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By my reckoning we crossed the Tropic of Cancer at 1810 ship’s time. (There’s ship time, local time, Universal Coordinated time, and watch time all aboard so for the sake of argument let’s just say yesterday evening). At that moment, we were officially in the tropics.

To keep everyone entertained,especially Sir Salty Grim Mug, standing order 276: Section 11i states that ‘Any and all happenings, occurrences, unusual events crossings and the like shall be celebrated in a manner suiting said event considering at all times the safety of the ship and her crew.’ Translated it means any excuse for a party.

Sadly, we crossed the tropic and nobody took notice. I realized it after the event when I Was working out the next bit of navigation. I didn’t have the heart to tell my shipmate knowing that the tropics are home to flying fish and that flying fish are what Salty’s heart desires the most. I decided let Salty know we were officially ‘here’ when we came across some.

This morning they came. Not in the great schools slashing the surface of the sea, but in one’s and two’s. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a splash followed by a mad flapping, gliding dash. It really is an impossibility: A fish that flies. It’s a bit like a stone that floats. Flying or not, there they were and we had arrived.

The tropics have also announced themselves with warmer temperatures and a blistering sun. The cabin is a balmy 76 and any deck work gets hot in a hurry. The only downside it seems is that there are still tropics disturbances and storms about. Every mile we move west to avoid them is a mile we have to make back up to the east. There is no choice really, avoid them we must.

The next line in the sand to be crossed is the equator. That crossing cannot go unnoticed lest Neptune himself be stirred.

Follow my tracks in real-time:


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