Riding the bomb

BOC veteran David Scully was a watch captain onboard PlayStation as she ended Jet Services’s 11-year reign as Queen of the Atlantic

Monday morning, cup of coffee, hit the email button. I see “SFOSSETT... Code Yellow”, among the junk mail ads for low rate home mortgages and penis extenders. The adrenaline does not rush, the heart rate continues its Monday morning slog unaffected.  We are weary of waiting for the weather pattern that is always ten days away, and rarely survives long enough to reach sea-bag packing stage. But by mid-morning, Steve is on the phone, ‘can I be in New York by, uh..... tomorrow?’ Subject to a confirmation call next day, we have a viable pattern to attempt a transatlantic record...

For the remainder of this article please consult a copy of the December edition
of Seahorse.

 

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