Greetings everyone from the Tropics! *ukulele strumming in the background* Norm and Beth are taking the day off from the blog so I can fill in the blanks from the last couple of days.

Yesterday we passed another important milestone along our journey as we crossed the Tropic of Capricorn (23.5 degrees South) to officially enter the tropics. Moments after Sarah Jean II cut across the magic latitude, she came slowly to a halt. The winds completely died, the clouds parted, and the churning sea settled to glassy calm. From the deep before us rose Manu-tuta O'la (Shirley in English) the Goddess of the Tropics in all her aquatic splendour accompanied by her favourite Polynesian Ukulele Band and Choir who serenaded us while she adorned us with leis, bestowed upon us welcome gifts, and offered us papaya Champagne in fluted shells. After imparting her wisdom and giving her blessings for a safe voyage, along with various 2 for 1 coupons for the Rarotonga Shop'N Save, she bade us farewell before disappearing once again into the deep blue sea. Norm, Beth, and I were left to sail away in light air at our backs smiling and singing Oli-Wotu-iwi in three part harmony as the sun slowly set before us. (Hey, you weren't there, prove it otherwise.)

Slight embellishments aside, we did cross the Tropic of Capricorn and the sea is a deep blue. The Big Bad Low did give way, penguins are being harassed as we speak, but the winds weren't finished with us and we were still sailing hard to weather. I seem to have had the luck of the draw on watches as little drama has occurred during my shift. Almost every time Norm has relieved me, something 'interesting' came this way. So interesting this time in fact that Norm decided to extend his midnight to three am watch until 9 am the next morening telling both Beth and myself to remain below as outside was a complete mess. The moderate to strong winds we had the previous evening rose to strong to gale force with gusts to 40. He brought new meaning to being calm under (a low) pressure. Norm kept Sarah Jean sailing in fine form despite the serious conditions and got us all safely through the night. This was my first taste of nasty weather, so to those more in the know, perhaps that's just doing what needs doing, but to me, it seemed like Norm pulled down one epic night. As for my experience on watch with no moon, overcast skies blotting out the stars and the only light being the cockpit instruments, it was akin to riding a roller coaster blindfolded. I don't like roller coasters. I could only feel the rise and fall of the sea, but couldn't know just how much up and down was coming or for what to brace for. Every lurch, every roll, every rise, every plunge, every impact (and there were some loud bangs) came with no warning. We screamed briskly along, water rushing along side us, but I had the oddest sensation, by virtue of seeing nothing, that we weren't moving forward. My experience list has grown. I'll be more familiar with these conditions then next time they occur, but I won't be forgetting my first 'dark watch' soon.

Today finds us in our more accustomed surroundings with glorious sunshine and vibrant cobalt seas with nary a cloud in the sky (and dry non-salty clothing). We have marked this occasion by dressing Sarah Jean in the traditional offshore colours (laundry flying from every available line). We are making way at 6-7 knots on a beam reach in 15-20 knot winds and expect to make Rarotonga by Sunday.