Friday night-Saturday morning: head wind reaching 40 knots. For the children' stomach sake (let us say it so…), we change our course and sail to and fro along the west coast of Yamal Peninsula, among dramatic waves, waiting for the lull.
Saturday night: engine stopped, helm tied up, quiet night, gently drifting, far enough from shore.
Sunday morning, we slowly motor north.
Sunday evening: we drop anchor on the lee shore of White Island (Biely Island). A ghostly one, too : low land lurking in the fog. The wind whistles and we stay inside our floating island, light the wood stove, cook cabbage and sausages, and, among the laughter of the children, listen to each other's passed adventures. Peaceful night of sleep, not even rocking a bit.
Artistes en Arctique 