One Girl One Dream

by Dekker, Laura

  When I hear a crackly ‘Guppy, Guppy, do you copy?’ I fly upright, bump my head on the low ceiling above my bunk and grab the microphone. They’ve heard from someone that I’m somewhere on this ocean. Unfortunately, I have no luck reaching R Sea Kat or Rhythm, but it’s great to hear about other yachts that are, as yet, unknown to me. I think the SSB radio is a fantastic communication system.

  In the meantime, Guppy is flying along at a speed of 8 knots. She really has ants in her pants, just like the wind. I check my position: another 2140 miles to go. Wow, we’re really moving! I pick a couple of bananas from my big bunch at the back and try to avoid the waves. I’m eating myself silly on bananas as they are all ripe at the same time. My gaze wanders across the deck and I discover a record number of flying fish. There must be at least 20 of them. For some strange reason they are all in the middle and on the port side. It could be that there is less water washing over the windward side. I pick them up, one by one, and throw the slimy fish back in the water, along with some rotten bananas and mildewed bread. Well, that was my contribution to all those hungry sea creatures, and now I’m going to feed myself some scrambled eggs this morning.

  The day is spent reading, gazing at the indomitable sea and fighting off another three cockroaches that have suddenly crawled out of the bunch of bananas. Suddenly it’s evening. The wind is coming from the port quarter, the speed is dropping and the sails are beginning to droop a little. Damn! I prefer a good beam wind. When I check the distance covered in the past 24 hours, I see that we have covered 194 nautical miles. An absolute record for Guppy. You rock, Guppy! You can do it, I love you! I haven’t only established a personal record, but have also beaten my dad’s record on his world voyage with Diario by one mile.

  DAY 6: 13 May

  Despite the fact that it’s Friday the 13th today, it’s going to be a lovely day, right? Well, not exactly . . . The stainless-steel ring to which the windpilot steering-cable pulley is attached has broken off. I manage to attach the pulley to the taff rail with some twine and get it working again. I also notice that the batteries are running low. This can’t be due to my use of electricity — or can it? It takes me half a day to discover that my big 12,000-watt converter is on. I only use this converter for power tools such as the drill. I’m not sure that this is the source of the problem, but hope so.

  It’s a beautiful morning, the night making way for a glorious blue sky. Later, when I’m reading a book in the cockpit, I’m suddenly bored . . . I gaze over the sea and talk to the wind, but as soon as the sun sets and it cools down a bit, I cheer up. I’ve almost finished my huge bunch of bananas. I’ll have to eat the nine remaining bananas tomorrow or throw them away. There’s a following wind and the waves have stopped washing into the cockpit, so I’m able to enjoy reading on deck without my pages getting wet and sticking together. The speed remains at around 7.5 knots and I’ll reach the halfway mark in 450 miles.

  DAY 7: 14 May

  The sea is choppy, but Guppy just thunders on regardless. There’s hardly a cloud in the sky today. Another beautiful day passes, just reading, drawing, filming, sitting, thinking and adjusting the course. The wind is now close to the beam and I’m playing around with the spinnaker boom. After eating, I decide to take down the spinnaker boom after all. This is how it goes: ease the sheet . . . heave the sheet in . . . tighten the other side . . . wait for the right wave . . . sprint to the foredeck. Hold on! Lift the spinnaker boom. Bang! Shit! The genoa is flapping over the bow while the boom swings from side to side. I heave in the spinnaker sheet and the boom swings towards me. Ouch! My index finger turns red. I manage to get the sheet loose and quickly snap the spinnaker boom to the mast. I sprint to the stern and let go of one sheet so that I can rapidly heave in the other. The genoa is set again. After holding my finger under the saltwater tap, the injury appears not to be serious. Good, now I can deal with the night.

  DAY 8: 15 May

  I’ve had a bad night thanks to the damn swell and squalls which have had Guppy on her side, sending everything that’s loose flying through the cabin.

  A little while ago, I noticed that the batteries are almost flat. The converter has been on and I probably left the electrical autopilot on too long, and, yes, maybe I should have turned the plotter off during the day. The batteries really are almost flat, but fortunately the radar is still working. Tomorrow I’ll switch everything off except the SSB.

  I’m trying to sleep, but don’t succeed. Approaching squalls keep me awake and the cold drizzle is making me shiver. I’m standing in the companionway admiring the spooky glow of the moon when an unexpected mega-wave engulfs Guppy. I fall backwards and manage to crawl and get up in the middle of the cabin. A pain shoots through my foot. It’s always my feet and toes that take the brunt of any fall. Mike didn’t give me the nickname ‘Yo, Toe’ for nothing! I walk to the bunk, switch on the light and inspect the damage. My whole foot is covered in blood which drips off the ends of my toes. The floor is covered, too . . . Wonderful! I wipe most of the blood away with a facecloth and notice that there is a deep hole in my heel. I hop to the first-aid kit and back, leaving a trail of blood. I manage to bandage my foot up and then clean up the mess. It’s too painful to put my heel down and I have to stand on one leg like a flamingo. Charming on a yacht with a 6-metre swell! But once I’ve recovered from the shock and pain, I manage to see the funny side of it. Sailing is so nicely unpredictable, and that’s what’s such fun about it. That you have to do it all on your own; whether it’s reaching a new harbour thousands of miles away, or in this case sorting out a hole in your foot.

  It’s 04.00 and I’m trying to get some sleep, without success. The pain in my foot and worrying about the flat batteries keep me awake. Let’s hope it’s a sunny day tomorrow so that they can charge up a bit. I hear from other sailors on the SSB that the ridiculously high swells we’re experiencing have been caused by a storm in the south and that it will continue for at least the next two days.

  DAY 9: 16 May

  I sleep until half past seven when I’m woken by the first rays of the sun. The sun is now rising two hours later than at the start of this stage of the voyage, and is setting almost two hours later.

  Hopping on one foot like a regular circus act doesn’t really work for long. Because the injury is in my heel, I can get around on the toes of my injured foot and continue to use my good foot. I soon have muscle pain in my toes, but I should get over that with a bit of exercise.

  Last night, I passed the halfway waypoint. Unfortunately I can’t carry out a little celebration dance, but I manage to enjoy the celebratory biscuits I baked for the occasion. The swell has got even higher and longer, which makes it more tolerable, but it does make me dizzy when Guppy teeters on the crest of a 7-metre wave. My batteries have been charged a little by the sun, which has finally shown itself. I discover that when I switch on the plotter the radar automatically switches to standby, and uses current in this way.

  Towards evening, the wind suddenly swings round, which means that I’m now running downwind. Something tells me that those dark clouds may have something to do with rain and squalls, but I set my boomed-out genoa on the windward side anyway. When I’m back in the cockpit, the wind changes direction. Well, I take the spinnaker boom down again and we sail into the night with a beam wind. Nature rewards me for passing the halfway waypoint by sending me a full moon. Together with the sunset and the clouds, it makes a beautiful picture.

  DAY 10: 17 May

  After my cracker-with-jam breakfast has flown through the entire galley, I decide to boom out the genoa. The wind has shifted and it looks as though the steady trade winds are back. During the day, the high swell flattens out slowly. Little by little my awareness of time is disappearing. If I didn’t write up my diary, update the blog for my website every day and chat to other sailors on the SSB, I really wouldn’t know what day of the week it is or how long I’ve been underway. Like the fact that I’ll have been on my voyage for a year in three months’ tim
e. It feels as though I’ve never done anything else but sail, up one wave and down the next; sleep, read, think about the future and take care of Guppy.

  I’ve been thinking about which route to take. Shall I go via South Africa or through the Red Sea? Both routes have their advantages and disadvantages. The biggest disadvantage of sailing around South Africa are the Roaring Forties winds that lie just below this route. You can experience a lot of south-westerly storms down there, with high waves up to 20 metres that are whipped up by the very strong Agulhas Current travelling in the opposite direction to the wind. These storms come upon you suddenly, and you need to wait for the rare moment between them before sailing further. The distance around South Africa is only 1000 nautical miles, but progress can be slow as you sail against the prevailing winds. If I choose to do the Africa route, it will mean rushing through the Pacific in three months. I love sailing and especially long crossings, but I also like visiting new countries and meeting people.

  On the other hand, the Red Sea is not much better. There’s the danger of pirates, and sailing in that part of the world is not much fun. If you’re sailing during the good season, you’re likely to have a strong headwind for the first 600 miles, which is not much better. But I still have time to make up my mind.

  My foot is healing well. I probably won’t have to stand on one leg like a flamingo when I reach land in eight to nine days’ time, and until then the longest distance I’ll have to walk is 12 metres. For now I enjoy the simplicity and ease of a long crossing: no islands, no shallows and reefs that can wreck you. There isn’t much shipping traffic either, which means that I can rely on my radar and enjoy a good sleep. Seeing that we’re still a long way from the Marquesas, due west is good enough for now; I can adjust the course as we get closer. It’s really relaxed sailing. Better enjoy it while it lasts, because after the Marquesas there’s a minefield of islands, reefs and atolls.

  Day 11: 18 May

  There are some wind directions that I really hate. One of them is a strong headwind; the other, a little wind from astern. This time it’s the wind from astern that keeps me up all night! Because Guppy isn’t being heeled to one side, as would be the case with a beam wind, she just rolls on the ever-present swell and her sails start to slap. This means having to change course constantly and adjusting the sails to stop the clunk-slap-bang chorus. This only succeeds when I change the course to the extent that Guppy gets a broad-reach breeze, which means I’m way off-course. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the full moon and the lovely trail of phosphorescence that Guppy leaves in the infinite swell. The sun has begun to rise, which tells me that I’ve been battling with the sails all night. The wind has increased a little; just enough to stop the clunk-slap-bang, I hope.

  I eat my cornflakes in the morning sun and hope to catch a bit of sleep. Then — bang! — the mizzen’s sheet-pulley block that sits on the rail is suddenly hanging in the water. My temporary repairs haven’t held. I hadn’t used a self-locking screw and now the screw is gone. Damn! I use some twine to fasten the pulley to the eye on the rail. Just as I’m finally sleeping, the clunk-slap-bang chorus is back. Grr . . . Stupid wind, look what you are doing to Guppy; you break everything!

  A little later, I hear another bang and just see a bent shackle fly overboard. Followed by the pulley blocks from the main falling on deck. Sigh . . . I find a new shackle and tighten it as much as possible with a pair of pliers. I then adjust the course some more, and that seems to help. Only problem is, we’re now sailing in totally the wrong direction. After a while the wind picks up, and I can now bring Guppy back to her proper course without the clunk-slap-bang of the sails. At last, time for some sleep.

  DAY 12: 19 May

  During one of my night shifts, I notice a yellow glow on the horizon. It looks a lot like the gleam of light from an island, but there isn’t an island anywhere near here and I can’t figure out what it is. It’s too big to be a ship and, if it isn’t a ship, what on earth could it be? It doesn’t feature on the radar, either. I continue to watch . . . The glow gets bigger and the light stronger. Suddenly, a yellow ball pops up on the horizon and grows larger and brighter. Just like magic and so beautiful. How can I have mistaken the rising moon for a ship?

  There are a few showers in the early hours to annoy me, but they disappear quickly as the sun rises. It’s definitely cloudier than yesterday, but it’s going to be a lovely day. Guppy is reaching at 7 knots. I have been reading less these past few days and spending more time looking around me and walking around the deck. My injured foot feels a lot better, and I’m able to stand on it a little. The clock shows that we are 11 hours behind Europe. When the sun sets here on 19 May, people in Europe will be starting their day on 20 May. Another 920 miles to the Marquesas Islands. They’re approaching fast.

  DAY 13: 20 May

  Because of atmospheric conditions, the daily SSB radio hour is now at 05.00 local time. This upsets my morning routine . . . After a bit of a chat, I hear that Rhythm is still 280 miles behind me. I’ve also been chatting to Discovery, who now lies 80 miles ahead of me. In the meantime, I take a look to see how many more miles we still need to cover. Neat, just 800 miles to go! I have a good chance of seeing land in five days’ time and that’s a weird thought.

  Thankfully, I’ve been spared flying fish for a few days now. A good thing, as it means I don’t have to scrub the deck to get rid of their sticky scales. Nothing stressful has happened and I’ve been sleeping well, so I’m using my extra energy to walk up and down the deck like a flamingo and trimming the sails to the best of my ability. I can now use the spinnaker boom again, and I spend hours sitting on the boom next to the mast gazing at the spray of water as Guppy’s bow cuts through the ocean. What an endless sense of freedom this is.

  Suddenly I’m hungry and need to cook, and that’s a challenging task. As soon as I put something on the kitchen counter and turn to reach for the next ingredient, I can be sure that it takes off into the air with me as its target. Gravity sucks! With this in mind, I take extra care with the handling of the spaghetti sauce. It won’t be the first time that this ends up dripping down the galley wall, but all goes well this time and the meal tastes even better than usual.

  In the middle of the night, I’m woken by a pot that manages to free itself from the sink and fly through the cabin before landing on the floor with a lot of noise. I leave it where it is and go back to sleep. Having forgotten all about it by the next shift, I step right into it and lose my footing!

  DAY 14: 21 May

  The time difference with Europe is now big. When my parents in Europe have their dinner, I’m waking up from my last catnap. The wind is of the ‘little wind from astern’ variety, so I’m battling with the sails again. It’s pitch dark when I try chatting on the SSB, but this morning I can’t seem to get a coherent word out of it. While I’m listening to the snap, crackle, sssst on the radio, I unravel the bandage around my foot. It looks like it’s healing well, and it might be good to let it have some fresh air. Needless to say, I bump it a little later and the wound is open again.

  ‘Well done, Laura,’ I mumble to myself and wind the bandage back on.

  My mood doesn’t improve when my breakfast goes flying a little later. Well, at least it keeps me busy.

  I try to take no notice of the way Guppy is rolling, nor of the dropping wind and speed, because it’s a lovely morning anyway. Guppy has gained another 10 miles on Rhythm, who is now 300 miles behind me. My mood is improving, and how could it be otherwise? There are only 700 more miles to go, the sky is blue, the sun is warm and Guppy is running at 5.5 knots. I spend the greater part of the day reading in the cockpit. I wash my hair with saltwater and do the dishes. In between, I gaze at the sea and think about home and the future. My thoughts are a jumble, and 10 minutes later I can’t remember what I was thinking about. Life on board is timeless and everything just happens. The day ends and the night falls; the sun and moon chase each other overhead and say, ‘Look at us. We’re much faster th
an you — we get around the world in 24 hours.’

  DAY 15: 22 May

  While I’m still enjoying my warm bed, the SSB radio begins to chatter. I find out nothing about Rhythm’s position and decide to get up. It’s a beautiful morning. Not a cloud in sight, and I’m surrounded by a spectrum of blues from dark to light.

  After eating a cracker with jam, I decide to grab the sextant and take some sun sights to establish my position in the time-honoured manner. This is much easier on a big ship than on my rocking horse, but practice makes perfect.

  Guppy has another 500 miles to go, and if the wind cooperates a little I should be throwing my anchor into the bay at Hiva Oa in three days’ time. It suddenly seems so close. I’m still wondering whether to go on shore or not. My foot wants to stay at sea so that it can rest, but the closer I get, the more I’m hearing that I-want-to-go-on-shore voice. Instead of running everywhere, I could just walk carefully, of course.

  This day seems to take an eternity. I play the guitar, sit on the spinnaker boom and climb up the rigging, but when I look at the clock it’s only 12.00 noon. Time is going so slowly . . . Towards sunset, the clouds come in from the south, as they often do. They float by threateningly, but only shed their tears on the northern horizon. The swell is still 3 to 4 metres high but very long, and Guppy just glides over it. What a difference from the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean with its tall waves and the powerful trade winds!