Lionheart

by Jesse Martin

  Sunday, September 12

  In a few days I expect to be 3600 miles away (roughly) with an ETA of 36 days.

  The good weather continued. Of course there were ups and downs, times when it was wet and cold outside, but that mattered little, for Lionheart was heading home. This was the longest stretch of continuous movement for the entire trip.

  I'd hit the fabled Roaring Forties. This was the area around latitude 40°S, where the wind roared around the bottom of the globe, pushing a sailboat along at good speeds. The old clipper cargo ships could do the England to Australia passage in fewer than ten weeks by using these winds.

  Even with the movement, which I loved, life was pretty uncomfortable as I crossed the Indian Ocean. Ever since water had poured into the cabin during the storm off South Africa, it had not dried out properly. In fact, it hadn't been dry for months, not since the tropics. When I used the stove to dry the tea-towels or clothes, the steam would stay trapped in the cabin. It would fog up the portholes and collect on the roof, then run down the hull and into the bilge. Or it would form into water drops and wet everything again. The process just went round and round. But the worst thing was the mould. It started to grow on everything—my sleeping bag, clothes and cushions. The cabin ceiling became covered in it, and it grew wildly in the dark corners.

  The temperature was also dropping. It was very much winter in that part of the world. The passing fronts came from the south, sending down icy-cold hail showers. The air temperature hurt during the fronts. I had no way of knowing how cold it was, as I'd broken my temperature gauge during the knockdowns near the Cape of Good Hope. All I knew was that I could only afford to be outside for five minutes with bare hands before I had to go back down and stick them over the stove.

  I may have been getting closer to home, but I still had to be careful, as I was thousands of miles from land. That was reinforced one sunny day after I made a sail change. I jumped back down below to escape the bitter cold, putting the washboards back in place behind me. I then slid the hatch back in place. Something caught in the washboards, making them sit up slightly higher. The hatch jammed with the top of the washboard. I could see what happened, so tried to slide the hatch open again. It wouldn't budge. I tried again. Nothing. I tried everything I could think of but nothing would work—I was trapped inside. I'd often wondered about getting locked outside. I tortured myself with the thought of freezing to death or dying of starvation, but I never imagined it could happen the other way! Then I remembered the bow hatch, which I never used. I got my harness on and scrambled over bits of equipment and bags of food as I made my way forward. I opened the hatch and pulled myself up and out during a gap in the waves which were often spraying over the boat. I was careful not to let the hatch right down so the latch could catch, just in case I couldn't open the slide from outside (I'm sounding like a poet).

  I made my way around to the cockpit and stood before the jammed slide hatch. With more room and a powerful leg, the heel of my boot connected with the edge of the slide and it slid forward with a crack. I went back down below and cleared the washboards so it wouldn't happen again, then went and closed the forward hatch.

  On one of the few calm days of the crossing, I heard some strange squawking coming from up on deck. I immediately thought the wind generator had claimed a casualty, so braced myself for the worst as I stuck my head out. But the noise was coming from the foredeck. I spun my head around and there was a big albatross stuck in the lifelines up the front. He was in a mad panic as he awkwardly tried to free himself, tripping over onto his beak while his large feet made a racket on the deck. He must have tried to land on the boat or lifelines and misjudged his approach. I was not sure what to do. I expect he'd have been a bit bad-tempered and I didn't fancy having an albatross taking a swipe at me. However, before I had to do anything, he broke free and stood on the foredeck. But not for long. With one leap he jumped overboard in a half-hearted effort to fly off, landed in the water and paddled away like a scared cat running from a car.

  Saturday, September 18

  Had some strong winds recently and haven't made the best progress. Another 33 days to go.

  The middle of the Indian Ocean is a hell of a windy place. It might not get the strongest bursts of wind but on average it beats Cape Horn for its constant winds. The stretch around Amsterdam Island was where Roger told me a lot of the Around the World racers set their speed records because of the fronts surging one after the other. But for a boat like Lionheart, which I'd been desperately trying to nurse home since the start of the trip, those fronts would not mean record speeds. They actually held me up, as I could not afford to race with the wind. I was forced to drop sail and hove to more than at any other stage of the trip. The fronts lasted for three weeks, longer than Roger originally predicted. I comforted myself with the thought that this would be the last of the dangerous conditions for the trip. I figured that when I got across this section things would get back to normal and the chance I'd get home without any more knockdowns would increase dramatically.

  Amsterdam Island got closer as the strong winds pushed me along very well, until I could flip the chart. And there was Australia up in the corner. I was nearly home.

  Friday, September 24

  Just got in contact with Perth Radio for the first time ever. I tried about a week ago but with no response so I tried again, hoping the distance I'd travelled since then would help. It did. They sounded pretty happy to hear from me as well and I got the frequencies for Radio Australia off them, so I'm just about to program that in and listen to some more Aussie accents.

  It was another milestone that represented how close I was to home. I'd been used to the BBC, Spanish from the Atlantic radio traffic and the heavy accent with Raphael in the Canary Islands, so an Australian accent was like a long-lost language to me. I programmed several frequencies into the radio and one of them worked immediately.

  I had to change between the three depending on what time of the day it was but this wasn't a problem. I had a new toy to play with and though I usually hated watching cricket at home, I sat and listened to it as if it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard because it represented life on land—the life that I'd be soon re-entering.

  Mum had been in frequent contact with Pat Dicks throughout my trip, and on a recent chat she learnt that David was leaving on a delivery yacht from Fremantle, heading for Sydney. She told me the name of the yacht and its call sign, so I asked Perth Radio to let me know when it started to take position reports so I could tee up a sked to have a few words with David. Things were starting to get busy and I was enjoying it!

  Tuesday, October 5

  Just heard a noise up at the wind generator. It was raining but I opened the hatch slide and there was a small bird that looked like a pigeon sitting on the seat. There was blood splattered over the seat cos he had just flown into the genny. I was going to get out and help him but he saw me first and flew off into the water. I saw him try to fly off but he got a metre or two into the air and came back down into the water. No doubt a shark will get to him, the poor bugger.

  I had expected this would happen. I was such a novelty to passing birds they all wanted to come have a look at me, and were fascinated by the humming of the generator. And with the constant spinning blades, the fact it had taken nearly ten months for a bird to fly into the generator was pretty amazing. Luckily, for the collision caused considerable damage, not only to the bird but to the blades of the generator. I flicked on the electric brake to halt the terrible clunking noise it made.

  One of the blades had snapped in half while another had its tip lopped off. I decided to replace all the three blades as each needed to be the same length for the thing to work. I stopped the boat, as I always did when making repairs, then stood looking at the propeller, working out how I could safely position myself to unscrew the unit. I found I could sit on top of the solar panel with my legs around the pole holding the generator and make my repairs. As always when you need to climb
a height into an awkward position, you always forget something. I was up and down the frame up to ten times, trying to find the right-sized tools. The freezing cold conditions affected my work as I clumsily fiddled with the screws to put the unit together. I was glad to get back into the relative warmth of the cabin. I was happier when I flicked the brake off and the generator purred into action.

  Wednesday, October 6

  I'm really into the mood of returning. Got Radio Australia on and catching up on all the news. ETA 18 days to go. Current position is 40°29′S, 106°18′E. I'll continue along the 40°S line, which will take me under Albany which will be 300 miles away at the closest point.

  Looks like I'm arriving just in time for the good weather as well—forecast looks generally better over the next week and I keep asking myself If I've had the last blow or are there still more in store.

  I'd been at sea for exactly ten months, which forced me to take stock. When I left I expected to be away for nine months, so I gave myself a month's grace and packed food for ten months. Basic mathematics told me I had another three weeks until I got home. Commonsense told me I had a food shortage problem on my hands.

  Throughout the trip I'd been going into the next day's food bag and stealing the lollies and good things to eat. The stuff I didn't like I packed in rubbish bags and stored it up the front. It was now time to go back through the bags and select the not-so-bad-any-more items to live off.

  On my first pick of the slimy plastic bags, I selected all the mug noodle packets which I'd earlier gone off. I threw them up to the galley where I wiped them clean and dry with my trusty tea-towels. They were then stored in a new garbage bag in the galley. These only lasted a week, so I was forced to go back again and select the next best things. The selection process underwent another two rounds before I got home.

  In the last few days I was eating freeze-dried mushroom pilaf which, if left overnight, resembled the consistency of canned dog food (but not as appetising), stale cereal without milk (I'd run out), peanuts and Musashi energy cakes.

  Actually, I started to love Musashi cakes. They smelt better than they tasted but this wasn't a problem. They were the only type of wheat substance I had, and they soon became a favourite.

  I was making good progress towards Western Australia, and started looking at the next chart covering the Great Australian Bight to Port Phillip Bay. I was starting to get some pressure for an arrival date from home, particularly from Barbara, who had to get things ready and organise the media. The Yacht Club also needed to know so they could get things ready as well.

  It had been decided as far back as May, about the midway mark, that I'd arrive on a Sunday as that would give people a greater chance to get down to Sandringham to greet me. I thought it would be best to come in on the weekend, although I didn't like playing up to it. But I had a responsibility to my sponsors, particularly Mistral and Sandringham Yacht Club, to come in on a day that suited them. I was also conscious that a lot of school children were following the trip through the pages of the Herald Sun, so this gave them a chance to come down as well.

  But, having said that, I was still uncomfortable with what was planned. I did not want a big fuss made. As far as I was concerned, a fuss was just what was being planned. My progress indicated I had two weekends to choose from—Sunday 24 or 31 October. To make one could mean a mad dash and a heart-stopping finale. To make the other may mean wallowing around Bass Strait to stage an entry that may have looked too contrived. I wanted to be back on the earlier date, but I was starting to have strong doubts.

  Sixth October was the date I needed to return by to break the outright age record. It passed with little fanfare as I had known for weeks I wouldn't be back by then.

  Friday, October 8, 2.16 p.m.

  I don't think I'll make it back by the 24th. I've got another sixteen theoretical days to go but I really need to be at the Heads the day before to get everything ready and so forth. Possibly the Sunday after.

  For the entire voyage I hadn't come close to being washed overboard. Despite it being one of the fears of everyone involved in the trip, it had not presented itself, even when I was caught outside in my first bad weather off New Zealand. That was until this point. I was aware that I couldn't become complacent just because I was nearing the end. I'd made it as far as I had because I'd been very strict and careful in the way I conducted myself and how I sailed Lionheart. But what happened had nothing to do with complacency It was just bad timing, which could have happened at any stage of the voyage.

  I was standing on deck, halfway up the boat, with the wind hovering around 25 knots. My harness was clipped on at the shrouds as I re-attached the spinnaker pole on the port side which continued to come undone. The swell was average but it was just bad timing that when a gust of about 40 knots came, Lionheart was on the face of an extra large swell. She took off down the wave and turned side-on and began to tip on her side, plunging the port lifelines halfway under the breaking white water at precisely the point I stood. I was plunged into the swirling water, totally at the mercy of the sea. I couldn't fight it, so I just waited and wondered to what degree the boat would go over. It paused in a leaning position while I hung on grimly as the currents washed against me and the freezing water shot up my sleeves. It seemed like ages, but was only a few seconds until Lionheart came back up. I was straddling the lifelines, half on the boat and half off as Lionheart shook herself like a dog that had just taken a dip before continuing as if nothing had happened.

  I knew I'd had a close call. If I was to fall off the boat, even with the harness on, there was no-one to help me back on again. But I wasn't thinking about that. The incident happened so quickly and everything went back under control so soon that my only thought was to blame the stupid spinnaker pole whose fault it all was!

  Saturday, October 9, 3.35 p.m.

  I'm nearly under Perth. Current position is 39°41'S, 111°47'E.

  David Dicks left with his delivery crew just before I passed under the first longitude of Australian soil. They were on a much larger ketch that was capable of faster speeds than Lionheart. Perth Radio set up a sked, so for several nights I was able to swap a few stories and comparisons with him, despite the patchy radio reception. We chatted about technical stuff and experiences we'd both shared. It was good to talk to someone who had the same experience as me, who understood what I was thinking, and knew of all the little things that made up a trip like mine.

  They were a little way ahead of me and had copped the worst of a low-pressure system that hit Perth, giving them 50-knot winds and wetting their boat down below. I was thankfully unaffected. If I was at the start of the trip I'd probably have been a little disappointed to have missed out on the storm. But I had nothing to prove to myself any longer.

  Sunday, October 10, 3.49 p.m.

  I just got out the last chart of the trip which shows Melbourne on the far right. I'm really starting to feel that I'm on home territory once again even if I'm not yet in Australian waters.

  I'd completed all my requirements for a global circumnavigation, passing under the fifth and final cape, Cape Leeuwin, off the southwestern tip of Western Australia.

  Monday, October 11

  The decision has been made for me to come in on the 30th. I'm not going to make the 24th.

  Wednesday, October 13

  Don't know where Australian waters start. I'm now about 250 miles south of Albany at position 38°43′S, 116°49′E. It seems like it is taking forever to get home.

  Thursday, October 14

  The wind has been doing strange things. Totally different from what Roger says the models show it to be. He has warned me that anything could happen cos of the strange weather systems about at the moment.

  The strange weather in the Bight brought about a fair few days of fog. During one of those days, with rain squalls constantly passing by, I just happened to stick my head outside for some fresh air. Lucky I did, because I noticed between the swell the hull of a large ship heading nor
th, and on a possible collision course with me. I ran downstairs and called on the VHF radio to see if they'd spotted me. I wasted a couple of minutes trying to raise them, but with no response. I quickly went up into the cockpit to see the ship was getting closer. I gybed the triple-reefed mainsail across and changed direction to starboard, eventually getting out of the ship's course. I sat and watched the steel monster pass close by. There was no-one on deck, and they presumably hadn't seen me. It was the first sign of human presence I'd seen in ages, and soon they disappeared, having disrupted my day.

  The excitement was really growing, and the quiet lifestyle I'd been leading was left behind forever. I felt as if the trip was already over. I knew I could sail around the world and I was living in harmony with my surrounds. I didn't feel like I had to cross the finish line to prove anything to myself—I already knew it.

  Sunday, October 17

  Moving quite well. Expect to have four days up my sleeve waiting outside the Heads if I continue at this pace. I'm only 900 miles away from Melbourne and I still can't make radio contact with Sandringham Yacht Club. Every time I try I get some guy as clear as a bell saying in an Indian accent, ‘So you want to come into Bombay?’

  Monday, October 18, 11.58 a.m.

  I've been cleaning the mould off the roof and the slime from the deck to make Lionheart at least half presentable for when I get in.

  Tuesday, October 19

  I've got 800 miles to go from today—that means theoretically I'll be there on the 25th but I've got some head winds coming up which could slow me down. Over the last ten days I've averaged 75 miles a day but that includes two days of no wind. We are still working out what time I'll be coming through on the 31st. It could either be 1 a.m. or about 7 a.m.—Mum is finding out which way daylight savings go to see if there is enough time left to get to SYC if I come in during daylight (7 a.m., preferable).