So, we had this magical month in which we did nothing much more than sail around the Falkland Islands.
Before we set out on this endless-seeming trip of ours, when I'd talk to friends who had dipped into the world of long-term travel, this is what sounded so alluring to me: the idea of time to spend in this way. Big chunks of it, applied to the pursuit of quixotic goals.
|Tussac grass is a natural setting for childhood delight|
|The anchorages are kelpy!|
Alisa and I finished replacing a particularly difficult window at midnight last night, and then fell asleep at the saloon table, leaning on each other's shoulders. We've replaced six shrouds on the boat, and gone out to tune the new rigging Falklands-style - beating up Stanley harbor with two reefs in the main and a scrap of jib. I'm making new deadlights for windows that we aren't going to replace, and there's still the staysail forestay to replace if we get to it. And the wind vane needs some attention. And, no matter how much of these jobs I've gotten finished by the end of this week, I'm getting on a plane on Saturday to fly up to Alaska for a stint of in-person science work.
In the midst of all this, there is little time for travel. We're tending our own various gardens for now, and not putting ourselves forward so much in Stanley.
|Like a turkey through the corn|
|And a magellanic penguin for variety. They're burrow nesters.|
And Carcass offered us another chance to get up close with some elephant seals. Wonderfully argumentative creatures, those.
OK. I gotta go cut some more deadlights.