Mark and I split the night. I stood watch until 2 am, Mark took over until sunrise. We are both wet, cold, battered by waves, yet happy as can be: We sailed fast and smart.
At one in the morning we put up the big Genoa, cracked the sheets and stood on 14 to 16 knots. Fast in the night. We saw lights from racers ahead of us, then on our beam, then behind us, Then no more.
I saved a life last night. I was hit on the chest by a giant flying fish. I looked at it flapping in the dark amidst the fluorescent krill brought on by the large waves submerging the boat periodically. So, I made a dive for the fish on my way, hit the auto-pilot switch, grabbed the fish, felt a violent right turn, and I got washed to leeward by a wave. Bloodied nose, bruised knee. The pilot didn’t engage. But I saved the fish. I wasn’t going to eat it. It was a male so no Tobiko. Now this fish has quite a story to tell his fellow fish. Mark slept down bellow through all of this.
Pushing hard for the record after a wild, wet and exhausting night.