Musings of a Fatigued Mind July 8

Well, we are in the sustained winds we have been looking for. We have 15-20 kts of wind but a very confused cross sea. With seas from the side like this the inside of the boat is something like the inside of a bull the cowboy on the outside is trying to ride. This cowboy is staying on a long time. A typical happening inside the boat would be like what just happened a little while ago when i started this report. I'm sitting at the nav station typing and buzzsaw is in the aft cabin putting on his magic harken sea boots which turn out to be very slippery on the cabin sole. Buzz gets them on and comes around the corner out of the cabin about the time the boat takes a role to port and sends him skating towards me like a 220 pound Tanya Harding right for my knee caps. Fortunately just before he hits the boat pitches up a wave causing Buzz to veer aft thru the head door and onto the toilet. Luckily the head was unoccupied and no harm was done. Oh, a sailor's life for me.

Speaking of the inside of a bull, I suspect our cabin may have similar smells, in intensity if nothing else. Imagine the living quarters of the boat closed up and sealed with duct tape so no water in crouches. Now increase the heat and humidity and throw in 7 unwashed male bodies. A science project gone wild, and not in a good way. Actually the aft cabin isn't so bad yet, but the forward part of the main cabin up by the mast has an odor akin to a dead rotten rat, or possibly an opossum. The stench is pervasive and we have been unable to locate it, or maybe nobody cares at this point and we let it stink.

Another manifestation of all this atmosphere and motion is that the rest of the crew, myself excluded, has become addicted to these little drug patches they put behind their ears. They may not be puking but I think the drugs are allowing the signals from the mother ship to affect the voices in their heads. Last night Lord Jim, the nighthawk, was just taking the wheel for his hour long stint driving when the clouds broke giving the signals a straight shot at his skull. The voices took over and ensuing boat gyrations had to experienced to be believed. Lets just say the entire off watch was crowded in the companionway looking concerned and asking if we were ok before the clouds covered the signal and Nighthawk gained control. Something that is happening right now is Frenchy Leverault, who cooked lunch, is in galley giving me the stink eye while fingering a steak knife. I may go forward and barricade myself in the forepeak until his voices subside. I guess I either fashion little foil caps for them of start sticking those patches behind my ears. If you can't beat em join em. Oh a sailor's life for me.

John