Tomorrow will be the two-week mark for this passage, and, if you've been following the little map on the right of the screen, you'll know that we're nowhere near our destination in French Polynesia. We've entered that timeless zone that marks long passages, when there's no thought of the trip's beginning or end. We're just here, where we find ourselves, in the long middle.
It's been five days since I fell, and I've improved to the point where I'm able to do things like pole out the jib and raise the main. We hove to yesterday under double-reefed main to let a poorly developed low pass over us, and today we finally got westerly winds, for the first time in eight days. But some gear on the main is broken, for the second time in the trip, so it's down for the night to let the epoxy repair set. Between the finicky main and amateur tactical choices and a battered skipper, we're not setting any records on this one. The weather guy we're talking to on Gulf Harbour Radio radio has taken to saying things like, "Boy, we feel for Galactic."
The boys, though, are having a grand time. The first flying fish of the trip was found on deck this morning, and though it was small, it went into the frying pan for their breakfast. After all the wet and cold of the last week the cockpit has again become habitable, and the whole family had solar showers outside today. We've even seen red-tailed tropic birds. Progress.
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