A tropical dead arm

So i have left bermuda and sailed all the way down to a place called st. thomas and i think its worth pointing out that yes i have noticed the coincidence of the name, and yes i do approve of what they decided to call the place.


The question that i have now is what exactly st. thomas did. What I wonder, was he famous for?


God knows!


Any way I think it would be best to stick to talking about places sailing lest my religious jokes offend any body.


So back briefly to bermuda which according to the hype is: “just a speck in the ocean until you arrive”


And once you arrive it’s still a speck in the ocean just with an airstrip about 500m from where we were anchored.


Woosh, said the g6 (all day, and night)


Bermuda itself is small, quirky and when i was there windy, however the take away that will stay with me was just quite how expensive bermuda was.


Being a little bit further out to sea than most holiday islands does make it better for the more anonymous (rich) holiday maker and also makes it a virtual cross roads of the sea (hence why i was there).


However owing to the fact that the couple who where running the boat had been there before, for science, it ment we had some scientific friends, which was nice.


And in fact so where the scientists, who are responsible for analyzing and recording things on the reef just to the north of bermuda.


One thing the scientists had noticed in recent times was an explosion in the numbers of lion fish who seemed to have hitched a ride over from some where pacific and having no natural predators in the north atlantic, are being a little bit of a pest.


One way to combat this problem is to eat said lionfish, so i dutifully consumed as much as i could, even though i had drunk far too many dark and stormys (rum) the day before and my insides where feeling a little worse for wear.


I like to help out if i can.


So we swapped some crew about and the sail maker who joined us down from newport put her skills to work and repaired one of our sails (stay sail to be exact)


And more people got on.


From bermuda to st thomas was a fairly respectable tropical passage. It had warm winds (my favourite sort) a few squalls and not much wild life, birds and fish and stuff.


It might be that fukishima has killed all the fish, or as was disscussed in the pub with another skipper: its just the wrong time of year (technically it is the ‘colder’ season for this part of the world)


But one thing even i cant get away from in the north atlantic is flying fish, they are more noticeably, because well, they fly. Or perhaps more accurately, as buzz light year put it they “falling with style” or summin like that.


Most ‘flying’ fish are seen on the water, some decided to head butt the boat, a few seem to be suicidal and want to sunbath on deck. *opens mouth to speak* *gives up on it*


And one decided to give me a dead arm.


There i was, quite happily helming ( steering the boat IN A STRAIGHT LINE *clears throat*) and was paying a lot of attention to the compass so that we might make best speed to st thomas and their rum cocktails  (not looking where i was going) and then bam.


Yes i did, for a split second, feel like i was back in high school and some one had just thumped me.


Startled and a little bit peeved i spun round to face down my attacker only to find no one, and no thing to my right hand side, for the next 800 (ish) nautical miles (other than ocean).


It took a few seconds to process, but the most reasonable solution to logically explaining what had just happened was that some kind of sea life had just inadvertently (or on purpose) jumped out of the sea, flown through the air, connected with my humerus and given me a dead arm.




Or as the person who was on watch with me pointed out, thats what i thought had just happened.


Gives one pause to reflect, 400 nautical miles from the nearest land at 2am.
Still though, gotta be better than a black eye!

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