Today, at 0939 EDT my brother Mike and I finally departed from Salem on what will eventually evolve into a long trip to Pensacola, Florida. Alas, I forgot most of our green vegetables in Mike's refrigerator, a mistake that can be corrected without too much trouble, far less anyway than my most grievous error. I overfilled the aft fuel tank, causing diesel to bubble from the vent into Alana's cockpit whenever we heeled excessively. The winds were 18-21 knots, so we certainly were heeling during our transit to Provincetown and we went through two and a half rolls of paper towels sopping up fuel.
We are now anchored in P'town, waiting to eat a tasty chicken, rice & bean dinner before getting a good night's rest. We're planning to catch the 1700 ebb at the Cape Cod Canal tomorrow, so there should be no need for an early departure. Mike's talking about going for a run in the morning and there are a few chores I can take care of while he is staying in shape.
You might have noticed from the pictures that Mike has not yet regained his sea legs. Tomorrow should be much more pleasant, so I am not yet ready to maroon him.
Mike says:
It was pure hell. Not through any fault of the skipper, though. I've never felt that bad for that long. I felt better after my first fish-feeding episode, but that didn't last and I felt like a woozy wet noodle for most of the trip. I did manage to not throw up again, though, and we each spotted a whale. And now I'm looking forward to a great-smelling meal, then a nice long sleep and a better day of sailing tomorrow. Note: we are NOT going in to town this evening.
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