With the race deadline looming, I decide to today's the day to really put my foot to the floor and pocket as many miles as possible. Ian and Phil both warned of the "dead zone" in the lee of the island. So at the crack of dawn up goes the Code- the seas have picked up and I know I am about to have a fun morning, on the edge, powering through the surf. The sun is mercilessly hot, but at the same time it is a gorgeous Caribbean trade wind day and I take a moment to savour that. I nap in the cockpit, snack here and there and then the sun is masked by a huge stack of clouds. The dirty pink under belly of the cloud extends to the horizon with a whitish grey smear. I recall the e-mail from Commanders Weather Centre, warning "trade showers thru mid-afternoon are real breeze killers and should be avoided.' The conservative, safe side of me suggests rolling up the Code until it passes. The adventurous, risk-taking other half wins, with the premise that as long as I'm helming when it hits, I can always ease the sheets and bear off down wind, it may after all contain only rain. The squall creeps up from behind, edging nearer. At one stage it looks like I might out run it, or that it will pass quietly off to starboard.

The next moment I am caught up in a sheet-dumping, helm-wrestling session, cursing my eleventh-hour recklessness. Fortunately it was the Code 0 rather than a spinnaker and with the furling line on a winch could be wrapped up with some serious elbow
grease. The sky clears and we resume play, until late afternoon when another troupe of clouds appears to mess with my blood pressure and the same palaver is repeated with the net end result: no Code up. I conclude that surfing down waves at 10.6 knots with the main and small jib will get me there just as fast and without any further catastrophes.

As I write this I am below the latitude of the island of Antigua and some thirty miles north east of the tip of Guadeloupe. In two or three hours I may start to glimpse land! I am grateful that what I am about to eat may be my last freeze-dried meal, at least for some time! Moroccan lamb casserole
would not in any case, be my first choice lunch dish on a blazing hot day in the Caribbean.

So have I enjoyed the past 26 days haring across the North Atlantic in the Route du Rhum? On the whole, unfortunately I must confess, NO! Lack of preparation time is mostly to blame; no single-handed experience on a mono hull [apart from on the qualifier] might rank in as a second good answer; throw in a couple of terrifying storms, some major leaks and more than one unexpected wrestling match with a vast expanse of spinnaker cloth, where the odds were highly stacked against me, and you have yourself an experience worthy of at least 2 weeks beach therapy, a lobster dinner and a lot of rum and coke! Having said that the last few days of sailing have been idyllic and that most of my problems could be overcome with a gun of sealant on a dry day and few training sessions flying kites! I'm thinking double-handed next time. aureliaditton.com