Solitaire Spirit: Three Times Around the World Single-Handed

by Les Powles

  Soon after passing Bounty Island we crossed longitude 180° and had two Tuesdays in one week. Navigational rules changed again: now the degrees would decrease as we sailed homewards. Entering the deep waters of the Pacific what I had been dreading happened, two bad gales one after the other. Normally they would have given me no concern, coming as they did from the west and over Solitaire’s stern. The seas rushing across the shallow banks below New Zealand were neither dangerous nor particularly steep or high, but their speed was phenomenal and the first storm ripped the plastic cover off the self-steering gear. During a brief spell of calm I replaced it and a worn plastic gear selector knob at the same time.

  We were thus more or less ready for the second storm, which arrived shortly before dark, the breaking waves coming through so fast that Solitaire was for ever pushed beam on to them and without help would so have remained during the night. It was one of those situations you find yourself in now and again, when wave speed seems to be twice as fast as wind speed. I changed into storm gear with extra sweaters and prepared to spend a night, black with racing clouds, in the cockpit. I could hear the seas bearing down on us before I could see the flashing phosphorus of breaking waves rushing Solitaire forward. I felt I was walking a tight-rope using the tiller as a balancing pole while I tried to hold Solitaire atop a knife-edge and stop her falling on her side. As the waves went through there would be a back-wash when the tiller would lose its grip and I would have to work hard to get back in position for the next. I steered by scattered stars flashing on and off as speeding clouds chased the rollers.

  By dawn I needed a rest. I was tired but it was a satisfied tiredness. Solitaire, the sea and I had spent an almost enjoyable night, each playing his or her part without taking too many liberties. Politely the seas had kept out of the cockpit and for once Solitaire had been glad of my helping hand on her tiller. As for me, well, it’s always satisfying to feel needed for something more than a sail change or a bilge pump.

  Week 26 ended on a Tuesday and I struggled to work out how I had managed to lose a day. My navigational figures were still coming out correct so I did not worry too much about it. The week’s run was 682 miles.

  Week 27 passed with no tragedies, although I ruined the film in Rome’s camera. I had a choice of keeping the half of film with the whale photos or the half with the photos of the Japanese boats. I plumped for the whales. The sores on my back worsened and I tried washing them with a strong solution of seawater and Dettol. My gums bled even when left uncleaned and new bones I did not even know I had started to develop. I baked golf balls of bread, sawed them into washers and fried them. Spread with a thin film of jam they could be sucked like pebbles and I would enter in the log that I was on the pill. If they provided any nourishment my bones ignored it and stuck out in protest.

  On Friday, January 9th, Solitaire and I had been alone at sea for six months. The idea of rounding Cape Horn had been born during our stay in Tahiti in 1976. Five years later all that stood between us and our ambition were a few thousand miles of deep water. Thinking of the seas to come I glassed in the lower board of the main hatch, which I hated doing as I was now virtually sealed below. The rear cockpit cover remained to be glassed but that I could leave to the last minute. The week’s run was 640 miles, 16,695 in all and 4,000 miles short of Cape Horn.

  A week later we were 631 miles closer, still experiencing gales and confused seas, which baffled Solitaire and crew. During a heavy rainfall I managed to collect 7 gallons of water via the mainsail. Mostly I complained about my lack of headsails. Often I had to drop the mainsail when the wind increased because of too much weather helm and would have given anything for a strong number two genoa.

  Time passed quickly, marked only by pencil on a chart. One day a whale surfaced alongside us as I was putting a reef in the main. One minute the sea was empty (birds apart), the next we had an upside-down super-tanker alongside. It took some moments to appreciate that something so large could be alive. Although there is much that scares the living daylights out of me, creatures of the sea manage only to rouse my intense interest in their activities. I dashed below for a camera but by the time I returned the whale had gone. At no time did I feel it threatened Solitaire and for a long time I lingered in the cockpit and felt lonely when it failed to reappear.

  We had some vicious storms, during one of which Solitaire was knocked on her side and the Bosun compass in the rear of the cockpit leapt out of its plastic holder and finished wedged against a gas bottle. I had to make a dash to retrieve it between breaking waves, minus wet weather gear or harness. There were days when we sailed under clear blue skies, the ocean swell hardly noticed below decks. Solitaire snoozed along at 4 knots with no more noise or movement than when sitting in her berth at Lymington.

  Then we passed our point of no return, much as jet aircraft do when flying the Atlantic. From now on Solitaire would stand a better chance of surviving by rounding Cape Horn rather than returning to New Zealand, and this engendered a great sense of relief. We would round it, possibly without mast or instruments, food or water, but dead or alive we would pass Cape Horn.

  In week 29 we recorded 630 miles, and the following week 679 more. I ran the engine for the last time and glassed in the rear cockpit locker, which meant that from now on I would have to crawl through from the cabin to reach the exhaust pipe seacock. There were a hundred things I wished I could have done for Solitaire and I hoped she knew this. If I had had the money, I would have given her the finest headsails spun from the finest silks.

  Week 31 was the week in which I opened Rome’s parcel, and the first week since the Cape of Good Hope storm that I experienced real fear. It had started well enough. Storms had become routine, a quick dash on deck to change down to the storm jib before the feet iced up. The log shows our lack of concern.

  Wednesday, February 4th, 1981. No sights thanks to gale conditions with unbelievable squalls. Solitaire being thrown on her side. The sky keeps changing colour, blue to black to pink. Fantastic. Sailing under the storm jib only.

  Thursday, February 5th. No sights thanks to overcast sky with drizzle. Gales died during night but high seas ran until early this morning. Have changed to working jib and mainsail doubly reefed. Sea not too bad now. Water running off the mainsail but not enough to catch for drinking. We are now deep into the loose ice area and the seas are bitterly cold. I have been wearing the quilted trousers Margaret gave me, another present I can’t remember saying thank you for. Margaret said they had belonged to a butcher who spent most of his time in a refrigerated store. I doubt if he ever imagined their being used to keep someone warm off Cape Horn, but a magnificent present for which I’m truly grateful. The height of fashion this season in the Southern Ocean is Rex’s thermal jacket with a couple of sweaters and pairs of socks under full storm gear and sea boots.

  At night I doze under two wet sleeping bags with the temperature down to 40°F by night and 50°F on warmer days. The main problem is the damp cabin that allows nothing to dry. I can take off my quilted storm jacket below by day, but on deck full gear is needed as the strong winds bite through sweaters and the seas soon freeze hands. Provided you work quickly there’s no real problem. Loss of weight still a major worry and my strength is going as well. Very concerned in case I have to climb the mast as I just don’t know how I would manage to pull myself up. My back continues to get worse. Most of my shirts have now been worn and are bloodstained. It seems a terrible thing to do but I sorted out the few that seem reasonably free from filth and intend wearing them again inside out. I tried washing one in salt water but it would not dry properly and seemed to irritate my skin. Oh well, Rome’s present tomorrow. We are about 1,400 miles from Cape Horn. I’ll get sights when the sun pops out.

  Friday, February 6th. Still no sights, winds from west increasing to Force 6 to 7 as a few fierce squalls came through. Visibility down to a few hundred yards. Drizzling with some heavy rain during squalls. Have considered sitting in the cockpit and putting up the ma
in, trebly reefed, to catch fresh water. Solitaire swinging about with just working jib so have given the idea a miss.

  At present I have 20 gallons of fresh water left. No worry as far as drinking is concerned but it would have helped hygiene to have washed a few clothes. Opened the parcel from Rome and Annegret marked ‘for cold weather sailing’. Everything inside is perfect... and so welcome. The conditions are better than I could have hoped for although below they are pretty foul and the cabin smell must be terrible, but I have to keep the hatch completely closed with these following seas. As I don’t expect visitors I’m not worrying too much about spraying air fresheners. Once or twice a week I treat myself to a throat and cheek shave and the lingering smell of soap in my beard gives pleasure for hours. I’ve now read all my best books through twice but with this parcel Rome has included a new book. The food and chocolate will give me special treats for a week. Without my friends back home I would have still made this voyage but oh how much I owe them. I just hope we can make it back to thank them properly for all their kindness.

  Saturday, February 7th. Sights put us at latitude 50°18’S but it’s a bit of a guess as the horizon is so hazy, thanks to the drizzle, but I’m pleased to have anything after five days sailing on dead reckoning. Becalmed during night in fog, winds are now gusting from the west about Force 5 to 6 so working jib only.

  Sunday, February 8th. Solitaire suffered her worst knockdown since leaving England. For the past few days I have been frightened, not when the wind was screaming but when it suddenly stopped. Without the background of its noise the sound of the breaking seas seemed to increase, and without the wind’s controlling hand on the self-steering Solitaire ran like a child into thundering traffic. If I had to wait too long for the rogue waves and cross-seas to start slamming into Solitaire I would sit on the bunk and cover my ears with my hands, singing to drown the silence.

  Problems at dawn this morning. Very bad knockdown, working jib damaged. All the piston hanks are broken and the luff wire has pulled out, halyard parted. I think I can save the sail but regret the loss of the halyard as I have only one left and if that goes it means climbing the mast. Solitaire is in a mess with bilge water all over the place. At present winds gusting from the west at gale force with cross-seas from the south. Broad reaching with storm jib under a sunny sky, which makes no sense. I will have to be more careful until past Cape Horn. Port Stanley is now our nearest harbour, 1,600 miles away even if I cut in close to the Cape. The bilge pump is U/S so I’ve plenty of work for next two days. Longitude sight puts us 102°52´W, 25 miles behind our dead reckoning position. The seas have been too bad for sights over past few days. Pleased to get anything. Worked all day on sail which might shape up tomorrow. At least it will make a good spare.

  Monday, February 9th. Seven months at sea. Rain or drizzle and no visibility. Winds from west. Had spare working jib up until this morning, then changed to storm jib when rogue waves started breaking over Solitaire. Cape Horn lies on latitude 56°S, approximately 1,260 miles to the east. I intend to go down to 58°S, putting us 120 miles below and well into the icebergs, much lower than other single-handers. With only one halyard left and my weakening condition I think it’s the safest thing to do. I don’t want Solitaire driven onto a lee shore without the use of her sails to claw her way off. I’ve cut down further on food: now I boil two cups of rice to last three days but I still believe we can make this voyage non-stop. Working jib not yet mended. I can’t be sure how far Solitaire went over in her knockdown. It happened so quickly that I didn’t wake up until she had started to come up again. When I went on deck the jib was over the side, held only by its sheets and downhaul. Whether the hanks and halyard were broken when the waves hit or as she came up is anyone’s guess. The jib is covered with antifouling paint but the seams are OK and I have spare piston hanks.

  Tuesday, February 10th. Week 31’s run 614 miles, total 19,249 miles. Good sights in a clear blue sky. Sea is flat with high swell. Winds 3 to 4 from west. A perfect spring day. Temperature up to 51°F so able to dry out. Noon position, 53°51´S 99°34´W with Cape Horn 1,200 miles to the east, only 129 miles south of our latitude.

  In week 32 we covered 643 miles, 45 miles below Cape Horn at 56°45´W. Should we have lost our mast I thought we could jury-rig a headsail and run past the Cape. We would even give the Islands of Diego Ramirez a wide berth, passing 15 miles to their south. Solitaire was in good shape again. I had fixed her bilge pump and mended her second working jib and she even looked tidier below. All the water containers that had covered her cabin floor when we left Lymington 224 days before were now empty, and all but four stored in the forward compartment with the spare sails. My disco dancing could have been extended with the extra floor space, not that I felt too much like dancing. No signs of depression in the log although constant complaints about the lack of headsails, particularly a strong number two genoa.

  Food was a constant worry. The problems I had faced with my bleeding back and gums had been only the beginning of many problems caused by a lack of fresh food and vitamins. Solitaire’s movement did more than irritate the sores; it seemed to wear away the flesh. First I noticed my thighs, elbows and knees starting to stand out, then the fat disappeared. I still had muscles but no body weight with which to use them. Side effects included headaches, blurred vision and blackened toenails. I had enough food aboard to gorge myself silly for a few weeks and would often take some of Rome’s chocolate and suck it as long as I could make it last, then I would spend the rest of the night with the remains of the bar lying only inches away from my watering mouth, trying to keep my mind on other things, particularly Cape Horn, now only 500 miles ahead.

  Chapter Nine

  Lost

  Cape Horn – Lymington

  February – June 1981

  Week 32 saw my dreams of rounding Cape Horn come true, six years after hitting the reef off Brazil, five-and-a-half years after the birth of the idea in Tahiti.

  Wednesday, February 18th, 1981. Noon position. 57°30´S, 80°23´W. Sights are not good as sky changes every few seconds. Sun shoots through scurrying grey clouds. Changed up from storm to working jib this morning although winds very strong at times. We don’t want to go much further south as we are well into the extreme limit for icebergs. If we could pass Ramirez Island at this latitude all would be fine, 90 miles south of Cape Horn with 2,000 fathoms or more below our keel. Approximately 360 miles to go. Very, very cold on deck. It will be good to sail north into warmer seas.

  Thursday, February 19th. Noon position 56°48´S, 77°41´W, some 290 miles from the Cape and 18 miles south of the Diego Ramirez Islands. Log shows 20,061 miles sailed non-stop. Light winds from the south so we have up a full main for the first time in days. Spent last night without my wet weather jacket. Hard to believe we are so close to the desolate Cape Horn in such conditions, with no winds howling in the rigging and the seas flat apart from a constant high swell. Temperatures up to 45°F so we have spent the morning with the carpets drying on the cockpit.

  Friday, February 20th. Latitude 57°01´S, 60 miles further south than Cape Horn and we have just spent the night becalmed! I left up the main to stop our swaying in the swells. The chart shows that we have added only 30 miles in the past 24 hours. Now we have gusting southerlies Force 3 to 7 under a main with one reef and working jib. Engine turned by hand seems free enough. A look over our stern for the first time in many a day reveals a crop of goose barnacles that could give trouble. The cold seas are not killing them off as expected.

  Saturday, February 21st. Lovely sailing yesterday afternoon on a bright blue sea under a bright blue sky. Winds went to the west Force 5. Gorgeous night with a full low moon, the sky covered with a carpet of stars. Two hours before dawn we ran into our present conditions when the winds died for three hours, then came back gusting from the north to north-east, anything from Force 4 to 7. Reaching under a main with two reefs and working jib occasionally luffing into the gusts on top of the waves. No visibility at times
thanks to heavy rain so no sights today so far, but dead reckoning shows us 60 miles below Ramirez Island, with about 200 miles to reach Cape Horn’s longitude. And Rome’s parcel! Good sight for longitude during afternoon, which confirms our position. Clouds have cleared away. Should not have said anything – we’re back to black squalls!

  Sunday, February 22nd. Strong squalls through the night reduced us to working jib only. Winds perfect this morning, Force 5 to 6 from the west, for doubly reefed main. Have been taking sights all morning, which confirm that we are still 60 miles clear of Ramirez Island. No noon sight. Winds have dropped and given way to rain and drizzly fog. Would have liked sights but at least we are well clear of land and lee shores. At one time I had considered closing Cape Horn but decided it was asking too much of our guardian angel. I would have welcomed a few photos to replace those I ruined, but Chichester nearly lost his yacht by cutting in too close so it is much safer to stay in these deep waters rather than risk the Horn’s shallows just for a few pictures.

  1650 GMT. I believe Diego Ramirez is 90 miles and Cape Horn 150 miles north-east of us. With reasonable winds we should have reached Cape Horn’s longitude by tomorrow evening. At present becalmed in heavy rain.

  1832 GMT. Our position 57°30´S, 70°55´W with winds again gusting from the west Force 5 to 6, higher in squalls. Only 75 miles to Ramirez’ longitude of 151°W. Shallow waters extend for 40 miles below these islands so our present position is fine.

  Monday, February 23rd. Lowered main yesterday evening during fierce gusts. Sea remained quite flat so I had a peaceful night after all and winds dropped to Force 3 to 4. Awoke to heavy rain so after hoisting the main with one reef I spent the morning catching rain water for drinking and taking photographs of the operation.