Calico Jack arrives with the dawn. Named for the sharp dressed Bahmanian buccaneer, spouse to the infamous Ann Bonny, she is otherwise mysterious. This despite her lying only four boat lengths from Stargazer. The wind's roar is too strong for shouted conversation. The swell too high to row over, for a neighbourly chat.
It is most noticeable how peaceably her low freeboard, long keeled, canoe sterned hull lies. Like a duck on a pond. Steadfastly head to the current. Whilst we modern fin keelers, fleeter of foot in light airs, more manoeuvrable in port, range around uneasily. Lying part to tide, part to wind. Often as not, across the swell.
A glance, to the mouth of the sound, reveals the source of the scend. Surf, which would not disappoint the wave-riders of Nazare, breaks heavily over Shipman Head. Our bulwark. The low, which pumeled us yesterday and overnight, has halted its march. Allowing its friend to catch up. Together they look set to make a weekend of it. Combining forces, to whip up a shindig, on Saturday in particular.
I have spent the day with my head buried in almanacs and pilot books. Plans C to F are now drawn up, covering a range of options, for our onward passage, on a variety of days, on which wind and sea may settle. Including options for a daylight passage to the Cornish coast. After arriving overnight, it would be a shame to miss the pleasure, known to generations of seafarers, of seeing landfall in the Western Approaches.
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