We're sort of in the suburbs of Dodge, not quite outta, yet. It's rough, real rough. The towed gear is taking a pounding and it's quite unpleasant onboard. Sleeping was a bit of a bear yesterday, what with all the banging and crashing around in my cabin. Everything is stowed, or tied down, but the loose items in the medicine cabinet and my locker were having a field day. I got up this morning to find my shaving cream and toothpaste having sex in the corner, with the voyeuristic Dr. Bronner's Magic Soap watching the whole affair.
Also woke up tired from the whole staying wedged in the rack thing. We've had swell off the stern quarter and it's rolling us, badly. This doesn't bode well for the bunks orientated in-line with the keel. With a little over 100KM to go before NZ gives us her lee, it's going to be a long night of holding onto the desk while typing. Most of the crew are idle while the operation is shut down. Not me. I've still got to keep my operations humming in this crap. Unfortunately, certain bits of my system react unfavorably to swaying and getting slammed around. Makes for a long night of mothering all the bits and bobs, cajoling them into working and giving them lovin' when they get bent out of shape.
On the bright side of things, I finally have all aspects of my operation up and running smoothly, disregarding the heavy seas. I can finally turn to the paperwork, getting work instructions, handover notes and a final report started, in preparation for getting the hell out of here. This has not been one of my better trips, to say the least. I can only thank my lucky stars that the young trainee they saddled me with has proven to be more than competent and helped to ease the burden whilst shit hit the fan over the holidays and into last week.
Oh, GOOD LORD!! Here comes the damn bubblegum pop crap over the instrument room stereo. Everyone's looking my way to see if I break out the fire axe hangin just outside my door. Other people's fucking kids. I'm going for 3 O'clock tea. Later.