Reacher and full main, trimming corner of the S. Atlantic high. After the doldrums, I figured that things would revert to normal (since the doldrums are so abnormal and unpredictable). Since I wasn’t at the front of the pack and forced to go straight south, we eased over to the east a little, so that if the high moved, perhaps we could cut the corner. So far it looks as though this tactic might work, although I have one eye on the computer screen and the other on the barograph looking for any small move upward in air pressure.
The low to the west will slowly impact the area, the pressure lines on the grib files show it should be declining for us, and it is, slowly. Maybe we will gain a bit of ground here on the mid-group of boats and play catch-up with them.
I am very happy to hear that Raphael is back in the race. He did a good job solving his halyard problem. I had a similar, though nowhere as extreme, problem last year, and when you go to put in a reef, and the sail won’t come down, it gets your undivided attention, so good on you Raphael!
Last night was a huge step forward for my ribs and for my sleep. For the first time since the start, I actually slept in the bunk. Great American III is fiberglass hull, so she also has longitudinal bulkheads running bow to stern about one meter from each side, for fore/aft stiffness. The bunks are in compartments outside these bulkheads, and they are accessed by small openings. The pain of my fractured rib was such that it was utterly impossible to do the gymnastics required to get into the bunk, let alone, out. So I’ve been curling up at the chart table for three weeks.
Last night, I got into the bunk with minimum agony, and had four good 50-minute sleeps. I woke up one time, and I panicked at not seeing all the twinkling/glowing lights of the nav station. I thought maybe there was a full power outage, but, no, it was just that I was in a new sleeping spot and couldn’t see the nav station from my bunk.