Monday was another warm, sunny, almost-windless day. I say "almost-windless" because for awhile there was just enough wind, from just far enough around behind us, to pimp us into flying our spinnaker. It earned its space on board for another day by boosting our speed by a knot or so, and I had fun sitting in the back of the boat, trimming the big green and blue sail like a kite. We've put the spinnaker up every day so far on this passage. It's good practice for the expected downwind run to the Marquesas, and every time we hoist it and nothing disastrous happens, I gain a little confidence in it, though I'm always a bit on edge when it's up. So far, so good.

Being at sea on SCOOTS is a lot like being at anchor on SCOOTS...except that the boat is moving around more and we have to take turns being up at night. (Although some anchorages we've been in have rousted us around more than the sea state on this trip, so far.) We still do much of the same stuff...cook, read, do laundry, eat, clean, sleep, and play cards, with the addition of watching for obstacles, navigating, keeping track of our boat speed and the speed and direction of the wind, repeatedly putting sails up and taking sails down, and, if we really, really must, taking all of the sails down except for the main and firing up Yanmar the Magnificent to move us across a stretch of windless sea.

Speaking of cards, we finally played our afternoon Spite and Malice tournament (best 3 of 5 games) today, for the first time on this passage. The past two afternoons have found us busy at the appointed time, but today nothing else needed doing, so we played. I won 3/5. Whenever I do well, Eric complains that I am using the power of the Dark Side of the Force, and makes Darth Vader breathing sounds. It's pretty funny. Yes, now you know my secret...I am indeed a dark and evil Sith lord. Fortunately, I only use my powers to stomp Eric at Spite and Malice...I have no intention of blowing up any planets.

Dinner was shrimp scampi, made from some of the enormous shrimp ("jumbo" doesn't do them justice) that we bought from a nice fisherman in San Evaristo. I also thawed out some of the chocolate chip cookie dough I made last week, and baked a batch. Nothing helps a night watch go by better than home-made cookies.

We seem to be in our passage groove now, accustomed to the shortened sleep periods, the need to be constantly cognizant of our surroundings and vigilant while awake, and the perpetual motion of the boat. It takes a day or two to get here, but once we do, the bit of sleep-deprived snippiness disappears and we settle into the passage routine.

Our first two watches of the night were nothing like the peaceful watches of the night before. We were flying the main and our big Code 0 sail wing on wing, trying to capture as much of the piddly wind as we could to push us over the leftover swells from a distant storm but the net effect was that the two sails banged and slapped incessantly. Combined with the creaks and groans and squeals of the rig, it was a cacophony to wake the dead. Or to keep the off-watch person awake. Or to make the on-watch person want to shoot herself.

During the ten-second breaks in this noise, when the sails actually did their job and stopped complaining, I think I heard some humpback songs. But then the banging and crashing and slapping would return and I couldn't tell. I imagined the whales nearby in the dark, listening to the monstrous sound coming from our boat, and saying, in their singsong whale voices, "WTF is that?"

Eventually the wind died enough that no amount of coaxing or finagling of the sails would get them to stop thrashing and do their job, so I rolled up the headsail, pulled the main to the center, checked VERY carefully with my red flashlight for any wayward lines in the water that would love to wrap around our prop (this was no easy task in the dark, with our deck and cockpit looking like the aftermath of a spaghetti factory explosion) and when I was convinced, I fired up Yanmar the Magnificent. Usually I don't like having to listen to the drone of the engine, preferring instead the peace and quiet of sailing. But Y the M's steady, consistent tone was MUCH better than listening to the chaos of the flapping, banging sails.

During my 4-7 am watch, the Tres Marias Islands came into view. These islands are apparently populated with an abundant and varied assortment of wildlife, unfortunately including a population of inmates at a high security prison on one of the islands, necessitating a 20-mile-radius no-passage perimeter around all three islands. You definitely don't want to offer a ride to any stranger, should you encounter one as you go by.

That's how we spent Day 3 of our passage. It looks like there will be at least a Day 4 to go. Our 7 am GPS coordinates are included with this entry.