Days 54 - 55 cntd: & Day 56, May 26
	At least for the time being, on a high tack with a steady 15 knot wind, we wouldn't have to struggle with the steering of the boat (which is a bit of work under these conditions – the pressure of the water against the rudder forces the helmsman to keep the tiller pulled perpetually up close to himself, which gets tiring after a few minutes, much less four hours).  Elated, I sat on the transom (extreme stern) and watched mesmerized as this scrawny piece of leftover line held a more exact course heading than I am usually capable of.  On the spot I christened it the "Nylon Navigator."  Eric, getting some much needed rest while standing watch on deck, was equally impressed – especially when he realized the full import of Not Having To Guide The Helm on his tiller shift.  We eagerly awaited Brian's arrival on deck.  He clawed his way through the companion way, pale and exhausted.  Dubious at first, he warmed instantly to the prospect that the thing actually worked.  "It made all the difference," he later told me, "I don't think I could have made it through that shift without Nygil."  Ah, and so our new crew member was named (by Eric, as it turns out – Nygil splashed him and he cursed at Otto, not realizing his mistake until I pointed out that it wasn't Otto at all but):  Nygil the Nylon Navigator.  He was given a field promotion on the spot, becoming our official helmsman, replacing that laggardly, cumbersome brute, Otto.  We'd had such high hopes for Otto the Autohelm.  Supposedly the top of his class, with a built in compass, mechanical arm, and beeping mechanism for warning the rest of the crew when he couldn't hack it….I swear, you left Otto alone for Five Seconds, he was beeping up a storm and wildly swinging the tiller to and fro with nary a clue where his true course lay, even if it was within ten degrees.  That mechanized mate could jibe a jib faster than most novice sailors could tell you they didn't know what "jibe" meant.  We retired Otto in disgrace, and banished him to the brig.  Meanwhile, Nygil has been assisting the crew in a number of capacities, from tying down sails to helping regulate the position of the spinnaker boom.  I've even taught him to reef the mainsail, and he claims to be capable of subduing pirates….Wednesday wore on.  Slowly, our condition improved, due in great part to having the necessary respite needed for our bodies to shed the pernicious infection.  We were all able to lie about, snooze, and flush our insides with liquids.  By evening all hands were breathing easier.  Night descended on a crew revived to almost 100% .  So it was that we withstood the vapid gale of sickness and potential destitution with the aid of our new found friend.  Thanks Nygil!  You are a valued addition to the crew! Days 56:  Miracles and Mayhem Bringing Faith into the anchorage at Cayo Vivarillo will always be one of my proudest achievements as a sailor.  The night was dark, the moon having set early in my shift, and the GPS and chart readings showed us approaching the small island/reef chain where supposedly there would be a light to guide us in.  We glided toward the area, but the potentially boat-hungry reefs defied a visual rendezvous to confirm what the navigation tools were telling me.  Nygil, ever faithful, piloted right on course as Brian slept soundly below and Eric napped on deck.  "Nope," I decided, "there's no light there now if there ever was one."  So I stood at the pulpit at the forefront of the bow, one foot perched on the bowsprit in the classic sailor-looking-out-to-sea pose and looked out.  Horizon's edge was serrated with cresting wave peaks.  All black water cutting into steel grey sky, all motion, all jaggedly foreboding.  Checking the charts for the umpteenth time, I confirmed that I was still in deep water and resumed my vigil for the elusive anchorage.  Then – a marring of the distant division between sea and sky, just visible if I looked out of the corner of my eye (the sides of your eyes actually collect more light and thus are capable of better acuity) rose a cthuluian mass; a clot in the arterial oceanic currents.  Huddling close to the water, but now distinct was a pinnacle of land rising above the saw-toothed waves.  Mmmmm, land ho.  The chart showed reefs to the east of first landfall, but a pretty little protected area within the curvaceous embrace of the island – no! islands, coming into view.  What a time for the wind to die….  To hell with it, I decided.  Engine engaged, I rounded the western strand of Cayo Vivarillo as the sun breached the horizon like a fluorescing whale. "Eric," I woke the 2nd mate, "anchors above board, and let's check that depth." Eric's lids peeled themselves from their convalescing orbs as he irritably shook himself awake.  "What?" he asked, somewhat annoyed that the sea had once again strained his placid respite. "Land!" I illustrated my emphatic tone, pointing toward the silhouetted palms. "Oh, why didn't you just say so?" he queried, opening the transom to retrieve the seehook.  Moving to the fore of the ship, Eric began the search for sign of bottom.  Shortly we were rewarded with the now familiar pale sands and greenish blue shadows of submerged ground.  Anchors away!!  And we were, at long last, stationary (despite the rollicking motion of the boat in the foot high surf).  Ohhh!  To let go the tiller, to drop sails, to be languid in our beautiful lagoon….  The experience defies description so I will get to the drinking of the celebratory beer:  we opened and drank a beer in celebration.  Then we crashed.  Well, Eric crashed and Brian was already sleeping.  I on the other hand was agitated.  The sun being well up in the sky it seem superfluous for us to be within reach of the paradisical landfall but unable to scar the sands with our footprints.  Two hours I gave the crew, then asked nonchalantly "anyone awake?  Who wants to take the bow while I drive us to shore?"
			Oh, the suspense!!