Last night, after I posted the blurb, Neptune got feisty and started tossing huge buckets of water over the boat and putting what sounded like cement blocks in our path, making such loud, sharp bangs they could wake the dead. The seas are up to 3 meters at times, but the interval is just enough to not make us miserable. The wind averaged 20-25 knots, with a few gusts to 30, and we kept up a good pace even double-reefed. We've been making great time -- more than 100 miles ahead of our plan now, and almost at the halfway point.

We spent most of the night inside, staying dry, monitoring our repeater displays in the cabin and popping up at regular intervals to check things out in the cockpit. I had one ship sighting last night, a freighter enroute to Sydney, and a cargo ship today who passed in front of us. We can expect more ship sightings from now on out, I think.

Today we've experienced minimal thrashing and woggling -- or maybe we're just loving this last leg so much we're not noticing. We've been working on our laptops much of the day, creating spreadsheets on boat maintenance, fuel, and our cruising costs. I thought to get some cleaning done, but that's pushing the envelope a bit ... sitting is one thing, moving around is another.

I'm looking around the cabin, taking in the bits and pieces of things that have made this boat a home: the stuffed fish we got as a going-away present, named "Bob" in honor of our Catalina Yachts boat salesman in Oxnard. We joke that this was all his fault, and he should at least be allowed to come along. We wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for Bob, who worked hard to sell us this boat and get it ready to cruise; the dancing dolphins my mother made, who've been smiling the whole way, keeping the mood light; the colorful Mexican wooden fish we got as a memento for participating in the 2009 Baja Ha Ha; the hand-carved fish hook from Fiji; the little yellow watercolor fish with the wistful expression on his face, painted by my nephew, Brian; and -- in a rare nod to terra firma -- the oil painting of the Tuolomne River in Yosemite. I couldn't have lived without the fish-print fleece throw that we used regularly even in the hottest climes - to sit on if not to snuggle under; the thrift-store surfboard comforter in the guest stateroom that's been washed so many times it's getting little holes, so I've hand-patched with not-so-matching fabric for a cruiserly look.

Other things are showing signs of wear, or wear-out -- the year at sea has taken it's toll on laptops, cameras, glasses, and clothes. The boat, and all things made for boats, have done well. It's the stuff we brought that aren't meant to be in this watery world that are struggling. I can see how, if we were going to continue, we'd be tossing out and replacing a lot of things in Australia, something to put in the budget for next time. (Next time? Oh yeah. Later...)

As I write the boat is being lifted and gently lowered on the 10-foot waves, which have moved just enough behind us now for that fun surfing thing again, I love that. At times, when we look out the companionway toward the stern, all we see is a rising wall of water, sometimes breaking a little on the top, but it rolls under us making a whooshing sound, lifting us up, and a few seconds later we're at the top of the world. Then back down again -- a slight twist of the hull if the wave is more from the side. And sometimes, if it's really more from the side, we dip left and right, so out the port side windows all I see is water, and then with a smooth roll, all I see is sky. (Whoa! Big one -- I think I saw Jupiter!) What's it going to be like on dry land? Maybe we need to get some cast-offs from the fun zone, or mount our couch on a mechanical bull.

Until tomorrow --