The Romantic Challenge

by Francis Chichester

  ‘Some odd things turned up when I was baling out the ship. At the 106th bucket this afternoon, while baling in the main cabin, I noticed something under the water. I put my hand in the water, which is as thick as soup—or coffee perhaps would be a better description because I know there is at least 1lb of coffee in the water—and found my longest woodsaw lying at the bottom of the bilge. It had travelled all the way from a locker under Sheila’s bunk in the forecabin, found its way round the mast, along the alleyway past the heads and half way through the main cabin. How did it get so far aft? It is 2½ft long. How did it get moved anyway with its row of teeth? At bucket 107 I drew outa full vacuum flask; this was Sheila’s and it had been fitted with quite a tight fit into a slot above the little table beside her bunk; how did that get loose? Alas, it was smashed inside and only full of bilge water. At bucket 109 I drew out a full bottle of Courvoisier brandy. There were no labels left on the bottle but the stamped bottle glass identified it. It is my favourite brandy, given me by Raymond Seymour of Whitbread’s. It was undamaged, another bonanza.

  ‘These finds started me thinking and at bucket 113 I thought “Why not try to light the Aladdin heater?” It had been under water for some time but you never know unless you try. I opened the door and there was a large clump of nasty pulped trash inside, pulped paper and debris washed into the bilge. To my surprise a 24-watt opaque bulb was sitting on top of this heap. There is certainly an opening to the side of the stove so that one can put in one’s hand to adjust the wicks, but it seemed very odd to find that bulb there above all that. Also it boded ill for the fate of the drawer containing all my bulbs, fuses and electrics generally, because that is where it had come from. Well, I put a match to the wick and it lighted at once. Astonished, I tried the second burner and that lit too. Now they are still going full blast, another big surprise. More good luck, because they are badly needed with everything in the boat more or less soused. I stopped work when I touched rock bottom, so to speak. Every bilge must be loaded with gear. Item—Where are 9 bottles of paraffin and probably the same number of grog of various kinds? There is no sign of any of them. Now for a try at a hot meal, the first for years it seems. I must log the heading, etc. but now I have dug out the proper log from the plastic bag where I had it ready for abandoning ship, and will resume entering up in that.’

  On Friday 7 May, I was recording at 0600 that ‘all’s well. It seems to me that it is only comparison (though that’s not quite the right word which I want) which counts in life. Here I am feeling happy, contented, undoubtedly pleased with the prospect of a whole lot of interesting problems to solve and actions to take.’ I wondered how many people have been damaged by being hurled against the roof of a boat cabin? Thinking about it I figured that my leg hit the mizen mast where it goes through the cabin roof. Everything else shot right across the cabin so I would have done the same had something not stopped me, and that could only have been the mast. I know I was pinned to the roof because I was looking down into the bilges straight before my eyes. But they appeared to be above me. At the time I recall saying, ‘Oh God, she’s upside down; will she right herself?’ But that must have been some effect of centrifugal force as she was picked up physically and thrown by the sea or the wind or both. She could not have been upside down because the masts were quite undamaged and not even displaced as far as I could see. Recalling the leeway Gipsy Moth made in rough cross seas in the Caribbean and the reasons I deduced for it, I am certain that this was the answer.

  ‘Massage first, then as many exercises as I can do in the bunk. There is nowhere to stand for the others yet. One can’t very well do leg swinging à la ballet school or 300 jogs while balanced on the curved frame timber of the bouncing hull. After that if I’m as mobile as I seemed to be when I got up just now, I’ll be a devil and double the sail area by raising the mizen. Then a temporary aerial is needed so that I can get the Colorado time signal. The chronometer is probably still accurate because it has stood some pretty hefty shocks already successfully, but of course I can’t tell. The previous aerial made use of one of the lifelines but evidently was put out of action when the stanchion pulled out of the deck. Voorwaarts! Oh! and then I must have a hunt to see if I can find an egg intact. How delicious fried eggs would be for breakfast! I know one egg that won’t answer the roll call because it stuck my chart folds together and when I tried to open the chart the paper surface pulled off, spoiling the chart.

  ‘Anyone reading this might say, “Why on earth is he meandering along over the paper when there is so much wanting to be done?” My answer would be that I am not in a hurry; at present I am not going to do a single thing unless I have to. I want to recover from my body blows first and that requires time. I don’t want even to feel hurried. The only way to make a success out of a situation like this is to act as if it were one’s normal way of living. I am going to turn it into a normal way of life, sailing this craft with my body damaged. I learned this from that great explorer Stefansson. His maxim was that successful polar travel depended on first making Arctic travel one’s way of life. And there is dear old Lao-Tsze’s remark, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

  ‘It is all a little overpowering when I start working on the debris. I feel like an earthquaked peasant picking over the ruins of his cottage. This job needs a month to clean up. I simply cannot get into Sheila’s cabin. It is one great dump of interlocked boxes, gear, all my clothes, two suitcases, one of which I can see open upside down while there is no sign of the other, stool, curtains, vacuum cleaner, newspapers, all hotch potched in a cabin-filling heap 3½ft high. If I pull anything out where can I put it? First I must hunt for my navigation instruments. I took two sun sights and want to work out an accurate position. Perhaps this tin of anchovies, these saucers, bowls, cups and vacuum flask tops won’t mind if I move them off my chart table. There is a place to put them in the galley. What oddities turn up. When I opened my cutlery drawer in the galley which is usually filled with many knives, about 20 forks, spoons, teaspoons and the rest, so that there is not a blank square inch in it, there was not a damn thing except one solitary fork. The drawer was closed. I needed one of the spoons and hunted round for a while and finally ran them to earth in the adjoining cupboard in the dustpan and under some big scrubbing brushes; but many are missing. Where do these things get to?’

  Friday 7 May, 1407: ‘Run 113 miles. Sun fix 44˚53’N 14˚19’W. Distance to Plymouth 532 miles. Rig: mizen and main stays’l.’

  2255: ‘Just now I slipped with a saucepan half full of water and went a purler. Critics might assert it was due to this champagne cocktail I’m drinking. If so I shall be having a worse fall after this second one. I fear, however, that this is going to be a rough night.’

  Saturday 8 May, 0629: ‘Out of my bunk after donning oilskin pants and sea boots. I have a technique now for putting on boots while in the bunk; I make use of the engine casing to push my foot against it. I had to get out to gybe because the heading had fallen off to 120˚ instead of 65˚. A horrible movement due to heading across the seas raised by the previous wind. I felt slightly seasick by the time I got back to my burrow but a spoonful of honey fixed that. I’ve just had to go out again because the mizen boom was whanging across with gear-breaking force due to the lumpy sea and Gipsy Moth being so close to sailing downwind. I thought the vang tail had worked loose but it had not. The trouble is that the eye to which I usually downhaul the boom when running carried away with the stanchion which pulled out of the deck. Why worry, the sun is shining and Gipsy Moth is 140 miles nearer home than this time yesterday. 424 to Plymouth.

  ‘Today, after some breakfast, I emptied the bilges which are too full again; I still think that may be due to blocked up water working through the limber holes and past the frames and stringers. Up forward I think all the bilges are still full because of the limber holes being blocked. Last night I penetrated to the heads. It really is somewhat depressing; my razor, hairbrushes and all such accessories gone.
They may be in the bilge, but there is still too much black water there to see through. Even if I recover them, I don’t fancy using them. I may not find the razor in which case I shall have to turn up in Plymouth looking like Rip Van Winkle escaped from jail. I spent quite a time mopping up and clearing limber holes to let the water find its way to the lowest part of the hull, where I could scoop it up. As a result, with 14½ bucketsful taken out, the hull is pretty clear of water. It would require a cloth to mop up most of the rest. This of course is wonderful, but when I look round I want to shed a tear to see the boat I had clean and tidy for Sheila and Giles to sail in with me. Now it is as if living on a rubbish dump. Total bucket talley 362½.’

  That Saturday evening, I had a blessed nine-minute R/ T call to Sheila. She told me not to come into Plymouth on the Monday or Tuesday because fifty foreign and British NATO warships were going in on Tuesday, and recommended that I ‘slow down and wait outside till Wednesday.’ That was certainly the easy way but I hate being in a crowded sea area at night, alone, when I need sleep, and I now had only one navigation light. Gipsy Moth seemed to have picked up Sheila’s message because she decided to put on a spurt to arrive ahead of the warships. At 0700 on Sunday 9 May she had 285 miles to go and had averaged 158mpd for the past sixteen hours, so she intended to arrive early on Tuesday. She was making 9.5 knots fluctuating to 10.5 with no fuss or difficulty in a wind S by W, 27.5 knots. The rig seemed to suit her very well—main stays’l and mizen with the tops’l. ‘The tops’l is setting beautifully and it seems the mizen stays’l and big jib only spoil its effectiveness with the wind on the quarter.’ Later I dropped the mizen and then lowered the tops’l about loft down the mast, after which I changed down the windvane. That seemed to work well and may prove a good rig for running when one does not want to pole out. The pressure on the sails is farther forward and I think it is much easier on the self-steering.

  Clearing up continued all the way to Plymouth. A lot of the work would have to await the attention of the boatyard. For example, the floorboards all had rounded edges where they had been battering each other in the cabin surf, and a lot of fitting and painting would be needed. But I found my razor at last, in the bilge under the heads floor. My hairbrushes also turned up, thickly matted with filth and never usable again. The third and fourth drawers up in the fixed chest of drawers in the cabin were full of photographs, newspaper clippings and ship’s papers, such as my passport, Gipsy Moth’s registration certificate, the radio licence, the visitors’ book full of addresses, and many unacknowledged telegrams and letters. All went under the water and were mostly pulp. Perhaps those many people who helped me before and during the voyage, and those who sent me letters and telegrams, all of whose names I faithfully recorded, will accept this account of Gipsy Moth’s knockdown as my reason and apology for not writing to thank them for their kindness.

  At 2200 on that Sunday, 9 May, Gipsy Moth was running into the Channel nearly blind, with visibility down to a mile through light fog and no fix for 217 miles. It was not until 1625 the following day that I got a sight of a hazy sun through the fog. This put Gipsy Moth on a position line which gave the distance off Plymouth but no indication whether she was heading north or south of the Lizard.

  Gradually the D/F bearings of the Lizard changed from NNE to N by E, and although I was having trouble with the D/F loop and reckoned it to be giving readings 20˚ in error, this indicated that Gipsy Moth was moving to the south of the Lizard.

  Tuesday 11 May, 0300: ‘I awoke to stillness—I mean no steamers around and the Lizard siren sounding a mournful, fear-inspiring long and short, seemingly near. I found the heading had gone to 30˚, so got agitated in case Gipsy Moth had turned and made for the rocks as soon as I fell asleep. However. I reckoned the mournful moaning blasts came from the NW so that if I could keep going eastwards I should be all right. And I need not have worried about the silence; because now the air is again throbbing with steamer engine noise and several are around Gipsy Moth. I actually saw some steamer lights for a few seconds so the fog must have thinned. To hell with fog—and calms—and especially the two together. Gipsy Moth has only done 8 miles in the past three hours. I reckon she is at present right in the middle of the westbound steamer lane and just a few miles south-east of the Lizard. Spending a night here becalmed in fog is not my ideal location for peace of mind.’ But with the dawn the fog gradually lifted and it was a fine, sunny, calm day with a light breeze. All day Gipsy Moth ghosted along at 1.5–2.5 knots. At noon she had only 24 miles to go.

  The breeze strengthened and as I passed Rame Head it was too strong for the big windvane and I had to change it for a smaller one. I passed the great breakwater across Plymouth Sound at nightfall and my beloveds, Sheila and Giles, came out to meet me in the Flag Officer’s launch, lent to Terence Shaw by Admiral McKaig. Soon after midnight we were all eating scrambled eggs in the Royal Western Yacht Club while I was telling my tale.

  Gipsy Moth was home again after sailing 18,581 miles in twenty weeks and four days elapsed time. I had spent five days in Bissau, twelve days in El Bluff, and seven days in Horta, so that the total sailing time was 120 days, which gave an average distance logged per day of 154.8 miles, and per week of 1,083.9 miles.

  For anybody unfortunate enough to be in a similar situation I offer overleaf, without comment, a list of my ‘abandoning ship’stores, which I made when I later unpacked the three bags:

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  10. Can It Be Done?

  Yes, and soon. The first singlehanded craft to sail 4,000 miles point-to-point in 20 days could well be a multihull which, if it can be kept from capsizing in rough weather and if the single-hander avoids the mistakes I have recorded in this book, could do it easily.

  Absolute speed in sailing is going to be the important new field of effort to interest yachtsmen, especially singlehanders. If I have made any records I like to claim them, but I do believe that standards of speed must be established and properly recorded. Up to now there have been a number of loose ‘barside’claims about speeds made under sail. The reader of this book will have noted what great differences occur between a day’s run as logged, as measured fix-to-fix, and as made good towards the target according to calculation; and again, the difference between the total of, say, five days’point-to-point runs compared with the straight line calculated distance between the first and last of the five days’positions.

  For the record, I took 22.3 days over the 4,000 mile point-to-point run instead of the 20 days I aimed at; but this was 38 per cent faster than my fastest 4,000-mile straight line run in Gipsy Moth IV in 1966/ 7. In addition, Gipsy Moth V made good 2,000 of the 4,000 miles in under 10 days, if the two runs of 1,017.75 in one five-day period and the 995.5 miles in an earlier one during the same voyage are added together. The 1,017.75 at an average of 203.55mpd was a lot faster than the best five-day straight run which Gipsy Moth IV made good in 1967 (884.75 miles at an average of 176.99mpd). On the way down from Plymouth to Bissau, Gipsy Moth sailed in two days, noon to noon, 431.6 miles, a distance point-to-point of 405 miles. Then there was a single day’s run of 200 miles point-to-point on the way south to the Equator and a three-day run of 601 miles or 200mpd on the way north from it.

  When a speed is claimed as a record, competition and development benefit; rivals have a definite target to attack, know the advantages that can be taken, the mistakes that can be avoided. What interests me is whether Gipsy Moth V could sail 4,000 miles in 20 days and what changes to boat or gear I would make before another attempt.

  First, the route. Undoubtedly that 50 miles of Bissau estuary which had to be negotiated, followed by the day of ghosty winds until clear of the mainland, is a great handicap. Through greed or love of romance, depending on the viewpoint, I stuck to Bissau for a starting point. If I had cut the distance from 4,000 to 3,780 and started from Dakar instead of Bissau, I reckon it would have put up the average speed considerably. But I loved the idea of 4,000 miles and 20 days; it has such a splendid ring
about it. When it comes to a rival setting out to beat me over my own course, it will be nice for me in my deckchair to think of him starting with the challenge of that appalling yet truly romantic estuary drag.

  After that bad start I cannot complain about the wind for the rest of the run; but it became clear that Gipsy Moth was not fast enough in winds under 25 knots. Could I speed her up for another attempt? If so, how? Gipsy Moth only clocked 9 knots on the speedometer for 295 miles out of the 4,000. Undoubtedly this was underregistering about half a knot during the second 2,000 miles, and I think that she probably did altogether 600 miles of the 4,000 at 9 knots sailing speed or 216mpd. With luck the fix-to-fix run for 216mpd logged would be 208. There is little margin; nineteen days at that speed would only allow 152 miles reserve for a calm on the 20th day. To clock up 4,000 miles straight Gipsy Moth had to be driven at between 8.6 and 9 knots sailing speed for 24 hours a day for 20 days. On thinking it over I reckon I was lucky that she did clock up a total of 2,012 miles in two five-day runs out of 20 days sailed.

  So, obviously, to have a chance another time she must go faster. Could she have been speeded up? She was the right monohull for the job, but she was badly trimmed. To starboard, she had a 41-gallon water tank (say 435lb full) under Giles’s berth and a 41-gallon Diesel fuel tank (say 380lb full) under the chart table, a total of some 8151b set as far outboard as possible to give greater cabin space.

  The main counterbalance was to be provided by the 26-gallon water tank at the forward end of the cabin, the Baby Blake lavatory in the heads, and the galley. But as I pointed out when I took delivery, the centres of gravity of the water tank (say 2851b full) and the Baby Blake and hand-basin (say 50lb) are only about a foot to port of amidships, while the Primus stove full can only weigh about 10lb.