999 miles to go! - Days 10-14, by crewman Holland

You know it's a long journey when the last thousand miles feels like the home stretch. We've just crossed that point today, on the morning of our 14th day at sea. It really feels like we're in the Tropics now, as it's baking hot even though the sun has just risen. It's been a very eventful few days - from day 10 to day 14 a great deal has changed, and we've traveled another 500 miles. On day 10 we all awoke with the happy realisation that we were about to cross the half-way point. We were now really in the mid-Atlantic, a minimum of a thousand miles away from the nearest land. I was just coming to the end of my watch, and I was luckily next to the fishing rod, so when the reel started to scream with what was obviously a very big fish - I claimed the rod and started to real it in. Success! our first fish of the crossing. It was at least half a meter long, Bright blue and yellow and weighed a good few pounds. We landed it in the boat, and it was clear there was good eating on it. However - with the taste of morning toothpaste still in my mouth, and a beautiful living creature flapping around in my hands, I've never felt less like killing and then eating a large fish. In what I can only describe as a moment of madness (and the obligatory photograph) - I threw the enormous fish back into the ocean. Peter was appalled. We later checked the book to ascertain what kind of fish it was. The entry in the book said 'Dorada - beautiful colouring, strong fighter, DELICIOUS TO EAT'. I felt profoundly foolish - but at least there would be plenty more fish. Or not! We've yet to even have another bite on the line, and with all our fresh food gone - another fish would be more than welcome. Doubly foolish. After the fish fiasco we decided to celebrate the half-way point with a macho dip in the briny shark-filled Atlantic. We dropped the Spinnaker, and as the boat was still drifting at about 3 knots - put a buoy on a line out the back of Rafiki so we wouldn't get left behind. The swim was incredible. The sea was so salty it seemed to attack our faces, but it was so refreshing that we all emerged in the highest spirits. It's not many people who enjoy the privilege of a swim in the middle of the Ocean. Things were great! Back on dry boat, we got cracking once more and switched on the engine to control the boat while we got the spinnaker back up. But something was wrong. The engine didn't seem to sound right. Moments later the engine didn't seem to smell right either, and we had the extinguishers in our hands in readiness, should the smoke we smelt develop into the nightmare of a full blown fire. Fortunately it didn't - but our good-luck stopped there. It seemed we were being punished for enjoying our swim so much, for the hubris of smugly celebrating halfway. The engine had terminally overheated in the space of 2 minutes, and completely seized. From now on we were going to be without an engine. Luckily we were only in the Mid-Atlantic, at least a thousand miles from the nearest land. The thing is, on a boat like Rafiki the engine isn't just for propulsion - it's our generator. No engine means no hot water. No showers. No desalinator allowing us to use water freely. Rations! No charging phones and laptops. No refrigeration for our food (No cold beer until St Lucia!). And most crucially no using the Autopilot that was doing all the hard steering for us, allowing us to lounge on the deck during our watches. Our sailing trip just got old-school! What little juice we get from the windmill and the solar panel goes towards using our instruments at night, and an hour on the computer to get weather reports (and write this blog!) And when we arrive at St Lucia without an engine - we will need to call ahead to be towed into the harbour. The indignity!

As we all sat down and realised the extent of our problems there were a few grim faces. Then Peter reminded us of the survival seminar at Las Palmas, where we were told about how to stay hydrated by using seawater enemas. We began to laugh. James fired up the stereo with 'Who Do You Think You Are Kidding Mr Hitler'. We began to sing. I fetched my secret bottle of 15 year old Rum. We began to drink. We approached adversity in the time honoured British fashion - humour, a stiff-upper-lip, and getting drunk. It's a golden formula. Throw in a load of steaks from our defrosting freezer and despite the disaster you've got the best night of our trip! And in the days since things really haven't been so bad. I'm sure that the lads are all missing showers as much as I am, but sponge-baths from the sink are still better than nothing. The defrosting freezer is forcing us to feast while the going is good, and now we've broken the silent pact on drinking we've enjoyed the odd booze with our dinners. The wind has been rather frustrating, steadfastly refusing to rise over about 14 knots - making progress slow, but we've got such a rhythm now we'll just get there when we get there. To coincide with the more grown-up sailing we're now doing we've been enjoying (and trying to dodge) our first tropical squalls. You can see them looming in big ominous clouds on the horizon (usually at night) - and then they roll in with a rush of high gusting wind and hammering rain. It's quite exhilarating, but we've figured out how to detect them with the radar, so we've got a fighting chance to escape them from now on. We've also sussed-out the low-tech solution to the autopilot, using a weather vane and a piece of rope. Ingeniously labour-saving! So now it's our last thousand miles. We're looking at another week to get there, during which our minds will no doubt be filled with the delights awaiting us in St Lucia. Showers. Fresh Food. Cold Drinks! Delayed gratification works wonders in the imagination. St Lucia or bust!