I went below and was half out of my oilskins preparatory to logging 1,212 miles at 2310 hrs., when there was the most thunderous crash. I felt, or thought I felt the boat sink under the weight of water. My heart went down with it. I dressed again and went on deck. I was intensely surprised to find the dinghy still there, still lashed down and immensely pleased when I could find nothing carried away. Obviously it sounded much worse below. I suppose it is like being inside a drum and someone bashing the outside hard.
I could not have seen the red light quicker, we were going too fast for the sea running. I set to work and lowered and furled the main again. It went smoothly enough but it wasn’t easy in the gale which by now was blowing. The main boom started swinging and hitting the weather runner which set me scrambling aft from the mast as fast as I could go. I hardened in the main sheet as fast as I could, ducking the boom as it swung and then tethered it firmly with another rope. I trimmed the shock-cord tiller lines, clocked in a topped-up Miranda and left the deck with just the small jib set. I went below and turned in.
It was a rough night. I must say how glad I am this boat was built by John Tyrrell. He is a member of the RORC, which you can’t join without taking part in at least one of their races; in other words he knows what the boat is wanted for; but he builds fishing boats and lifeboats chiefly so also knows what a boat is up against in a storm.
I was chiefly worried about Miranda, comparatively delicate, getting strained, but she seems all right. We were hit by many seas but none worse than the one I described. I peeped up several times to see that all was well but otherwise slept till nine o’clock (seven o’clock local time) only forced awake then by a saucepan making a frightful din.
I was most reluctant to wake up and get out of my berth; but the boat had worked her way round to north and I wondered if there was anything I could do about it. I could not bring her up any closer to the wind under jib only. With a trysail she would come back to 340° or possibly 330 ° but even that is 40-50 ° off the course for New York. Is it worth all the trysail sweat or should I wait till the sea and wind abate and I can set the main again? If the sea and wind improve within three hours it will pay me to wait but if they continue bad for days I shall have blundered.
I am writing this because I think it will help me decide right. Every writer who has described a single-handed voyage has said that fatigue is the most serious hazard or implied it. I must confess that setting that big mainsail and the trysail in bad weather takes the ginger out of me. The big headsails I don’t mind; they seem easy by comparison.
My fingers are so tender that I have difficulty in opening a tin and last night in the hurly-burly I stupidly let one of the cabin doors which snap shut pulled by shock-cord, snap shut on my fingers. This made me sit up and has given one fingernail the blues this morning to match my toe. As a matter of fact I felt I had been very lucky indeed to get off so lightly.
Hark at that wind whining! Surely not more storm. I wonder what my rivals are doing. I hope they did not catch this packet; last night I would think would be pretty good hell in a 5-tonner. But they could be only 200 miles away and miss a storm completely.
24th June. 1250 BST. As we are 33 ° west of Greenwich, the time here by the sun is two hours earlier.
I kept away from my little blue book confidant after I had written in the morning. I had the blues, the weather had the greys, I had too much to do, I was fagged out and I didn’t like the set-up. I was apprehensive and jumpy. Being in a boat for 12 days with everything getting wetter every day and no chance to dry a single thing is a dampener of morale.
I turned my oilskin trousers inside out when it seemed set fine for half an hour yesterday and hung them at the cabin doorway to the cockpit. Dashed if a sea didn’t souse the decks almost at once and made my poor pants far worse than before. We seemed to be getting nowhere and yet with considerable risk to gear.
In the morning I first hoisted a full mainsail. Next I set No. 2 jib. It blew up hard and I lowered and furled the main. Then after lunch I reefed the main fully and hoisted it again. Here I said, ‘That’s enough sail changing today. No more.’ Handling that main in a blow takes some brawn and energy.
At 2000 hrs. the wind moderated and I logged that I might unreef the main and set the genoa … crazy loon! It was loud, wet going. Crashing through the smaller waves, swinging and slamming. We seemed to be going at a terrific pace but the cool-headed log said only 51⁄6 knots at the fastest. Then it blew up again and I changed down from No. 2 to No. 3 jib.
It was rather sport in the stem changing the sails, one second poised high up in the air looking down 20 feet to the sea – there was an overriding wave formation of about 15 feet seas – and the next with the stem at water level, as it were standing in the water.
At midnight I could not stand the bashing any longer, crashing through the seas; or the seas crashing into us. The sort of thing which is exciting and good sport in someone else’s boat. I had noticed when changing jibs how ladylike and serene the yacht was with reefed mainsail only. I handed the jib and comparative peace followed. It is pressing on against the seas that makes most of the roughness. But it shows what a contribution is made by even a small jib. In ten hours with the mainsail only we covered only 8¼ miles!
I couldn’t sleep till three o’clock, overtired, but then got off till nine in the morning.
I started off afresh this morning with a fresh outlook. I refused to go on deck till I had had breakfast and even then would not set a jib till I had taken sextant shots of the sun before the extra bouncing started. It was still a Force 6 wind with the spray flying off horizontally and we have only been making 4 knots with No. 3 jib, and the main reefed. Nor are we going in the right direction. The wind is straight from New York.
It’s like trying to reach a doorway with a man in it aiming a hose at you and the best you can do is to approach at an angle of 50° to the hose-stream one way or the other. Actually this port tack is now the worst but I will hold on till 1500 hrs. and try calling up a clipper on the R/T.
I rigged up the aerial afresh this morning, repairing it first. The lead in to the set had nearly parted from the aerial. Only one strand of wire left. Is that why I could not call anyone successfully? But already this morning I have tried several times to call any ship. I can hear nothing. Is it being in mid-Atlantic, or is there something wrong with the aerial still? I’m afraid Sheila will be worrying about me with no news for a fortnight. But I don’t know what I can do about it.
Yesterday’s run was the worst yet. 71½ miles and mostly in the wrong direction.
Goodbye my hopes of a fast passage. If only we were going east instead of west we should be making wonderful time with both wind and current favouring instead of opposing.
25th June. 0950 BST. It improved all day yesterday and by the evening, I was thinking what an incredible change it was from the night before. Sun shining, sea nearly calm, light air. I seized the opportunity to fill twelve bottles with paraffin from a two-gallon can. I even edged a pair of trousers and a sweater into the cockpit hoping they might dry. However, night fell before they had a chance to do that.
I tacked again to port tack as the wind backed and I left Miranda in charge with all sail set, ambling towards New York in the right direction at last, at 3 knots. I turned in and had a grand sleep from midnight till six o’clock, when I woke to find the wind had backed continually during the night and was now ESE., while we were headed south.
I trimmed the sails and Miranda to sail as nearly downwind as possible but this was 50 ° off the direction of New York. But I wanted the boat to do the best she could while I prepared our friends the twins.
Starting at 0700 hrs. (5 local time) I had the twin spinnakers set and drawing on our required course by 0915. This may seem slow to you for a mere sail change but to me it seemed quite a triumph. It was only the second time I had done it and much of the time was taken up doing things one should not have to do another time.
All the whil
e on deck I am attached by a big web belt to a life-line. I promised Sheila I would do this. Someone very kindly presented me with a magnificent red and white lifebuoy but the trouble with that is that I should have to get back aboard somehow in order to throw myself the lifebuoy if I fell in.
A short length of rope is anchored half-way along the deck between cockpit and mast, one each side. I always use the weather one assuming I would fall downhill as it were. This I hook in to the belt and I use it for all work on the way to the mast. Of course it catches in everything on my way forward and again on my return aft. Also I frequently trip over it myself which adds to the gaiety if I’m in a tearing hurry to get back to the tiller.
The belt also has a short line with a hook of its own. With a bit of juggling I can hook this one to something at the mast so that I have a line behind my back to lean against if I want both hands at halliards or winch while the boat is lively or rolling heavily.
At the mast I transfer to another shorter rope which tethers me when I go up to the stem to work the headsails on the forestays. Every trip back to the tiller from the stem means of course two transfers. And there are a lot of trips, not only to fetch gear but there is frequently a scamper to the tiller.
Each time a sail is dropped or hoisted the balance of pressure changes so much that the rudder must be reset quickly before the yacht overpowers the wind vane and ends in the chaos of a gybe or unwanted tack.
As regards the twins, I first prepared the small twin, hanked it onto the forestay and sheeted it loosely, halliard ready. Then I unlashed its spinnaker boom; topped this up to take its weight, fastened two down-guys to it to control its movement down, fore or aft, hooked one end into the grommet at the sail’s clew and the other end into the gooseneck 7 feet up the mast. This spinnaker is now ready to hoist and the boom will be hoisted with it in place.
I fastened another down-guy to the twin goosenecks at the mast because they began creeping up the track on the mast last time due to the upward thrust of the two spinnaker booms. Next I made another of my specialités de maison, a rope strop slightly smaller to replace the one on the genoa’s clew, which I dropped overboard while trying to fit it while the sail was set and drawing hard.
The next operation was to get rid of the mainsail. I half-lowered it, went back to the cockpit to harden the main boom in amidships to stop it from its lethal swinging as soon as the sail was completely down. Then finished lowering and furling it. Next I topped up Miranda so that her boom would not swing into the backstay when we turned downwind. Lastly I went through the same drill for the big genoa as for the smaller spinnaker. Hoisted it and returned to the tiller to play with the tiller-lines and Miranda’s tiller-lines until I was fairly hopeful that the boat would remain approximately on course, while I went forward to hoist No. 2 spinnaker.
I suppose that tiller adjustment also took a quarter of an hour. Once No. 2 was hoisted it was easy to set up the tiller-lines and Miranda for a steady course. Actually she is sailing 10° off course now two hours later, but that is nothing with such a set-up and is probably due to a wind change of that amount.
We are doing a nice, quiet, silky six knots. How delightful it is for a change after being days hard on the wind. I love the rumble of the bow-wave with a hint of distant thunder which you hear while peacefully running.
I called up time after time to try for contact with a ship yesterday. The set is perfectly all right. I suppose there just is no ship near or if there is it is not keeping a radio watch. I know these sets are only intended for a short range of 50 or 100 miles and it would be a bit of luck if one could contact a ship in mid-Atlantic with that range, let alone an aircraft.
To work! I must go and play with Miranda, her grip has definitely been slipping lately and once or twice caused me considerable embarrassment.
8. June 26th to 28th
Taking Miranda to Pieces – Big Following Seas – Down Rig
– Blowing Up Fast – Gale – Secure Everything – Wind Increasing
– Storm – Wind 80 m.p.h. – Hurricane – Breakfast during
Storm – Reading The Tempest – The ‘Sea Anchor’ – Wind
Reaches 100 m.p.h. – Unbelievable Noise – Twice Gybed –
Wind Abating to 80 m.p.h. – The Damage – Seas 25 feet High
– Sheila Sails Today – Work on Miranda – Swinging Like a
Monkey – The Paraffin Patch – Without Burgee – My Hat
and Mildew – Explaining the North Atlantic Current
26th June. 0900 hrs. or seven o’clock local time. All that jaunty note yesterday morning that I have just caught sight of was just gibberish. Although only a few hours it seems so long ago that I have to make an effort to remember it. I had Miranda topped up with only the little topsail working so that she could swing abaft the backstay.
She was linked to the tiller which was also prevented from too much movement by shock-cord lines. I found this arrangement had worked very well when the twin spinnakers were set the previous time and I had had no need to link up the sheets from the outboard sail clews direct to the tiller as the trade wind cruising yachts always do.
I noticed by the tell-tale compass in the cabin and by the sails clapping that the course was erratic and on going above I found Miranda’s clamp was slipping. I started taking this to bits to try and cure the defect. But I never succeeded because as soon as my back was turned to the tiller the boat ran off one way or the other and the pistol-like reports from the sail brought me back urgently. In a few minutes I found I could not leave the tiller at all.
We were going at a great pace and the following seas would pick up the stern and slew it, bear it to one side or the other, the altered pressure on the sails would back up this movement and in a few seconds the boat would be coming round hard to wind with one spinnaker aback and big trouble ahead if it was not checked at once.
I wondered what to do. Should I carry on at the helm for a few hours to take advantage of the 8 knots we were making in the right direction or should I take down the sail and rig up lines to the tiller according to trade-wind practice. Fortunately I got very sleepy and could hardly keep my eyes open. So I decided to down the rig.
You will have realized that the wind had been increasing very fast, but, preoccupied with steering and thinking what to do with the rig, I had not paid attention to it. I realized it quick enough by the time I came to hand the big genoa. First I slacked off the sheet to let the pole forward and decrease the area of sail offering to the wind. The bellied-out sail flapped madly, and when I slacked away the halliard so that the sail was partly down the stay, the noise was terrific and the boat began slewing wildly to come up to wind with the genoa’s big flapping belly behind the other sail. I rushed back and corrected the course then back to the genoa. I managed to gather some of it and pass a sail tie round. Then slacked more halliard to let the lower half of the sail into the water which I correctly assumed would keep that part quiet while I dealt with the 14-foot pole.
I got the sail down in the end, but had to use some strong-arm tactics. The fact is the wind was increasing fast as I worked. I had more trouble with the smaller sail. When I let the boom forward, the end holding the clew of the sail was about six feet outboard of the foredeck. I got a length of rope round the middle of the sail but the part between the deck and the boom began gyrating madly. At last I got this under control by twisting the sail round and round at the deck until the loose area was whittled down and I could secure it with a sail tie.
By now there was a gale blowing and I had only just got the sails down in time. I thought at one stage that the genoa was going to blow itself to pieces. It was 1045 when I had gone on deck to fix Miranda; it was 1600, 5¼ hours later that I got below again.
I had a big blow on my hands and I worked hard to secure everything. I was pretty relieved at the start to get the spinnaker poles down to the deck and lashed down. Next came Miranda, who had begun to break up. Her topping lift had stranded and parted letting the spanke
r drop and one of the halliards of the little topsail had done the same.
First I got the spanker off and topped up its boom by passing a sail tie round to secure it to the gaff. I had a lot of trouble to get the topsail off; the soaking wet coils of halliard were jammed tight. I had to work with hands at full stretch above my head while balancing like a monkey standing on the pulpit.
It would have been easy to get fussed; it was now blowing great guns and Miranda’s 14-foot mast I was working at was free to swing with the wind, while I was tangled up in all its stays while working on it. I thought of the old wind-jammers where they had to treat a gale as an everyday matter and very likely had iced ropes to handle. There seemed fifty jobs to do, but I did them all. Such as lowering the mainsail boom to the deck and lashing it down.
1330 hrs. It was only when I finished my toils that I realized what was going on. The din was appalling, a high-pitch screech or scream dominating. Plenty of spray peppering everything and seas hitting periodically with a bonk! Crash! The wind was 80 m.p.h., that makes about 70 knots. I always think of high wind speeds in m.p.h. because I measure them by the slipstream of a light plane which I was well used to.
An hour later I realized the boat was lying on the unfavourable tack headed ESE., beam-on to the wind from NNE. I thought this a pity to be headed away from my destination so dressed up again and coaxed the boat round in a gybe to the opposite tack using full rudder to get her round. She was going pretty fast broadside-on to the wind, at 3 knots I judged, and I tried to induce her to lie more nearly head to wind but she absolutely refused anything except broadside-on wherever the tiller was set.
The wind I assessed now at 90 m.p.h. I went below and had a good breakfast of my usual fry-up of potatoes, onions and three eggs. I then went to sleep reading The Tempest.
Alone Across the Atlantic Page 9