Whenever we go offshore we seem to have the misfortune of breaking something essential. Crossing the Atlantic our batteries failed and sailing south to the Caribbean our engines heat exchanger gave up the ghost. In both instances to got through the challenge and grew with the experience. Our most recent failure has left us scarred beyond belief and we think it'll be a while before our senses recover.

Before we could go offshore, we in conjunction with Maine, had to give Isobel a final gift. The gift didn't feel quite so good as she hauled herself out of bed before the sun had even started to think about getting up, but it turned into a full blown, bow tied, double tissue paper wrapped present as the day progressed. The sun warmed her through and the lobsta pots were just abundant enough keep us interested in our downwind slalom and when that finished the girlie gossip kept the interest alive.

Larry survived his final encounter with Kelpie and we all said our goodbyes. Seeing Aled, Isobel and Mr K was a delight and experiencing the life they have made for themselves in this far flung part of the world was heart warming in the extreme.

Offshore we then headed and one of the joys of going offshore is the ability to empty the holding tank. We'd been slowly making 'deposits' all week and it was now time for a big withdrawal. We looked forward to Ruffian being a little lighter and leaving a long brown river behind us. The seacock was opened and worryingly, the water outside remained blue while inside the "tank full" light remained stubbornly on. Houston, we had a big poo based problem.

There was nothing to do but face the brown sludge problem head on. The holding tank inspection hatch was opened and toxic fumes filled the boat. Iain's arms delved deep into the inner recesses, through the 'brown' sludge and found the seacock. Within seconds we were drawing a big brown line on the oceans surface and Iain watched with delight as the hidden folds of the tank made themselves evident.

In for a penny in for a pound, Iain now took to undertake a deep clean of a part of the boat that should never see the light of day. The solids were scraped away and sloshed away, literally, by hand and pipes were prodded and poked with the most nimble of instruments, Iain's fingers and nails. The only problem with the deep cleaning approach was that Iain now needed deep cleaning as his pores, hands and arms were caked in what had been in the tank.

Triumphant, half naked, and covered with the contents of the tank Iain emerged from the fug hoping to get a special reward from Fiona. Instead of being greeted with open arms he found Fiona retching over the side of the boat. He was unsure if it was the sight of his naked torso, the toxic fumes or the thought that she might get a big hug from Iain with a unique surprise. The power of the fumes had clearly done something to Iain's senses of both smell and normality and Fiona had survived the experience almost unscathed.

The lack of weight in the boat and lovely sailing conditions meant that we were now ludicrously early for the tide at the Cape Cod Canal. The tide rips through the canal and the timing is not something that you want to get wrong. We slowed Ruffian and sadly watched our average speed drop, but our chances of missing the tidal rip increase.

The stretch goal was Newport and like all stretch goals on Ruffian we achieved it by the skin of our teeth. With the sun setting over the racing machines of Newport and glinting on the polished surfaces of all the classics, down went the anchor and we could now concentrate on getting our sense of small back after our most pungent offshore passage.

We say goodbye to 'the gang'.


Woohoo. Kite up.


Isobel ooches on every wave.


Gossip. Gossip. Gossip.


Larry gets some lovin'.


And says goodbye to Maine.


You've got to love the early mornings.


Please tell me that's mud and not another nasty brown substance.


Hatches open. Anything to get rid of the smell.


Red red sky at night.


If only every sail was like this.


Yuk. Waiting for the tide to turn at the CCC.


Iain makes Fiona proud every day.