Set behind marshy reeds that harbour all manner of fascinating bird life, stands a small American oldie world town; Southport, Cape Fear. The buildings are charming, turn of the century clap board homes, all patriotically flying the Old Glory flag, beyond their large covered wooden verandas, often on the first floor as well as the ground. Each veranda has an array of rocking chairs and swinging benches with swaying gentle folk watching the evening settle in, possibly sharing a quiet conversation with the neighbour, and always pleased to say hello.

Walking by is my mother and father, seeking out a grocery store.

"Good evening to yo'll", says a gentlemen from the comfort of his rocking chair.

"Oh, yes, hello", replies my mother, "I don't suppose you happen to know where I may find a grocery store do you?"

The man ponders the question for some time, then gets to his feet and says, "I'll get the truck."

"Oh, really? How kind!" In she hopped, and away she went, leaving my father stood with the gentleman's wife, as faint giggles disappeared around the corner.

Dad came back to the boat, reporting mother's whimsical disappearance with a guy in truck, and shortly after followed by mother laden with shopping, who had been dropped back at the marina by the man; his parting words:

"See ma'am, there are still some decent folk in this world."

In a place like this, you even get the feeling that what that guy did was not out of the ordinary; people genuinely happy to go out of their way to help complete strangers. Somehow how, I just can't imagine that happening in the UK, where people seem far too caught up in their own lives to lend a hand. Perhaps it just comes down to pace of life, where time is an easy gift to give, if you have plenty of it, and it doesn't cost you a thing.

It's the middle of our second night crossing the Atlantic sea towards Cape Fear. I'm on watch with R B-J. Much to my disappointment, hardcore drinking is banned on these shifts - which is a little strange for me as, I'm used to staying up all night, but normally I have a least two drinks on the go at any one time!

The sky is inky black, pierced by the billions of stars. The moon has not yet risen, but I'm expecting to see it immerge, bright crescent orange, from beyond the starboard beam in an hour or so, as it had done last night. Of all the varying pinholes above, I keep wondering which one might be that rocket that, yesterday, so majestically exited this no longer inescapable, earthly realm.

They call this kind of sailing 'blue water' because the sea is so deep and clear that the sun light falls into it, never to return, turning it into a dark navy blue dye. Unfortunately, we have been motoring most of the way as there is no wind - I'm now beginning to question the one merit sailing seemed to have going for it; diesel combustion is not very sustainable.

Most of the time there is still nothing happening; just lots of sky and a 360 degree horizon. When the engine is killed, you could almost feel like you are actually lost at sea, bobbing about in the middle of nothing. Fortunately, we are not entirely alone, and the boredom is broken by the thrill of spotting the occasional wildlife. The most common sightings are flying fish that leap out of the water ahead of the bow and fly like little sparrows for up to 50 meters... Wait! - stop the press - that is unbelievable! Just as I wrote those last words a flying fish landed on board, giving me the opportunity to examine these fascinating little creatures. Their pectoral fins are approximately 2/3 their length, that open into a fluttering wing, while their eyes are big and bulging. It's funny how things like that happen.



On the first day we spotted a large orange sea turtle, about a meter in length. Today we caught a Mahi Mahi (otherwise known as Dorado) which was beautiful to look at, flashing blue and yellow, and delicious to eat. We've also seen the occasional glimpse of a dolphin fin, but today took the biscuit.

As the sun was setting, we were taking down the whisker pole that supports the light air sail, and I spotted a fin, and another, and then before we knew it we were surrounded by a school of playful spotted dolphins, not too dissimilar in character to a pack of excited puppies, playing in the park. Big ones, little ones, chasing, dodging, synchronising manoeuvres, showing off to their admiring spectators, confidently starring in their own show; their excited puppy panting signified by the constant wheeze from their blow holes; bright, intelligent faces appearing genuinely happy to see you, radiating a fun and joyful atmosphere, always in high spirits.

They hung around as long as we watched them, then, when we left to finish cooking the Mahi Mahi, they left too, like any proud entertainer would. I felt a little rude; as though I had just shunned some great performers; walked out of Le Cirque du Soleil at the Albert Hall, or turned my back on an exotic visiting royal family.

I promise you this; it was one of the most magical, and elating things to have seen - there in the middle of nowhere; a privileged, private performance, from the cr�me de la cr�me of the entertaining natural world. And it could only have been experienced by being on this boat. I took some video footage; you can see it in the Gallery.

"Oh my God, look, LOOK" screamed my mother, jumping to her feet, pointing west towards the cape.

My heart is still pounding, hands are still shaky, and palms are still sweaty. There it was, a space rocket shooting up from the horizon, tailed by a fierce orange glow, and an opaque white streamer, flanking the big, low, orange sun.

My hands trembling with sweet excitement, but my palate turned bitter with a feeling of impending doom, I fumbled for my camera to catch this spectacle before it was over.

"What if the boosters land on us, what will we do", she shrieked.

A few clicks on the camera was all the time there was, and then... my heart sank with sickening destiny, as the rocket arced directly over us, seeking out its involuntary trajectory - and there - clear as daylight, the two side boosters departed from the rocket, right over our heads.

Please don't land on us, please don't land on us, please don't land on us, repeated the beseeching mantra in my mind. All eyes were firmly pinned to the heavens, and then, my heart literally stopped. My left hand grabbed hold of my father's arm, with eyes still fixed but now bulging wide with startled fear, and my right hand pointing to a long black object falling directly above us, out of the deep blue.

"Oh - God - no", I said to him under my breath, disbelievingly, restraining the spread of fear by silencing my alarm; the object appearing to break through from the infinity beyond, growing in size as it headed a catastrophic course for our insignificant, lonesome vessel.

Then the relief, as my heart leaped back in to its comforting rhythm. It was a frigate bird, soaring high, mischievous eyes tricking my over sensitised mind, not a rocket booster at all. However, my eyes stayed fixed to the azure blue of the darkening sky for some time, long after the bright orange flare had disappeared in to its dark and distant orbit.

BOOOOOOOOM

A deep guttural explosion was heard, that denoted such inconceivable power. "What the hell was that?!" At first I assumed it was the sound reaching us from the point of launch, but then I realised; it was the sonic boom created as this phenomenal machine smashed through the sound barrier, streaking across the sky at implausible speeds. I kept watching the sky, but we saw no trace of the falling rocket casings.

Finally, as the sun dropped behind the sea to convene with its new orbiting companion, we were left with the rocket's trace, that had now been wisped by the wind into something like a tangled superman calling sign, illuminated by the sunken, retired resident star.