Day 24. In my opinion this is the hardest part of the passage. It seems like we are so close, having sailed over three weeks already, but we still have three days to go, and this is when the days start to crawl by. As if knowing our anxiousness to get to land, Mother Nature has decided to step in and take away all our wind. Thank goodness for a trusty motor (thanks Steve!) and decks lined with jerry cans of diesel. Considering it has been 24 days since we've left, our food supply is starting to dwindle. We used the last of the cheese today, our tortilla supply has been exhausted, sliced bread was finished weeks ago, and the only fresh produce that remains is a few stalks of celery and half a head of cabbage. Still, we manage to cobble together some pretty nice meals - Shepherd's pie last night, and quesadillas with a tasty rice and bean concoction tonight. When I met Austen and Tim and first came aboard Candine 7 years ago in Tonga, I was not known for my culinary expertise. I tended to avoid cooking as much as possible (my brother will take any opportunity to remind me of when he used to have to supervise me making Kraft Dinner) and baking definitely wasn't given any thought. Yet somehow I found myself in Whangerai, New Zealand, convincing Tim to buy a new oven for Candine with the promise of fresh baked goods on a daily basis. He caved, the oven arrived and was installed, and then I realized I actually had to bake something. I started with a krumeltorte, a German streusel cake that was a favourite of mine growing up and one of the few things I actually had experience baking. It turned out horrible. I have since learned that marine ovens are a little different than your average household oven. Nevertheless, I became Chief Baker on Candine (along with Quartermaster, Chief Blogger, and Cat Wrangler), producing everything from foccacia bread and baguettes to cinnamon buns and brownies, and I've learned a few things along the way...

First off, a good solid athletic stance is necessary when baking at sea. Legs hip width apart, knees bent, core engaged, ready for any wave that could knock you off your feet. A rope across the galley (kitchen) is essential to keep you from flying across the boat, mixing bowl in hand. I've been tossed into the Nav Station more times than I care to admit. If the recipe calls for kneading dough on a floured surface, a helper is sometimes necessary to hold the rolling pin, dough, or baker in place. I nearly lost a pizza crust a few weeks back before I yelled for Austen to come save the day. The numbers on the oven dial are more or less useless. Setting the dial to 270 degrees means the oven will set to anywhere from 300 to 450 degrees. Popping up into the cockpit for air is a good way to avoid seasickness, and completely overheating when it's 30 or so degrees down below and you're standing in front of a hot oven. Try to avoid petting the cat while baking. This minimizes the amount of cat hair in the final product. Think of it as a game, like that one we used to play where you have to get all the pieces in their place before the timer goes off and the pieces are sent flying. Instead of getting frustrated when the bag of flour falls over for the third time, try to get all the ingredients in the bowl before time is up and they explode all over the boat! Even if you have a gimbled stove, the final product will most likely be on an angle. But most importantly, when you've been at sea for days or weeks, there is nothing like fresh baked goods to lift the spirits of the crew. When almost everything you eat comes out of a can, anything fresh is heavenly.

So, here we are, day 24, still chuggin' along. Even though the scenery looks the same, day after day, the GPS tells us we are, in fact, getting closer to Easter Island. At this rate, we will be dropping the hook Wednesday afternoon, and hitting the pub for a nice, cold, celebratory beer Wednesday evening.