Chapter Eighteen
McBride steered the Belinda out into the river, its diesel engine a slow putt putt coming from beneath his feet. Ben was beside him looking across at the further bank at the buildings. The river current was sluggish, and McBride adjusted the yacht’s speed only enough to maintain steerage. The long line of buoys stretched out in the distance. Nothing else was moving on the river as darkness fell. Street lights from the banks of the river cast reflections in the water.
“Ben, do you think you could take the wheel? I want to go forward and ready the sails.”
“Stay with me a moment and make sure I’m doing it right. It’s the first time.”
“You’ve just got to remember it’s not like driving a car, when you turn the wheel, the boat takes time to respond. If you remember that, you won’t over-compensate, and end up zigzagging all over the place.”
McBride set the jib, which could then be hauled up from the cockpit, and next examined the mainsail. The cover was on, so he removed it and placed it in the rope locker. Somewhere there must be hidden the cranking key through which the sail could be paid out. Maybe back in the cabin. And they hadn’t got any navigation lights on. That was dangerous. He made his way quickly back to Ben, dropping lightly on to the cockpit deck. He looked over Ben’s shoulder at the small fascia behind the compass gimbal. Dials showing ammeter, speed, which would show speed through the water, but not absolute speed because that was dependant on tidal flow, currents and so on. It was barely registering now, even though the scenery was passing by at maybe eight mph. The current, of course, making up the velocity. A free ride, thought McBride, inconsequentially. There were a few on /off switches, but he couldn’t see the inscriptions in the dim light.
There was a fuel gauge. He reached over and flipped one of the switches, looked round, couldn’t see any difference, flipped the next. The navigation lights came on, and also the fascia light. He flipped the first switch into the off position. The fascia light was extinguished. Good system, you didn’t always need the fascia light on, it could destroy your night vision. And you certainly didn’t need it when the navigation lights were off, because then it was daylight.
McBride went over to the cupboard in the bulkhead. Tried different keys on the bunch Nigel had given him. By trial and error he arrived at the correct one, mentally told himself to remember it for next time, and pulled open the door. Nigel had told him about the distress rockets, and the oilskins. He suddenly spotted equipment neatly racked on the back of the door. First the big brass crank handle that went into the end of the boom, and could be wound from the helmsman’s position, to reef or let out the mainsail. Next to it, a long handle that he guessed would open the diesel cap, or maybe the water tank, that must be somewhere. Probably on the deck amidships.
Content that he had enough information for now, he watched Ben handle the boat. He was doing well, keeping close to the buoys on the port side, moving the wheel fractionally to keep to the slight bends in the river. He should settle into being a good crew member. Then McBride remembered the sea sickness.
McBride had formulated a temporary plan. He aimed to sail non-stop across the Baltic, which should be reasonably calm, and put in at a port in Denmark. He remembered a family holiday in his childhood when his father had hired a boat and sailed around the islands. They had visited one fishing port, and it was just in the Baltic. It was sheltered, and amid the village, with restaurants and a small supermarket. He couldn’t remember the name of the port, but when he searched Nigel’s charts, he should spot it. Close to the junction of the Baltic and the North Sea. They could stock up on food, fill the diesel tank, and prepare for the dash across the North Sea. Not exactly a dash, it must be 800 miles to go from the village with no name. Importantly they could buy sea sickness tablets, and a wrist band that worked wonders against the nausea. First they had to cross one thousand miles of the Baltic.
Half an hour later and they were passing docks that were housing large ships. McBride saw the container port, with its bright sodium lights, huge cranes working all night and day. They passed the last of the buoys, and they were in the seaway; miles away from land.
“How are you doing, Ben”
“Great, so far.”
“It’s time to get the sails up. We should save fuel. We don’t know how much engine work we need to do, for instance if we run into bad weather.”
McBride got out the reefing key, inserted into the end of the jib.
“There’s a rope, in that cleat just to your left, on the cabin roof. Yes, that’s it. That’s to hoist the mainsail. Just leave the wheel, I’ll catch it we need to. Now, as I wind this key, the sail will unfurl from the boom. You heave on the line, and the sail will go up the mast, okay?”
Ben nodded, and started pulling, whilst McBride wound.
“That’s far enough. Push the rope firmly back in the cleat, and run it round the bollard there. Good.”
The boat heeled slightly as the breeze caught the sail, and McBride caught the wheel and brought the yacht up wind. The mainsail rattled.
“What’s happening?” Ben looked worried. He needn’t be. McBride knew exactly what he was doing.
“What is happening is exactly what should be happening. The breeze is blowing roughly from the north. When we push the boat’s nose into the wind, it stops, well it would do if the engine wasn’t running. The wind misses the sail, so it doesn’t drive the boat. Get it?”
“I see what you mean. So when we are sailing we can stop the boat if we were going to hit anything.”
“Exactly. When we are totally under sail, if you are at the helm, you must always be aware of the way the wind is blowing.”
“Hold a finger up, like you see in the cartoons?”
“Not really. Look up at the top of the mast. See that little pennant. It’s blowing towards the stern. Because the wind is directly ahead. So the helmsman always keeps a check on wind direction. If the wind is following from behind, and you deviate your direction, maybe by only a small amount, you are in danger of luffing.’
“Which means what?”
“The boom,” McBride pointed, “is heavy. Has to be, it keeps the sail stretched. If the wind gets to the wrong side of it, the boom will swing over so suddenly it will give you a fright. In a strong wind, it could be dangerous. If somebody was up on the deck, it could knock him into the water, which could be a real problem. Which reminds me, we need to find the life jackets, and we wear them all the time we are sailing, even if we’re sleeping below.”
“So it’s a dangerous business, this sailing?” Ben looked a bit uneasy.
“A lot of things we do are dangerous. Crossing the road probably featuring at the top of the list. If we are sensible, yachting is fine. Now, here are the keys, I’ll take the helm. You find the keys to the cabin, go in and switch on the inside lights. You are going to look for lifejackets, orange or more likely yellow. Could be in the storage under the bunks.”
While Ben was busy, McBride switched off the diesel, and pulled the wheel so that the yacht caught the wind. It began to move at a cracking pace, despite the jib not being rigged. McBride adjusted the sheet, which is the rope governing the amount the boom can travel. On a broad reach, the boom is restrained, and by letting out the sheet, the wind can be spilled out of the sail. So it works like a car throttle. He tightened the sheet, and the yacht heeled, and began to travel at probably ten knots. Just where McBride wanted the speed. Even at ten knots, it would take over four days and nights nonstop travel to reach Denmark.
Ben’s face peered out of the cabin. “Why are we tipping over?” His voice was anxious.
“We are heeling over from the wind, all yachts do it when they are on a reach, which we are. Remember what Nigel said? This boat has got such a big weighted keel that you could lay it flat on the water, and it would come back upright.”
McBride watched the compass and corrected slightly north of west. He intended following the Swedish coast south when they got there. Now he
was feeling how the boat handled, and it was beautiful, reacting to every movement on the helm. He wished the yacht was his own. He looked up at the mast top to check wind direction, and noticed that below the pennant was a radar reflector. That was reassuring. A wooden boat gives very little reflection on a radar screen, so the metal reflector, gives a blob on another boat’s radar. Less chance of being run down. Top marks to Nigel. He glanced further down the mast, and saw a radar dome mounted on the cabin roof aft of the mast. Not very high from sea level, about 18” diameter. Range probably forty miles. This was very promising. He had to find the screen first, or it would be of little use. McBride, when confronted with this problem, decided where he would have mounted it, if it was his boat.
Probably construct another cowl above the fascia. It would have spoiled the lines of the boat of course. Or just inside the cabin, where you could see it from the helm. The door was open, and fastened back with a hook, flat with the bulkhead. Ben’s head came out and he held out a life vest, yellow.
“There you are John,” he said. “I guess you just wear it uninflated, and if the time comes you just pull on this cord.”
“Your assumption is correct. Well done Ben”
“I just read the instructions on the front.” He grinned.
“Just come into the cockpit for a minute, I’m looking for the radar screen. We have all mod cons aboard this vessel.”
“Ben, on the right as you go in, is that the chart table?”
“Yes, it’s got one chart clipped to the top with those spring clips draughtsmen use. There are a lot of shallow drawers under the table, I tried them all, and they all have charts in them.”
“And what’s that up above the chart table, sort of fixed to the cabin roof. There’s a pull knob on the front.”
“Don’t know, I never tried to open it, but I will now.”
He reached past McBride, and pulled at the knob. Nothing. And then he realised that it was a door, not a drawer, and that it was hinged at the back, so that a quadrant opened up, and on the flat surface was a radar screen, and another instrument.
“Boy, oh boy,” breathed McBride. “The clever sod.”
“That’s a radar screen. Yes?”
“Oh yes, and next to it is a GPS positioner.”
“Like satnav in a car?”
“Oh yes, but it gives the positional latitude and longitude, and of course shows land mass as well as sea. Beautiful. And you can plot your course on the charts straight from the GPS. And when I’m standing here at the helm, I can see both instrument screens. It makes it a bit draughty in the cabin, but you can’t have everything. Wouldn’t be much use in a following sea. Would flood the cabin. But you could come about to take readings.”
“Would you like a hot mug of tea, to really make your day?”
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