Lionheart

by Jesse Martin

  Mum and the others occupied their time sightseeing around Horta, the main port of the Azores on the island of Faial. One of their tasks was to organise a local official who would come out on a boat to hand over my mail under official conditions. He would also inspect it to make sure it contained only mail and nothing that could actually help me. They found a local solicitor to do the job. They'd also met up with a man, Altino, whom the Herald Sun had lined up to email Beau's pictures of me back to Melbourne to put in the paper. Altino had a good radio system, so I was able to talk to Mum as I got closer. We mainly just spoke about how far I had to go and how exciting it was. I asked what the islands were like and tried imagining them. Knowing there were cows and fields and people sitting in cafes less than a week's travel away left me with an indescribable feeling.

  I continued my way northwards for the antipodal point and soon got higher than my fellow sailors John and Andrew, who were heading directly towards the Azores.

  Saturday, May 15

  Just caught a dorado—beautiful colours and good size. Had just finished speaking to Andrew after he and John caught a tuna each when I looked up at the line and I had one too. Have been thinking I will deep-fry him. Mmmmmm! Nearly at antipodal. Should be four days before I get near Faial. Have been seeing a few planes about, even during the day. I saw one today and there have been heaps of jet trails in the sky. Should be passing antipodal later tonight.

  I'd caught my third fish, a one-metre-long dorado. It had the most beautiful rainbow colours through its scales. Andrew told me over the radio how to make fish cakes with fish and potato and other herbs and spices. He got me enthused to look through the galley cupboard for ingredients where I came across three packets of bread mix. Man, what a great feeling that was! There was nothing like the yeasty flavour of bread with canned jam on it.

  It was the day before I reached the antipodal point and I had good reasons to celebrate—sunshine and perfect conditions, fresh fish, bread, radio company and I was only a few days from seeing my family. It was as though all my Christmases had come at once, and I didn't know what I should stop and enjoy the most.

  I cleaned the fish without the dedication I'd usually apply to the task. As I was going to make some bread afterwards there was no need to spread my activities out for as long as I could. I treated it as food preparation rather than a time-filler. I took a few short-cuts and didn't get all the flesh I could from the fillets. I was thinking of towing the carcass behind the boat to try to attract a shark or two but I was too busy and had other things to do so I just ditched it overboard.

  The plan was to cook the fish for lunch, then make the bread in the afternoon and have it for dinner. I filled half the pot with oil and tried to deep-fry the fish. I made batter but it didn't work too well. The batter separated from the fish and it was a mess trying to get it out. It ended up not tasting too good, so I ditched what should have been a perfect meal. A man called Raphael, who lived in the Canary Islands and was monitoring my position for Mum and Altino, called me in the midst of my preparation, so I hurriedly took the call, covering the radio microphone with fish oil. I had so many activities on the go.

  It got me thinking about how my new way of life differed from that at home. What made life at sea so special was my enjoyment of simple tasks. That day I was living my life like I was at home, rushing from task to task, not taking the time to enjoy or appreciate any of them. The clutter of activities in our everyday lives leaves us no time to enjoy simple things, like cooking a fish or talking on the phone. That day, with so many things on the go, I'd wasted the opportunity to enjoy each separate task because of the anticipation of what I would do next. It ended in disappointment.

  Saturday, May 15

  Position now is 38°12′N, 35°39′W.

  About 15 nautical miles away from antipodal point. South wind at 10—12 knots.

  11 a.m. Melbourne time—38°18′49″N, 35°20′18″W. Just passed antipodal. Can now get some sleep after emailing everyone.

  I stayed up late that night watching the GPS count down until I was north of the antipodal point. I then changed course to head east. I waited another hour until I passed it totally. I was happier that I could finally go to sleep than with the fact I was heading towards home. My reward was no longer the record. All I cared about was finishing what I'd set out to achieve and seeing the people I loved. I was desperately looking forward to our rendezvous.

  The next day I was on a course about due east making a good 7 knots.

  Sunday, May 16

  Did record day's run today. About 165 miles. Wind south at 12—14 knots and I'm flying along. Cooked bread which is beautiful. Spoke to some Aussies on a delivery yacht called Coconut. Good speaking to them.

  I cleaned up the boat in the morning and, in the afternoon, I got into the second bag of bread mix. I took my time and laid out everything properly. I warmed the water to the right temperature, kneaded the bread well and even waited an extra fifteen minutes longer than the instructed time for it to rise. I didn't have an oven so I made little flat roll thingies and grilled them with tender loving care under the grill, flipping them at regular intervals. I spoke to John and Andrew who had no wind and were motoring towards Horta. They expected to arrive there late that night. I also spoke to Mum who was at Altino's, but not before I'd made contact with Raphael to report my position.

  I was so content eating my bread then headed off to sleep a happy boy, knowing I would soon see Mum and my family.

  Tuesday, May 18

  Man, it seems like it's taken forever since the equator. Wind is roughly southeast so I'm hard against it to get more south. Should be there tomorrow morning. Sailing is great—sunshine and good winds.

  I was making my final bag of bread mix when I was visited by a pod of dolphins and a turtle with something growing on its back. I got as far as possible in the good winds then slowed Lionheart in the afternoon. I wasn't going to make it to my meeting that day but if I kept sailing at the pace I was going through the night, I'd sail straight past the small group of islands altogether. I put a few reefs in the sail and furled some of the genoa in until the boat was doing 4 knots. I enjoyed my bread like nothing else. I'd take a bite, strum some chords on the guitar, and sing with my mouth full. Another bite and another line of the song.

  What a life! The wind eased up as it got dark, but there was still enough to keep me moving sufficiently. I spoke to Raphael and Mum and Andrew then went straight to sleep after signing off with the words, ‘I'll see you tomorrow, love you, bye.’

  I woke a couple of hours later to check my course and position. As I pulled my chest up through the companionway, I turned to the bow and was taken by surprise. On the horizon was a thin line of orange lights, signalling the coast of Faial.

  I sat there looking at those strange shimmering things for a while, then checked the radar for any shipping before heading back to bed. I battled to get to sleep again, but I succeeded for a few hours. I woke again and rushed outside to find the lights were closer and spread further along the horizon.

  The sky had taken on a blue tinge in the far east, meaning the sun would soon be up. There was no way I could get back to sleep so I got dressed and manually steered as the sun came up over the next hour or two and the sky put on a show of red clouds.

  Soon the land came into view and immediately cast a wind shadow as I sailed closer to the island. The slack sails started doing their annoying thing of slapping all over the place. I persevered in steering the boat, trying to eke out every bit of distance I could. This went on for about three hours until the wind picked up and died again.

  By mid-morning the gusts were getting stronger and stronger and the day had turned to a dirty grey. One minute there was a 5- to 6-knot breeze, a few minutes later it was up to 20 to 25 knots. What made the situation worse was that I had to make my way to the Horta marina, situated in the passage between the first island I'd already passed and the second which was right next to it. To travel up this passage I ha
d to sail directly into a headwind. Add the choppy sea from currents around the islands and the gusting wind which kept changing direction and there was a good enough reason for me to be very angry with the weather.

  I dropped and raised sails constantly, trying to inch my way in the right direction. But I made no progress. I called Mum on her mobile phone to tell her about the problems and that I couldn't get to where they were. By lunchtime I'd failed to arrive so they decided to leave the marina to find me. I gave them my position, then sat back with the binoculars, eagerly scanning the direction they should come from.

  Time dragged on and the gusting continued, growing more frequent and lasting longer. I began drifting towards land, forcing me to pull some of the furler out to get away from the coast. I then heard a call for me over the VHF radio which I answered immediately. I discovered why they were taking so long. The two boats they were on didn't have charts, so they were guessing my position. I gave them my latest position, three miles off the northwest coast of Pico, and they told me to stay where I was. I was getting quite upset about the way things were going.

  Things just weren't going the way I'd hoped and imagined they would. I'd expected the waters to be a deep blue colour with the sun out and a gentle breeze so I could stop Lionheart and speak with my family from sunrise to sunset. I imagined myself going down below to cook my own lunch while they brought out sandwiches which I'd stare at in envy. It just wasn't turning out like that. I made three more phone calls, giving my position over and over again. Mum and Andrew were fighting a language barrier as they battled to tell the captains of the boats where I was.

  Sometime that afternoon—I can't recall what time, just after I'd explained my position once again—I heard someone yell, ‘There he is,’ over the phone as I spoke to Mum. A big white fishing boat, probably 15 to 20 metres long, was heading directly towards me. As it drew closer I could see my grandma, two cameramen, two reporters, the captain, Altino and Megan, who had organised the media from Australia. I couldn't stop smiling as I waved to Gran, Megan and Altino. There was no sign of Mum.

  The questions started from the media. It was difficult to speak because of the distance between me and the boat, coupled with the weather conditions and the reporters’ Portuguese accents. I definitely heard Megan ask me if I'd seen her spew over the side of the boat, while Gran just asked how I was, and smiled as she waved.

  I then saw a dinghy approaching with several people in fluoro orange jackets sitting on the edge of the hulls. One of them was Mum. I swung my arm into the air and waved slowly. They did the same as they continued towards me. I just stood there watching the familiar faces, strangers in this environment. They got close enough to start talking, with dozens of questions flying across the water.

  Except for Mum. She just held her hand over her mouth and had tears flowing from her scrunched-up eyes. There Were six people crammed into the dinghy. Beau was up the front, being very business-like as he took photos alongside another photographer. Andrew was behind them, holding the video camera, the captain operated the controls while Mum stood at the back with the local official who would hand me my mail and make sure no-one touched the boat or handed anything else over. As we'd been in radio contact for more than a week and, of course, emailing nearly every day of the journey, there was no need to blurt out a million details about what had happened in the previous five months. It was simply a chance for me to see my family, and for them to look me in the eye to work out if everything was going as well as I said it was.

  I stood there and smiled, and probably gave them the impression things were as good as I'd told them in the emails and calls. Mum settled down after about ten minutes so we could talk normally. I'd like to be able to write what we talked about but I honestly can't remember and it's probably not that important. The main thing was that I got rid of my rubbish to them, I received my mail, and Mum and I got to look at each other. Just on 40 minutes after they arrived, they had to leave. The wind was getting stronger and they'd spent so much time trying to find me that they were running low on fuel. The fishing boat left first and soon after, so did the dinghy. Mum started crying again but I reassured her that everything was going great and that I was very confident in myself and the boat and that this second half would go much quicker than the first, after all, I was going downhill.

  Mum still gets upset when she talks about that moment. She said the look on my face as they turned and left was heartbreaking for her. It was all she could do to not turn around and come back to get me. The dinghy pulled away and we kept waving. I went down below and put the package of mail on my bunk, then came back up and stood halfway out of the cabin, waving and watching them continue to bob over the waves until they disappeared. My family reunion had not turned out the way I'd hoped it would.

  Again, I should have been ready for it, but I wasn't. An overwhelming feeling of emptiness hit me. The Sunday afternoon feeling had returned again, made worse by the afternoon sun putting on a beautiful display as it fell towards the horizon. My family was heading back to a hotel room to have a warm shower and something nice to eat, yet I couldn't be a part of it. I'd been living in a wonderland in the build-up to seeing them. It had become another Cape Horn all over again. I looked at my surrounds, at the filthy salty squalor of my cabin. My cramped conditions would surely be deemed unsuitable for human inhabitation. I'd just finished telling my family how much I was enjoying it, yet at that moment all I wanted to do was be with them. I suppose it was just the natural law of nature—what goes up must come down—and I was coming down fast.

  I sat on my bunk, not caring which direction the boat was sailing as I opened the mail from friends and family. The letters took me back to what it was like at home. There were stories about school that seemed unreal, and nice things people had written. I was especially taken by the effort my usually raucous friends put into writing special letters with real meaning. I'll treasure those forever.

  CHAPTER 8

  Please, God, Stop this for Me:

  Azores to Cape of Good Hope

  Thursday, May 20

  Last night the wind was terrible around the islands and the current made it quite choppy. I tried to get through channel but couldn't so headed back the way I came. Read mail and hove to at night cos it was so shitty. All I can do now is keep moving and get home as quick as possible. Would help if there was wind though.

  I found that after a couple of months in the tropics, where the wind didn't get much stronger than 15 knots, a 25-knot front seemed terrible. So terrible that I chose to heave to. In the Pacific or the south Atlantic, 25 knots would be the average wind strength. But as I'd been in calm weather for so long, a strong breeze took on amazing proportions. Admittedly, the currents around the islands messed up the waves so they knocked me about quite a bit, but still, the conditions were nothing I couldn't expect to have daily once I got back into the Southern Ocean.

  The morning after I saw my family the wind was still 25 knots, but as the day wore on it died down, until lunchtime when it dropped under 5 knots. I wasn't moving at all.

  Thursday, May 20

  Waited all day as swell died down while not moving anywhere. Still no sail up tonight as there's no wind.

  The next day the wind picked up a little, to 8 knots, just enough to keep me moving. At least with the flat ocean the sails didn't jar the rig. The sun came out after days of overcast conditions, so I took the opportunity to tighten the shrouds that held the mast in place. It was just another example of how the weather affected my mood. The previous few days of feeling down since leaving my family suddenly disappeared and gave way to a feeling of achievement as I tightened the rigging. But the feelings were not to last too long, as the clouds reappeared.

  Friday, May 21

  Wind just died again and cloud cover came over. Can still see Faial which is a major shitty start for my leg home! Saw four whales and one real close up. 2.8 knots of wind. Yuk. No sail up now!

  I still had a small amount of sail up a
nd was gliding ever so slowly over the grey water. My roller-coaster of emotions continued on its merry way as I again grew frustrated looking at the blob of land seemingly stuck behind me. Over to port I noticed a whale swimming alongside. I edged the tiller to slowly move closer until Lionheart was beside the whale. It must have sensed my presence, and dived into the depths, never to return.

  Over the next half hour I spotted another two of them through the binoculars.

  As the late afternoon sky was seeping a few of its colours through the grey clouds, I saw the fourth whale of the afternoon, with its back just out of the water. This whale was ahead on the starboard side, swimming on a perpendicular course that would bring our paths together so we could get a better look at each other. I stood on the bow of Lionheart holding onto the furler and looking out at the big creature closing in. A minute passed and we continued to get closer and closer. I realised there was a growing chance we'd collide.

  My mind raced over what to do. Should I run back to the tiller and alter my course to pull away from the whale or should I enjoy every second of this once-in-a-lifetime chance to get close enough to a whale that I could jump on its back if I wanted? I was transfixed as I watched the mammal get closer and closer. What should I do, what should I do? I could see its full body through the clear water. It moved so slowly and peacefully that I decided that if we did collide, it would be gentle enough to prevent injury to the whale or Lionheart. Luckily I didn't have to worry about it. I leant out over the bow as the whale passed only a matter of metres in front of me.

  He must have sensed my presence because suddenly he stuck his back out of the water and took a long breath then pulled his nose under and dived down into the depths, giving a small flick of his tail and leaving only the turbulence in the water and the moisture from his breath. The picture is still so clear in my mind—I'd made the right decision!