Everything has gone according to plan. There are some creaky floorboards but they are right below the deck and no water will get up to them. The rudder is a bit tough and rigid – still lethargic after many years of anchor, and requires quite a lot of effort to turn. However that shouldn't be a problem as our boat is quite light and supposedly nimble.

The latecomers have arrived, and we'll board in three hours. Until then, partying and laughing, drinking and talking with our relatives.

I'll log again when we board.

As I dip my quill into the ink pot, I think to myself of what I'm going to write in my first entry. After all, the ship hasn't even moved yet, nor has it raised anchor or even lifted mainsail.

Not many captains start writing a log so early, before the ship leaves, before the ship even has it's crew aboard. But I want to make sure the Taz is alright. That I log all the maintenance so we're safe, and if we're not, someone, someday'll find out why.

The sea's tranquil, unmoving, waiting intensely for us to try and carve our way through it. The sun's high in a cloudless sky, the moon hidden by daylight. The sky above is as blue and tranquil as it's sea below. No bird disturbs the sky, nor does a cloud dare climb over the horizon where the light blue of the sky and dark blue of the sea meet.

I'm going to call up the boys now. We're going to do some maintenance checks. I'll log it out in a minute, but thankfully, that's my first entry done, and I can drop my quill back into the inkpot.