Delayed blog from the crossing of the South Atlantic....

It was a hard good-bye to Cape Town and what followed was an uneventful (minus Dad's monster catch and subsequent injuries) and pleasant, but slow, 12 day, 1700 mile sail tacking downwind to Saint Helena, the last place of exile for Napoleon Bonaparte. Having toured the island and the premise in which he stayed, I can only pray to be exiled in my waning years, after my personal Waterloo in such a place of intrigue, beauty, and genuine kindness of the people we met. Though we only had a seventy-two hour window to stay on the island, we made the most of it with a day-tour of the island, diesel fuel-up, provision run, as well as good banter with the locals. We even met up some local DJ's at a one of the local restaurant who played and dedicated over the local radio Van Morrison's "Brown-Eyed Girl" for us later that night and told the tale of a wahoo that did some serious damage to Dad's leg. Listening to that song, I thought of a girl I'm madly in love with, good changes in my life, the good and bad of a venture like this, and a longing to see family, old friends and a dog who's getting very white in the face. Jake, I miss you (Mom, give Jake a hug for me). It's been a long ride and the end is in sight, the goal nearly met. But first we are going to party like it's 1999 when we hit Carnival in Rio or Salvador, Brazil.

It's not uncommon for a thrashing fish to inflict some sort of injury upon its captor, so when the Skip was bitten on the leg by a monster 60 inch, 55lb. wahoo he caught as we were making landfall to Saint Helena, we weren't surprised. In fact, had he not been injured by the fish, our eyebrows would have been raised. But as Dad proudly raised the delectable, hard-fighting, leviathan, and very much dead fish with tackle on a raised mizzen boom, we were surprised to hear a resounding howl and hear our Skip cursing the line as it dropped an open-mouthed, very toothy, down the length of his shin and calf. Apparently we still haven't learned, "It's the dead one's that get ya' (famous Peter Capstick quote about hunting lions)." Multiple dressings later and another wound to his finger while steaking the fish and we were ready for the Arc get-together that night. People loved the fish grilled by the cooks of the local yacht club. I suspect they enjoyed the story more.

If one were to judge Saint Helena by approach from sea, one might be very easily disappointed to see a barren, harsh environment with volcanic rock winding down to the sea and not too inviting. The interior of the island is quite the opposite. Boasting a verdant, lush, hilly oasis that can been viewed in one good day with a tour-guide by the name of Robert, one will walk away with the answers as to why it was worth it to travel so far to this obscure isle. From visiting Napoleon's last residence and his wordless first tomb, petting the giant tortoises at the Governor's mansion, and winding down the road near the famous 1,000 step "Jacob's Ladder" (treacherous stairwell to nice vista that I was happy to view via car). The people are the real resource of the island. As we made our way down the steep incline of the roads through fields of flax, dairy farms, primary growth forest, and lush green pastures; we encountered a small-town atmosphere. People still wave at each other as they drive by (like Niue). What a neat place. How many places can you actually catch yellow fin tuna in the mooring field? Fishermen thanked us for tying our dead wahoo off the transom of the boat as it created a bit of fishing action for the locals. They talk about an airport being constructed. I will look back on it all and be happy to have visited Saint Helena when the only way to get there was by logging the hours and sloshing through the deep blue.

It is January 30th and we are now less than 1,000 miles away from our destination on a 1900 mile run from Saint Helena to Salvador, Brazil with only 6 knots of wind and burning diesel. This is the big push homeward. When we do have wind, it's off our stern and we fly the asymmetrical and take it down and then fly it and take it down and then fly it again. The Skip prided himself today on setting it all by his lonesome. Impressive. The Skip says its good practice. The Skip also has a habit of receiving severe flesh wounds by dead fish. Hope the wind picks up (not like Hout's Bay) and as always love and miss you all. Te amo, Merce. Besos y brazos, Dani y Nacho.

"Brown-Eyed Girl"...out

It is February 4th and we still have no signal to send blog out. We are less than two days (hopefully) from landfall. Fishing has been grand as we have taken two more wahoo, one weighing 33 lbs and measuring 49 inches and another weighing 25 lbs and measuring 47 inches. Wahooo!!!!!!!