Feeling it like Moitessier

There's got to be an upside to riding towards a high of 1045 (that's a Bloody Big High) in persistent rain. I've forgotten for now whether we're in a trough or a front. Alex has explained to me so many times, but the weather....ah, the weather.
Shall I tell you about it?
Overnight the wind built steadily and is now blowing 25 to 35 knots. That's hard. Today it's expected to build even further, gusting over 40 knots, and we'll enjoy these testing conditions pretty much until we arrive in Coffs Harbour. ETA 48 hours from now if we can keep course, and keep up our speed.
We're averaging 5.5 to 6 knots, which is very respectable in seas of 3 m (oh yes, they are going to built too - our weather guru Bob McDavitt sent us an update last night, and a figure of 5 point something metres popped out of the right hand column. I shut my eyes). The seas are the problem. They push Kukka around a bit. But the thing is, she's a gem. She's sailing right through this crappy weather with barely a wimper. The autopilot hasn't had a hissy fit (as it occasionally does), and down below, she's as snug as a beaver's hut (I'm thinking, for whatever reason, of the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - remember Beaver?).
The master trimmer, Alex, is having the time of his life. He's got a heavily reefed main and jib out, but he's just let out a bit of mainsheet. Gotta keep that speed up. Up in the cockpit now, he's completely drenched, but he's not looking in, he's looking out - at the direction of the seas, the balance of the boat, the clouds. Don't make me come down now to have a sleep, he pleads (well, not quite like that, but that's the sense of it). He's been "on" watch since 3 am. I slept from then until 6.30 am, and now, at 8 am, well, he's feeling like Moitessier, he tells me. He's really into the boat.
I'll have to make him sleep soon because, as I tell him sternly, my survival depends on you. I do my watches - I sit in the cockpit in my wet weather gear, observing the wind, boat speed, course etc, checking the horizon, writing the log, but I know my limitations. If the shit hits the fan, I wake Alex. He acts intuitively. He calibrates in seconds what I take minutes to figure out. While I'm on watch, I listen to the iPod or read a book (I've got The Mitford Girls, by Mary Lovell, on the go now - their world could not be further removed from mine, which is perhaps why I can tolerate all their nonsense). Alex rarely reads on watch, or listens to music. He's concentrating on the boat.
So we travel along. The hours are not long. I've had better days at sea, much better in fact, but we're getting there, we're moving south, coming home. I was cold this morning when I woke up. I've changed the cotton blanket on the sea berth for a doona. I was wearing shorts when we left Noumea, but I've put them saway and pulled out the Icebreaker and trackpants. Weird how this can still be fun.

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