Typically 2 things always happen at the start of a summer cruise. It takes two car loads to get all madams shite down to the docks and then a third for the kids and dog and I have a big ol Disco 3 to do it in. And it always is in foul weather. Between moaning and lugging holiday treats from dock to boat I notice that most of the bags contain my sort of holiday food. So it's not all bad. Still, Hurricane Gert is making a nuisance of himself and I'm soaked to the bone, foul mood and ready to kick the dog by the time everything and everyone is onboard. A final rush to the fuel pontoon to bunker 1000 litres of diesel and 600 litres of water and and we're off!
We're never gonna get on the fking plane I moan as we waddle up the estuary having lost 3 inches of freeboard. All this weight in here! I dodged the slap as madam pursed her lips and stomped down below having misunderstood my intent again. We all have a cross to bear I sigh as we passed Perch and our adventure began.
Now I knew we were heading into some big blows, but Amanzi is a tough old girl, and I wasn't let down on either account. No sooner had we hit the channel than we were hit beam on by a nasty chop that had the kids squealing in outrage followed by their Haribo's for breakfast. Chuck it overboard I nod at the chum bucket. We'll lose a kilo right there! More pursed lips and the cabin door slams shut.
The cockpit to myself I vectored into the swell and gave the throttles handfuls of welly and with a malicious satisfaction I heard more outrage and bumps as Amanzi lifted her bow high into the air and charged over the chop in big booming bounces. That's my girl, 24 knts cruise no matter the weight or swells. This might just turn out alright after all.