We then relaxed and good times were had.
We sailed goosewinged with the wind aft and the sky blue for about two hours before the wind died out close to Browns Island.
With the wind low, Skipper capital SAM made the decision to put the Spinnaker up. Lack of wind and knowledge aside, it still seemed a good idea. After three attempted hoists, there she blew…..long enough for a photo opportunity.
Spinnaker down and stowed, Ben cranked his home made muffins. They were literally awesome. Note here the excessive use of the word crank. This word replaced any verb on the day, except by Eve.
Ben’s muffins only entertained for so long, and were followed by Ben doing questionable things at the bow and Frenchie at the stern. Frenchie finished with the tiller and drank from a dirty old cup like a LADY while Ben spent ages trying to get back on deck.
Sam and Frenchie then decided to cool off with a swim behind the boat. A frayed, old rope was trailed from the stern and disintegrated quickly. Frenchie attempted to get back onboard but failed due to the lack of a ladder. He then tried to get into the dinghy…and failed that too.
With the dinghy fast approaching its demise, Frenchie hanging off the side of the boat and sharks circling, things were looking bleak.
So Ben decided to crank the head for a while, with the rest of the crew retching in disgust. It didn’t seem to want to pump water in or out, so the toilet is off limits until that’s sorted out. A good scraping from below should sort her out. Evacuation to take place from the stern until further notice.
With that out of the way, we climbed back on deck and just missed being crushed by this nasty beast.
No not that one. This one.
It was quite big and dwarfed the wussy Queen Mary 2, which was berthed at Jellicoe Wharf.
The camera was then obviously stowed away because the photos ended, but the good times kept on rolling. We cranked on towards Devonport on a 45 degree reach. Water was splashing onto the gunnels and we lost the steering many a time. We cruised on up to the mooring, cranked the outboard and put down the sails. A stupid 50 footer was circling our mooring. It was called ‘Prowler’ so you get the idea. They almost stole our mooring but we scared them off with our more manly yacht. Turns out they were looking for a friends mooring, which they never found, so we got there just in time. With Ben at the helm, Sam pulled EY015 on board and we were home at last.
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