Leaving Banjul

It's heading on sunset, and it should get a little later every day because we are heading west a couple of degrees in every 24 hours. That's 120nm per day.

Is this the third day? I'm already losing count. After a pleasant sail away from Banjul, out in the deeper ocean, the wind and the sea picked up and we had quite a dramatic double reefed little sleep night of sailing west with a lumpy sea on the starboard beam, which meant for a fair share of heeling and bashing with occasional water over the deck, and making a very nice 5/6 knots.

Yesterday we tacked west south west to get a bit more comfort, swapping bashing for skewing and yawing, only a marginal improvement but going in the right direction. Life below decks feels at times a mixture between a roller coaster and a fairground ride, the type that chucks u hither and tither whence least expecting it. Learning to anticipate the lurches and keeping acute awareness of things to grab on to is essential practice.

Yesterday I was somewhere else. The longer I stayed in Africa, the more tired I became and yesterday I hit a pinnacle of exhaustion and lethargy. I tried to still the voice that told me I was coming down with malaria and took a paracetamol instead for my headache that wouldn't shift. Sea sickness also prevailed which can be quite demoralising just in itself. Yesterday was about resting and sleeping and eating right, get the essentials in place and there's a good foundation. Towards the end of the day I started to feel better and sat on deck as the evening progressed, marvelling at the rolling sea and the silvery reflection of the moon.

Last night a better night of sleep and feeling more positive and engaged today.

We rise and fall in the swell, get kicked about by the waves and make progress south west, skirting the big windless hole that is the doldrums, beneath us.

It's a strange time. When I get bored with inside, I go outside. When I get bored with outside, I go inside. Outside is in constant flux, but the landscape doesn't change. It's a curious sensation that I am not trying to analyse or understand. The sea has its own pace and beauty and I just need to see it and be with it. It never fails to inspire or exhilarate me. I particularly love the deep swells that rise up and bring us to the crest, and then we are clawed back into the next trough, a sucking and stretching of water, just for a moment smooth, until it becomes the next moving mountain.

The inside is my creaking tapping constant that keeps me alive, a little island in the vortex swirling around me.

(Posted by Nick. Whilst at sea Dan has a text-only email facility on his sat phone which he's used to email me this blog and his position.)