"Prepare to tack!"
"By the wind! Tack! Sheet! Steer the course! Keep the course!"
And so it went.
Mark was kept busy, working with ropes. Jib sheet was his domain.
Rotating sheet winch was making noises just like a machine gun. On the port and on the starboard side of the yacht.
All this accompanied by commands yelled out by running around loony skipper.
Maggie, looking after main sail, had a very little work to do, so completely ignoring skipper's mad with power behavior, was moving back and forth her left little toe in her left shoe.
It was sunny, windy day, perfect sailing weather.
After another series of loud commands, yacht made a final tack and was set on course for island of cormorants.
Maggie skillfully maneuvered in between captain's screamings while serving apple-mint juice to whole crew.
Mark was making a point of being different and individual, by drinking exclusively pepsi. His generation has spoken and made a choice. Final and irreversible choice.
We were arriving to island surrounded by impossible to handle noise.
On the one hand, birds were screaming, that this island is theirs territory, therefore we just should turn around and piss off.
On the other hand, our own loony skipper was making a point that he's the captain and he is in charge here. And none snotty little bird will tell him what to do, and they can scream and yell all they want, he wont go anywhere. In fact he is going to drop an anchor right here, just to spite all them black feathery buggers.
Argument was on in full volume now. Both sides were doing their best to out yell one another.
Our ears were in severe pain.