I captured his reflection in the hatch … It looks like a ghost sail, a premonition of things to come. Maybe I’ll write about it. He certainly deserves an epitaph.
Big, you were always quiet, lying low in your bag in the forepeak. You barely had any scar from your previous battles on the French racing circuit. In fact, you are a hand me down from Class40 #115. We struggled to get to know each other. I didn’t know how to handle you. But Sylvain made a few adjustments to your sock, certainly not an ATN sock, and then you were ready, looking fit for a trip to nowhere. Your sock! She had trouble, and was the cause of your demise. That and of course bad luck, and a novice skipper. For that I’m sorry; it didn’t have to come to this. But while we sailed together down to the doldrums, you gave me my best moments of sailing. Such a beauty it was to see you pull Changabang away from land and into the vast Pacific Ocean. Such pleasure it was to steer CaB under your power. You sent us clear of Marie. And now you rest in tatters. May your efforts not have been in vain. I’ll miss you. And the lost spinnaker sheet. At least I didn’t let you out to soil the sea. Although tempted to cut you off as you were desperately trying to hug on to CaB, being torn apart by the weight of water, I mustered all I had to get you back aboard, like I would have for my best friend. You belonged to the air element. Not water. You were great. You were “Big”. And now I mourn your retirement.
