A Thousand Miles from Anywhere

by Sandra Clayton

  We are motoring all the time now. Since yesterday lunchtime the wind has been next to nothing and at one stage we were becalmed. An advantage of motoring, though, is that we have sufficient juice to run the radar as we are now in amongst heavy commercial traffic.

  By mid-morning the wind has picked up and we are able to turn off the engine and sail, thereby conserving fuel as much as possible as there are only around 100 litres left. We tack and tack and make virtually no progress whatsoever and at midday we put an engine back on again until an hour later when a strong north wind arrives and we can resume sailing.

  It is very bumpy, with large waves pounding our beam, but at least we are making progress. For the first time in three-and-a-half days we record over 5 knots where before it had been mostly between 1 and 3. While we are in the shelter of Great Abaco Island we get some protection from the heavy sea, but once the island is behind us we are back into the turbulence again. It is a really uncomfortable night and we both get irritable. We decide, after we’ve finished shouting at each other, that we will sacrifice the price of a costly Bahamian cruising permit and an expensive marina fee in exchange for a night’s rest and go to Freeport on Grand Bahama Island tomorrow with an estimated arrival time of around 1pm.

  During the night there is the smell of fires on land to starboard and then an unwholesome smell that defies identification. The bumpiness continues until around 3am. After that it gets much quieter. Around 5am a sliver of russet moon rises but then cloud obscures most of it, leaving only the two tips of the crescent and the rim, like celestial headphones.

  I’m aware that David has been giving me extra sleeping time during watches lately but I’ve been so tired I still could barely wait to become horizontal again. Once the sea calms, however, my energy revives somewhat and as David is looking so weary I give him an extra hour instead. At 6am he wakes naturally, which is what I had wanted him to do because that way you always feel so much more refreshed than if you are woken before your time. Then we discuss our situation.

  With an extra hour of sleep and a less violent sea we both feel better. So we make a 30° change of course and head for Fort Lauderdale. This is not only our preferred destination but will also put the sea and the wind directly behind us which, as David says, ‘is the best of all possible worlds.’ Having worked his way through his first and second choice of the books on board he is currently immersed in Voltaire’s Candide. It is amazing what the lack of TV and radio over time can do, although it hasn’t yet driven me to study navigation.

  David tunes into our SSB radio for Monday morning’s weather forecast. Before giving it David Jones reports that a 40-foot British catamaran called Albatross with three people on board, north of Cuba and heading for Florida, has lost most of her rigging and is making her way north with difficulty. Her skipper has asked for someone to notify the US Coast Guard so that they will be aware of the situation, although he does not want help yet. Albatross had spoken to Amadeus who had relayed the message to Lady B who then speaks to David Jones who telephones the Coast Guard.

  The latter has a vessel in the area and will make contact with Albatross and establish a regular radio schedule on a designated channel until the stricken yacht is safe. All of this precedes the weather forecast and the relays take rather a lot of time. Presumably Albatross and Amadeus are like us and have only VHF which transmits over relatively short distances and this requires the relaying back and forth to Lady B who presumably has an SSB transmitter and is able to talk direct to Mr Jones.

  So while David waits below for the forecast I stagger up on deck – despite the improvement there are still occasional rollers and 20-knot wind gusts tossing Voyager about – and notice a bird the size of a pigeon standing unsteadily on our starboard crosstree. I call David to come out and have a look, and he throws out an arm to starboard and calls to it, ‘Land’s over there,’ before returning below to the SSB. The bird looks wistfully in the direction he had pointed but remains where it is, although it is clearly finding its perch rather difficult. After about an hour it flies round the boat looking for somewhere more comfortable. It seems to fancy the cockpit but doesn’t dare approach it with us in situ, so it settles on the starboard rail near the bow.

  We now have a chance to see it more clearly. With its soft beige feathers, gentle eye and black half-ring around the back of its neck it is a collared dove. The poor thing gets more and more tired balancing on a wire in an erratic wind. Around 1.30 its lower body sinks onto its feet, its head droops onto its chest and its eye-blinks get slower until its black eyes remain covered by its pale eyelids for longer and longer periods. It is trying to sleep without falling off its perch.

  I want desperately to go and grab it and put it somewhere it can rest in safety, but dare not. Better for it to survive in discomfort than be driven out to sea and perish from exhaustion before it can reach land. Occasionally it will change its position, trying to get more comfortable because its legs ache from having to hold on sideways into the wind, but it soon has to turn back again because in its new position the wind keeps raising its tail and throwing it off balance.

  Its discomfort makes me feel guilty because for us it is just the opposite. Downwind sailing is smooth and rhythmic and the opposite from yesterday’s bone-jarring, nerve-jangling, boat-rattling passage. And it is so exhilarating you want it to go on forever. Our only concern is what will happen to our small guest if we find it necessary to gybe.

  We have just the one sail up and not much to do except keep the wind slightly off our stern. We even have a Happy Hour before lunch. What a difference a day makes. Yesterday I could have walked off the boat forever. Today is bliss, despite huge container ships passing either side of us. And there is a time delay involved here. A ship passes and you forget about it. Then 15 minutes later its wash hits you and your happy hour wine glass topples over. And sometimes so do you.

  Since entering the Northwest Providence Channel we have kept to its north side, thereby avoiding commercial traffic, and making it less fraught, especially at night. At 3.20pm we do have to gybe. I watch anxiously but the dove simply ducks as the genoa passes over its head. I wonder how much longer it can hang on. We are still 60 miles from Fort Lauderdale.

  The news on World Service today features May Day anarchy in London – an anti-capitalism/anti-globalisation demonstration. And somebody has trashed a McDonalds. I wish I could feed our passenger.

  The wind starts to get lighter and by 8pm David decides it isn’t worth messing about with the genoa any longer and hauls it in; being careful not to disturb the bird, of course. Then he starts the engine and puts on Voyager’s steaming lights. Over time the dove has become much chirpier and twenty minutes later it is gone. To where, we are not sure. In a direct line between us and Great Isaac Lighthouse is a brightly-lit cruise ship going in the opposite direction. Whether the dove has headed for the cruise ship and a return from whence it came, or the lighthouse – which is an ideal staging point for a land bird blown out to sea to reach land again – we cannot know. We simply wish it a safe harbour.

  We shall now motor for the rest of the night as we have enough fuel to get us where we are going. It will also produce enough battery power for the radar to identify the increasing amount of shipping on the approach to Fort Lauderdale through the darkness. It has surprised us, in such a busy seaway, how few other vessels we have actually seen, averaging barely more than one a day until we joined the container ships on the approach to Florida.

  To get from the Northwest Providence Channel to Fort Lauderdale is virtually a straight line going west. Unfortunately, in between them is the Gulf Stream, a powerful river within an ocean, travelling north at around 2.5 knots, although some reports say it can get as high as five. In this area it is 45 miles wide and its remorseless current means that to sail west you have to steer to the southwest and crab across the Straits of Florida to avoid being swept north.

  It is very bumpy, pitch black and our progress is very slow. At one stage we a
re doing only 1.8 knots. But there is an advantage to being kept out here at sea, where it is safer, instead of approaching an unknown and busy commercial port in the dark. In fact, the night is so dark that when a small white light appears within feet of our stern we can see nothing but the light itself and before we have time to react, it goes out again. Heaven knows who it is. Someone very low in the water, judging by the height of the lamp, and if there is an engine we do not hear it above our own. Silent and furtive, whoever it is simply melts back into the darkness and the violence of the Gulf Stream.

  These final hours, as we approach the south-eastern coast of America, seem to take a very long time to pass, for despite not being in a hurry to reach anywhere until daylight we are tired. It has been a long, slow passage – ten days in all – and a turbulent one. And we have both been without sleep for many hours now. At the same time there is a sense of excitement as we stand together in the cockpit in the darkness, gazing out at the distant lights of the Florida coastline. They represent a whole new and very different sailing experience about to open up before us.

  Sailing offers you a different way of seeing a country and you do not have to visit many or for very long before preconceptions and stereotypes fall away. At the same time you acquire an entirely new perspective on your own.

  Perhaps, of all the countries in the world, we all think we know America intimately because we all receive so much of its film and television. To spend a whole summer and autumn in the reality is an opportunity not to be missed because, as Marcel Proust observed,

  ‘The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.’

  Glossary for Non-Sailors

  Anchor winch – raises the anchor.

  Antifouling – paint put on the hull below the waterline to deter marine growth and shellfish which reduce the speed of the boat.

  Autopilot – device to hold the boat on a set course automatically.

  Beat – when sailing with the wind coming from in front of you rather than from behind or to the side.

  Blue water cruising – long distance ocean sailing.

  Boom – a hinged pole attached to the mast which holds the bottom of the mainsail and allows it to be set in various positions to catch the wind.

  Bunkering – refuelling ships with coal.

  Carpe diem (quam minimum credula postero) – Seize the day (and think as little as possible about tomorrow). Roman poet, Horace.

  Clew – the lower corner of a sail through which an outhaul is tied.

  Coaming – raised edge on deck which helps prevent water entering the cockpit.

  Courtesy flag – acknowledges that you are in someone else’s country and recognise its jurisdiction.

  Crosstree – small horizontal spars, or spreaders, enabling the shrouds to better support the mast.

  Currency exchange rate – during the period of this book £1sterling was roughly equal to US$1.50, and US$1 to EC$2.

  Davits – two small hoists to lift and hold a dinghy, usually at a boat’s stern.

  Dead reckoning – the process of plotting a course or position from a known point using charts and tide tables.

  Drift net – a fishing net at least a mile long, with one edge held at the surface by floats and the other edge floating free. Fish are caught by their gills. Also trapped by them are dolphins, whales, turtles, diving seabirds and yachts.

  El Niño – a warming of the Pacific Ocean’s surface and a change in air pressure which has a negative impact on weather patterns worldwide.

  Gash bag – all refuse (gash) on board is bagged and taken ashore for appropriate disposal.

  Gelcoat – the hard shiny outer layer covering the fibreglass from which our boat is built.

  Gallows – a frame on the stern which on Voyager supports the wind generator and a variety of aerials.

  Genoa – the large sail in front of our mast.

  Gybe – when the boom swings rapidly from one side of the boat to the other.

  Hard – abbreviation for hard standing, when a boat is lifted out of the water to allow work to be done on its hull.

  Heeling – when the force of the wind on its sails inclines a boat from the vertical.

  Heave-to – to stop a vessel’s forward motion by keeping its bow into the wind.

  Hobie Cats – a two-hulled sailing dinghy.

  Jury rig – a repair, either temporary or emergency, using improvised materials.

  Knot – one knot equals a nautical mile covered in one hour and is roughly equivalent to 1.15mph.

  Lazy line – when a boat is berthed bows-on, it is held off a quay or pontoon by a lazy line, a mooring rope which is fixed to the seabed at one end and tied to the boat’s stern cleat at the other.

  Lines – ropes. See also Mooring and Shore.

  Log – (1) a speedometer;

  (2) a written record which in our case includes weather, location, direction, events.

  Main sail – the large sail behind the mast.

  Monohull – a conventional yacht has a single (mono) hull, unlike Voyager which has two, or a trimaran, which has three.

  Mooring lines – ropes used to tie a boat to the shore.

  Nautical mile – see Knot, above.

  Navtex – receiver for international weather forecasts in English, either on a screen or as a print out.

  Outhaul – a rope tied to a sail and hauled on to pull the sail out.

  Painter – a rope attached to a dinghy’s bow to tie it up.

  Port – left-hand side of a vessel looking forward.

  Pulpit – a hand rail round the deck at the bow.

  Pushpit – a hand rail round the deck at the stern.

  Q flag – a small yellow flag denoting that your vessel is free of disease and requesting licence (free pratique) to enter a foreign port.

  Red ensign – the official flag for British Merchant Navy ships and British leisure boats, it has a red ground with the Union Flag in the top left-hand corner.

  Reefing – reducing the size of a sail to prevent excessive pressure on the mast from high winds and also to slow the boat down.

  RIB – rigid inflatable boat; a high-speed rubber dinghy with a rigid, glass fibre bottom.

  Self-furling gear – a way of rolling up a sail without leaving the security of the cockpit.

  Shore line – see Mooring lines, above.

  Shrouds – multi-strand, stainless-steel wires which hold the mast in place.

  Snubbing line – a rope from a cleat to a link on the anchor chain to take the strain off the anchor winch in bad weather.

  Spring – while a mooring line ties a boat to a pontoon fore and aft, a spring is added to prevent the boat from surging back and forth.

  Squall – sudden increase in windspeed, often accompanied by brief but heavy precipitation.

  SSB radio – marine equivalent of ham radio.

  Starboard – right-hand side of a vessel looking forward.

  Stay sail – small sail between the genoa and the mast.

  Tender – a small boat used for ferrying people and goods between a larger boat and the shore.

  Toe rail – a small rail, flush with the edge of the deck, for a yachtsman to brace his foot against when the boat is heeling.

  Topping lift – a line from the top of the mast to the end of the boom which keeps the boom in place when the sail is furled.

  Topsides – the sides of the hull above the waterline.

  Winch – used to put tension on sails.

  BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  Dolphins Under My Bed

  ISBN 978-1-4081-3288-3

  ISBN 978-1-4081-5523-3 (ePub)

  ISBN 978-1-4081-5524-0 (ePDF)

  Turtles In Our Wake

  ISBN 978-1-4081-5282-9

  ISBN 978-1-4081-5936-1 (ePub)

  ISBN 978-1-4081-5585-1 (ePDF)

  At a time when their contemporaries already had one eye focused on their pension, and conscious that age and ill health could prevent the
m sailing away to warmer climes, Sandra and David Clayton left the world of work behind to grasp their dream. The Voyager books are Sandra’s charming account of the journey that became their adventure of a lifetime.

  ‘A “sticky book”. I couldn’t put it down’

  Cruising Magazine

  ‘I can’t emphasise enough how well Clayton writes… her prose is so vivid that the reader is left with indelible images’

  Living Aboard

  ‘A most charming read’

  The Lifeboat

  Acknowledgements

  Voyager’s crew would like to express its gratitude for the following:

  Admiralty Charts

  Cruising Association

  Herb Hilgenberg

  Imray Cruising Guides and Charts

  The late David Jones

  Radio France Internationale

  Reeds Nautical Almanac: North American East Coast

  Royal Yachting Association

  The Atlantic Crossing Guide published by Adlard Coles

  Nautical, its 4th edition revised and updated by Anne

  Hammick and Gavin McLaren

  The Big Fish Net

  World Cruising Routes by Jimmy Cornell, published

  by Adlard Coles Nautical

  We should also like to thank the publisher Orion for permission to use the extract from Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas in the English language throughout the world, excluding the US, in our print and eBook editions. And for US permission to use the excerpt from Under Milk Wood, copyright © 1952 by Dylan Thomas. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.