Last night I was snapped awake by the irritating flogging about the foredeck caused by the deflation of the spinny. The port guy had chaffed through where the pole hanks on. I hate it when that happens. What little breeze we had had petered out a bit but Simon and I poled out the jib anyway. Weeble-wobble-smack-slap was the result so I started the engine in attempt to keep up some speed so we didn't arrive in the middle of the night. Well, the wind, she picked back up and pops had us sailing again this morning. We're at that pivotal point where if we haul arse we can make it before sundown or we can slow way down and arrive at daybreak. We collectively decide to fly the chute again. The last time we put it up was a speed record compared to how we snarfed things up this morning. Not only did the sail wrap itself around the baby stay with a seemingly purposeful gusto, the guidelines for the sock managed to get all mangley tangley too. I'd say we were at it for more than 20 minutes. We'll be race ready in no time.

We're making 6kn. We need to go at least 8 to make it today. Nobody is saying anything. I'm certainly not going to bring the obvious to attention. I predict we'll be anchoring late this evening. Pops says we'll be heaving to.

Simon just saw a tuna "leap from the depths". He reckons it was as big as he is which isn't that big but worth putting a line in the water. We haven't caught an edible fush yet on this crossing. I'd say we're due.

Cheers to the inevitable, Cass

This is a picture of the rare Sorrel Comet. It only appears every 5th generation. Just kidding. It's actually the spinnaker police documenting our activity. I expect multiple violations and a hefty fine upon arrival.