Song of the Whale

It was one of those quiet days. A hazy sun was warming the cockpit as Scott sat quietly on watch. I was looking at the charts. It didn't matter which way I did th sums, it was still a long way to go.

We heard it together. That low mournfull cry. Looking over the side as I rushed into the cockpity Scott cried "Whale". There, alongside the starboard quarter, was a Minkie whale. Its calls clearly audible. Silently it turned and with barely a flip of its tail, was gone. What a moment.

Fourteen days, and 1689 miles, out from Antigua and we have still not tacked. There is another gale sweeping in to the north of us that will bring us first south-westerly winds then, as the front passes through, we might have to gybe to make our final run into Flores, the most western of the Azores archipelago. I can almost taste that beer….

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