Our days become shorter, grey and colder. Strange, as we go out of the winter you would think, but coming from the eternal Caribbean warmth, the fast flying clouds and the fresh spray of the wave crests give our voyage a new face. The stories of the Papalagi reach their end, boots come out and get greased, the foxhole is wet, every standing thing on deck is salted down as bacalao, crew as well, already with rings under their eyes…
The sheets are tight in their position, nothing to get without handy-billy. Our majesty herself is clipping along easily with often 10 knots, all sail set, exactly on the great circle route to the Azores.
We will see how long the North Atlantic will allow us to keep this course, but maybe soon the barometer will choose a side and the shifting winds will call us to the braces to keep our tamed, wild horse heading east.
The next stop, where we all are looking forward to, is the magic Archipelago dos Acores, 800 miles out of Portugal, where we expect the last part of the cargo for the continent, orange pekoe tea, grown on the vulcanic hills of Sao Miguel. And maybe this time we make it out of Peters bar and up the Pico….