I nearly lost my head this morning and rushed down to write that it was a fine day, sun shining, water sparkling, clear cut horizon all round. I began pondering which department of stores and gear I would bundle out first for drying. Luckily my natural caution restrained me – we are in fog again.
I’m sure we will have a fine day before reaching New York, though it just doesn’t seem credible at the moment. Last night Chichester the Great Marine Technician came unstuck again. No, sorry, it was this morning, though it seems like yesterday. I got up at 4 a.m. to do the rounds and see that all my crew were awake and doing their British duty while the captain slept.
We had reached the most unfavourable heading on the port (north-west) tack. Any more veer of the wind made the other tack (south-west heading) more favourable.
I had a tin of Heinz’s tomato soup to make the brain souple (pardon!) and worked out some brilliant tactics on the following premises: If the wind veered any more this tack would not only be bad but it would use up valuable northing. By my estimate and experience the principal wind is west-south-west from a few degrees south of where I want to go, therefore the port (north-west) tack tends to be more favourable than the other. Therefore I am more often on it and therefore always tend to angle off to the north. If last night I went off on the northerly tack without need it would be wasting valuable northing.
The Met. forecaster yesterday in St John’s said the wind would veer to the north-west. Although I nearly always regret acting on a Met. forecast, this one sounded infallible. So I put on my armour and tacked. The idea was that while I slept the ship now headed 235 ° (about SW. by W.) would gently come round, while I slept, to 290°, the heading I wanted.
Alas! When I awoke at nine o’clock, the sun streaming in through the cabin ports, the ship was headed 210° which is really due south true direction because the magnetic variation is 27° (the wind instead of shifting on to north-west had moved back towards south-west).
This is saddening to the heart of a racing man. The only consolation I could find for myself was that I couldn’t keep on the north-westerly tack for ever however much more favourable it might be. I mean, one can’t just charge through Newfoundland, can one? even if it is on the favourable tack.
Last night my mind was twisting about mostly asleep. I would try to contact Cape Race on the R/ T. I would tell him I got a bearing of his radio beacon (which I did) yesterday, with my Heron-Homer set and how delighted I was to find it working. I had been told the American (USA and Canadian) beacons were no use, too feeble and ineffective. It was a great moment when I picked up Cape Race beacon loud and clear after a 1,500-mile beacon silence.
Now I need not worry about my loss of accurate timekeeping because a bearing from Cape Race would replace the longitude sextant shot and I could always get a latitude to cross the Cape Race position line for a fix. The latitude sight is independent of accurate time because at noon the sun is at the top of its path across the sky and does not change altitude appreciably for a few minutes.
In my dream the Cape Race man kept on saying angrily … ‘But we have three beacons with a 100-inch range not just one.’ Then I was running over (asleep, still, I suppose) what I should say in a message to Chris Brasher of the Observer … give some of the reasons for being so damn long: such as … ‘Had to tack nearly whole way across the Atlantic against headwinds …’ or ‘Delayed by headwinds, storm and repairs.’ Or would the facetious touch be better? ‘Arrived Cape Race. Lovely sail. Still weigh 154 pounds and doing well. Advise my wife will be late for dinner.’
Calms can be much harder work than a blow, I think. Last evening I was involved in a grand calm shemozzle. Bang over comes the boom as the ship rolls. Down mainsail.
I had made the awful mistake of not securing the main boom before lowering the sail. As I had rushed up from below I had caught sight of part of Miranda damaged; it was an outhaul for the spanker which had parted right out at the end of the spanker boom which is out of reach. This distracted my attention and I let the mainsail down with a run. Over came the boom, whang! against the weather-side runner. Bang! Back again. Whang! into the runner again. My heart was in my throat; that boom must weigh a good hundredweight and is about 18 feet long and the whole ship shuddered as it hit the runner each time.
I came scrambling back making a firm resolution (which I shall never keep) that I would never lower the main without first securing the boom. However, Fate may have been on my side after all. Miranda’s outhaul had bust before the calm and if there had been any wind at all I would have had to dismantle the spanker and spanker boom to reach and repair the end.
Now with the calm I was able to swivel the whole mast and sail round and secure it to the main boom and backstay while I made the necessary repairs. I worked in a bit of a flap to get the job done urgently.
A very gentle breeze got up before I finished and even with that the strain on Miranda held against the breeze to the mainboom was considerable. Her sail area is 45 square feet. With the mildest of winds I would have had to release her and unrig all the spanker gear to make the repair. As it was I just succeeded in completing the job as the breeze arrived. Then up with the main again, change the jib for the genoa and off we go.
In spite of the calm we sailed 109½ miles yesterday and the total sailed to date is 2,464 miles. I make it 2,000 miles by direct great circle route from Plymouth Hoe to Cape Race, so the tacking against headwinds has cost me (or will have in a few hours time) 500 extra miles sailing. And of course the ship’s speed is much slower when on the wind than when reaching or running.
1935 hrs. In fifteen minutes I am due to cross the meridian of the easternmost point of North America, namely Cape Spear.
(Extract from log: At 2005 July 7 I crossed the meridian of Cape Spear the eastern-most point of North America 26 days 12 hours 35 minutes of actual time after leaving Plymouth Hoe. Distance 2,000 miles to a mile. Average speed 75 miles per day.)
I feel this calls for a big celebration; I shall have to open a tin of sardines or indulge in some similar orgy. I shall try once more to call up a shore station or ship to send news of my position. I had no luck last night. I’m beginning to wonder if the GPO took out the crystal of the 2182 channel as well as those of the other channels. This they did because it was an American set which had not been licensed for use in British waters.
I would have expected Cape Race to hear me last night. They are only 55 miles away and all ships and stations are supposed to guard this frequency for three minutes at the hour and half hour for any SOS calls.…
Maybe my Fate does not wish me to get this message through. There was a bang on the deck behind where I am sitting in the cabin. I darted up to see what had bust and it was the big glass insulator of the R/T aerial. The wire had bust and the insulator hit the deck with no uncertain bang. It weighs about a pound.
Later I wasn’t quite sure about Fate and the R/ T. I’ve never been able to make up my mind what is the relationship between man and his Fate; so I put on my long boots and oilskin coat and went and mended the aerial. I’ll let you know later what happens. If it is working someone must hear me when only 50 miles offshore.
It has been a lovely day for me. Not a single alarum or excursion all day. The fog cleared off as silently as it stole in, the sun shone and the horizon stayed sharp and clear. We have quietly reeled off 40 miles since noon though the ship does not seem to be moving. It is extraordinary how at 51⁄3 knots which we have averaged we might have been ghosting along at 1 knot it was so quiet, while if the speed goes up 11⁄6 knots to 6½ knots the racket is infernal … bashing, crashing, banging, lurching, pitching and rolling. I could do with two days of this; a lovely sleep after each meal, peace, quiet. I reckon I need it.
I tried for a good half hour this morning to fish out a knurled nut lodged in the non-return valve of the cockpit drain. I wanted to get it out before tacking when the water would flood in. It was an awful fiddly job fishing for it out of sight with a bit of bent wire in
each hand. In the end I gave up.
I’m only telling the story of the knurled nut to illustrate how it pays to give up provided you don’t do so for too long. Later, I got an idea, lashed a matchstick to each jaw of a clothes peg and recovered the nut easily. If you knew what I’ve suffered waddling in a flooded cockpit due to that nut you would forgive my smug story.
Bad news on the domestic front. I got round to inspecting the coats etc. hanging in the compartment made for them. My two reefer jackets, my velvet smoking and black trousers were soaking wet and covered in mildew. By some miracle Sheila’s things hanging with them including her white and blue striped trousers seem quite all right. I put her oilskin coat over the top of her knitted coat and trousers. Seems an obvious thing to do, doesn’t it, when there is wet about.
Now to serious business, my first dinner in America.
11. July 8th to 13th
Heavenly Morning – Talking to Cape Race – End of Four
Weeks’Silence – Orgy of Cleanliness – Whale Deep (Kipling)
– Favourable Current – Message from Chris – News of Rivals
– Halcyon Conditions – Met. Forecasts Should be Abolished!
– Sable Island Beacon – On a Broad Reach – Apprehension
– Charging at the Coast in Fog – Blunder with the Charts –
Discrepancy of DR and Observation – Warm and Muggy –
More Whales – Calling Up Halifax – The Suspicious Operator
– Ticked Off by Primus
8th July. 0600 hrs. St John’s time. I can hardly believe it. I found myself looking around for something to do next. It is a lovely, a heavenly morning. Calm clear sky. Sun up bright and early. We have been ghosting along all night and sailed 25½ miles between my visits to the cockpit. It’s true we are only ambling along at 32⁄3 knots but up to date I could not enjoy anything more.
A glorious sleep from 2300 hrs. till 0500 hrs. when I rolled a drowsy eye round to the tell-tale compass, noted we were headed north and very reluctantly dressed to tack ship. However, by the time I had dressed and coffeed, the tell-tale had reverted to 340 ° which is still a paying course. I think it was a little trick to get me out of my berth, because now it is back to 305°, which is only 9 ° off the heading we want.
I tried calling up a shore station but with no luck. Instead, I picked up WWV loud and clear on the Boston channel and got a good check of my electric clock. It is a wonderful timekeeper considering for one thing it has a second-hand about 4 inches long. My only criticism is that the minute-hand must be a little loose and that it flops over half a minute as it turns through top centre, 60th minute.
0830 hrs. Excitement! I contacted Cape Race on the R/ T. The operator was very patient and took down a message to the Observer in which I asked them to advise Sheila in New York. It is quite an odd feeling of excitement to speak to someone after four weeks’ silence I said I would call back at 2100 hrs. tonight.
1530 hrs. I lost my head this morning with all the excitement and fun, and I went in for an absolute orgy of cleanliness. I not only shaved – and really a self-binding harvester would have been more suitable than my Gillette razor – but I had a terrific bath. This is my name for a wash in toto.
I followed the detergent directive and first worked up a good lather followed by three thorough rinsings. I don’t know whether this operation was a shock to the system, but I was extremely cold all the morning afterwards. I navigated sitting on my berth, not only wearing cotton underpants, woollen fug-pants and flannel trousers but covered up with two blankets as well. Labrador current! this ought to be called the Arctic current. I think the fog which soon turned up after breakfast was the real culprit; through the ‘precipitation’as the Met. emperors like to call it, everything gets damp. I could see a small stream of water leaving the main boom at the clew of the sail.
At lunch time I had to tack to the SSW.; reluctantly because the WNW. tack was still the better but for one thing I was headed straight for an area I happened to hear broadcast by St John’s radio yesterday as being scheduled for US Air Force bombing and rocket firing practice during July. It was only 10 miles away when I tacked. I have been shot at or over a number of times by British and French guns while in a yacht and dislike it. Though really the nearest to a hit was a shell which landed 50 yards away. I often wonder why but will never know I suppose. I don’t wish to try out an American gunner’s aim!
The second reason for tacking was that this leg was pushing me up into Cabot Strait and if (the third reason) the wind shifts to the SW. as forecast this morning while I am up in Cabot Strait, I could not continue on a westerly tack but would have to head south or worse, which would be a pity.
We passed 9 miles to one side of the Whale Deep on the Great Banks. Rudyard Kipling in his book Captains Courageous about the fishing-life on the Great Banks mentions the Whale Deep and has a laugh at one of the characters who tries to anchor in it.
I got great satisfaction that at last I am in a favourable current which is quietly working away on my behalf (I hope) wafting me south-westwards. It is however said to be very capricious.
I got a fix by two radio beacon bearings and a sun-shot after the fog cleared and that indicates a drift of 18 miles north-west instead of south-west yesterday. If I keep a note of these discrepancies day by day and later average them out I should get an approximate value for the set of this current. But dead reckoning with Miranda at the helm may or may not be accurate enough for such results. Obviously she cannot let me know when she changes course while I am asleep but on the other hand I suspect that, once she is properly trimmed and set up she keeps that particular heading relative to the wind direction more accurately than, say, I would if I were at the helm.
2150 hrs. I got a message from Chris Brasher through Cape Race. The gist of it was that Hasler had been sighted to the north. I knew he was set on going far north. Howells and Lacombe went via the Azores. That leaves Lewis, and I did not get the reference to him. There was something about 47. Does that mean he is at the 47th meridian, because if so he is only 300 miles behind me? I shall have to try and shake him off. I can almost smell the sweet blossom of antiseptic. You never know with a race till the end.
That black-bearded pirate could easily steal up from the 46th parallel if he avoided all our bad weather up north, which he might well have done. Nor would he get so many headwinds. It is 600 miles farther by the Azores but I have done already 600 more miles in extra tacking due to headwinds.
I can easily strike days of calm off the USA coast in July; it is normal. I hope by keeping some distance offshore that I can avoid some of them. According to the St John’s forecast, tomorrow will not be one of those calm days anyhow because a Force 6 wind (30 m.p.h.) is due here. I am keeping on the SW. tack all night so that if this wind does blow from the SW. as forecast, I can head west and it will suit me.
It seems incredible tonight that a Force 6 is due in a few hours. In a cloudless sky the sun went down over a bright clear horizon and there is a full moon peeking in at me through the cabin port. I have not got very far today but it has been a great day to laze and get plenty of sleep. There won’t be much relaxation if there are gales on the way down the coast because of the nearness to land.
I think we must have entered an eddy of the Gulf Stream about midday because it suddenly warmed up and I began stripping off some of my winter wear. The sea looked blue instead of grey and its temperature was 54° F. I think it was more like 40 ° this morning and regret I did not measure it.
By the way, Chris said the Mauretania had ‘heard’me. He wanted more information about my happenings and ETA (expected time of arrival) at New York. This I am very loath to give; I hated giving ETA’S when flying. As the Cape Race man could not hear me I am relieved for the moment. On this tack the aerial touches the sail and I expect that is why he could not hear me. Yet I can receive well enough.
9th July. 1100 hrs. To be candid this is the moment when I had secretly hoped I should be sailin
g (lee rail under, of course) past the Ambrose Light vessel at the finish of the race 28 days after the start and I find I have 900 miles still to go. I wouldn‘t be sorry if it were 9,900 if the sailing were all like this. The scene was so ideal a short while ago, sparkling blue sea, sun shining bright in a cloudless sky, clear-cut horizon, calm sea. I felt the word ‘halcyon’ should be applied but unfortunately I can’t remember what it means. What a superb night too!
2225 hrs. was my last log entry last night. Rigged Old Faithful (the wonder riding light). Sailing well. Suppose I shall be called up in the night. It was past eight o’clock next morning – 9½ hours later before I resurfaced – and even after that long sleep I moaned and groused that I could not sleep on another six hours.
I had rolled a bleary eye round to the tell-tale compass, and found it reading, horrors! 160°, i.e. east of south on the compass and actually south-east true direction – practically on my way home again! Though, thank heaven the heading had not been that for long because Bleary-Eye had informed me at five o’clock that it was still the same as when I turned in. That’s one good thing the Met. forecaster has done for me. I certainly would not have kept on the southerly leg all night if it had not been to gain something in anticipation of the sou-westerly blow he predicted. And therefore I would not have had my gorgeous nap.
The Met. chaps work one up into a regular tiz. This morning, for example, I had some clothes out to dry and was eating my breakfast in the sun in the cockpit when a line of cloud advanced on us and the wind increased a little from Force 2, just a whiff or two more. Because of the Met. forecast I at once bundled all the clothes below followed by myself, closed down the forehatch and began debating whether I could finish my coffee before donning oilskins. So far, an hour later, nothing has happened. If it hadn’t been for the forecast I would not have taken the least notice of the wee puff. So doth the Met. forecast make cowards of us all.
Alone Across the Atlantic Page 14
