There are only a few clouds, which means that it’s probably going to be a hot day. The wind has dropped and it’s a perfect day for a freshwater shower. It feels so good to wash all that salt off my body and out of my hair. I’ve had my fair share of saltwater over the past few days. If there’s anything I would change, I’d have freshwater in the sea. It would make life on board a lot simpler. Everything else would stay the same, of course.
I look at my log: 4, 3, 2 knots . . . Damn, the wind speed is dropping fast, and so is Guppy’s progress. I’ve now experienced every kind of wind from nil through to 45 knots. Why can’t I just have a nice, moderate wind for once? The sails are beginning to flap. I really can’t stand to watch how Guppy’s lovely sails are damaged when they hit the rigging. Please God, Jesus, Santa Claus, Neptune, or whoever, give me some wind! My prayers go unheard and it remains calm. I sit in the cockpit for a while before deciding to try the light code zero. An unexpected squall hits Guppy before I see it coming, and it makes the tear in the sail even bigger. After the squall, the wind disappears altogether. I drop all the sails and switch on the Yanmar. I choose not to use the spinnaker because of the threat of another squall. Oh well, I’ll just have to accept it. Instead I go inside, warm up some ravioli and play my guitar; I haven’t done that for a while. In the evening I’m at the chart table pouring over my geography book and reading all about trade winds. According to this book it’s a ‘constant wind from one direction’ which was used by seafarers in days gone by to ‘sail the oceans’. Well, they are certainly NOT constant now that I’m sailing here. Trade winds, where are you?
Grr . . . Rain, heavy swell and no wind . . . This is crap! I finally manage to sleep at about 02.00 when the wind eventually decides to behave itself. Guppy can now clock up some miles again.
DAY 12: 13 December
She’s still going well by morning and I decide to put some bread in the oven to celebrate. I spread butter and chocolate paste over it . . . Delicious!
I think I’m about to lose it; the wind is dropping slowly again and the sails have started flapping. It hurts with every slap, and I cringe. I look at the mainsail and see a small tear just above the foot of the sail where it has worn. Oh, no!
‘Just look at what you’ve done to Guppy’s sails!’ I shout across the sea. ‘You’ve already ruined my code zero. Do you now want to destroy the mainsail too?’
When I’ve finished ranting, a light breeze springs up and I wonder how long it will last.
I didn’t sleep much last night and go to lie down on the couch. I look at all the photographs pinned up on the partition: the Optimist, the Mirror, the Contender, the first Guppy, a Hurley 700; all yachts I used to sail the rivers in the Netherlands, the Ijsselmeer, the Wadden Islands and the North Sea, together with Spot. My life flashes by as I look at these photographs and I see myself as an eight-year-old on the Mirror. It’s amazing how little I knew about sailing then. I wonder where the Mirror is now. I miss her. She gave me my first taste of freedom. The Mirror allowed me to escape when I wanted to. How little I was then! And the Hurley 700, my first Guppy. The photograph was taken during a competition in Culemborg when I was ahead of Dad and his friend, Mark. It was one of the last races I took part in. I wanted to broaden my horizon. At that moment, between the two river banks, I wanted to move towards greater freedom; to explore beyond the horizon . . . And now I have found the answer: even more horizon. I take another look and remember that with each photograph I wanted more — more water, more freedom. What’s that expression again? Oh yes: the grass is always greener on the other side. Now I have what I wanted then. So why aren’t I satisfied? Because there’s no wind, the sails are flapping and I’m getting nowhere at a speed of 2 knots? Because I’m having a little setback? All at once, I’m really content with what I have: freedom, peace, space and Guppy.
After having studied some geography, it starts to grow dark again. Know what I really feel like tonight? Pancakes, pizza and a movie. Well, the pancakes and pizza are wishful thinking, but I do have a movie. Once I’ve settled myself on the couch, I switch on my laptop and select Trainspotting from the list of movies I have brought with me. When it’s ended, I take a look at the radar screen. It’s empty and Guppy is so quiet that it takes me a while to register that I’m actually floating somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Cool! It’s calm enough to make pancakes and then sit in the cockpit to enjoy the stars and the moon that is casting a soft glow over the sea.
DAY 13: 14 December
Wind! There’s wind again! Guppy is sailing at about 6 knots and the swell isn’t bad. It’s cloudy and I’m feeling a little sluggish. I plan to learn the last three paragraphs of my geography lesson and then do a test. I start with German, but don’t get further than two pages and don’t feel like switching on the laptop to do the test.
Somehow the day flies past and I’ve done almost nothing. The wind is constant and Guppy is sailing without any help from me. Lying in the cockpit, my thoughts wander off and I think of what still lies ahead of me. I’m looking forward to it all. First Saint Martin, and then a few nice islands; then on to Bonaire in the Caribbean by February. Gran, Granddad, Dad and Kim plan to meet me there. It’s all going so quickly, and I can’t believe I left the Netherlands five and a half months ago. It all seems so normal. I can hardly remember what it was like to cycle to school through the snow and cold and be shouted at by a stressed-out teacher. Obliged to go to school and to sit there learning nothing . . . No, I really don’t miss it.
Today’s activities:
07.00: got up
08.00: flying fish control (threw back three)
09.00: bread rolls in the oven; enjoy breakfast
10.00: navigation, find out where I am on this planet
11.00: an hour of school, German this time
12.00: more schoolwork, geography and biology
13.00: eat something
14.00: read
15.00: enjoy looking out over the waves
16.00: write my blog and send it off
17.00: play guitar
18.00: eat spaghetti
19.00: read
20.00: listen to music
21.00: gaze at the stars
22.00: lie in bed and update my diary
23.00: try to sleep
The rest of the night I get up every two hours to have a look. The radar keeps watch. That’s just about how it went today. The only thing that really changes is the weather, the meals and the number of flying fish and other sea creatures that I spot. Usually, I’m much busier changing sails and adjusting the course.
I wake up late at night. Damn, Guppy is sailing too high at 320 degrees. That’s on course for New York! And she has been sailing too far north all night. This is crazy! I switch on the deck lights and go to work on the sails. The boomed-out genoa has to be set on the opposite side to take Guppy on a more southerly course. Now that I’m wide awake, I stay on deck in the cabin entrance to study the course as it gets lighter. I now see that there’s a large worn patch on the genoa sheet. I’d seen a worn spot there earlier, but how has it managed to grow to this size so quickly? I soon see that it’s the spinnaker pole that’s probably done the damage. If I’ve learnt one lesson on this voyage, it’s how quickly things can wear out. The code zero only flapped against the diamond rigging a few times and the result was a torn sail. The mainsheet broke loose and the mainsail chafed against the rigging; the result: a worn patch on the boom and a hole in the sail. And there are some other worn patches on the sail. There’s no doubt in my mind now, and I decide to do something to prevent further wear and tear. The only solution I have is to apply some Rescue Tape. Armed with tape, I walk to the foredeck and wrap it around the sheet. The job is done in 15 minutes. Now let’s hope it works, because Guppy and I still have some way to go.
DAY 14: 15 December
The ocean crossing is actually going very rapidly. I can’t believe I’ll be walking on land in less than a week. Come to think of it, it’
s a pity there are only five days left. This is really a fast crossing, even though Guppy is now sailing close to the wind at about 4.5 knots and the weather forecast predicts that the wind is going to drop. Pity! But at least there’s still some wind and I’ll have to accept what comes. If it’s gone, it’s gone. Tomorrow the wind should pick up again, so we’ll just have to bob about a bit until then. A cargo ship passes me. It can’t have had its radar on because the Echomax doesn’t respond. I’m eating some spaghetti and watching the ship. We’re not on a collision course, so I carry on enjoying my meal.
DAY 15: 16 December
I didn’t feel that great yesterday and today my nausea and dizziness aren’t any better. Time for a paracetamol. It doesn’t help much, and I stay on the couch and grab a book. It’s a dictionary of sailing terms, written by real sailors. On the cover: Sailing (sailed, have sailed and had sailed). ‘The fine art of getting wet and becoming ill while slowly going nowhere at great expense’ is one of the definitions. It’s very funny to read, especially as there’s a lot of truth in it. The definition of ‘galley’: ‘nowadays called the “kitchen block”. Consists of a finger bowl in which to do your dishes, two tea-lights to prepare your meals with and two thousand nooks and crannies, compartments and shelves to pack your stuff into only to have it shoot out as soon as the boat is a little lop-sided.’ Brilliant! I finish the book in one go and feel a little better. On deck, I eat a can of pineapple pieces. There are a lot of dark rain clouds around me, but none above me.
I have only just gone inside when I feel Guppy heel. Wind?! Yes, the sails are filling out and here comes the wind! I unfurl the genoa immediately, but the sheet jams behind the kicker. In my enthusiasm I run to the bow, but am suddenly pulled back into the cockpit with force. My lifeline got stuck somewhere and, because I ran so fast, I was catapulted back. Hmm, it makes me think of a similar incident many years ago. I was 10 years old. After a 24-hour race at Medemblik, on the Ijsselmeer in the Netherlands, I ran off the boat without realising that I was still fastened to the lifeline. It jerked me back with such force that I landed in the water between the boat and the shore. Everyone laughed, and I suppose it must have looked funny. Today, having recovered, I walk back to the foredeck, loosen the jammed sheet and unfurl the genoa. Yes, Guppy is sailing again.
DAY 16: 17 December
I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of a sail flapping. After a while it stops, but I go on deck to take a look. It’s really dark. Damn, Guppy is once again sailing too high! I look at the windvane. It doesn’t look right and isn’t working. I take off the chain that connects it to the rudder and switch on the electric autopilot. It will be light in an hour’s time and I will then take a look at the problem. Actually, it can only mean one thing, and that’s that the rudder gudgeon blade that guides the windvane’s steering mechanism is gone, either broken or bitten off. I have a vision of a rudder blade with a huge bite in it . . . Lifelike fantasies of sea monsters surface and I stride away declaring war against them.
At first light, I take a look at the rudder. The whole of the rudder gudgeon blade has broken off close to the stern post pintle. It’s torn off. No tooth marks, alas . . . It’s only 260 miles to Saint Martin and I probably have enough power to get there on the autopilot, but I don’t want to depend on the autopilot and luckily I do have a spare rudder gudgeon blade in stock. There’s work to be done. Standing on the swimming platform, which is jumping up and down and is regularly underwater, I know that this is going to be quite a job. I tie the tools I need to a bit of twine and then unscrew the large hexagon socket screw that still holds the top bit of the rudder. Suddenly I see a couple of fins protruding from the water. Hey, dolphins! They keep me company while I do the repairs. An hour and a lot of swearing later, Gup has a new rudder gudgeon blade and we’re able to continue sailing using the windvane.
I’ve hardly finished my breakfast when a huge, black rain cloud comes over. I hope it’s not accompanied by a lot of wind . . . It turns out to contain more water than wind, and I use the opportunity to wash my hair and scrub out the cockpit. It’s followed by a lot more rain and I just let it flow over Guppy while I shelter below deck.
When the sun eventually comes through, I see a yacht behind me. It’s clearly bigger than Guppy and is holding a course that’s going to take it very close to Guppy. Why does it have to get so near in this rough sea when the ocean is so huge? I change my course and they pass me at a distance of about 100 metres. They call me on the VHF and I answer their questions:
Them: Where are you going?
Me: Saint Martin. And you?
They mention a destination that I’ve never heard of before.
Them: Are you alone?
Me: Yes.
Them: How old are you?
Me: Fifteen.
Them: Wow, damn! You’re probably the youngest person to have crossed the Atlantic solo!
Me: Uh, yes, I think so.
Them: Cool — you go, girl!
Me: Thanks!
We continue to talk for a while, and then I decide to warm up some frankfurters as I’m famished. The next shower is coming towards Guppy and it’s getting darker. I still have 195 miles to go before we reach Saint Martin. Guppy is now sailing a constant 7.5 to 8 knots. Will we be able to make it before dark tomorrow? One hundred and ninety-five miles in 24 hours is really absurd, but theoretically possible at this speed. Otherwise . . . Well, I’ll just arrive in the dark. One thing is sure, and that’s the fact that this is the last night I’ll have the space and be far enough from land to be able to sleep a bit without having to be watchful. At least, I hope so. Guppy is giving quite a performance and is almost flying. We’re sailing with mizzen, mainsail and genoa in a beautiful 25-knot beam wind. It’s amazing to watch. On the low side of the cabin, I’d probably be able to see fish swimming past the portholes . . . Heeled over like this, the side of the cabin is now the floor, but it’s so cool!
DAY 17: 18 December
Only 70 miles to go. Oh damn, I’m beginning to get hyper! There’s an island just 17 miles from here. I think I’m going to make it before dark; otherwise, it isn’t really a problem as there’s a full moon. It’s strange being this close to shore and knowing that I’ll be walking on dry land tomorrow. It’s a strange thought to think that I’m the youngest person ever to have made this crossing solo and without any assistance. But the weirdest thought is that I’ll be seeing Saint Martin again today.
It’s lovely weather today; still blowing some 20 knots and Guppy is sailing at 7.5 knots. It’s noon and I’ve 55 miles to go. The wind is dropping a little and comes from astern. I boom the genoa out again.
Oh no, it looks as if the whole of Saint Martin is waiting for me to arrive. Dad let me know via a text message, and tells me a helicopter will be filming my arrival. A little later, I hear engine sounds in the air. I shoot below deck to throw off the rags I’ve worn on the crossing and put on a decent pair of shorts and a T-shirt. The helicopter circles over Guppy for a while and then takes off in a westerly direction.
It’s 17.00 and 17 miles to go. I’m arriving on time, but, alas, not in daylight. Guppy passes a number of small rocky islands and a slightly larger one. Saint Martin now lies 12 miles ahead of me. It’s crazy to think that I fled to this island by plane exactly a year and a day ago. When I was forced back to the Netherlands under police escort three days later, I never dared to dream that I would ever sail here. And now it’s actually happening . . . How super-cool!
It’s slowly getting darker, just 10 miles to go. Wow, all those island lights — awesome! I suddenly hear the VHF crackling: ‘Guppy, Guppy, Guppy, this is . . .’
They are asking for my position. I first think it’s the cameraman I heard from for the first time a few days ago. He wants to make a documentary about me. There’s a boat approaching filled with Dutch people who live on the island and want to congratulate me. A little later it’s the cameraman in a speedboat. The bay comes into sight. I start the Volvo engine
and lower the sails. Petra Gilders, manager of the Saint Martin Yacht Club, has organised a mooring for me. When I eventually get to this location after 17 days of ocean crossing, the first thing I do is phone Dad to let him know that I’ve arrived and that he can now sleep peacefully. It’s past midnight in the Netherlands. I close Guppy up and step onto land to go to the Saint Martin Yacht Club — the exact spot where I was taken away by the police last year.
Saint Martin
I recognise the island immediately. They guess I’m hungry, and they’re right. I’m served chicken satay with French fries. Fries — now that’s something I haven’t eaten in a long time!
Everyone is congratulating me on my first solo ocean crossing. It feels strange to be surrounded by so many people, and what’s also weird is that the land seems to be moving. I still need to swap my sea legs for my land legs, as I continue to feel everything moving up and down and need to sit down quickly. When I’ve finished eating, I accompany Petra and her husband to a Christmas party; it’s the same Christmas party I attended the previous year.
I recognise everything: the road, the bridge, the airport . . . Wait a minute, the landing strip is longer and so is the road around it. Last year I could walk there, and now it’s much too far to walk. We pass the harbour where the Duende lay, the Dufour Arpège that I wanted to buy on my last visit. Then we enter a residential area that I still remember, and it seems as if I was here only yesterday. This is really strange. At the Christmas party, I meet three people I know from the previous year. They are very happy to see me again, but it’s really late and most have had a good bit to drink. It’s weird to be here, and in a way it feels as though I was never gone. When I’ve caught up with everyone, I go back to Guppy. What a pleasure to be able to sleep the whole night through!
One Girl One Dream Page 10
