The sea has been gray and empty. And for now, still. Normally we'd be happily making four or five knots in the light southerly breeze that's blowing. But we've left the engine on and for the first time ever since leaving Kodiak we're motorsailing under jib and main. This gives us anything from six and a half to seven and a half knots, sometimes even eight. We're flogging it, and I'm very pleased at the speed that we're making. A front is meant to be crossing the southern end of the South Island some time on Thursday, and even though it isn't forecast to be a particularly strong front, I'd rather not be hanging around to see for myself.
On our second day out I was a bit stunned by the fragility of everything, the temerity of setting out on such a big crossing with young kids. I struggled with the lack of sleep and barked at the kids when I thought they weren't being careful enough. But today found us back in our passagemaking groove. The boys played delightfully in the cockpit this morning while Alisa slept, riding horseback on the cockpit coaming, fully kitted with helmets and capes and swords and shields, chasing after dragons. Alisa says that we are lucky to be living like this right now, able to spend so much time with the kids, and she is right.
Elias lost his first tooth yesterday and the tooth fairy left him six Australian dollars for it. I haven't asked, but I can only assume that the tooth fairy was glad to get rid of some lingering Australian currency, without pausing to consider the precedent she was setting for the remaining 30-odd teeth. I wonder if the tooth fairy is seeing this largesse in a new light now that a second tooth is suddenly threatening to fall out before we reach New Zealand. If she's hoping that I have a few Australian dollars hanging around, she's going to be disappointed.
Elias, meanwhile, is mesmerized by my story of children wrapping strings around loose teeth, tying the other end to a door knob, and slamming the door.
Now, the peace, and musty-headedness, of nightwatch awaits.