Dec. 5th - 0900 GMT
Pos: 08 41.8 N x 015 37.9W
Speed 6.7
Course: 97T

What seems to be another chapter in this voyage began about two days ago. The first signs of a new land were the insects - small flying gnats, moths, dragon flies and even a locust, that made itself comfortable on the job halyard for several watches. Then came two small birds - perhaps finches  - small grey green bodies with a yellowish tinge to their chests. These two stayed with Amistad from mid-afternoon until early the next day - seeking shelter on deck tucked in by the ship's frames.
   

After a day of nice sailing, the wind died after dark, leaving the watches to the rolling and trying to minimize the slatting of the rig throughout the night. We saw our first two ships in days just after dusk. And heat lightning glowed up ahead in the general direction of land. Haze and a constant swathe of clouds hovering around the horizon have made getting celestial fixes at dawn and dusk almost impossible. Our DR has been meticulous, but it sure would be nice to have some significant fixes to sort out our meanderings in the changing winds and currents. It makes one wonder how ships found their ports along this coast, as banks of shoals off the coast prohibit one from using land approaches to fix a position.

By dawn the wind was back up - but two think squall lines had developed on the RADAR and we struck the gaff topsail at the change of the watch. With daylight we could watch the clouds begin to tower upwards and just after dawn clean up a water spout developed a few mile to windward of us. Although hard to gauge the height of the water rising from the sea's surface, I am estimating that it rose at least a degree above the horizon, at 5 miles away that would have the water spiraling upward about 500 feet! The cone coming down from the clouds above was straight as an arrow for thousands of feet and made a half degree wide itself - 2-300 feet in diameter.
Rousing the mate and engineer, we started striking sail and brought the engines on line. These things while powerful as tornadoes are extremely concentrated and can be avoided by moving quickly out of their way. We doused the topsail, then the JT by the time the first edge of the squally weather got to us - and the water spout was long dissipated. As the bands of wind swept in we kept falling off and doused the main just to be as prudent as possible. I believe very strongly in bringing our most humble side to new areas of operations and weather. As the final bands of the system passed we found ourselves headed west - with a now lumpy and contradictory sea. While trying to reset some sails we had a gear failure - so we decided to hold off setting more, repair the failure and try and stabilize the ship in light winds and lumpy seas by motoring until things settled back in. Within 2 hours - the repair had been made and the easterlies we had been getting used to filled back in. oNce back on track we realized our two small bird friends were gone.  Then came a sad episode with a truly majestic and determined Mahi.... I will let others tell this sad tale....

Then last night, unlike all the nights before, the wind did not die down after dark, rather it picked up, filled and set Amistad off to another galloping romp straight only our rhumbline track to Freetown. Actually now my concern is getting there too early as we need to hold out until Sunday morning on the water supply we enter the port with. Leaving night orders not to go too fast, I got several wake ups letting me know we were moving faster and faster through the night. Finally at 5 am we had reached a galloping 8 knots and we struck the JT and put a small luff in the main. Throughout the night a very beautiful but tired piper/tern/something like that bird [we need a good bird book too]- with long tail feathers and a long beak had hovered on the aft davits trying desperately to keep his or her footing on the slick painted surface back there. It was heart breaking to watch the bird loose his footing and then struggle to keep up with the ship and land again. Paul took to luffing up a bit to slow us down so the bird could land, but several times we watched as he was swept into the water behind us. When Mike came on deck at 7 he told us the bird had been there on his evening watch too, and they had decided s/he was a Sankofa bird - tucking his head under his wing and bringing us home - looking backward to move forward. At dawn the bird left and we have not seen him since.

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