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I found this piece of English homework I wrote when I was 14 or 15 years old. You could say that my working on a classic yacht now is no huge shock really. Sailing and boats definately become a part of you and I clearly had a vivid picture in my mind of the scene I was writing about. I also quite clearly was enjoying thumbing through my thesaurus at the time of writing. Some big words to impress my English teacher. Mrs Gibbs was her name. She was lovely, I wonder where she is now. It is Sunday and we the crew are absolutely shattered. Some precentage of that is from having had 5 days classic yacht sailing and I think another huge percentage is from having such a great time of it in Barcelona. It was a brilliant regatta. We came second overall. Moonbeam 3 came first and well done to them. Yesterday the wind really blew and we wore harnesses and life jackets and reefed our huge mainsail. It was no storm but my staysail team and I were hauling on the jigger up to our waists in water for alot of the race. Awsome. We had our one win and a first over the line so we were very happy with our performance this week. Drying out the foulies and shoes after a pretty strong day on the water. 3 Regattas down, 5 to go. But for the mean time we will stay in Barcelona and rest our weary bodies and take care of our very old but beautiful boat. Mariquita heading downwind The Storm The dark blue universe of sea was a reflection of the clear blue dome of sky above it. The lustrous dazzling of the sun's rays beat down upon the silently calm, mirror-like water, increasing the resplendent glow. In the midst of this mysterious world, enveloped in the remote and solitary haze of this huge expansion of water, a small wooden yacht leisurely made its way across the slack waters, heading for the misty horizon. The sails slightly yellow in colour from years of hard use, storms and strong winds, flapped lazily in the now idle and reluctant breeze. The rigging tapped rhythmically against the mast and the tame water lapped against the boats glossy hull which moved with sluggish apathy towards its destination. Aboard the yacht, sitting in the cockpit of the boat, was an old man, tanned and worn like the sails from endless years at sea. Wearing only a pair of shorts tired with overuse, his naked flesh, brown and drained of its youth was covered with salt, encrusted in the crevasses and folds of his old skin. Beads of sweat were emerging from his brow in the sweltering heat and the pungent smell of old tobacco lingered in the air around him. His white hair and beard were matted and salty from neglect. With skill his experienced hand held the wooden tiller. His bloodshot eyes, full of wisdom and knowledge of the oceans, looked on in anxiety towards the distant horizon. As the sultry day advanced, the glaring sun eventually began to descend from the sky, its brightness steadily altering to a soft orange glow which discoloured the sea beneath with its reflection. The orange globe looked down at its destined journey, unknown to anyone but the sun itself. It pondered as if in thought before reluctantly diminishing behind a wall of black which hung over the horizon, dark and oppressive. As the sun disappeared the wind awoke and a harsh breeze crept silently upon the small boat, filling its sails. The boat reacted swiftly to this newly found power and was aroused into acceleration. Whispery clouds began to form in the darkening atmosphere above and the man knew that behind their mask of innocence these clouds were the worrying sign of an ever advancing enemy. And this battle was to be the hardest of battles at sea. The man adjusted the sails and began to prepare for what was to come. For as the power of the wind became stronger, so did the forebodings of a storm. P.S Better tell you about the best sushi restaurant I have ever eaten in Thanks to my mate Robyn from the classic yacht, Halloween; and it is right here in Barcelona. Just for you guys I will return there to take photos and sample more of the menu so that I can blog about it. Now don't let me hear you say I never do anything for you. Thanks for reading. I'll be back soon with recipes and restaurant reviews! It's a tough life at 33 degrees... Cheers!
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Nearly a century after Shackletonโs famous escape from the ice, six men spent 12 days in a living hell to recreate โthe greatest small-boat voyage of all timeโ. Complete article from May Classic Boat (CB299). June issue on sale now. Subscribe here. The 800-mile voyage across the Southern Ocean that Shackleton and five [โฆ]
