For a little perspective, 25 knots is a rather windy day in San Francisco. Hurricane winds start at around 62 knots; today we briefly reached 50. But keep in mind, the pressure grows exponentially, so 50 knots is four times the pressure of 25.
(In laymen terms, the crew stops smiling at 35. )
At first we sailed, and then the captain started swearing in French and all the men in white started scrambling and next thing we know, Rosie the Italian first mate, is up the mast releasing some line that was stuck. (In gale winds no less.)
The photos below show a close up of how small she really looked up there.
Obviously I worship her.
Equally obvious was our need for rum when the anemometer read 40. (See Alex and me playing the role of Pirates below.)
Alas, the sea is impossible to photograph, so it doesn't look ferocious. But what a force it is.
The wind is howling again outside my bed; like a dragon calling for her children.
Xx
Rosie and me when it calmed a bit
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