Sometime last night we crossed over the border into the area where Garmin will sell us charts. The wider ocean apparently doesn’t merit detailed charts, as it’s all deeper than our depth sounder will register. Except for the occasional false 100ft reading, which we tell ourselves is whales.
We’ve still got the spinnaker up, which means Jazz got a swimming break yesterday. She was happy. Captain seems to think that he should be allowed to ride in the sail bag, but while he’s pretty sure-footed, we’d rather he didn’t leave the cockpit under way.
We’ve been having fun experimenting in the kitchen. We’re still working on making the powdered eggs palatable, and we made our first attempt at pressure cooker bread this morning. Not bad, but not as good as the blueberry muffin mix.
525 miles to go on the rhumb line.
The end is near and will be a mixture of triumph and a bit of regret. You’ve accomplished something unique at a physical and emotional cost…but then there is the rejoining. I remember wanting to just keep going.
Jazz was definitely not excited for the trip to be over. We contemplated just tacking back and forth until the food ran out, but then we wouldn’t have had the beautiful downwind angle any more, so we reluctantly made landfall.