October 31st is Halloween, but who cares when you're sailing fast through clear, turquoise colored water with the spinnaker up? Not that we didn't notice that it's 80 degrees, the sky is intense blue, and the sun is keeping us warm in spite of the 15 knots of wind! But I'm getting ahead of myself.
This leg started quite slowly due to a tardy morning breeze. So we observe a "rolling start", which means we all motor towards our destination at 5 knots until the wind fills in enough to sail. Nobody seems to pay attention to the speed however, and some were even on the wrong side of the starting line which really annoyed Gerry (imagine that). This day, the rolling start took about an hour and a half. Once underway, we attempted to unfurl the spinnaker only to discover it had fouled - again. That freaking (lose translation) furler was heard repeatedly from the captain. So, we lowered the unit and un-wrapped it on deck. Actually, Don & Ken did all the work, while Gerry stayed in the cockpit nursing his injured heal. At this point I had enough, and banished the top-down spin furler to the sail locker, and our back-up Chute-Scoop was rigged and deployed in record time. Ken & Don did an amazing job and had Huzzah sailing under spinnaker quickly.
Sailing was smooth all afternoon, but the seas and wind was building, so just before dinner we decided to strike the chute in 21 knots of wind. Not that Huzzah doesn't sail beautifully at 8.5 - 9 knots, but Jody & Rosalie could not possibly prepare the fish dinner in those conditions. Once again, Ken & Don did a amazing job of snuffing the chute quickly. Not easy when sailing in 4 foot quartering seas!
With the genoa set (wing on wing) on the 20' pole, we only lose a knot of speed. That evening the VHF is buzzing with boats reporting 30+ kts of wind and huge seas. Some want to turn back, but are eventually persuaded to continue by others. I listen in the darkness barreling down waves with my watch-mate Rosalie. I'm glad to be near the front of the fleet (I love our AIS) with a solid, seaworthy vessel. Later, the predicted wind shift rolls in and we're in perfect position to take advantage of new wind beam reaching at 8 kts under a rising moon. Ken comes on watch, so I'm off to bed. The following morning the wind dies, and we decide to motor. Nobody likes to flop around in confused seas without wind. The wind never reappears, so we motor across the finish line and set our anchor in the fading light. Ninth boat there, not bad! Life is good!