16 July. 0835 hrs. Well, here it is at last! The perfect sailing day. Broad reach to a north wind Force 3. Not a cloud in the sky. Big round sun. Small crescent moon (waning).
It looks as if I might even dry out some of my things. My rope-soled shoes had better go overboard. Though they have remained under the dining-room table they are covered with mildew. However, if the day stays like it is I shall have to hunt around for something else to moan about.
Last night, from a racing viewpoint, I did an awful thing. I knew I was wasting miles by not setting more sail during the night but I went on strike and turned over under the blankets. Everything in the ship was kicking up the most frightful cacophony: jam jars clashing, kettles sliding across the floor, table-flap banging loudly; Primus banging the toaster on the side because it was swinging so hard, add all this to the slapping of wire sheets on the deck, wire runners against the dinghy, and halliards against the mast, chuck in the violent jerks and abrupt rolls and you have the mixture for bedlam. What did I do? Turned over and went to sleep again.
Last evening it was blowing hard Force 7 and though we were running fast Miranda was not strong enough to control the rudder. The following seas picked up the stern and slewed it to one side or the other. It was as much as I could do at times to man-handle the rudder to get back on course, so how could a topped-up Miranda cope?
I was not going to stay up at the helm all night, though I could not resist remaining for an hour, it was such good sport. And impressive too! Looking down from the stern when on top of a wave the seas looked a good size for the short time it had been blowing. They rolled down onto the stern from on high and just as I thought we were going to be pooped, the stern rose and let the sea slide under as if it were a duck pond matter.
I thought hard for a while because I was in the old fix the windjammers dreaded though for a different reason; I had run too long. I couldn’t leave the tiller to tend the sheets of the trysail. After thinking and waiting for half an hour an opportunity came when the seas let the ship alone for a brief period but long enough for me to hop on the stern and release Miranda whom I had been overriding all this time. Then I hardened in the spitfire jib and slacked away the trysail halliard a little before a thunderous gybe brought me scuttling back to the tiller. With a number of such trips to the mast I got the trysail down and secured.
The ship’s movement eased at once and Miranda took control with ease. And so I left her with only the spitfire storm jib set. The speed went down to 3 knots but it meant peace and sleep. In the middle of the night the wind eased and I could have set sail but I slept on. I think it cost me 10 miles but I slept on.
2130 hrs. I saw the horizon cut the sun in half and then the sun sank slowly into the sea. It was gone. No, that was only a swell over it. But now it has gone for good. All round the horizon the sky had a roseate tint. Not a cloud in the sky. And we amble smoothly along. This is what makes one love sailing.
But what a day! You would scarcely recognize this ship. There are patches dry on the cabin sole; there are damp streaks where the floorboards meet but even one dry patch is an event after a month.
I’ve been bustling about all day. A stream of things, clothes, bedding, mattresses, cushions being hustled on deck. Later when dry, brushing off the mildew. Hatches open, ventilators reversed to send the air down in a strong stream. We have been sailing on all day even if only slowly. The wind has gradually headed us off, until now we are pointing at 200° compass, far beyond where I would have tacked normally as our proper course is 276 °.
The US Weather Bureau forecaster says we shall have a northerly tomorrow and so far his predictions have all been right. It’s the sou-wester I expect after that, that worries me. I don’t want to be caught close inshore and have to head off east of south. However, the time to tack has arrived.
17th July. 0835 hrs. St John’s time. Last night a bright starlit night. I was enchanted, the first clear bright starry sky I have seen for months. The stars had that diamond sparkle I associate with a frosty December night.
I was not surprised to be called out at 0130 for a shemozzle. This is what happens: a lull of calm; a wave gives the rudder a buffet and it swings to one side. Miranda windless is powerless. Having gone 20° the rudder wallops hard over, dragging Miranda by the tiller-lines. The yacht has enough way on to come up into the wind. The genoa is backed against the shrouds. Now back comes a puff of wind. The genny is backed really hard against the shrouds. Miranda is locked hard over. She is only designed to work the tiller through a 30° arc and once outside that she gets locked in a position impossible to escape from. Though for that matter, no amount of rudder will overcome a big headsail aback.
My drill is first to let the runner go which the boom is hard against, then release Miranda, next let the genoa’s sheet fly, haul in the genoa’s other sheet and proceed to tack normally. I think it is the devil of a job in a near calm with faint puffs and in the dark and I made several boss shots before succeeding. I must take both runners up to the mast next time before starting. Those four lethal blocks flying round in the dark take a bit of watching, and by the time I have nipped aft onto the stern to clock in Miranda, the genoa is aback again the other side and the whole drill has to be repeated.
I got a pleasant surprise, however, because when I finally turned in again, expecting to be called out again at any moment there was not another murmur from my crew and I slept peacefully till six while they slaved away faithfully in the dark.
At six I woke to dense fog. That marvellous day yesterday made me think the fog was finished. At least there was a good breeze with it and I darted out bare-legged into the cockpit for a quick preliminary fiddle with the trimming.
I found that we have sailed into a tide rip. There was no mistaking those short steep seas with breaking crests. I thought we must be in a shoal but I could not remember anything to indicate it on last night’s chart. When I could go below to study the chart I found that we had just passed over a kind of canyon a thousand fathoms deep running NE. to SW. and had just crossed the George’s Bank side of it into only 85 fathoms. It looks like a nearly vertical wall of 5,000 feet below us just there.
I still don’t understand the tide rip because a look at the tide tables indicated a tide current against us at that moment of 1·9 knots flowing off the bank into the canyon. Perhaps there is a vertical eddy there like the air up-draught in the lee of a range of mountains. Anyway it was a surprise for me thinking myself out in the Atlantic. One tends to associate tide rips with places like the Needles Channel.
Into this canyon runs a branch which must have drained the Gulf of Maine and Bay of Fundy. This is a mere 110 to 150 fathoms deep.
I’m sorry, I was wrong; another look at the chart shows it was not a canyon but a vast wall or cliff. Where we crossed it the bottom rises from 1,000 to 100 fathoms within 4½ miles. If there is a rip like that on the edge of the bank I must look up in the ‘Admiralty Pilot for the USA East Coast’to see what it says about the 2-fathom shoal in the centre of George’s Bank. Here it is: ‘This part (the shallow part) should be avoided; in heavy weather the sea breaks in patches with depths of 10 fathoms or less, and strong tide rips are encountered, the latter, however, not always indicating shoal water.’ It goes on to describe the Nantucket Shoals which come after George’s Bank. Cheerful words, ‘These shoals extend 40 miles south-eastward of Sankaty Head lighthouse … and render this one of the most dangerous parts of the US coast.’
The sea is fairly rough here. I would have thought it would be calm because we are on the lee side of George’s Bank and should get shelter from it. Now we are embarked on this tack I think we had better carry on round the George’s Shoal keeping to the north of it which is after all the lee side. Then tack again in about a day’s time to pass between George’s Shoal and Nantucket Shoals.
I must do some navigating, get a fix off the USA radio beacons if possible. I like to get used to them in good time. They all have a distinctive note of their own whic
h usually identifies them without need of the call letter once you are used to them. For instance Western Head Nova Scotia has a yelp like a quiet puppy.
1820 hrs. New York time. The sea is getting overcrowded. This afternoon I passed a fishing smack called Cobalt (I think) and saw two others in the distance. The Pilot says one can expect lots on these shoals. Then just now I thought I heard someone speak and popped my head out to find the Nicolas Bowater, London, close by on its way back along my route. I waved but I was too late on deck and she was too far. I wonder what they thought seeing a yacht with no one on deck.
When she turned up I was concentrating on a most important job below: I had been presented with a cardboard carton in Plymouth labelled ‘Survival Kit’to be opened only if lost or on arrival USA. It had been presented by Coates, makers of Plymouth Gin so I had a shrewd idea what was in it. As I finished off my whisky and gin the day before yesterday, you can imagine how welcome a gift it is. I filled in a little form they included, giving details of the position, time, etc. and put it as requested in a bottle which they offer to exchange for a bottle of gin if found. (I threw it overboard of course.) The importance of grog is its medicinal value for lone voyagers. Not only is it excellent medicine for a depressed ego but also it is of vital importance as an anti-scorbutic because of the lemon juice I mix it with.
Do you know I can feel a teeny weeny little bit of excitement budding. My present chart has New York on it. I’m still on George’s Bank but after crossing a channel come the Nantucket Shoals and after that a run along Long Island to New York. It was quite a thrill this morning to get a radio bearing of Cape Cod which has always seemed such a romantic spot. This afternoon I got my fix off Nantucket Light Vessel, Pollock Rip, Cape Cod, and Halfway Rock (Portland, N.H.) I used Seal Island for a check (at the tail end of Nova Scotia).
What a race! Here I am after sailing 3,516¼ miles, not knowing how I am placed. How well I know that heart-sink in finding one’s rivals waiting. But even if I were last I would still have that feeling which it gives you to have sailed a route like this. I hope I don’t see any buoys as I thread the Nantucket Shoals (which I expect to do); I do hope the Ambrose Light can be the first landmark to see since the Eddystone.
Gipsy Moth is beetling along as if she wants to get in too. We are in another tide rip and a lot of spray is coming aboard but I risked popping out without oilskins to see the log, 6¼ knots, distance 3,524.
I must have a good study of the chart to see if I can sleep in peace tonight. At a critical time I have to tack to move south between George’s and Nantucket Shoals, then turn as soon as we reach the first practical passage through the Nantucket labyrinth.
The weather forecast is good. The US Weather Bureau forecaster at Boston predicts SW. along Long Island and a northerly in the north portion of his territory. I think he refers to the New England States but where does the northern portion begin? A northerly for me when I want to move south between George’s and Nantucket would be a big stroke of luck. At present we are hard on the wind and as usual headed too far north.
18th July. 1830 hrs. For once we are nearly headed where we want to go. We amble along at 4½ knots, sometimes in the cabin I think we are becalmed, it becomes so quiet; I go on deck to find we are still doing the 4½ knots. It has been a sunny, fine day too. What more could one wish for?
You know how it is near the end of a voyage; the seeds of discontent are sown. Last night I slept badly. First, I find it hard sometimes to relax and disregard a kind of blind or trapped feeling at pressing on into the dark while I go to sleep; secondly I was excited by the thought of the race nearing its end.
Today I dampened some of the romance of this voyage by trying to contact land by R/ T. They could not hear me well enough, could not hear what I said. Why do I spoil the peace by trying? Well, Sheila is waiting in New York and it seems mean not to let her know I am on the way.
The interesting problem for me is the Nantucket Shoal, which I am headed for. From the chart I can’t see anything against threading my way through and it will save 10-20 miles if the wind is free to New York on the other side. I only worry about being becalmed if Nantucket Island is a hot sandy place. Also it would be bad tactics to enter the labyrinth of shoals against the tide current. The current will be favourable there at 0900 hrs. tomorrow which is roughly when we should be there. I must not risk being stuck in there especially if the current, up to nearly 2 knots, is contrary. I had better get my evening fix before the twilight distorts the radio waves.
19th July. 1105 hrs. That was a night; rather exciting really. I’ve just sat down to breakfast so it was a pretty lengthy night too. I had a good sleep from 2300 hrs. to 0115 hrs., when I got up for a radio beacon fix, and I slept soundly again for another hour and a quarter till 0315.
I woke up with a start and remembered we were heading for the middle of Nantucket shoals and I must do something about it. There were no lights to get bearings from, I could not get depth soundings which are so valuable for navigation and radio bearings are apt to be capricious at night.
As if to accentuate my blind approach to the Shoals the night was as black as pitch though it appeared quite fine. The only thing to do was to get sets of radio beacon bearings at intervals, run up the DR alongside regardless of the radio results and act in a way that would be safe and effective whichever was right. Each set of radio bearings usually differed from the others and the navigation had to be such that it would be safe if any of the radio fixes was correct and all the others were not.
Luck was with me because the wind was backing steadily which enabled me to enter the Shoals at a suitable place without having to tack south-east first. At 0500 hrs. the sky began to brighten and I could see a squall of at least rain ahead so hurriedly put on a full kit of oilskins. When it reached us I downed the mainsail. It turned into a big thunderstorm with lashings of heavy rain.
I was now over the Shoals. Even over the outlying one which is fairly deep it was impressive to see the sea gathering as if to break. My track would take me or should take me by my reckoning within a mile or two of what the chart called a ‘Texas Tower, floodlit’so I expected to see a landmark at last. But it was not to be. Thick fog rolled up. Presently I could hear it, a foghorn giving two deep ‘moos’like a sick bull. On the port bow where it should be. But, if the wind squall, the thunder storm, the deluge and the fog were not enough, now it fell calm. And still is.
I am not happy stuck in the middle of this maze of shoals and sandbanks and I have been working like a beaver all the morning. Unfortunately I cannot get a good fix because all the most valuable radio beacons, Cape Cod, Pollock Rip and Nantucket light vessel, are in a line from here so that they are only worth one position-line instead of a cross of several giving a fix.
Some other beacons I have tried to use to get a cut are either too far away or have land between them and here, in either case, making them unreliable.
I’ve got the ghoster genoa set and have been nursing it, humouring its every whim all morning. It does keep the boat moving even when there is not enough wind to blow cigarette smoke away. My best tack is heading us for some serious shoals but I am reckoning that the current combined with our movement results in pressing us out slowly to the westward.
I can only carry on this caper for another hour and a half till 1620 hrs. If the situation does not change for the better I shall have to roust out the kedge and anchor where we are. Otherwise with the current turned and flowing at 2 knots (at its strongest) we shall be carried into the thick of the maze. However, God tempers the wind, etc. and if we have a calm at least it is then possible (I hope) to drop a kedge. Well we’ll see; a lot can happen in an hour and a half on this voyage.
Meanwhile lunch before I get involved in a spate of action. I must say I have been pretty busy since 0315; twelve hours in fact, but it is rather sport (provided we can get out of this sand trap).
PS. I must tell you one little joke. I was bustling in the cockpit when I turned round startl
ed. A cloud of steam had enveloped me. You must admit a bit of a surprise out here. Of course you know the answer: some dense white fog. It seems to indicate a finger of the Gulf Stream feeling its way in here where it should not be. Reserved for the Labrador current, this alley way.
1700 hrs. Well, would you believe it? I could scarcely tear myself away from the deck scene it is so fascinating – only that I gave Miranda a tap and the radar reflector she has to carry, poor dear, disgorged half a pint of fog-drops from the meshwork and soaked my shirt to the skin.
I had my lunch, my usual potatoes and onions with Cohoe salmon and Bartlett pears to follow. I washed up too like a dutiful househusband. Then I fished out the lead and line to plumb the depths before dropping the kedge. No sense in dropping an anchor into a bottomless hole.
When I got on deck we were moving nearly as fast as the tide would be flowing. And there, like a hungry wolf snapping at our heels, was a tide rip like a hundred potato rows on a larger scale. Row after row quite even with the crest combing here and there. Just before they reached the counter of the yacht they stopped completely and the sea round us was smooth, quite smooth with humpy seas beginning to form as it were under smooth skin. These looked as breakers do humping themselves up gathering their bulk before combing and breaking.
I turned round to see if any were in fact breaking ahead of us but there were none. So I hoisted the mainsail. I thought if we can go this speed with the genoa only maybe we can beat the tide with the mainsail added. Try it anyhow. We are doing more than 2 knots but we are crossing the lines of shoals and crossing the direction of the tide. So, although we may be going faster than 2 knots the tide is still carrying us into the shoals at 2 knots sideways to our direction of movement. I don’t want to get caught in a bad position and find the wind petering out (as I fear it is at the moment).
1745 hrs. We are still moving but I am not happy. We have 20 miles of this stuff to cross yet. It is a question of whether we can avoid being caried too far in during the six hours of tide setting in that direction. It seems curious that with all this current the actual rise and fall of the tide is very little here, about 13 inches maximum. Well, I’ll have a siesta (I’m certainly due one) and maybe I’ll get an inspiration.
Alone Across the Atlantic Page 17