Trip log: 450 nautical miles (About 3,100 to go).

Having a poke at pleasurable prose with passionate purple passages (Tane):

As I awoke on the third morning I ascended the creaky companionway steps to be greeted by oppressive heat that seemingly radiated from every surface. Squinting out at the flat calm of the world's region of tropical convergence I understood the desolation and despair of the doldrums that the Ancient Mariner so aptly described. Scorching sun, unbearable heat, no relief of breeze, and glassy calm sea stretching endlessly in all directions into the horizon. "Water, water everywhere nor a drop to drink." Oh shit, I forgot! We have a water maker...how the times have changed!

Every evening has been a picture-perfect, postcard sunset, ending each day with a still serenity and exquisite brilliance. As the sun curves and falls imperceptibly, sinking low toward the horizon of blue on blue, it fades from radiant glowing white to dull crimson, igniting the waves into dancing triangles of red and orange and yellow. And, at the decline of the day the serenity becomes less brilliant but more profound as the stars slowly unveil themselves and deliver tranquility and humble awe towards the true vastness of the universe. The stars at sea, unspoiled by any light of civilization, seem to flicker and sparkle like I have never before seen. When first I laid eyes on the planet of Mercury I thought I had sighted a plane, and even for a minute entertained the idea of a UFO, as it was emitting such an intense and vivid strobing green and red light. Above the dazzling celestial body the luminous arch of the Milky Way stretches from horizon to horizon, vibrant and clear, almost drowning out the well known and comforting constellations of Orion, the Dippers and the Southern Cross.

---- Tane

Tane has promised to try his hand at more PP's as we pound passionately onward on our pacific passage.

The wind died overnight and we began motorsailing. It was at 2:30am when Sal was taking over the watch that I said nothing had appeared on the radar and demonstrated by turning it on. But wait --- there's a persistent speck about 6 miles out. Small, but really there. We went out on deck and sure enough, there was a white light faintly visible. So we have seen another boat, but never came close. Is this ships passing in the night, or do you have to be completely unaware for it to have the full force of meaning? There was nary a flash or peep from the AIS unit, and we came no closer.

This morning we're sailing in 2-9 knots of breeze from the south. The skies are clear and the sea is that glowing pale blue so loved by big game fishermen. There's a significant swell, up to 10 feet, coming from the south but very little chop, so we're moving smoothly through the water, rising and falling slowly as the big blue mountains pass under us.

We're starting to settle in to the watch routine. We're using a watch system of 2 hours on, four hours off -- it's really wonderful to have three people rather than just two (or even one-- we always ask the single handers how they organize their nights).

French lessons have started in earnest. In retrospect, we should have installed the software on two computers. We can't do it now as it has to be activated over the internet.

We're a little over two days from 9S 90W (that's latitude 9 degrees south and longitude 90 degrees west, quite possibly the original middle of nowhere) where we expect to pick up the trade winds. On the net this morning, a boat at 8S 100W reported 20 knot trade winds, was sailing at 9 knots, and had covered 230 nautical miles in the last 24 hours. Our first three days have been 105, 115, and 130. Today, with the wind taking a holiday, we won't be close to the best. We're salivating at the thought of 200 mile days. Of course, the ride will be more interesting --- right now, everything is very stable and smooth.

So far, apart from one of our ghost gulls that I found flying like a kite from one of the lines, nothing has tried our lures. The Humboldt current is supposed to contain something near 20% of all the world's sea life, but little of it is around us.

We had our last salad yesterday. Meals will involve less and less fresh food until we're down to none at all. Hard tack, anyone?

--- Roger