I asked Cecil to summarize briefly his thoughts about the second and third week of our Atlantic crossing and his reply was "team building". What started as an easy passage of calm nights, lots of fishing off a level deck, the ability to sleep at night morphed into a passage with huge waves, pitching, rolling boat, howling winds, sleep deprivation, salt crusted bodies, problem solving, thunderstorm dodging, and fuel calculations. So much has happened in these last two weeks that it is hard to recall much as each moment, day, blended into the next. As Bruce commented last night, "It's all a blur! I was going to write every night in my journal," he said, "but I have made just one entry!". So perhaps it's best to start from the present and work backwards toward those truly tough going days.

We are now under 300 nautical miles (nm) away from St Lucia and the mood is pretty happy on the boat, especially since we all received the best sleep of the passage last night. We all took watch individually instead of in teams, as the motor was on, no sails up, so we had the longest break between watches. There were thunderstorms on either side of the boat as the sun rose but the worst was going to miss us. In fact, before the morning was through, the boat finally got a good wash from the skies and the lads grabbed shampoo and soap and had a deck bath. Meanwhile Marj was below cooking up a hearty breakfast of pancakes, potato hash with Iberian ham. To top that off, two beautiful fish were caught for dinner tonight. Charlie, our weather router has done a fine job of keeping us out of the worst weather these past weeks, as the ARC fleet north us of has really been hit by lightning, squalls, high winds, while we have managed to avoid that, skirting storms and taking advantage of the wind they generate. We are quite a bit south of most of the group and have fallen back in the pack but the boat has not suffered damage as a result as many have. It may be a blow to our ego, but True North has kept us safe, has provided a lifetime of memories and we've tried to sail our own course and not get drawn into the competitive nature of the ARC.

Today will be a motoring day with very light winds but should we get the chance the sails will be unfurled with any puff of breeze over 12 knots (Mike hates to motor and as we speak, preparations are being made to hoist the code zero, another one of our light wind sails). We knew this calm patch was coming these last several days and had carefully conserved fuel. At our morning meeting at 10:00 am, Pelle crunched numbers each day and reported percentages of fuel and water, how many hours of motoring for battery charging verses motoring for milage which takes a higher rpm and more fuel. We knew we had the calm coming at the beginning of the trip and bought extra fuel but had no idea this calm would come at the end. It caught many boats by surprise, low on fuel, forcing them to sail slowly so close to the finish and is somewhat unusual. With motor on we can run the laundry machine and finally wash our salt crusted clothing we've all used over and over for 3 weeks. As I write this, a pod of small dolphins came to play in our wake, sun shining, building clouds around full of potential thunderstorm energy for later today.

Our routine onboard has everyone now sleeping despite a rolling boat as the sea is not "angry" anymore but still toys with us by sending gentle two meter waves our way frequently tossing the boat around. The climate has become quite hot, 90's in the boat even with hatches open, and I'm happy I took the time to make a couple cockpit shades while home in October. (Sargasso seaweed). Walking on deck requires shoes because it is downright hot. We are down to two meals a day because the heat suppresses our appetites, starting with a breakfast, often the "Pelle special" of yogurt, spices, dried fruit and granola. I make yogurt every other day in a thermos with powdered milk. I'm grateful to sailor Christine, who I met in Norway, for showing me how to do so. Dinners have become less hardy, more pasta salads made with crispy cabbage. Fresh food supplies are down to red peppers, small potatoes, onions, garlic, and red and green cabbage. I still have meat in the freezer along with frozen veggies, a few pre-made meals, and assorted goodies. We have more than enough dry and canned goods and treats to cross the Atlantic again!

We really look forward to dinners together at night in the cockpit where we relax as a group, tell stories, laugh, discuss lessons learned. The guys are super appreciative eaters to my efforts in the galley where I have acquired many a bruise preparing meals for the hungry crew.

The last few days have brought thunder storms and we have all learned to use the radar and it's weather features. Cecil has been our radar guru and has done a fine job explaining features previously unknown to us that will come in handy as we make our way through the Caribbean. Two mornings ago, Bruce had the idea to call into the morning Radiology meeting from the cockpit as we dodged nasty storms all around. Turns out the meeting was canceled so we called Radiology secretary extraordinaire Camy and had a fun brief chat 500 miles from land, showing her the radar screen and hopefully not giving her a scare!

The entire week prior (week 2) was a series of "ground hog days" with big winds, 3-4 meter waves, gray and forbidding, heaving high above the boat, with white tops curling and crashing. Each morning weather report, synopsis and course was more of the same, hold on tight and get through the day with the tough conditions. True North was on a downwind heading and it is not her preferred angle of sail, especially in those conditions. She is a bit heavy to surf waves so her back end is pushed side to side by waves as the auto pilot struggles to keep up with the power of the waves. She skids back and forth, and in my cabin in the back of the boat, I hear the auto pilot groaning, squealing under my bed and listen to the rudders making an unusual rubbing noise.

Those first days of learning to accept and live with trying conditions are truly hard. As mentioned before, sleep is extremely difficult not only because of the motion of the boat, but because of living in a hot closed up boat, always feeling salty and oily, and there is that constant loud howl, moaning of the wind, waves pounding the side of the hull, sometimes giving such a huge slap it sounds as if we've hit something. And as the boat and her crew were adjusting to nature's challenge, the boat threw up a series of challenges only we could solve so far from land and help. The first test came when our engine would not start as we faced several days of forecast calm. Mike and Pelle thought the fuel line had an airlock but the bulb used to press air from the system was locked. Thanks to starlink, we called our Volvo guys in Las Palmas for help and Alberto gave them a work around that got the system bleed of air and we all said our silent thanks as the engine roared to life.

I've already reported the loudly squeaking and unhappy rudders, which finally calmed down under better conditions. But as those issues unfolded, a sea water leak we have had since we bought the boat was growing worse. We noticed water pool in an area of the bilge where several critical pumps live, always on a port tack when heeled over, perhaps a couple ups of water in volume, but we could not find the source. But with the churning seas while on port tack this time, so much water was entering the boat that our bilge pumps were working to keep it out and Mike was using his shop vacuum every half our to clear sea water. He just happened to walk into the engine room and see water spraying critical systems like electrical components and alternators! There was a small crack in the fiberglass at a junction between drain pipes, and metal junction type box and the interior of the boat. Water was being siphoned up those tubes and with every slap of a huge wave, it sprayed into the engine room. We sourced all the epoxy putty onboard and butyl tape stuffed into the crack saved the day. We have had a dry boat since for the first time ever.

Probably because of the water egress, for the next three days we had sudden alarms come from autopilot, chart plotter and man overboard. In the dark of night the auto pilot shut down suddenly, along with all other instruments, leaving me leaping to the wheel terribly disoriented in the black night as the boat slowly turned in a direction I could not determine in the big waves. Mike was in the cockpit in 3 second flat from his bed below and helped me find our way back to the correct direction as we turned on an off instruments and they once again glowed to life. The other events were not as scary as they happened in daylight. At this point, those gremlins have not returned!

We had one particular day when everything went wrong from start to finish of the day. A quick hoist of our code zero (the wind had dropped but the waves were still big-miserable conditions) after scanning the sky, and suddenly a squall appeared so the guys dropped the sail, then attempted to unfurl the jib only to find it hopelessly tangled in lines, wrapped around itself in a tight figure 8 with the middle part of the sail slapping wildly in the growing wind. We turned on the engine and Mike guided us to drive the boat, first in a circle and then in half circles rocking back and forth to unwind the sail while Pelle and Bruce hauled on the sail as hard as possible to successfully get back control. A winch became terribly jammed with wrapped line in the wrong directions, but quick thinking and finger work by Marj cleared the line we feared we might have had to cut. We all caught our breath then decided to hoist our big sail only to find a line had become jammed between pulley and pulley housing. Not undeterred yet, we hoisted big blue only to have part of the pulley system to bring the sail down, unravel. Through it all we stayed calm, talking through the series of messes, and as we relaxed at dinner we knew we had begun to really jell as a team.

Funny story the guys said I should mention happened yesterday when I went to lay down for a nap in my cabin and heard thudding above my head, only to see legs and a large sail bag walking "quietly by". There had been storms all around and it was now quiet outside, sailing gently along, although perhaps not as quickly as we could with a different sail, so thought Mike. (I am certainly the voice of caution onboard, sometime admittedly too cautious). Up on deck I went and things did not go well when the tricky furling drum on big blue again did not cooperate which forced us to pull the sail down instead of furl it, leaving it a useless sail for the rest of the trip. I did get to lay down on the couch in the salon, this time, next to that misbehaving sail and it took all of 5 second to find me fast asleep, mouth wide open, perhaps drooling!

Mike was always trying to make the boat move towards our goal, and his crew really learned to step up and became a well oiled machine on deck, and with all the lines while Marj usually manned the helm. The guys have hoisted that spinnaker pole countless times, in terribly bouncy conditions, in daylight and in the dark of night, hauled heavy sail bags to the bow, ran line after line, hoisted and lowered countless sails. They've learned so much about how this boat operates. Mike and I have learned how to teach the knowledge we've acquired from over 5000 miles on this boat. Things we take for granted, from our own learned lessons are not always so easily passed on.

The rough weather has been hard on the fleet, with many reports of damaged sails, equipment, booms, and one injured crew member in addition to that first tragic loss of life. At this point we are hoping to arrive safely in St Lucia on Sunday, with no injuries to crew or boat over the next 300 miles.