The Romantic Challenge

by Francis Chichester

  I had been forced out of my sleep and bunk by cramp in an instep. It was a lovely night with a gibbous moon shining down on the boat from high astern. I put the hood up again over the companion because the decks were being washed a lot by following seas and I had had to close all the cabin skylights. As I emerged into the cockpit a flying fish hit the cabin top three feet away from me with a hard crack, bounced off and disappeared. Judging by the patches of scales on the deck there would have been dozens lying there if the sea had not washed them overboard. The scales stick on hard and fast as I found when I swished the deck down with bucketfuls of sea water.

  After dawn my first act was as usual to tune in to WWV Fort Collins, Colorado, for a time signal to check my Rolex and the chronometer. Then I decided to try dropping the mizen as I thought the weather helm which was needed to counter its slueing effect might be slowing the boat down. I could easily hoist it again if necessary. An hour later I recorded that it seemed to have paid off. I then tried easing the No. 1 jib, but that was no good, so I put it back exactly as it had been before, having marked the sheet first for that purpose. Then I decided to have another go at the tops’l; its pull when running would be great, if only it could be harnessed without making the boat unmanageable. By 1030 I had set it, sheeting it farther forward than usual, but I soon came to the conclusion that it was doing little good and maybe some harm. So later I hardened it in and this seemed to pay off because the average speed over the following one and a quarter hours went up from 8.7 to 9 knots. However, the wind also had increased slightly during that period.

  At noon the apparent or relative wind on board was up to 20 knots and coming in from 120˚ on the starboard quarter. With the yacht’s speed of 9 knots and the heading of 281˚, this made the true wind 25.5 knots from 059˚, roughly NE by E.

  Sixth day’s run to noon fix Monday 18 January 1971.

  Position: 14˚5o’N 32˚15’W.

  Distance fix-to-fix: 207 miles.

  Calculated distance to finish: 3,013 miles.

  Days remaining: 14.

  At last! Gipsy Moth had broken through the 200 miles per day barrier. While making good the 207 miles out of 210 logged, Gipsy Moth had only twice reached a speed of 9 knots and then only for a total distance of 16.9 miles. Therefore the 200 had been reached by sailing the whole twenty-four hours between 8.3 knots, the average hourly speed needed to reach 200, and the 9 knots reached for only two short periods. Seven miles excess was not much of a margin but the wind was freshening and I not only expected it to keep up but to freshen further as Gipsy Moth ran down her westing; if it freshened up only another 5 knots Gipsy Moth could easily make good daily runs of 10 to 20 miles in excess of the 200 target. With the remaining distance to San Juan calculated to be 3,013 miles, Gipsy Moth had made good 987 miles in a straight line from the Bissau starting point to the noon position that day, whereas the sum of the six daily point-to-point runs amounted to 1,012.5, a difference of 25.5 miles, accounted for by the noon fixes not being themselves in a straight line.

  I logged that I must watch the mast because it was bending where the heel of the runner pole was hooked on to the lug on the mast.

  All the afternoon the prospect continued rosy. For four periods Gipsy Moth averaged 9 knots, or over, sailing speed, and for the whole eight hours the average was 9 knots. During this run the apparent wind had been mainly from the NE, with the actual wind between 21 and 28 knots. This really was exciting. At 2100 the apparent wind on board bad risen to 22 knots from 150˚ to starboard, only 50˚ off dead astern. The true wind to produce this and the sailing speed of 9.2 knots which had been averaged for the last period, was E by N, 30.5 knots. ‘I must say,’ I logged, ‘that wild rushing through the night, surfing at, I guess, 30 knots, was most exciting. The boil or seethe of a breaker filled the air level with my face when I was standing on the foredeck.’

  The next entry in the log, at 2317, was difficult to read: ‘Pole doubled up while big runner was up in a fresh breeze. I was just about to turn in, unable to keep eyes open and choc-à-bloc with flying fish and fried onions, when the big bang occurred. Now again I can’t keep my eyes open so more anon. ‘Tis a long tale.’

  At intervals later when I could find the time I logged the story. I expect it was about 2130 or 2200 when the big bang occurred. I could see from the cabin that Big Brother had bellied out forward and was banging the air from side to side like a balloon forward of the stays from topmast to stemhead. I thought the outhaul or the clew had given way. When I got on deck I saw that the 640sq. ft sail was thrashing about in the air in a wind of up to 30 knots with one end of the boom still attached to it. At first I could not tell if the other end was attached to the mast or bumping about on the deck. Then I saw that the pole was doubled up in the middle into a sharp V. I was darting in to deal with the mêlée when I suddenly checked; if the boom halves separated and the one attached to the sail began flailing the air I could easily become a stupid victim. The outboard half could act as a huge, lethal club and I did not like the prospect of working under it.

  My hopes had collapsed like a pack of cards but I could not help laughing—always something of this sort turned up if I had a drink. I had had a stiff pink gin before supper, or lunch as it really was, if one can call a meal three hours before midnight lunch—and then I had eaten heartily of flying fish and fried onions. I certainly had not expected to be on the foredeck tackling an emergency immediately afterwards.

  The first thing to do was to hobble the pole before it became lethal. I felt immensely grateful for the good light shining down from the crosstrees, but at first with the midnight darkness all around it looked as if it was going to be a desperately difficult task. In the dark as the pole was at times, it seemed impossible to tell how the kinked metal would behave; but it turned out not so bad when once I had sorted it out. The outboard end of the pole was ten feet above the deck, and the bottom of the V was periodically smashing into the deck, the skylight, or the forward shroud. Should I go for the sail first or the pole first? I decided I must get the sail smothered and began taking in the slack of the sheet at the winch in the cockpit to bring the clew of the sail as far aft as I could without its breaking the pole at the kink. Then I went forward to the mast and let the halyard go handsomely until I had the sail smothered on the foredeck. The outboard end of the pole was now sticking high into the air, held there by its topping-lift. With the sail detached it was a much safer proposition to deal with. I hardened in the fore and aft guys to lock the outboard end of the pole in the air and then passed a rope round the barrel of the pole near the deck and rack-seized it to the forward lower shroud. I could have rigged the other pole, but when the first pole had collapsed, its heel or parrot-beak had twisted and distorted another snap-hook which was under it, attached to the lug on the mast. This had jammed the parrot-beak hard in the lug. It would be very difficult to free it in the dark with the lively movement, even with the spreader lights to help. In those rough conditions it was going to require great care handling a 25ft pole bent into a V. It appeared that in order to stow it, one end would have to stick out over the side of the hull. So I aimed to keep the pole ‘asleep’where it was until daylight.

  I went below and made my log entry, forty-three minutes before midnight.

  The wind was increasing; an hour and a quarter after midnight a big wave came aboard with a thunderous crash and slued Gipsy Moth round head to wind. I woke drugged with sleep but by the time I had got to the cockpit Gipsy Moth had righted herself and the self-steering gear had brought her back on course, which I thought a remarkably fine performance. My arrangement for keeping the pole asleep till daylight seemed to be working all right. Gipsy Moth was still doing up to 10 knots without anything poled out, still now and then riding a breaker without the running sail. The wild rushing through the night, surfing at 20-30 knots, was most exciting. The four sails left up, the No. 1 jib, the main stays’l, the mizen stays’l and the tops’l, totalled 1,370sq.ft. During the sixteen hours from
the time the pole broke until noon on the 19th Gipsy Moth averaged 8.5 knots. At 0620 in the morning when I started work on the broken pole, the relative wind had risen to 24 knots, and by a quarter-past nine when I knocked off for breakfast, it had risen still further to 26 knots. That meant a true wind of 31 knots, which was a hefty breeze.

  Seventh day’s run to noon fix Tuesday 19 January 1971.

  Position: 15˚17’N 35˚45’W.

  Distance fix-to-fix: 207 miles.

  Calculated distance to finish: 2,810 miles.

  Days remaining: 13.

  I was not surprised to find that the seventh day’s run was again 207 miles between fixes. If I could get the second pole rigged without too much delay Gipsy Moth ought to show the speed which I had been hoping for all along.

  By three o’clock in the afternoon I had the wreckage cleared away and the second boom rigged with the 300 jib boomed out. Gipsy Moth was going well with it; the sailing speed went up at once from 81⁄3 knots to over 9. By five the speedometer was reading 12 knots at times during surfing surges in a 28-knot wind. Except for breakfast I had been working solidly for ten and a half hours. Periodically I trimmed the boomed sail or one of the others, keeping a watchful eye for any chance of getting more speed.

  A log entry after some eighteen hours of drama with the pole now seems quaint: ‘Great news, the bananas are ripening; I have eaten three today already and how delicious they are. The yacht cruising chroniclers say that one gets sick of them at sea because they all ripen at once. I shall be interested in the effect on this ship. Now I must eat, lunch is overdue [this was written at 1925]; gin fairly stuns one after a hard night and day—but it’s a great feeling after troubles have ceased to boil.’

  At midnight the sailing speed had averaged 9.4 knots with an apparent wind on board of 25 knots 1200 to starboard. This made a true wind of NE 30.5 knots. The trim and sail balance was now just right; as a result the going was so quiet that I kept looking at the wind dial to see if it was falling calm. The boomed-out runner kept the headsails quiet by turning the wind on to them. I had thought earlier in the night that it was too much squared off and trimmed it farther aft by 10˚ or 15˚.

  Wednesday 20 January, 0210: ‘I had a brilliant idea, while more asleep than not, of sheeting the tops’l out to the mizen boom end with the boom carrying no sail itself. Now I was awake, however, I wondered if it would back-wind the jib. It seems to pay to keep the lee side sails fairly well sheeted in. After all, one wants to deflect the wind direction so that the wind shoots stern-wards after leaving the sail like a jet stream. Perhaps it might make more sense to set the big runner as a genoa instead of the No. 1 jib and lead its sheet to the mizen boom end. Three hours after midnight I tried paying the tops’l off well but it was a loss of speed instead of a gain. Either the sail did no work or else it back-winded both the top half of the big jib and the top half of the main stays’l. I think it would be better without it.’

  At nine o’clock in the morning the speed averaged for the last period was 9-63 knots, the highest Gipsy Moth had ever reached for a period. I dropped the tops’l because conditions of sea and wind had freshened a lot and sail reduction was needed. As soon as the sail was down there seemed to be a lull and everything went as quiet as in the Beaulieu River, though when I looked at the wind-speed indicator I noted that the wind was still 27 knots. It just showed how the wrong sail, or just the wrong amount of sail, can cause turmoil and discord. I had a sore leg burn where I had scraped a stanchion when a wave sluiced me across the deck and I ended with my legs overboard. There is one area of Gipsy Moth’s lee deck amidships where one cannot get a band or foothold when doing something like furling the tops’l. No harm was done, and it was a lesson always to fasten on in fresh conditions, when an all-powerful wave can come aboard and sweep the deck.

  At eleven the speed was still up to 9.36 knots for the past two hours. The true wind was now NE, 36 knots, up and down 4 knots. I went on deck and studied the rig trim to see if Gipsy Moth could carry Big Brother instead of the 300 jib. I found it was much more lively up there than it had seemed below since I dropped the tops’l; I would have dearly loved an extra knot for a day or two, but I had to keep sensitive to gear strain; if piling on more sail bust the mast or caused any more gear failure it would have been poor judgment. A 450sq.ft sail boomed out could have been borne but I doubt if the gear would have stood up to the 640. The wind was a good, fresh Force 8.

  Giving more thought to my idea of the small hours of using Big Brother as a genoa instead of the No. 1 jib on the lee side to make a running pair with the boomed out sail on the windward side, I came to the conclusion that it would be a mistake; when sailing from Plymouth to Bissau, all the best speeds were with the No. 1 jib set and none when I had the big runner set as a genoa.

  Eighth day’s run to noon fix Wednesday 20 January 1971.

  Position 15˚56½’N 39˚27½’ W.

  Distance fix-to-fix: 219 miles.

  Running total: 1,438.5 miles

  Calculated distance to finish: 2,595 miles.

  Days remaining: 12.

  It was a pretty rough sea running and I had to wash my sextant in fresh water after shooting the sun; but this was what I had come for and I felt that there was a good chance to catch up in the remaining twelve days. There were 2,595 miles to go, which demanded an average of 216.25mpd to make up for my 195 miles deficit. It was going to be tough but the winds in the second half of the crossing should be fresher than in the first half and also there should be a favourable current. Gipsy Moth had rattled off 633 miles point-to-point in the past three days. My hopes certainly were lively but the margin over the 200 was not great as a reserve. I went on deck to see if there was anything that could be done but there was a great deal more wind on the stern than one would think when down below. I thought it would be folly to hoist a bigger runner, but I’d have been the death of a hundred quid if I could have had a 450 runner right there with a pole strong enough to take the compression. I believe the mast would have carried it and it would have given me another ¼ knot.

  Just before 2.30 p. m. I logged that the speed had dropped to 9 knots. The wind had eased and was now averaging ENE 30.5 knots. An hour later the speed had dropped again to 8.9 knots; I decided to hoist the 640. Everything went smoothly with the operation, although there was a rain shower as I finished setting it. At seven o’clock that evening the wind seemed to have changed after a rain shower and the heading improved from 295˚ to 275˚. Then came another rain shower but fortunately it did not seem to have any vice in it. My remaining boom was only 22ft long, but the big runner seemed to be setting perfectly with it. In spite of that the speed average had dropped to 8.5 knots. I rigged the boom as far aft as it would go, until it touched the forward lower shroud. I slacked off the No. 1 jib, which was being filled with strong overflow by the big runner, and logged: ‘If the gear holds, I could not wish for a better set-up. I reckon it is no use setting any more sail than now because the tops’l and the mizen would only take the wind out of the sails forward of them or back-wind their flow. I see that I am a good deal more than half way across to the Windward Isles of the Caribbean. I only wish this exciting sail could last a long, long time. Now for some lunch with a good brandy, hot.’

  I think that last log entry shows how one can get in tune with the gear on a long voyage. ‘If the gear holds, I could not wish for a better set-up’; I knew I was over-driving Gipsy Moth. An hour before midnight I logged: ‘I am thrilled in the cockpit when Gipsy Moth is riding the breakers. The pick-up by the wave with the bows pointing downwards, the surge forward, the bows still pointing down a little, the boiling, seething cascade rising above the deck on each side if going straight with the wave or, if Gipsy Moth is taking the wave a little across it or has been slued sideways by it, the sudden, immensely powerful, irresistible lurch sideways followed by the surf raging all along the lee deck.’ And ten minutes later calamity struck the project.

  Thursday 21 January, 0330: ‘J
ust back from the big schemozzle but too tired to describe it now. Pole bust in half, came unhooked at mast, flogged about with sail. Sail sailed under keel by Gipsy Moth etc I have cleared up the mess but it has taken from after 11 p.m. till now, say four hours hard. Now we jog along.’

  My thrilling sail, reaching at last the speed I had been aiming at was, to coin a phrase, up the pole. Two hours before midnight the speed was 91⁄3 knots, now it was 71⁄3 knots, and both poles were bust. What a lesson in life! My prospects were bright, Gipsy Moth had been sailing as I dreamed she would. Four hours later my chances of hitting the target shattered. I could hardly write eight lines in the log; my head kept dropping off to sleep and my pen wriggled on the paper before stopping.

  A great amount of power can be harnessed by sails and occasionally one is reminded forcibly of this, as when the big runner began beating its neighbours savagely with the V-shaped pole, lifting and swinging it as if it were a cane, held in mid-air by the clew of the sail. The heel of the pole had wrenched itself out of its lug on the mast, but by the grace of Providence had jammed on a now jagged metal mast cleat a foot or two below it. I was staggered at my good fortune when I looked at the small amount of damage done; the deck was scoured a little here and there, the glass of the forehatch skylight deeply scarred—what amazing good luck that it was not broken! Even the foredeck net, which looked a tattered ruin, was only worked loose from its lashings—or perhaps some of those which were missing had been torn free. The clew outhaul rope, speckled red from the anti-fouling paint on the hull bottom, was undamaged. But most impressive of all to my eyes was how elegantly, firmly but without fuss, the big self-steering windvane was handling the situation, keeping Gipsy Moth steadily on her course despite the commotion at the bows.