November 12, 2006, Sunday

While sitting outside at one of the restaurants on the wharf, we ran into the delivery crew of the catamaran who had lent the guys the dingy pump the night we arrived. We bought them a round to thank them for their help, and asked them about their trip. The captain deadpanned “Well, you know, Fontaine Peugeot is French for piece of shit.”

There was a beautiful Little Harbor 62 tied up to the dock in front of us. It had also suffered storm damage, including a nasty bit of work to its starboard bow and pulpit where the anchor had come loose and swung free, removing an arc of awl grip from the hull.

It is somewhat reassuring to know that we weren’t the only ones to get knocked around out there. But after a few days of enjoying Bermuda’s hospitality and drinking dark and stormies, the fear of the dark and stormy night that we faced begins to fade in our memories, and the sense of accomplishment about what we managed to do, and pride in our boat’s strength grows stronger.

Mata’irea’s Newport to Bermuda crew, the evening before Bill and Merrill flew back to the States: