The fourteenth sea day begins no differently than the thirteenth has ended. We decide to play skat again. Before that, Jens made the fishing clear. The bait has not been in the water for a minute, then Jens is already shouting "Fish!" I can hardly believe it, the spool with the fishing line unwinds quickly. Jens jumps on the fishing rod, begins to crank and quickly realizes that he has caught a whole bunch of seaweed or algae or something. The stuff swims all around Sissi. We try another bait that can dive under the seaweed. He does this for two minutes, then the string purrs off the spool again. A real fish, Jens cranks, cranks, cranks ... Then the train on the line is gone, then the bait is gone and the fish is of course gone. Too bad. Afterwards we play skat, we can still fish tomorrow.
After dinner, Jakob and Jens disappear into their bunks quite quickly, although we have another long night tonight. We set the clock back an hour and then it's Barbados time. This is roughly estimated geographically, but at some point we have to change the clocks. So I sit alone in the cockpit, guard the ship and ponder sailing on the ocean.
What is most annoying? The waves? Loneliness? Feeling captive on the boat? The swing? The crackling? Daily duties? Round-the-clock operation? The rudimentary internet? The answer is easy. The salt. They poured so much salt into the Atlantic that it cannot be used as pasta water. You have to dilute it with fresh water. The Atlantic splashes over and over again and that is where the problem begins. Salt.
We have salt on the cockpit benches, salt on the cockpit floor, salt on the rudder, salt in the gas box, salt on the back box, salt on the cockpit roof, salt on the solar cells, salt on the deck, salt on the pods. There is salt everywhere. A thin, greasy film that is all over the ship. We are also splashed with it. Salt is in the shirt. Salt on your pants. Salt in the hair. Salt on hands. We have salt, salt, salt. I already put my water bottle on my mouth and was amazed at the salty taste. Salt in the drinking water tank? No, there was salt on my lips, salt on the thread of the bottle and salt in my beard. This salt is on my biscuit. We carry it all over the boat. Salt on the salon floor, salt on all handles, salt in the pantry, salt on the toilet pump, salt in the bath towel, salt, salt, salt.
The problem can only be mastered with fresh water. We regularly desalinate the cockpit, the salon and ourselves. The shower day is always a happy day. After a shower, I love sitting in clean, dry clothes on the desalinated cockpit bench and watching the raging Atlantic. I usually like that for two or three minutes, sometimes only for a few seconds. Then a wave crashes against the side wall, the water splashes and there is salt again everywhere.
I'll drag the salt into my bunk at some point, my bed sheet is full of salt. My pillow is full of salt. Everything is full of salt. When we cook, we probably take way too much salt. We always have the salty taste on our lips. The last chilli canned food from the Haase butcher was very tasty, but the salty taste of the chilli tasted more like hospital food. That is bad. So much salt. Small wounds that you inflict on everyday life heal pretty badly. We now know where the saying "sprinkle salt in the wounds" comes from. From salt. If something really annoys me about sailing on the ocean, it's the salt. I don't like pretzels anymore.
At night, the problem screw on the wind pilot is once again abandoned. The thread is gone. I order a spare part in Germany. Hopefully Jörg can still bring it with us when he comes to visit next weekend. Hopefully the manufacturer can deliver quickly enough and hopefully the parcel service will work within Germany. We are going to continue with the electric autopilot, we currently have no end of electricity. In daylight, I still manage a (presumably last) provisional repair the next morning. Salt is also on the wind vane.
14.Emal: 129 salt miles
We will be salted at 12 noon here: N14 ° 10 ′ W50 ° 19 ′
544 salt miles to Barbados, we have 1595 salt miles behind us.