“A sailor is an artist whose medium is the wind”.
An amazing American single-hander, Webb Chiles.
Realising that as a sailor; luck has played part of your own survival is important; if you don’t admit to this; then ‘Good luck may not bless you’! My second time heading south in a 22 ft’er. I realised that the first time; ‘we’d literally got away with murder’. Strong cold NE’ly’s had blown us south-west quickly from Plymouth across the bay; gusty SE’ly’s rounding Finisterre in F5-7 had popped side-port seal. Then, had mostly southerlies F5/6 occasionally more as temperatures improved. My first 29-day passage; ended in hot sunshine. Having to head inshore to seek land/sea breezes off the Saharan coast as it lightened off.
It’s impossible to know how bad my Biscay storm actually was; enough to say. We’d never had to run off before with in these conditions. An Ocean Storm with huge breaking waves. This small production sailboat wasn’t designed for them. Although we’d already completed one trans- Atlantic circuit. Experiencing some gales but never a really bad one. And did the steepness of wave; mean perhaps we weren’t clear and off the hundred fathom line.
Deploying 400m of Nylon warp, even under bare poles. Miss C. was still surfing down waves. (my long ropes were stowed under the cockpit). Where most boats have an inboard engine; they were more useful, now!
Knew, should have bought large drogue but I hadn’t. Excuses don’t work once you’re out in big briny; poor prep. does mess you up.
We could easily have pitch poled; careful helming was required; wind still building. Realising we must do more was trying to think through what to do now; without bricking it! Slowly, as still partly helming, though ‘George’ did help. Larger crests were breaking; some good timing was needed when opening cockpit hatches. Digging out fenders and my 10lb. anchor chum. I tied these together, making a neckless of six small fenders weighted. After pulling in warps these were attached in the middle then streamed, again. Controlled by the tiny jib winches. This botch up worked better; even more…after lengthening more. Using spare running rigging. It slowed her, down. Fiddling around took some time. Now there were only a few of hours left before sunset. Thoughts, focused as it got darker…what if we have any gear failure? As usual, everything sounded worse once it was black.
Janet had insisted that I had a life raft; my sister had given me a good EPRIB! None of these were available for my first trip.
Stop being a total wazz; I told myself whilst hanging on. Clipped onto two cockpit hard eyes with short tethers. Ducking as best possible from spray. No good protection aft; unless I lay down, init.
Most storms are easily mentally managed on larger yachts with some good mates. If you’ve been through a few offshore difficulties; you learn to pray; even if you’re not, a believer…mainly, though just endure! Tried singing several Robert Zimmerman songs during that night. I’d put myself out here; try to enjoy forces of nature. If you can!
Many big cockpit fillers were bucketed out ASAP. Not wanting to lose any stern buoyancy. Pumped the bilges there was never, much. Became, cold very tired towards dawn despite wearing my heavy survival suit, lifejacket, harness, balaclava and rubber gloves.
The dismal daybreak allowed me to see that self-steering gear was intact (having removed the steering paddle earlier); apart from tube of the windvane. This was a bent about 20%.
Crawling aft, I un-attached it carefully; stuck it into one of my drains and straightened it, out! (it was made from S/S rod approx.; 1 a half 1/2 inches in diameter; reasonably thick with a 3/8-inch wall). These breakers had bent it, easily.
By now the screaming wind had lessened and veered more westerly. Down to F8-9 and clouds had lifted; it felt colder. Replacing my vane and paddle; took ages. After experimenting, ‘George’ worked, okay and went below for a much-needed brew.
Winds might be moderating but the sea/swell seemed big. Peering through my plastic top washboard; occasionally a wave broke over. Are we over the worst? Had a wee power nap from cold and extortion in dry suit. Awoke another brew, swallowed a couple of raw eggs with bread realising wind was down more; but sea wasn’t, yet.
We needed some sail set; went up, turned upwind, clipped on and hoisted mainsail with three reefs. Later hoisting the storm jib.
Any plan after that were focused only on driving SW…learning that even with 25 knots, with 35 gusts; using three reefs; sometimes just the storm job. She’d try to keep on keep plugging on upwind; ‘one step forward and two sideways’. Slowly, we re-gained some miles lost, running off. Maybe, we’d climb out of this bas…d bay!
Somewhere in the middle further, SW in deeper water; a wee lull (transient high!) arrived. Giving NW F 2-3 breeze. A fast beam reach/ quarterly for 12-15 hours. Due to being still mentally bruised from survival conditions; I wasn’t sleeping well. These few hours do rate right up there; as ‘one of the finest sails of my life’.
My wee boat at hull speed; going up and down mountainous ocean swells. Wonderous deep Bluewater with many seabirds gliding about. Using the full main plus more cautious No.3/working jib. ‘George’ allowed me to doze, even contemplate in the warmish sun. Watching a spider come out of G’s stainless-steel tubes and spin a web. How did he, make it!
We might make break south as a high pressure’s coming. Calmer weather gave time to have better scoff. (British Army compo. (combat rations). Simple tinned meal of baby’s heads (steak & kidney pudding), or Chicken Supreme. Can’t remember which? Tinned peas and potatoes; pudding tinned fruit and custard (squaddie scran; whether menu A, B, C or D). It tasted, wonderful!
Still hungry later pasta, fresh toms and cheese sauce…as the NW breeze backed slowly round. The SW’ly re-built, reducing sail in stages back to beating, again.
Inside, due to lowish temperatures, everything was damp, even during daylight hours. Climbing into my scratcher (sleeping bag) after stripping off my outer clothes; staying in thermals. Felt wet but just probably clammy; until my body heated the sack. Washing my face regularly with freshwater before napping; eyelids tend to stick together from salt otherwise which isn’t a good way to wake up.
Started to sleep well; waking rapidly to tend the boat; even if overtired.
My heavy wee boat was beating to windward manfully in these sizable Atlantic waves. We could be totally blanketed at the bottom of large one, where it doesn’t blow even struggle to have enough steerageway to drive upwind (Three reefs, my No. 4 or storm jib weren’t always enough). Flipping out another slab, meant we could be over pressed at the top. Wasn’t on deck all of the time. But it felt like some days; looking out for ships, changing sail, helming to help her some good meals.
Didn’t worry about position. I couldn’t have got any decent sight. Not much seen of sun or stars. We went seven days without a fix. Only having 11- or 12-hours daylight; gives less chances for a clear. Steering wise, my Hasler did the graft.
Several miles offshore on the latitude of Lisbon on the Atlantic coast of Spain/Portugal; we had another minor dusting. Driven further in; trying to avoid several large fishing vessels; back into soundings. The wind was SW 5-7; then gusted more after veering NW. I’d doubt these guys ever saw us! With no nav. lights as my batteries were flat; we hadn’t had enough light winds to allow generator charging under the sprayhood.
Strange how quickly conditions change rapidly at sea…three days later expected high arrived. We did some quick miles south, making 400 nm. in three days. Driving her hard downwind, Nav. lights fixed with long charge and a couple of wee prob’s on the boat.
Beginning to contemplate landing on the Savagem Islands. This island group are a few hundred miles north of the Canaries (this might be yet another mistake; some opportunities don’t always come back’!).
But I’d planned to meet my Welsh pal, Paul English! (delivering a new large Nich.; to the Caribbean). in Puerto Mogan. The high was still sustaining well.
Not so many days after that with more northerlies (F4/5) west of one of my favourite Canary Islands, Lanzarote. We tacked slowly towards Playa Blanca with No2. and full mainsail enjoying the novelty of flat seas. After dawn sailing alongside a larger 40ft. French yacht; in this tiny haven.
Given a lovely welcome with a young lassie alongside her boat. Welcomed by the French, again! (they’d this done after my first one!). Had a wonderful French breakfast with all of them. Even though my schoolboy French is orful. Fresh bread is close to heaven after 23 days at sea. Sure, they think, I’m a total madman.
Reflecting about this passage later hoisting down ‘a cold one’; I felt that actually the most dangerous part (apart from the Storm). Was when two container ships passed us in less than one miles vis. Close to Lands’ End. These, ships were doing over well twenty knots.
Whilst chilling out with other yachties; another (Danish) single-handed sailor came alongside us after couple of days. He had a fine 28 ft’er and had sailed from Arricife.
I found out he couldn’t make his stove Paraffin stove work; gave him some of my spare burners. Coming to regret this about a year later! What the hell; I’d been given so much help, by many others. If you don’t give back; then why bother to go off long distance cruising…
