One Girl One Dream

by Dekker, Laura

  The Volvo boats fascinate me more each day, and I don’t hesitate for a second when I’m invited to take part in the Pro-Am races at daybreak. Wow, this is fantastic! There’s a 15-knot wind, and Camper is shooting through the water at a speed of 25 knots. I hang over the railing to admire the canting keel, and help with changing the sails. This is one of the coolest things I’ve ever done! As with all the best things in life, it’s over far too soon.

  Cape Town is beautiful and at 05.00 I climb Table Mountain together with Dad and Jillian. It’s quite daunting, as we’ve chosen the quickest and therefore the steepest route. Our efforts are rewarded when we get to the top and enjoy a wonderful view of Cape Town and the blue ocean beyond. I gaze at the southern horizon where I came through that storm with Guppy, and to the northern horizon where my finish lies some 5800 miles further on. The next day we drive to False Bay in a hire car to meet John on Iris. We then continue to the Cape of Good Hope nature reserve, where we are surprised by wild ostriches and a lovely rugged landscape.

  We walk through the city a lot and always seem to end at the Volvo race boats. The centre is pretty, clean and always fun, and the temperature is pleasant. After all the really hot countries I’ve visited, I’m enjoying the fresh sea breeze and the mild sun. I can wear some slacks and a jersey for the first time in ages, and I’m slowly getting Guppy into shape again. I clear up all the mess and repair the bollard and the storm jib drum together with Dad; check the rigging and take her out of the water briefly, because the propeller doesn’t want to open properly — which happened at the very moment I wanted to reverse in the harbour. Luckily Guppy has two engines, and by starting the Yanmar quickly and putting her into full reverse I was able to prevent Guppy being blown into the other yachts by the wind. Once ashore we discover that the folding propeller’s feathering movement has been completely worn away, and there’s no other option but to buy a new propeller. While Dad is busy with this, I spoil Guppy by giving her hull a polish and applying a new coat of anti-fouling. After a few days of hard work, she’s ready for her next big crossing. I don’t want to take any more risks, and am planning to sail non-stop to Saint Martin.

  During the last few days before Dad leaves, we use the hire car to do some grocery shopping. Jillian flies back to New York, and the moment has come for me to give Dad a last hug before waving good-bye to him.

  After the start of the Volvo Ocean Race’s next stage, I watch the yachts slowly disappear over the horizon and it’s time for me to leave all the friendly people at the Royal Cape Yacht Club and all the yachties I have come to know. The next day, I thank the people who have looked after Guppy so well, and leave beautiful South Africa.

  Cape Town–Saint Martin: 5800 nautical miles

  DAY 1: 12 December

  With Cape Town slowly vanishing in the distance, I’m sailing with Guppy towards new adventures on the 5800-mile stretch of ocean that still separates me from the end of my circumnavigation.

  There’s a 20-knot easterly wind that is only just allowing Guppy to hold her course by sailing close-hauled, but the wind keeps veering further, finally becoming a headwind and strengthening until Guppy’s gunnel is underwater and I decide to reef. I can no longer hold the desired course, and Guppy is heading too far northwards. She is sailing at 6 knots, and I had anticipated that this first 500 miles wouldn’t be easy. After this, I hope to find the trade winds, but Guppy first needs to get through this bit.

  There’s still a lot of shipping traffic, which means that I need to stay alert. The last ship picked up by the radar is now 2 miles behind Guppy, and I now want to get some sleep as I’m dead tired. A few hours later the radar wakes me again because it thinks it’s found a ship, but in the end it’s only a heavy shower that passes us 6 miles off.

  DAY 2: 13 December

  The few hours of sleep have done the trick and I’m feeling well. As always, I need to get into the rhythm of being at sea; especially now that Gup has a 25-knot wind to contend with and is sailing close-hauled with tons of water washing over her. Everything is being put to the test, including me. But I’ll soon get used to it: the breaking waves, the salty moisture, and living on a boat that’s heeling at a 45-degree angle.

  DAY 3: 14 December

  We end our third night at sea having spent hours stamping our way forward with the storm jib and reefed mainsail. At first light, the wind starts to drop and by afternoon there isn’t a breath of wind left. The wind has skedaddled entirely.

  Guppy is rolling heavily in the high, short swell that remains. I notice that I’ve spent too much time ashore and am no longer used to the rough movement of the boat. I bump into the corner of the chart table and slip down the steps, and soon I am covered in bruises. Every flap of the sails hurts me, but lowering them isn’t an option because it will cause Guppy to rock even more. Leaving them will mean a lot of wear and tear on the sails, though. The reefed mainsail is hauled tight, right in the centre; the genoa is half-furled and also taut. The windvane is flapping about aimlessly in response to Guppy’s movements. Hopefully there will soon be some wind . . .

  DAY 4: 15 December

  Guppy is rolling very heavily, which means that I spend most of the night rolling from one side of my bunk to the other, however well I manage to wedge myself in with cushions and sail bags. Totally wasted, I’m woken a few hours later by the sun . . . Wait a minute, did I say ‘sun’? SUN! The sun is showing itself for the first time since my departure, and I see some ripples on the water, which means there’s wind on its way! I’m suddenly wide awake and fly on deck to set the sails. First the mizzen, then the genoa and after that I take the reef out of the mainsail. There’s just enough wind to fill the sails, and Gup and I are on our way again; this time in the right direction.

  I feel that I’m getting into my sea rhythm again, and, now that Guppy isn’t rolling as much, I’m enjoying the warm sun in the cockpit. My stomach suddenly reminds me that I’ve forgotten to feed myself . . . The sun has cheered me up and I prepare some food for myself while listening to music at full volume. The wind freshens during the course of the day and by evening Guppy is really enjoying herself. Unfortunately, the wind doesn’t hold for long and eases after midnight.

  DAY 5: 16 December

  Guppy’s speed drops dramatically again: 5, 4, 3 . . . and finally holds at 2.5 knots. The wind is variable until it is finally coming from behind, making the weak breeze seem even lighter. Otherwise, it’s a lovely morning, the sun is shining and the sails are standing quiet. The windvane is keeping Guppy faithfully on course in the light wind. At least we’re going in the right direction at 2.5 knots, which is more than I can say for the past few days. Now that I’m not constantly being thrown to and fro and I’m not salty, wet, tired and having to save what I’m able to save, I’m suddenly faced with endless time for myself. Something I need to get used to. I catch up on some sleep, have a normal breakfast, and then decorate the little Christmas tree I was given in Cape Town with some little lights. It looks as though Guppy is slowly reaching for the warm trade winds, and that’s something I’m really looking forward to after the rough weather of the past few months.

  When I’m woken by the timer, I see the contours of the cabin lit up by the red and green control lights. Lying in my bed, still dry and not salty, I listen to the familiar sounds from Guppy: the sound of the waves lapping against the hull, which tells me how fast she is going, the familiar creaking of the mizzen, the swaying of the spinnaker boom. I don’t have to go on deck to know that all is well, that the wind has dropped a little and that Guppy is moving at about 3 knots and holding her course, as the movements haven’t changed. But I get up anyway and do my usual inspection. Everything is as I thought it would be: Gup is sailing, softly swaying, under a beautiful starlit sky. Satisfied, I spend another half an hour on deck before crawling back into bed. I cherish these wonderful moments.

  DAY 6: 17 December

  There’s just enough wind to fill the sails during the day. I trim the sails from
time to time to improve the speed, but generally I’m just enjoying the incredibly flat, endless expanse of blue water and the peace that it brings. Towards evening, the wind freshens as usual and Gup is sailing a little faster again.

  DAY 7: 18 December

  The sun appears on the horizon like a big red ball and the last trace of the night disappears. Guppy is gliding along nicely on the little breeze there is. Time is flying, and I can’t believe that I’ve been at sea for almost a week. Fortunately I still have quite some miles to cover, and at this speed there will be time enough to enjoy the peace and the sea around me. I spend the day reading and eating the fruit that’s ripening fast, trimming the sails when there’s a breeze, or just sitting on deck, now and again and gazing towards the infinite horizon. I’m enjoying it all, although it’s nothing more than water. I’m intensely happy on Guppy.

  A lovely wind surprises me in the evening, and this time it’s stronger and freshens further during the night. The waves grow bigger and Guppy surges ahead on a broad reach.

  DAY 8: 19 December

  When I plot my position on the chart in the morning, it shows surprising progress. Guppy really has covered a good distance through the night. But now that the wind has increased, the sun has disappeared. I walk to the aft deck to change my course on the windvane, and notice that there’s a film of oil on the swimming platform. It has covered everything! The wind has spread the oil over the aft deck and it’s running down from there. It’s clearly coming from the outboard engine that is fastened to the railing. Hmm, I need to use the swimming platform to be able to change course. The swimming platform is wet and slippery at the best of times, but the chance of slipping on it and landing in the water in its present condition is 99 per cent! And so a simple task like adjusting the course by a couple of degrees becomes more complex. Carefully I try to see where the oil is coming from without standing in it. The traces of oil lead to the drain plug. It seems to have come loose through the boat’s vibrations and has caused the oil spill. Now that I’ve found the cause and secured the plug with the right spanner, there’s the less attractive chore of cleaning up without wasting all my dish-washing liquid.

  DAY 9: 20 December

  Today I crossed the line of longitude that also passes through the Netherlands, which means that Guppy and I have now crossed all the lines of longitude around the globe. Quite amazing! Just another 4800 miles to the Caribbean and I will have gone all the way around. Compared with the total mileage that I’ve done with Guppy so far, it now seems frightfully close; on the other hand, it’s still quite a distance. I’m still in the Southern Hemisphere.

  Yesterday’s favourable wind is getting weaker, but I shouldn’t complain seeing that I have little work to do trimming the sails and holding my course. I hardly see the sun at all, and it’s pretty cold at night. The squid think the same and are continully trying to warm themselves up on board. I don’t feel the same about their company . . . Throwing dried-up flying fish overboard is a lot simpler than squid. They stick to the deck like glue, and split open when you pull them off, causing even more mess. A sign saying No Squid Allowed isn’t helping, either! Oh well, if these are my only problems at present, you could say that everything is going well.

  So many days, so many hours and so many miles still to go. St Helena is ahead of us. I’m spending a lot of time thinking. Hours spent sitting on deck, gazing at the blue sea and the grey sky where the sun is trying hard to come through. I’m thinking of the future; about what I want and what is going to happen when I arrive. What happens when the voyage that I’ve been dreaming of since the age of eight is suddenly over? I think about the hours spent daydreaming about the seas, freedom, unknown lands and the horizon as I cycled to school. I even hit a road post once while I was daydreaming; so hard that my chin needed to be stitched . . . All those sailing boats that I used to draw in my exercise books. They were my riddles and arithmetic; translated into sailing, seeing unknown lands and tasting freedom. And now? Now I’ve almost gone around the world. Just another month; it looks so far and yet so close. I don’t want it to end; I’ve worked towards this all my life. What will I do after this? Will I be arrested when I arrive? Through this journey, I’ve unconsciously forced open so many doors. What on earth am I going to do?

  I’ve never thought further than the next island; never further than the horizon. But I’ve already been to the next island, and this will mean that I’ve fulfilled my dream; that I have done what I’ve always wanted to do. The questions that are often asked now, and keep going through my head, are: What now? What are you going to do next, Laura? I don’t know; I’m scared to arrive, scared that it will all be over. I know that I won’t be going back to the Netherlands, and I have more than enough dreams, but none of them are quite like this voyage that I have always dreamt of.

  I stare at the sea for hours and wonder if I have only undertaken long sea crossings since leaving Darwin because I want to be at sea as much as possible. To be able to enjoy the peace, the sailing and the fulfilment of my dream as much as possible. Or was it fear of the Dutch authorities hounding me that drove me on? The people, commotion and arriving somewhere have become less and less interesting to me. Even if they were friendly people that you didn’t want to ignore. Journalists who are positive and whom you don’t want to say ‘no’ to. Invitations that you can’t turn down. It’s all too much, too busy, and I don’t know how to be friendly all the time. Always having to smile and taking care not to say anything wrong that might give people in the Netherlands a chance to put me down. I’ve increasingly come to look forward to the precious, quiet moments at sea, while increasingly dreading the arrivals. Just like the next one — because this arrival is THE arrival . . .

  Smiling, I concede that I always knew I couldn’t be at sea forever and escape everything. There’s no way you can always smile and be friendly to everyone. I’m just an ordinary girl; a girl who’s already achieved what she dreamt of doing. When I look back at all my adventures, the storms, calms and unknown islands, my face breaks into a huge smile. There’s no one on this earth who can say they’ve sailed so many miles solo at my age. I’ve got to know myself, the world, the islands and all sorts of cultures. I’ve gradually learnt to handle the media, learnt to fight for what I wanted to achieve, and, most of all, learnt that dreams don’t deceive. That you shouldn’t be scared of the unknown and, most of all, should never say that something is impossible and can’t be done, because if you REALLY want something then you’ll get it. Look at me. I come from a fairly poor family but have fought like a lion and won. The experience has made me more resilient for the future, and I still have my whole life ahead of me. As for the question about what I want to do now . . . I honestly haven’t a clue. What I would really like to do is introduce Guppy to my country of birth, New Zealand.

  DAY 10: 21 December

  A new day again. Wow, I’ve forgotten how hard it is to write a piece for my site every day now that there’s a trade wind and I have more time. I’m frowning while I’m sitting on the chart table with my laptop on my lap and my foot braced against the steps. Every day at sea is more or less the same, and it’s difficult to find something to write about. Guppy is sailing and gently swaying at a speed of 4 knots and— Wait a minute, yesterday I realised that there were two interesting facts. The first was that I crossed the line of longitude which also runs through the Netherlands, and I also crossed the Tropic of Capricorn, which lies 22.5 degrees south, on the very same day that the sun completes its journey south and starts towards the north again. Not that I could see the sun, because it’s been cloudy for days. Now that it’s getting warmer at last, I don’t really mind the clouds.

  Actually, I’m amazed that I’m not feeling bored yet. Normally there would always be things to deal with; Guppy would be flattened by a sudden squall or something would need to be repaired and sleeping would be almost impossible, with everything inside getting wet and salty. And now? Nothing like that! I’m thinking that everything I’ve
experienced in the past year needs this time to sink in, and that I should just enjoy the peace and space around me. It’s wonderful to gaze out over the infinite, undulating ocean. Now that Guppy needs less attention and is swaying gently onwards, I’m going to bake some bread, get down to reading some books at last, and try to work on my culinary skills, which are improving fast. There’s a 10- to 15-knot wind, enough for Gup to glide through the night with the boomed-out genoa and mainsail and for me to have a good night’s rest. The cloud cover makes it impossible to see the stars and it’s pitch dark, but Guppy is leaving a phosphorescent trail behind her for hundreds of metres and that’s something I can look at for hours.

  DAY 11: 22 December

  For the second time on my voyage, Guppy and I are crossing the prime meridian with zero longitude, passing from the Eastern to the Western Hemisphere. The first time I did this was when I was in the English Channel just after I’d left the Netherlands. And now Gup is running with a light breeze towards the next highlight: the Equator, with zero degrees latitude, where we’ll pass from the south to the north latitudes. But I’m not quite there yet. There’s still 2300 miles of the South Atlantic to cross before I reach the Equator. This ocean has been incredibly friendly towards Gup and me so far. I’m now in the midst of the trade winds that blow between 10 and 20 knots, and we are making good progress. It’s still heavily overcast and the nights are dark — very, very dark. I can’t distinguish between the sea and the sky, and this frustrates me enormously as I like to see what’s happening around me. But although the clouds look threatening, they just brood there and nothing happens. Not that this reassures me. The clouds and sea may look calm, but I know how quickly that can change.