Boat number 17, sailboat number 3, was spotted behind us in the darkness. An Oyster Rally boat Alpenglow sailed past us at double speed. We had a small conversation over VHF and soon they had disappeared into the darkness. The morning didn’t turn bright, it turned grey. Squalls and lulls woven to each other like a gray wool blanket. The winds were varied as if they already could sense the land, and ebb and flow up and down simulating the tall volcanic slopes of the Marquesas. Eventually one ...
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