I only hope this breeze holds for a day or two; it does make life easy. And it is blowing directly to New York, which is helpful. I shall turn in tonight without a worry. Now I must go and fill the Tilley lamp before hanging it in the stern.
I found a moth in the after deck yesterday. Surely that might be a good omen. I took it very carefully into the cabin and settled it on a port light. I hope it has enough sense to sit there and not try to fly ashore. I have not seen it again but there are any number of good crannies for it to hide in. It was not a gipsy moth but it hardly could be since that kind are extinct in Europe; only exist in North America I believe.
Marvellous sailing. Hard to beat. The fog has cleared at last even if only temporarily. The breeze, east, Force 4, seems to be holding well.
6. June 19th to 21st
A Worrying Night under the Twins – One Pole adrift – Repairs
– Close Hauled again – On Course for Cape Race! – Steamer
Lane and Ice – Line of Squalls – Gybe! –What Price Cleanliness?
– Dirty Weather on Way – Sad News about the Moth – The
Eye of the Depression – Man and Boat – Haggis with Accessories
– The Chocolate Hoard – Poor Red Bucket!
19th June. 1345 hrs. Just finishing off lunch with mushrooms on buttered toast and would like to have a little chat so I bring out the book.
In the end it wasn’t the starboard spinnaker pole which came adrift but the port one. But perhaps I am a bit ahead of my preamble. I started a marvellous sleep at midnight (it is about eighty minutes before midnight here really because of the longitude west) and was drugged with sleep when I started worrying about the strop linking the big genoa to the starboard spinnaker pole. It was only experimental, and I made it of 1-inch manila rope not thinking the twins would be set for so long. This woke me up and I went on to think what would happen if the spinnaker boom did break loose. I realized I had only stayed it from above, i.e. had it topped up from its middle to a point higher up the mast. It would be free to swing from side to side and the thought of a 14-foot pole about 18 inches in circumference in the middle bashing from side to side with the ship rolling through an arc of 60 ° (30° each side of vertical) was not conducive to peaceful slumber.
I got up and dressed fully plus boots this time as I visualized a bit of climbing. It was drizzling and as black as pitch. It makes the stem of a yacht a romantic spot with the forefoot crashing through the sea and the thundery cascade of the bow-wave seeming as loud as a big steamer’s.
By standing on the top life-line round the ship I could just reach the middle of the spinnaker boom and I clipped on two preventer guys which I cleated to the deck fore and aft of the pole. It was now held from three directions and I felt relieved. I looked a little wistful at the other boom to port but the No. 2 (225 square feet) jib seems fairly harmless compared with the genoa and I return to my berth at three o’clock and slept hard till eight o’clock.
After breakfast I was doing odd jobs below when I thought the short steep sea must have changed to make the hull shake and the oil stove tinkle. In the end I went up to look at it and there was the port spinnaker boom swinging to and fro hitting the forestay at one end of its travel and a lower shroud at the other. After all, it was not the rope strop which had parted but the spring-held pin which closes the hook at the end of the pole which had come adrift.
Light airs made it an easy job yet it took nearly the whole morning. There are a surprising lot of operations involved when the gear is big and only one pair of hands available: nobble the pole, lower it, lower the sail, brail it at the middle, repair the fitting (fetch various tools); prepare fore and aft down-guys for boom preventers, splice an eye at the end of one with a sailmaker’s whipping at the other end; work boom into position again from lying on deck. Hoist all and trim the sheet plus topping lift plus two guys. Retire satisfied.
Working up the DR position filled the rest of the morning. From noon to noon we ran 130·4 miles under the twins and mostly while I was asleep. Our noon position was 49° 41’ N. 20° 45’ W. and the best course for New York 264° true.
Now I must fit some old battens into the mainsail and do some sewing which I think will keep them in. Without them the leach of the sail shudders continually so that in time the stitching must give way. Also I must oil the log-reading 809 at noon; but I shall be sorry to quieten its friendly little note. It builds up an accumulation of turns on the line, until the instrument starts off spinning madly, making an attractive whicker like teal flighting into a pond at dusk.
2330 hrs. The sun has just gone down in a nearly cloudless sky – a very clear sky as the sea is a clear deep blue – the breaking bow-wave is a dazzling clear white by contrast. What a change! All the afternoon the wind backed steadily. The twins still drove the boat but I could see I must get a move on to be ready for a change-over. I fitted two old battens of plastic in place of those lost in the mainsail and put what I hope were well-placed stitches through the sail to prevent their being joggled out by the slatting sail. The others were lost when lowering the main in a gale.
I seized afresh a mainsail slide to the sail, the old seizing having carried away. I sat astride the boom to do it and could see a hard-cut horizon far away, a big change after days of fog and bad weather. It was even drying weather for an hour or two and I bustled a few damp things out but I had too much else on my hands for much of that.
By the time I had finished make-and-mend the wind was far enough round to let Miranda take charge with the mainsail set. Of course the main can be set any time but I cannot risk Miranda fully set, spanker and all, if the wind is so far round that there is a chance of the main boom crashing into her.
The number of jobs involved in a change-over from running to close-hauled is annoying. Apart from hoisting the main which would be up already with a full-crewed racer there were two booms to unrig and hand to the deck, to be lashed down at both ends, and their topping lifts to be cleated up. One twin remains set and the unwanted twin has to be unhanked and bagged. Another sheet transferred to the genoa. Then of course there was the sail trimming and setting of Miranda which still takes half an hour of watching though I am learning her foibles pretty fast.
Now we are scurrying along on course for the turning-point south of Cape Race Newfoundland. Gipsy M. knocked off 24½ miles in the last four hours although there does not seem much more than a light breeze. She has that trick of shaking her tail like a fish. It gives one a feeling of – I can’t get the word to describe it – being woggled. It seems very innocent and quiet but it catches you off balance and throws you easily.
I must go and rig a lamp. We are in or very close to the main New York-Liverpool steamer lane, the normal one for this time of year. But the ice is much farther north this year so the steamers will be cutting Newfoundland closer. It seems to be an exceptionally good year for ice and I could not be more pleased. If there is one thing I like less than fog to sail through it is fog stuffed with ice.
20 June. 1300 hrs. At last I’m up in the cockpit for my little gossip. Since the sun came out I’ve been working hard to get up here and now it is hazing over and I’ve missed my chance I fear.
Last night I turned in and had a good sleep confident that with Miranda and Tilley in charge the boat was in good hands. I should think Tilley could be seen 10 miles away from a high steamer’s bridge but I have not worked it out. No, I think the bridge would have to be 75 feet high; however, I can say 5 miles confidently. Apart from a tour of the deck at 0300 I slept till 0830 when I woke to find the wind had gone round to the south and Miranda had followed it as instructed, so that we were heading 240°, or 45 ° off New York. I went on deck to find a line of squalls passing through.
I tried to trim up to get on course – immediately I was in the cockpit. This was a stupid thing to do. I might know by now how sluggish-witted I am for a few minutes after getting out of the berth. While my back was turned (and bent) re-setting Miranda’s vane arms, the
yacht ran off downwind and gybed. Boom over. Genoa aback. Miranda coming round fast to be in peril from a gybe back of the main boom or if she escaped that one, in danger of coming up with her spanker boom hard against the backstay.
For a while I was like a monkey on a hot trapeze. Seriously handicapped by having been caught bent double with my head down to the deck fiddling with the clamp at the bottom of Miranda’s rotating mast. I was disoriented and could not take in for a few seconds what the direction was in which the yacht was turning, where the wind was coming from and which way Miranda would swing if we continued turning as we were.
I jumped back into the cockpit and related these things one by one to the compass, steadied the yacht nearly straight downwind, hopped back to the counter and released Miranda, pushed her by brute force away from the backstay and gybed her; then back to the tiller and sorted out the tangle step by step.
It was a fair squall of wind and heavy rain by now, and I took over for a while, looking round with some distaste at the various squalls in sight. I dreaded the wind going astern so that I should have all the toil of resetting the twin spinnakers. I was relieved when it backed to south and I could trim up for a broad reach. This is a tricky heading for Miranda. The helm does not require a heavy hand if the sails are trimmed to a true balance so long as the heading is within say 15° of what everything has been set for. If, however, for some reason, like a quick change of wind strength or a ponderous sea, she gets off course 30–40° to leeward she starts galloping off to leeward and it takes a strong arm to force her back.
This is above Miranda’s head. She can’t understand why she should need only the velvet glove one minute and the iron mitt the next. In the end sails and vane were in harmony and the yacht kept within 260 ° and 310° weaving from one side to the other. After an hour of monitoring I felt confident enough to go below and get on with my housework.
Just then the sun came out and the day appeared bright and clear. I think it must have been a mild trough of low pressure passing through. I took the opportunity of a sextant shot at the sun which would give me a longitude, the sun being due east. Breakfast at last at 1000 hrs. Ham and eggs, fry-up of potatoes, toast, marmalade and coffee. At least starvation should not rear its ugly head for a few hours. It was warm and summery in the cockpit and I wanted to be there but alas my conscience did me down. I felt the time had come for a top-half wash cum shave. One really needs to be an acrobat to achieve these things with G.M. bashing out her steady 6 knots but I managed to get through with only one sharp blow on the forehead from the edge of the cupboard opening. I have to open this cupboard to get my head over the basin.
I was somewhat worried about an attack in the rear. I could only maintain position by pressing my backside against the door jamb. The door was open because I did not want to be caught again by its bursting open and throwing me across the alley way. What I was scared of now was that it would slam shut and pinch a piece of my tender loin between door and door jamb.
It is really a two-way door which shuts on the heads or when open forms a door to cut off the forecabin from the main cabin. Unfortunately the naval wireless P/O who fixed the aerial for my R/T did not realize about the door fastening open and ran the aerial through the doorway thus effectively preventing the door from being kept open.
The result of all this crazy rage for cleanliness is that the weather had deteriorated by the time I reached the cockpit and I was glad to get under cover again, my sun-bask changed to a wash-out.
I fear dirty weather is on the way and must get my battledress on.
1705 hrs. Here I am back again to finish the whisky I was drinking at 1415 while writing the above. Never a dull moment, I say. Did I say it before?
It looks as if it is likely to be a regular cropper-upper. What did I achieve in that hurly-burly? Dashed little – I got the genoa down as the squall pounced. It wasn’t too bad; in fact rather fun. Once the boat pitched and threw me off the deck into the air at the bows. I went up in the air and landed back again, surprised. I expect it was only a millimetre jump but it is the sensation that counts. I bagged up the genoa.
One of the things I’ve learned this voyage is how to bag a foresail with a minimum of effort and dolour; I drag it along the deck like a dead snake and bag it as it arrives, ramming it in small folds.
I set No. 3 jib, a little’un. Not for its drive but because the boat can not be handled with main only in a strong blow in a seaway. I thought I was doing pretty well about keeping dry and felt quite cocky when another sea gave me a good sluice where I was sitting by the mast making up the halliards. My oilskin (PVC really) outfit seemed pretty good when suddenly a nasty cold icicle made itself unpleasantly felt in a quiet spot of the body particularly sensitive to cold water. Part of the sea had remained in my lap where I sat and found its way through the gap there.
I sailed the boat myself for a while. The wind had come nearly dead aft and the boat was tricky to handle with the main set. I couldn’t sit there, at the helm all day, and I couldn’t think of any way to handle the situation without first getting down the main. Except when running downwind, there was too much wind for it and not only did it flap but it was making the boat hard to control. So it had to come down. That seemed a fairly easy operation this time. One does seem to learn pretty fast at this game. I began to work out how I could set the twin spinnakers again.
Then I noticed that the wind was backing once more. So then I thought how I’d hate to set those twins to find they weren’t wanted two hours later and finally I called it a half-holiday and retired for some lunch and a drink which I am now enjoying very much indeed, thank you.
Meanwhile, the boat under one small jib and in the charge of a reefed Miranda is at least sailing in the right direction if only at a mere knot or two. I’m quite prepared to find we are becalmed by the time I’ve finished my whisky and cheese.
2145 hrs. Well, I don’t know, but I reckon there’s been enough of this weather for a while. The cabin sole is piling up with wet clothes. God only knows what beds of fungi and mildew are flourishing under the unused berths.
I finished my lunch and a zizz at 1900 hrs. and decided to set the trysail. For one thing rolling through an arc of 80° would be reduced by a trysail. Secondly it looked as if the rough weather had set in. It was blowing Force 6 or 7 so a main was not feasible. I finished setting the trysail at 2040 hrs. It is not such a bad job if one sets about it step by step and does not get fussed. I have two hefty tackles port and starboard to control the clew and another to downhaul the tack. The chief trouble was that the halliard was in use to hoist the aerial of the radio-telephone. It is amazing how that aerial has been an obstacle. Every time I move along the deck I have to step over it or under it, and now hauling it down with two huge glass insulators flying about adds to the fun. The log reads 1001. I tallied up the day’s runs since the start, going by the log which I have previously found accurate. The distances sailed are:
June 12th – 88; 13th – 43; 14th – 101; 15th – 72; 16th – 147; 17th – 144½; 18th – 106; 19th – 130½; 20th – 150.
I added on the first day the distance sailed before the log was streamed. I wonder if my rivals are getting this bad weather. I hope not for their sakes; it can’t be much fun in a sea like this in a folkboat.
Sad news; I found the moth dead. I fear he had stowed away among the gear and been hit by its shifting during the rolls. Equally sad that I had prepared a surprise for dinner tonight, but it doesn’t look a joyful antic trying to cook. I opened a parcel yesterday and found it was from a Scots friend, Stalker Miller, an artist who draws a lot of maps for us. He had sent me two haggises. It seems to me a bold enterprise to undertake one and definitely it should be done before the Scotch gives out.
No, I think tonight the menu will be two Sea-legs and a glass of whisky. A grey outlook, grey mist, grey sky, grey seas. I must go and secure that damn aerial. I can hear it sculling round the deck. It will be chasing me down here unless I muzzle it. Pass the bot
tle, please.
21st June. 1015 hrs. I slept till eight o’clock. Now and then I heard sounds which indicated we were becalmed. That one should hear anything was surprising, above the terrific din of bottles clinking, pots and pans, plates, tins, cutlery, various boxes, objects sliding from side to side in cupboards. Later I was aware of a breeze and things quietened down in the cabin.
I woke feeling guilty and was shamed by the boat, ticked off for not pressing on. How? Because we were still headed west but with the wind from the north instead of from the south. I left her with jib aback and trysail drawing to a south wind, headed west and it was a bit uncanny to wake seven or eight hours later to find her still travelling west but with the jib drawing and the trysail aback to a north wind. She had sailed on her way 12½ miles during the night.
However, I was glad to find that my guess forecast of the weather had been right. We had sailed into the eye of the depression with the wind south before entering the calm eye and north on leaving it. On the whole I did the right thing but a keen racing type would have got up at five when the north breeze arrived instead of lazing in idle sleep till eight.
I found the sea nearly calm, the sky clear in parts with some dark storm cloud in the distance which might mean more trouble. It took me 1 hour 20 minutes to hand and bag the trysail, sort out all its tackles, remove the various preventers which kept the main boom from swinging about and hoist and set the mainsail. It was a big effort to get it up with the wind on the beam making the slides stick, the sail press against the shrouds and battens catching up in the rigging.
How it is being driven home that this race is man and boat and not just boat! The Viking will lose no time with his sail-setting or gear-handling where I use many hours.
Alone Across the Atlantic Page 7