind, one at a time, and each bather can swim faster than the boat anyway.

Tony takes the opportunity to inspect the undersides, and reports that the zinc is lost. Unsurprisingly, no spares are carried; we determine to forge ahead in the face of adversity, hoping against hope that no important metallic component will be devoured by the all-consuming ocean...

The slack time seems an opportunity to start fishing, with a simple silver spoon lure off the stern, cunningly rigged with a toothpick to alert us to a strike - utterly pointless as it turns out... At one point we actually drift backwards over the fishing line; fortunately Neil is in the water to disentangle it.

As we hang motionless in the blue briny, clusters of small fish scurry in to shelter in the shadow of the hull; we enjoy the company, and again worry at the old quandary - is the presence of pilot fish, normally asociated with sharks, a good sign or a bad sign? We see no sharks, but also conclude that our wards are not pilot fish anyway - the puzzle endures.

The wind picks up briefly in the middle of the day, and we find that the lure is working - on the shearwaters. Several of these wonderfully graceful ocean drifters seem intrigued by the shiny spinner, soaring and swooping around boat and lure. Each time they skid into the water, they dip their heads under the surface - debate on board as to whether they are checking for predator or prey; maybe we should ask if they can tell us the true portent of stray pilot fish...

The wind dies again, and the crew on watch returns to zen-like contemplation of the sublimely seductive sapphire Stream.

A butterfly flutters by (alliteration, I'll allow), reminding us of the impressive feats of travel of these frail beasties; we wish it well and let it pass, feeling that a butterfly is unlikely to have a useful opinion on pilot fish vis à vis sharks.

A cargo ship (car carrier?) passes close on the port quarter; as it approaches, we hail on 16 to check they have noticed us - the lack of any response is not reassuring.

We start trying to use the radio to receive the offshore weather forecasts, to supplement the forecast obtained on Tuesday morning; it proves surprisingly difficult to co-ordinate broadcast times and frequencies with decent reception and time for the crew to listen...

We are plying Stef with ginger tablets as a homeopathic remedy for seasickness; as obedient a patient as he is stoic a sufferer, he has endured this for some time before eventually cracking and recounting an earlier experience with ginger, of the pickled variety served with sushi, which made him physically sick. We suspend the treatment...

We are rather astonished to find that we have a stowaway on board; specifically, a green tree frog that adheres itself to inside of the dodger window. Despite our blandishments, it refuses all food and drink, leaving us concerned about its survival; there are remarkably few trees at sea...