Womble's Gulf Stream Log - Summer 2001

Day 8 : Wednesday 4th July 2001

Log Summary

Log Detail

Daily Synopsis

A few whales are spotted in the morning, without identification.

The highlight of the day is the play of a large number of Atlantic white-sided dolphins; they streak fore and aft, beam to beam, under Womble and around; several seem to be guiding juveniles, training them in the fine art of entertaining the sailor-folk. Each time we think they have lost interest, they rush us again, and we find ourselves grinning and squawking like idiots; unfortunately, the crew on watch are too distracted to call the off-watch members up, and we are chastened to find that our giddy descriptions of the exhibition are met with grumblings of "Why didn't you call us, then?" Sorry, chaps...

Generally a wet day; as we are running, we need to close over the companionway to stop rain being blown into the cabin, leaving the helmsman in soggy isolation at the wheel, shouting log notes and requests for navigational direction through the companionway panels. Frustration at the rainstorms is compounded by the associated loss of wind. We are now in more northerly latitudes, the rain cannot be shrugged off, and the general inadequacy of our foul-weather gear begins to become evident. Fortunately, Stef is well-equipped with North Sea-grade foulies; coincidentally, he seems to find himself at the helm for most of the heavier downpours...

We have a few minor incidents during the day; first, the mainsheet becomes entangled around the traveller as a result of several unwitting gybes caused by thunderstorm squalls. Later, we notice that the swinging and flapping of the mainsail has driven one of the battens out of its pocket. As the batten is projecting several feet forward, and above the spreaders, there is a real danger that it will prevent the mainsail coming down, so we wrestle with it for some time to retrieve the errant stick. As we are nearly down to our last set of clean dry clothes, this leads to the lowlight of the day : two naked, cursing figures prancing around the mainmast in a downpour fighting urgently with sailcloth and line while terribly mindful of the close proximity of the flailing items to certain tender parts. However, all is eventually resolved without loss of anything but dignity and decorum; the helmsman's eyesight is not permanently damaged.

During a clearer period after nighfall, we contact the cruise ship Carnival Victory, lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree; after confirming that we give a strong radar contact, the cruise ship navigator proudly describes in great detail our position, course, speed, and possibly what we had for dinner (another of Neil's tasty, nutritious and intriguing concoctions). We hope he didn't feel that we did not already have this information for ourselves, but the thought was appreciated. We briefly marvel at the contrast between the conditions on board the cruise ship and those aboard Womble, but without any doubt as to which are the happier; it's amazing how such encounters can put the problems of soggy underwear in perspective.