A Clothes Line, at 6 knots

It's been a wet and chilly night, the fog and mist occasionally becoming drizzle. We, occasionally, poke our heads out to check for lights. That could quickly become huge bulk carriers.
Come day the fog lifts, and soon we're a moving clothes line. The foul-weather gear, Ørnulf's is diesel-soaked, other damp items, we have it all out, clothes-pinned to the railings. Merrily swaying in the 6 knot breeze.

We're getting the wind on the nose now as we close in on Horta. Time to use up this Caribbean diesel. We're galloping Eastward, wind or no wind.

"Babette" smells the barn.