OCC Flying Fish 2021-2 by Ocean Cruising Club

The Journal of the Ocean Cruising Club 1

“If there is magic on this planet it is contained in water.” — Loren Eisley

OCC officers

FOUNDED 1954

COMMODORE Simon Currin VICE COMMODORE Daria Blackwell REAR COMMODORES Zdenka Griswold Fiona Jones REGIONAL REAR COMMODORES IRELAND Alex Blackwell NORTH WEST EUROPE Hans Hansell NORTH EAST USA Janet Garnier & Henry DiPietro SOUTH EAST USA Bill & Lydia Strickland WEST COAST NORTH AMERICA Liza Copeland CALIFORNIA & MEXICO (W) Rick Whiting NORTH EAST AUSTRALIA Nick Halsey SOUTH EAST AUSTRALIA Scot Wheelhouse ROVING REAR COMMODORES Nicky & Reg Barker, Steve Brown, Suzanne & David Chappell, Guy Chester, Andrew Curtain, Fergus Dunipace & Jenevora Swann, Bill Heaton & Grace Arnison, Lars & Susanne Hellman, Alistair Hill, Stuart & Anne Letton, Pam MacBrayne & Denis Moonan, Simon Phillips, Sarah & Phil Tadd, Gareth Thomas, Rhys Walters, Sue & Andy Warman

1954-1960 1960-1968 1968-1975 1975-1982 1982-1988 1988-1994

PAST COMMODORES Humphrey Barton 1994-1998 Tim Heywood 1998-2002 Brian Stewart 2002-2006 Peter Carter-Ruck 2006-2009 John Foot 2009-2012 Mary Barton 2012-2016 ..2016-2019 Anne Hammick

Tony Vasey Mike Pocock Alan Taylor Martin Thomas Bill McLaren John Franklin

SECRETARY Rachelle Turk Westbourne House, 4 Vicarage Hill Dartmouth, Devon TQ6 9EW, UK Tel: (UK) +44 20 7099 2678 Tel: (USA) +1 844 696 4480 e-mail: secretary@oceancruisingclub.org EDITOR, FLYING FISH Anne Hammick e-mail: flying.fish@oceancruisingclub.org OCC ADVERTISING Details page 192 OCC WEBSITE www.oceancruisingclub.org 1

CONTENTS Editorial Maritime Backpacking in a... Global Pandemic 65 Years A Port Officer 1000 Miles Steered by Drogue From the Archives HMS Beagle in Miniature Book Reviews

PAGE 3 5 19 23 34 39 52

Remembering Sunstone, Sailing Zest New Horizons To Save a Soul From the Galley of... A Cruise Designed to Break Things Letters The Challenges of Cruising... the Chilean Channels Sending Submissions to Flying Fish Hard Aground on the... Bricks of Bureaucracy Sailing Home To Seek, to Find, and not to Yield, Pt 2 Book Reviews

61 78 85 98 99 108

Sailing Swift ~ The French Canals, Pt 2 Caribbean Freedom Obituaries and Appreciations Advertisers in Flying Fish Advertising Rates and Deadlines

162 173 182 191 192

Matt Whitley Dick Davidson James Frederick Brian Vollmerhause Ted Laurentius Atlantic Islands; Old Man Sailing; Dick Carter, Yacht Designer; Where there is no Pet Doctor; Hillyard: the Man, his Boats, and their Sailors; Treasured Islands Vicky & Tom Jackson Natasha Gray Philippe Jamotte Linda Park Jon Sparks Neil McCubbin & Philippe Jamotte

110 124

Karyn James

126 133 141 153

Peter Stoops Robert Grant Peter Owens & Vera Quinlan Farewell Mr Puffin; The Influence of Stonehenge on Minoan Navigation and Trade in Europe; Sharks of the World, A Complete Guide / A Pocket Guide; The Practical Guide to Celestial Navigation; Coral Reefs; Salt in the Blood Morgan Finley Matt Whitley

HEALTH WARNING The information in this publication is not to be used for navigation. It is largely anecdotal, while the views expressed are those of the individual contributors and are not necessarily shared or endorsed by the OCC or its members. The material in this journal may be inaccurate or out-of-date – you rely upon it at your own risk.

I make no apology for this being the slimmest Fish for some time – in fact given the limited opportunities for cruising over the past year I’m relieved it’s not positively emaciated. To avoid next June’s Fish being similarly skinny, please encourage all your friends and contacts out there sailing to consider contributing to Flying Fish 2022/1 – or write yourself, of course. Although the deadline given below and in Sending Submissions to Flying Fish on page 124 is 1st February, this is mainly to avoid everything arriving at the last moment. If I know an article is ‘in build’ I do my very best to be flexible. Flying Fish is also quite happy to accept pieces that have been or will be published elsewhere, but please do tell me. Finally, e-mails occasionally go missing, so if you don’t hear back from me within three days please try again ... making quite sure you’ve inserted the vital dot between flying and fish! A quick word about where to send things. Anything intended for publication in Flying Fish – articles, associated photos, letters (even critical ones, heaven forbid!), obituaries etc – should be sent direct to me on flying.fish@oceancruisingclub.org. The only exceptions are advertising enquiries, which Emily Winter handles on advertising@oceancruisingclub.org. E-mails advising of the death of a member, or anything to do with Club mailings (including delay/non-arrival or change of address) should go to Rachelle Turk on secretary@oceancruisingclub.org. Finally, it’s flattering when a member e-mails to ask for an additional copy, and if they contributed to that issue I generally send one gratis. Otherwise such requests should again be sent to Rachelle ... and certainly not to our printers! Flying Fish is often complimented on containing far fewer spelling and grammatical errors than most club magazines, and for this I must thank my excellent team of proofreaders, plus Rear Commodore Zdenka Griswold and, once again, Emily. Among the former I am fortunate to have a retired judge who sometimes cautions me regarding content or phrasing – thank you Harvey! This is really appreciated, as one of the primary responsibilities of an editor is to keep their publication out of the courts. It would be good to have back-up for the times when Harvey is unable to assist, however, so I’m wondering if we have a member with a legal background who’d be willing to give a second opinion on anything I’m dubious about. Thank you in anticipation. Finally, the usual tailpiece ... the DEADLINE for submissions to Flying Fish 2022/1 is Tuesday 1st February, and though I do my best to accommodate late arrivals, particularly when I have some warning, if you can manage mid-January it would make my life considerably easier and be much appreciated. Again, many thanks! Cover photo: A Caribbean sunset adds something else to those special evenings – see ‘Caribbean Freedom’, page 173. Photo Matt Whitley 3

! " #

MARITIME BACKPACKING IN A GLOBAL PANDEMIC Matt Whitley 2020 was a year like no other, and not great for a 20-year-old from Cheshire looking to travel and see as much of the world as he could. Various volunteering and outdoor opportunities came to an end and left me to figure, ‘what next?’. I’ve always been drawn to the idea of being off-grid and completely self-sufficient, and it’s always been on my bucket list to one day cross an ocean. How could I turn that into reality with no money, no ocean sailing experience, no yachting qualifications and just RYA Dinghy Sailing level 1 and 2 certificates? Being into a multitude of other sports I knew basic knots and ropework from climbing, I get on well with people from many walks of life and really relate to kids, I can string a few meals together and, most importantly, I’ve always been enthusiastic to learn new skills and have new experiences. With a passion to learn to be a sailor and a dream of sailing an ocean I started advertising myself online – I had nothing to lose. I posted an advert of myself on every single Facebook sailing forum I could find, applied to sailing Matt in full websites, sent queries and e-mails backpacker this way and that, and subscribed to mode Oceancrewlink, Crewbay etc. While exploring the online sailing world I stumbled across the OCC and its ‘Youth Sponsorship Programme’. This looked too good to be true... ‘Are you 18–24? Contact us and get help crossing an ocean.’ I sent off a quick e-mail. The reply was equally fast – they explained they weren’t operating the programme during Covid-19. Seems it was too good to be true. Meanwhile I had received a few messages from my advert on Facebook. A few strangers wished me luck, but one message stood out. A message popped up and asked if I would be interested in helping a family on their boat. They had a YouTube channel, #Mothershipadrift. I watched a few videos and couldn’t believe my luck – this was one of the coolest families I had ever come 5

The Rock of Gibraltar as seen from La Linea across sailing the world ... what’s the catch? After a FaceTime call with the family and talking over plans with them I started getting excited. Maybe this dream was actually starting to become true! 48 hours after the call I booked a one-way ticket to Málaga in southern Spain to meet them in Almerimar. Irenka and Woody Wood (skippers of Mothership, an Amel Super Maramu 53, and full-time parents of Yewan, Darry and Rowan aged 8, 11 and 14) were planning on sailing from Almerimar across the Atlantic to the Caribbean. They mentioned they would send off an e-mail to the OCC enquiring about the Youth Scholarship Programme, and whether I was now eligible since I had a boat and a planned passage. How had I managed to be this lucky? The few days before the flight were spent getting travel injections, trying to find an insurance company which would actually insure me in pandemic times, having a job interview with Tesco (I still thought this sailing opportunity could fall through any moment), buying a lifejacket, researching sailing jackets and salopettes, buying a few travel guides for the other side and, most importantly, reading articles about what this ‘ocean sailing thing’ that I was soon to be immersed in is really like. All the while I was in the process of applying for university for the following year. On Thursday 12th November 2020 I flew out to Málaga, negotiating three buses along the Costa del Sol to end up in El Ejido. A friend of Woody’s gave me a lift to the marina from there. At 4:30am that morning I had been shuttled to the airport and at 9:15pm the same day I walked up the passerelle to my new home, SV Mothership. Fast forward a week and after some final Atlantic preparations and endless trips to the supermarket we were on our way, sailing to Gibraltar, the trip had really begun... Ah this sailing malarky is awful, what have I got myself into? I feel horrible and just want to crawl up in a ball and cry. The passage to Gibraltar from Almerimar certainly wasn’t the great introduction to ocean sailing that I had envisioned – in fact it was quite a grim first encounter. The seas were confused and there were regular 30 knot 6

gusts. The night seemed to drag on forever, I felt horrendously seasick for the entire 24-hour passage and threw up seven times. We did have some dolphins join us for a little while, but unfortunately I was in too much of a state to pay them much attention. I felt like such a liability to Irenka, Woody and the kids. They had taken a risk on me and I had turned out to be an absolute wreck, just sitting motionless and pale-faced, only moving to jerk my head over the side of the boat and feed the fish. The first spare moment I had in Gibraltar became a desperate search for some travel sickness pills, and I bought a stash that even Pablo Escobar* would have been proud of (I found Kwells worked best for me). Since then I have taken them for the first few days of every passage and have had no more trouble. (Many seasoned sailors have told me that that’s what they do too.) These little white pills have done wonders. They have allowed me to gain a total new experience of sailing, one that I am completely in love with. The passage from Gibraltar to the Canary Islands was slightly delayed due to a large high-pressure system over Madeira causing the wind to blow in completely the wrong direction. Eventually it shifted back to the regular northerly, but by this time we had decided to sail northwest along the coast of Spain from Gibraltar to Cadiz (actually to motor for two days) to get a better angle of approach to the Canary Islands. From Cadiz the 500 mile passage, parallel to the Moroccan coast, was my first proper experience of continuous sailing. * Nicknamed the ‘King of Cocaine’, Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria was a Colombian drug lord and founder of the Medellín Cartel. The wealthiest criminal in history, he is said to have amassed some US $30 billion by the time of his death in 1993. Ducking the boom in the morning light

Something’s stuck! On anchor in southern Lanzarote With the travel sickness pills in my system I was a new person. I loved every minute and spent hours just looking out to sea taking in the vastness of it all. The sunsets each evening were incredible and the stars on night watches were the brightest and clearest I had ever seen. I completely understand why and how people catch the sailing bug ... I could feel myself starting to catch it. This four-day passage gave me a good taste of offshore sailing and I was beyond words by how special it was. We arrived in Arrecife on Lanzarote but as soon as we turned into the marina I was itching to get out there again, to have the salty air fill my lungs and be alone on the ocean. A warm shower was welcome when I set foot on land, but I would have traded all of that in for more time on the big blue. We spent the next month in the Canary Islands, with a week anchored at the south end of Lanzarote and at Isla de Lobos, an uninhabited island off the northern tip of Fuerteventura, but most of the time was spent in the international sailor’s haven of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria. None of us had envisioned such a long stay in the Canaries, but in the end both Christmas and New Year were spent on Gran Canaria. I was Yewan and me on the highest point of Gran Canaria 8

definitely missing the thrill of being out in the waves, but the beauty of the islands managed to distract me and keep me busy. It was ace exploring Gran Canaria. I met so many amazing people and had some cool little adventure outings: I camped with my hammock in the mountains at 1800m above sea level, hitch-hiked along the coast, got lost in the Sand Dune Desert, went on a road trip with some locals down dusty 4x4 roads, did a lot of walking up in the hills and of course spent plenty of time mucking about on the sandy beaches. There was a good community of similaraged young people and my favourite memory from my time spent in Gran Canaria was New Year. A group of ten or twelve of us decided to sleep under the stars on a remote beach on the west coast of the Wild camping up at over island. It involved a day of buses and hitch1800m. It was a very cold night! hiking and a three-hour trek up and down the other side of a mountain. The beach was situated behind a wall of cliffs, crags and mountains and in front lay a crashing blue sea. It’s the kind of setting in which you’d expect David Attenborough to be discovering new animals – a magical place. A swim in the sea the following morning before the hike back proved to be a pretty amazing start to 2021.

The New Year camp – the canoe made a very effective windbreak 9

The first real issues with Covid-19 that I experienced were during the preparations for travelling to Suriname. Before Woody and Irenka mentioned it I had never heard of the place. It sounded like a fascinating country, sandwiched between the Guianas and also neighboured by Venezuela and Brazil. Suriname identifies itself as a Caribbean nation despite being on mainland South America and is considered the greenest country in the world. I read that just over 90% of Suriname is dense jungle, this jungle being known to some as the Amazon Rainforest. We soon found ourselves excitedly sending off our e-visas to the Surinamese Ministry of Foreign Affairs. We waited for a response ... their guaranteed reply time came and went ... we waited a little longer, still nothing, so we tried to call them and get through. Via a third-party company linked to the Ministry we were given notice that everything was shut until further notice. Just like that, a spanner had been thrown into the works and we were unable to have our e-visa applications processed. This posed the question as to whether we would be allowed entry on arrival, but the marina in Suriname said this wasn’t a problem as we could collect our e-visas in person from the capital once we arrived. Taking the marina’s word for it, the following day we got our PCR tests. With departure set for the next day, Woody carried out the regular engine and generator tests. Disaster – the starter battery was flat which meant that neither engine nor generator would start. OCC Port Officer Agustín Martin swung into action and organised an electrician to visit, and after two days of work he and Woody were able to fix the problem.

The crew of Mothership with (on the right) Agustín Martin, OCC Port Officer for Las Palmas, Gran Canaria The next day, after all the tests and last-minute jobs were complete, we departed, just within the valid period of our PCR tests. It was a miracle. I couldn’t sleep much the night prior to departure as energy ripped around my body and, a smile plastering my face, I watched the seconds tick by waiting for the sun to appear. 10

Bread-making with Yewan while underway

Yewan and Matt dangling their feet off the stern

The crossing aboard Mothership was probably very different to most sailors’ experiences. With three young people aboard – Yewan 8, Darry 11 and Rowan 14 – for schooling to go on hold for three weeks wasn’t an option. Atlantic schooling didn’t involve the regular school textbooks, however – instead we had an audio Spanish tutorial in the morning, followed by maths times tables races and then a history podcast of some sort. We also nominated a country for each day of the crossing – 20 days around the world. I researched a couple of facts about each country, some basic vocabulary and local phrases, an artist and

a typical dish. It worked well and we all learned a few interesting phrases and facts. More importantly it helped structure each day and proved a useful tool to divert the attention of Yewan (the youngest) away from the regular question: ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ It held together remarkably well throughout and with tacos on Mexican day, tapas on Spanish day and homemade sushi on Japanese day the food was good and authentic. Until we caught a tuna on Czech day, that is, and gorged on fresh tuna steaks. I’m not sure tuna is a national dish in the Czech Republic, but we weren’t complaining! The Atlantic crossing allowed me to view a completely new aspect of the natural world. I’m used to green rolling hills and the English countryside, but nothing could have prepared me for the experience of ocean sailing and the true beauty of the natural world you encounter at sea. The stars ... the endless stretch of uninterrupted sea for days on end ... the constant darting of flying fish within the waves ... the friendly dolphin encounters and the magical sunsets. It felt completely at one with nature. Dolphins were great companions on our journey. We would all sit on the bow watching these amazing animals whenever they chose to join us. From inside the boat we could hear their sonar as they communicated with each other. It was an amazing experience and I find it sad that some people will never have the opportunity to experience the sailing life. Flying fish were another ocean treasure that I was completely clueless about. The expectation of seeing one every few days was replaced by the reality of seeing hundreds every day once away from land. Lots of them landed on the boat but we never got round to cooking them even though Yewan was very keen on the idea. I would spend hours watching these little fish fly out of the water and glide through the air, hovering just Woody deep in thought with the spinnaker flying behind him

Waiting for the line to start whizzing! above the surface. It fascinates me how they can stay airborne for so long – more than a few times I was mistaken, thinking they were small birds. For a long period of the trip we found ourselves in seaweed clusters which went on for hundreds of miles. It constantly got stuck in the lure, which caused a few laughs. The line would start whizzing, with great excitement I would rush to the line and reel it in as fast as I could, hoping it was a fish ... but no, every time it was just a big clump of seaweed. Not really much of a surprise, since we passed through patches the size of swimming pools. With the passage to Suriname taking 21 days the kids got more and more into the journey as the days passed. A small tuna which gave us dinner one night. I was shocked that we’d caught something! 13

Rolling down the trades

Yewan took on the role of scouring the decks for flying fish each morning, collecting them up until the smell was too bad and someone else threw them overboard. Darry, Woody and I chatted endlessly about some of the world’s most pressing topics – it’s only with the opportunity to stop and think about life that such questions can be pondered over for hours on end. ‘When will robots take over the world?’ was one which led to much debate. Rowan took the time to do lots of reading and became so well versed on the Tudors, including Henry VIII and his wives, that she gave us all the most passionate history lessons I have ever experienced. We were very fortunate to have mostly good weather while on passage. When we left the Canaries the nights were cold and for the first few days the wind was only pushing 10 knots. Then as we headed southwest down the African coast in the direction of the Cape Verdes the temperature and wind slowly crept up. The wind remained pretty consistent after reaching 15–20 knots, but the temperature kept going up and up. Ten days out, huge ocean rollers joined us from the north. These were the biggest waves I have ever seen – they had come Birthday cake on passage 14

all the way down from Newfoundland – but luckily they weren’t breaking. During the final week the motion was pretty bad. We found ourselves in a confused sea, which left the boat constantly being thrown side to side. At the same time a few squalls passed by. One stormed up from behind us, engulfing us in a slate-grey sky before torrential rain pounded down, white horses grew and the wind howled in the fully-reefed sails. I loved it and wished it would stay for longer than it did – it was truly exhilarating. It was during this squall that we briefly managed 11 knots, breaking the speed record for Mothership. The most memorable time on the Atlantic crossing was probably a night watch while we were pretty much in the centre of the ocean. The stars were incredible – I have never seen stars like them anywhere and could make out all the famous constellations. I remember just being in awe as I stood in the cockpit at the dead of night, accompanied only by the sound of the water passing underneath the bow, my gaze completely transfixed by the sky above. There was something about that moment which just put everything in perspective. It demonstrated to me the sheer size and complexity of the universe, the ocean and our home planet, Earth. We sailed into Suriname on 6th February 2021. It proved to be an incredible country with an abundance of wildlife and stunning scenery. I spent the next few weeks piranha fishing, paddling traditional dugout canoes and walking deep into the jungle. Looking back at where I started from, back home in cold, rainy northern England, not only have I ticked off a major item from my bucket list but I also have made memories which will last me for life. Sailing the Atlantic, then living in the South American jungle, were beyond my wildest dreams six months ago (Matt was writing in early July). I have been so very lucky, and if I am to say one thing it is ... follow your dreams. I know it’s a cliché, but never give up on what you want from life, even during a global pandemic. We made it! Marina Suriname, some 16 miles upriver

The four kids canoeing in piranha-infested waters

The Atlantic crossing has been the best experience of my life so far – it has truly instilled a love of sailing deep within me. Call me crazy, but I now completely understand the joy of living in a confined space, rationing food and water, and waking up in the middle of the night to go on watch. I loved every moment of it and I can’t wait to get back on the water. I already have plans to buy a little sailing boat and one day sail the world. I can’t thank Mothership and her crew enough for the experience and the OCC for the vital support that it provided. A personal thanks to Fiona Jones who co-ordinates the Youth Sponsorship Programme. You’ve all been amazing. Turn to page 173 for more of Matt’s time in the Caribbean.

My three new boat siblings and our jungle guide

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65 YEARS A PORT OFFICER Dick Davidson, until recently Port Officer for Dover and the South East In August the OCC was sorry to receive Dick Davidson’s resignation as Port Office Dover after an amazing 65 years of service to our Club. This is currently the record for time in post, and many might assume that Dick must have been our oldest PO, not to mention a Founder Member. In fact neither of these is the case. Herb Weiss, aged 103, who with his wife Ruth became Port Officer for Boca Raton, Florida in 2018, holds the ‘oldest PO’ title, while Founder Member Ian Nicolson is hot on Dick’s heels having been Port Officer for the Clyde since 1959 – though first he has to overtake the 53 years achieved by Honorary Member Alfredo Lagos, who was Port Officer for Spain’s Ría de Vigo from 1954 until 2017. It’s impressive that all four of these senior members are still active on the water, Dick sailing his 30ft Guy Thompson-designed Callisto, Herb and Ruth Weiss in their powerboat Ancient Mariner, Ian sailing (and racing) his Maxi 1000 St Bridget and Alfredo Lagos long-time owner of Atalanta, an Alan Buchanan-designed 32-footer. Dick at the 2015 Annual Dinner holding the David Wallis Trophy – see overleaf I suppose it’s in the genes. My forebears owned seven square riggers in Harrington, West Cumberland at the end of the 19th century so my love of the sea came naturally. Yachts in early post-war days were few and far between, and it was not until my National Service that I was encouraged into sailing by the Royal Engineers (which they may have regretted as my discharge papers stated: ‘this man would have been a better soldier had he taken less interest in playing rugby and sailing boats’). After that I got a job in London as a site engineer, which enabled me to spend weekends in Folkestone where my uncle owned a 16ft sailing boat. In 1953 we moved the boat to Dover, Folkestone being a tidal harbour. There I joined the Royal Cinque Ports Yacht Club (RCPYC) and had the opportunity to sail all sorts of boats, from a Norwegian lifeboat to dinghies. A standout memory is of watching the start of the RORC Dover/Norway Race, with Dover’s Jose, the £1000 ocean racer by Guy Thompson, taking part and wishfully hoping one day to be part of it. My friend and fellow RCPYC member Charles Freeman and I were fascinated by Humphrey Barton’s epic voyage across the Atlantic in a 25ft Vertue and the founding 19

of the Ocean Cruising Club. Charles proposed selling the small boat he owned and buying a Vertue in which to make a 1000 mile passage to qualify for membership. This we successfully did, sailing from Weymouth to Cadiz in 1956. On joining I was appointed Port Officer for Dover and the South East (see Flying Fish 2014/1 for the story of our 1050 mile sail in Betsinda*). The 65 years I have spent as a Port Officer have brought me many interesting and rewarding e n c o u n t e r s . Ya c h t i n g has changed out of all recognition – we have gone from sextants and leadlines to incomprehensible electronics. But what next? One thing hasn’t changed, however – flying the OCC burgee still leads to sharing of ideas and experiences and lasting friendships. On one unforgettable moment in 1970 I thought my time had come. I was sitting in the corner of the RCPYC bar with my usual pint when a group of well-dressed men marched in, stood to attention and addressed me, “You’re Christmas greetings sent by Dick!”. I really thought Henryk to Dick in 1975 they had come to drag me away. But this was my introduction to Henryk Jaskuła, a yachting legend in his native Poland who became a great friend. Returning from Buenos Aires to his home port of Gdynia, he had tied up in Vigo alongside Aime Leone, which was crewed by some good friends of mine from Dover. They had scrawled a map of Dover on the back of a cigarette packet, with instructions on how to enter Dover and get to the RCPYC where, they insisted, Dover Dick would be discovered every evening at five thirsty. What followed is history. * Dick is too modest to mention that he shared the 2014 David Wallis Trophy, awarded for ‘most outstanding, valuable or enjoyable contribution to Flying Fish’ with late Founder Member Bill Wise. Dick received it for Betsinda’s Cruise, 1956, while Bill was nominated for In at the Deep End. Both articles appeared in Flying Fish 2014/1 and are very well worth reading. Visit the OCC website at https://oceancruisingclub. org/Flying-Fish-Archive. You don’t even need to sign in! 20

The original hand-drawn map of Henryk’s circumnavigation

Henryk’s amazing story of his solo, nonstop 32,000 mile circumnavigation in 1979/80 is well documented. Visit https://podroze. gazeta.pl/podroze/7,114158,25956409,40-lat-temu-henryk-jaskula-jako-pierwszypolak-samotnie-bez.html, using Google Chrome’s translate facility unless you read Polish, to learn more about this amazing voyage. Sadly his 14∙2m Dar Przemyśl came to an untimely end on rocks off Havana in 1987, though no lives were lost. Henryk passed on in 2020 aged 96 but he never forgot his Dover friends.

1000 MILES STEERED BY DROGUE James Frederick SV Triteia is a 1965 Alberg 30. I found her in a marina in Los Angeles harbour where boats go to die. She had not left the slip in 6 years, had a seized engine and was bare but very sound in her structure. This was in April of 2017, I got to work immediately and by Christmas week was exploring anchorages in the Channel Islands of Southern California. Since then I have slowly refitted her and turned her into a bluewater cruising boat. In June this year I untied the lines for good and plan a very slow crawl around this amazing world we live in. I had the great fortune/misfortune to be introduced to sailing in 2014 aboard a custom high-latitudes boat, cruising the Orkney Islands, down the North Sea and through the Caledonian Canal. My life was changed forever and since then I have logged over 7000 miles, sailing with friends, crewing on yacht deliveries and cruising my own boat. I have sailed the entire lower west coast of the United States; explored the incredible Åland Islands and the Stockholm Archipelago; sailed from Puerto Rico to Bermuda to North Carolina; cruised the Channel Island chain near Los Angeles extensively; and have just completed my first solo ocean crossing from Marina del Rey to Honolulu, Hawaii. I hold a USCG Near Coastal Master’s License and an Advanced Diver certification with PADI. All these adventures, as well as the refit of Triteia, are documented through weekly episodes on my YouTube channel: youtube.com/sailorjames. My solo Pacific crossing turned out to be a much bigger adventure than I had expected and I wanted to share part of that story. I hope the information in it will get stored somewhere in the back of your mind should you ever find yourself in a similar predicament. I documented the entire passage and edited it into an hour-long video for my YouTube channel.

Triteia at anchor in Big Geiger Cove, Catalina Island earlier this year 23

The GoPro camera revealed the rudder swinging freely while the rudder post remained still

I had only been in the trade winds for two days, and was still trying to find a good point of sail while running downwind and with the seas. The winds were blowing a steady 17 knots from dead astern and the seas were averaging about 2m and running strong. I had the second reef tied in the mainsail and full genoa, and was struggling to keep her full and pulling as the waves continually backwinded the headsail. It was my 14th day at sea bound for Hilo, Hawaii and my first solo ocean crossing. I was sitting in the cockpit hand-steering and trimming the sails when suddenly the tiller went completely slack in my hand. It felt as though time had come to a standstill and my memory of this moment is completely silent. I moved the tiller back and forth and felt zero resistance as the boat came quickly up into the wind and we began to take the seas beam-on. I sat dumbfounded for a moment, just staring. I was 1000 miles from Hawaii and had just lost the ability to steer my boat. Once I came back to my senses I clipped on my harness and went forward to drop the mainsail and furl in the Shortly after losing all steering

headsail to a handkerchief. I then zip tied my GoPro camera onto the boathook and sent it overboard to see if the rudder was still there or if it had broken in half. On viewing the footage I could see that the rudderpost had separated from the large wooden rudder, which was now swinging freely though still attached to the keel along its lower leading edge. I was very relieved that the rudder was intact, but this did not help my immediate predicament. My Sailomat windvane self-steering forms an auxiliary rudder, something I was very adamant about after crewing on a yacht delivery in 2016 during which we lost our rudder to a sand bar inside the Outer Banks of North Carolina. However the angle of the windvane made attaching an emergency tiller almost impossible and the rudder was not much of a match for my full-keel boat and the running seas. I was able to hold the windvane paddle down to one side or the other to steer the boat, but this only allowed minimal manoeuvrability unless all sails were down and the motor running.

Climbing back aboard after the first dive attempt I knew that I needed to get in the water and see if I could secure the rudder to prevent further damage, and I hoped to be able to attach control lines that I could lead up to the cockpit for crude steering. Using my Iridium Go! I contacted Captain David Stovall, one of the many members of my shoreteam, and told him what had happened and that I planned to enter the water and see what could be done. I climbed into my wetsuit, found part of a ratchet strap, and tied a length of line to one end hoping to secure the rudder back to the post. Then I clipped two tethers onto my harness and climbed overboard, as the winds gusted between 17 and 20 knots and the accompanying seas tossed the boat about with great rolls and pitches. Once in the water I just stared for a bit. I could clearly see a strange chip out of the aft edge of the rudder – it was still in place but I could see light through its cracked edges. Other than that the rudder seemed intact, but it was no longer attached to the rudder 25

stock along its leading edge. Even with all sail down the boat was still sailing at close to 1 knot, and holding on took some effort. Every time I attempted to dive under to get to the rudder I was swept back taut against my tethers, and was forced to resurface to avoid getting hit on the head by the hull, which was rolling with great force. I soon realised this would only be possible if I were becalmed, and climbed back aboard. By this time I knew I had to make a blog post about what had happened, because it would already be clear on my tracker that something was wrong. After alerting the rest of my shoreteam about the situation and making the post, I tied the third reef in the main and hoisted it to stabilise the boat. Then I deployed my small drogue to limit progress as we were now sailing due south, and turned into my bunk to rest and consider my next plan of action. The following morning I set up all of my scuba gear and got it in the water on its own tether. I then climbed overboard with all sail down and attempted to get into my BCD* while being dragged alongside the boat at close to a knot. I got both arms into the BCD, but the drag on the gear was so great that I could barely hold onto the boat. Soon my arms had tensed up so tightly that I had the horrifying realisation that if I continued I might not have the strength to get back aboard. I quickly aborted the dive and used my remaining strength to get back to Triteia’s deck and haul up my gear. The previous night’s motion had been so uncomfortable due to the beam seas and slow progress that I decided to try deploying my Rocker Stopper roll stabiliser which I use at anchor to help tame the boat’s motion. I attached it amidships off the port side and tossed the orange plastic cones and 10lb mushroom anchor overboard. In a matter of seconds the boat came about and started sailing north. I cursed, hauled it up and re-deployed it on the starboard side, and we came about and returned to our southerly course. I noted that this was an easy way to turn the boat and used it several times over the next few days. Reaching out to the two sea captains on my shoreteam, Captain David Stovall and Captain Noah Peffer, I asked for advice. They both suggested steering by the drogue, a technique I had never even heard of. Noah had done the Pacific Cup in 2012 and had learned how to steer with a drogue at Long Beach after seeing a video on YouTube. Stovall had heard about the process and searched different methods of drogue steering online to help me figure out a solution. On the morning of my third day adrift – or more accurately of making way but not under control – I lashed the spinnaker pole across Triteia’s pushpit, fed the spinnaker sheets through blocks amidships, ran them aft through the ends of the pole, and tied them to my hard plastic orange Sea Squid drogue. I deployed it, and then began the very frustrating process of figuring out how to make it control the boat and find her course. It did nothing. I tried it without the lines being fed through the ends of the spinnaker pole, and one of them immediately got under the steering oar of my Sailomat vane and threatened to rip it off if a large wave surged. I quickly dove half overboard to free it before this happened, and with my heart racing returned the lines to the ends of the pole. After about three hours without success, on consulting my shoreteam * Buoyancy Control Device, worn by divers to establish neutral buoyancy underwater and positive buoyancy at the surface. 26

Deploying the drogue with control lines in place Stovall suggested putting a chain on the end. I added a 4lb scuba weight to the drogue’s nose end which helped keep it underwater. Noah told me that I could not have my main up if I was sailing downwind and could only sail under headsail alone. As soon as I dropped my mainsail I was able to get the boat to find her way and stay on course. I sat in the cockpit holding my breath for an hour and a half before I even told my shoreteam, to make sure Triteia really was holding her course. Running with the seas and the wind, Triteia held course all night as straight as an arrow. I was relieved and amazed. It took me three days to really trust the system and understand how to tune it in conjunction with the Sailomat self-steering. By the fourth day I was able to carry full headsail and make almost the same speed I would have with a working rudder. The Sea Squid drogue in action

A bird’s eye view of the drogue steering

I sailed for the next 18 days and 1000 miles with the drogue astern. Slowly over that time the wind vane began to get very sloppy and started popping out of gear. After a few days of lying over the transom with my hands in the water manually turning the Sailomat’s rudder to get us back on course (this brings new meaning to ‘hand steering’ for me) I took a GoPro dive housing handle apart, bent one of the flat pieces of aluminium, overdrilled the hole, filed down the edge and bolted it onto the top of the wind vane’s rudderpost. The post was at an angle and very close to the transom, leaving little room, but that small tiller was a lifesaver allowing me to get us back on course easily and safely as the wind vane continued to lose its abilities. Pleasant tradewind sailing, even with no rudder

An albatross checks our progress I had read a lot of accounts about how notorious the channels between the Hawaiian Islands are – the narrow but deep channels, flanked by volcanoes, accelerate the winds and seas as the forces of nature are bottlenecked into the passes. Trying to be a responsible skipper, I asked my shoreteam to call Tow Boat US and arrange for a tow, hoping they would meet me before I got into the worst of the channel. Tow Boat US confirmed my Gold membership had me covered for the distance and said they were dispatching a boat and would text with an ETA. Then, less than ten minutes Installing the improvised emergency tiller handle

The improvised emergency tiller handle on the wind vane

later, the United States Coast Guard Sector Honolulu called me by name on VHF and informed me Tow Boat US had called them to say no one was coming to tow me. They said if I could get closer to shore they could put out a general broadcast asking if any other boat could help me. This came as a shock as I realised I was still completely on my own, even this close to the largest city in the Hawaiian Islands. I had started my engine at 0400 and was motoring at 3 knots, the fastest I could achieve without the prop walk overpowering the drogue, and even to reach this speed I had to sheet the headsail flat to dissuade the boat from trying to turn to port. I had been fortunate in arriving at the channel in the morning and never saw more than 15 knots apparent wind, though the 2–3m seas were running fast. ‘Hand steering’ with my leg for the last six hours of the passage

Racing the wind to drop the hook at Waikiki Beach For the final 6 hours of the passage I was forced to hand-steer using my homemade tiller handle while sitting on the aft deck. After passing Diamond Head, with large waves breaking on the reef off my starboard side, I came hard about and motored in towards an A-frame house on the shore. Captain Mike Hawaii, a friend from Instagram who runs a tour boat, had messaged me to say that if I needed any help to let him know. On learning that no one was going to tow me I texted him for suggestions and he sent me info on a good place to anchor, telling me to use the A-frame house as my range finder and to keep the breakers off my starboard side. After many passes, trying to get lined up while only being able to turn in one direction, I dropped anchor in 25ft (7∙6m) off the world-famous Waikiki Beach with 20 knots on the nose. Finally, after dropping off their last passengers for the day, Captain Mike and his crew arrived to tow me into harbour. Maori Warrior 2 towing Triteia into harbour

After 32 days at sea – Ala Wai Harbor, Honolulu, Oahu Once tied up in Ala Wai Harbor I lay on my back on the dock – I couldn’t believe I was finally in port after 2300 miles and 32 days at sea. Neptune made me earn my first solo ocean crossing, which was also my qualifying passage to become a member of this wonderful club. Safe in harbour I dove on the boat and made a jury repair using four ratchet straps, which allowed me to steer the boat under engine. I could see that at some point we had struck a submerged object which had been painted red – there was paint missing from the rudder and a red streak in its place. This impact had displaced the chip, which appeared to be an old repair, and had led to the failure of the rudderpost. The tiller had been lashed to starboard to offset weather helm and allow the wind vane to hold course without being overpowered. This had placed the rudder in danger from striking a submerged object. I feel incredibly lucky that we did not suffer a direct strike to the hull from whatever it was that we hit. I don’t know if it was a full-sized container – the red paint looks suspiciously like that used on many containers – or something else. I didn’t hear the strike, and when the failure occurred there was no feeling of impact ... the tiller simply went slack.

Cruising has two pleasures. One is to go out in wider waters from a sheltered place. The other is to go into a sheltered place from wider waters. Howard Bloomfield 32

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FROM THE ARCHIVES Brian Vollmerhause (Continuing the occasional series which began in 2018/1 with a piece from Flying Fish 1964/1, the following account of events in early 1963 written by Brian Vollmerhause first appeared in Flying Fish 1965. An Australian member of many years’ duration – he was still listed in the 1984 Members Handbook – Brian and his wife were long-term cruisers aboard their 35ft (10∙7m) yacht Jolly Swagman.) Now based in the West Indies for a little while the meandering pace of life here has provided a little time for reflection. Thinking back over the last 2½ years since my wife and I took delivery of our brand new 35ft sloop Jolly Swagman in Hong Kong, jettisoned all thoughts of a mundane life and set off to explore the world, we have indeed been provided with many exciting and fascinating experiences, visited many colourful ports and have been placed in some very off situations. Perhaps the roughest passage we have had, in more ways than one, was in the China Sea area. We had spent a delightful fourteen days as guests of the Manila Yacht Club, and now we were fully recovered from the very abundant Christmas Cheer, we decided to push on and spend a quiet New Year at Puerto Galera on the island of Mindoro, a distance of 119 miles from Manila. Our friends had the last word about our recovery and pressed onto us a bottle of champagne, a bottle of bourbon and two bottles of rum. We left Manila at 10pm with our friends piled aboard the sistership of Finisterre named Nancy L which was to accompany us to the outer extremity of the breakwater. Trumpets and yells echoed over the water as we raised genoa and main. We must confess to feelings of sadness as the breakwater and the little coloured navigation lights of the Nancy L slid astern. We had a good run down to Corregidor Island (well known in the Pacific War where US Marines put up such a brave fight before the fall of the Philippines to the Japanese) and then went out into the Strait. The wind increased quite a bit, I’d soon reefed the main and we were then able to have breakfast at a more comfortable motion. The ship fairly romped along, but by early afternoon we began to look for a suitable anchorage for the night and finish the run the following day. By dusk we had Jolly Swagman safely anchored (with the help of the local fishermen who had guided us in with their outrigger canoes) at Loc Loc, in Balayan Bay on Luzon Island, only 20 yards from the beach in 11 fathoms (20m) of water. The following morning we repaid their kindness with a tour of inspection of the only sailing yacht they’d ever seen. We found our inspection tours had to be done in relays as the five large canoe-loads could hardly even fit on deck at once. All, without exception were most intrigued with the Baby Blake, and the women amidst giggles tried on Jan’s high-heeled shoes. Later about 11am they repaid our hospitality and took us on a tour of their village and their houses, built of bamboo slats on stilts 15 feet from the ground. We were then lucky enough to be paddled out to one of their huge circular fishtrap constructions where excited villagers were hauling in a load of fish. At noon we set sail for Puerto Galera just across the Strait, a distance of 30 miles and arrived at 5pm. The entire bay is gloriously beautiful and the entrance almost 35

blocked by perhaps one of the most idyllically beautiful islands in the world. Called San Antonio, it is low, lush and green, bears a profusion of large and shady trees sheltering the picturesque bamboo huts, and as if not enough its beaches of silver sand meet clear turquoise waters. Along its shores the large local trading vessels, still called bartelles and reminiscent of its Spanish past, are pulled up for careening. So great was this beauty that neither of us (the helm and the lookout) were paying attention and we found ourselves aground. Local fishermen came once again to our aid and guided us in at dusk between the perilous coral heads to a calm anchorage where we spent three days of sheer heaven. On 2nd January 1963 we took our departure for Sihanoukville* in Cambodia. The course was almost due west, owing to a large patch of uncharted reef covering 200–300 miles in area dead in the centre of the China Sea. This entailed 350 miles of westing before our course could be changed to a southerly direction. The NE Monsoon was blowing increasingly fresh that day, and by 8pm we had the main reefed and had changed the genoa for a jib. The motion was comfortable but steering was a pure cow because of the strong quartering seas. The day’s run wasn’t bad at 86 miles. Jan was absolutely miserable, as sick as a dog, but continued with her watches like a champion. For the 4th of January, our log tells us that the wind had eased considerably, genoa and main up were giving increased speed but steering was still an effort. 5th January: running very well under genoa and main, still three–hour watches, watch and watch about beginning to tire us. The day’s run was 115 miles, which we agreed was more like it should be. In the afternoon a freshening wind made the change from genoa to jib necessary; we were making consistent 4½–5 knots. 6th January: In the early hours of the morning sighted four ships all travelling north and south so were content that we were well clear of the reef area. The weather was becoming wilder and wilder and the sky was forebodingly dark. By 1pm the swell had reached enormous proportions. We reduced to bare poles and streamed a sea anchor. The seas were so terrifyingly high they were like steep moving mountains of water – we miraculously rose to the top of each towering height and then sank to the valley between. The course was 190° with the wind NE, so by lashing the tiller a course of within 5° of error was kept. The dacron line holding the sea anchor kinked up into a mass of tiny curls within an hour. With the wind blowing a good 40–60 knots it seemed prudent to replace the dacron with chain. I set a storm jib sheeted absolutely flat amidships and we turned in. We are constantly amazed at how very comfortably and kindly the boat takes very bad weather, as we were then. Throughout the night I checked things every couple of hours, but there was no sign of easing. 7th January: No change. Completely closed in below, a freak wave would sometimes hit like a huge sledgehammer on the beam, or wash right over us. We’d hear a great surge of water roar and bubble its way across the deck, over and in between the dinghy and skylight; all very confidence shattering, but what can one do but do the best by the ship and wait. How many times in weather such as this we’ve been grateful for our efficiently self-draining cockpit. By 8pm wind and swell seemed to be abating a little. * Also known as Kampong Som. 36

8th January: Managed a noon sight through a brief patch of cloud which lifted to reveal a hazy sun, our drift was measured at 2½ knots. By 5pm was able to take in the sea anchor and replace storm jib with working jib. Two cargo ships ploughing north towards Japan. 9th January: Cloud cover was too great to manage a sight, but were well under way still with jib and reefed main. To my great chagrin discovered the engine full of seawater – forgot to cut off the valve of the exhaust. Battery charging had to go by the board. 10th January: Getting used to watches again after so much inactivity. During the height of the bad weather Jan baked a cake, almost performing acrobatics in the slipping, heaving motion – she said it was to break the boredom. 11th January’s entry revealed that I was mad at myself for not having the right-sized Continental spanner to finish the job of clearing the diesel. Our position meant we would be able to turn off northwards on the morrow. 12th January: Changed course to NW up into the Gulf of Thailand. Sighted Pulo Alu at 2am and showed appropriate excitement. Pulo Alu is a 34-mile range light on the southern tip of Vietnam. The next few days were to be difficult, owing to the fact that our next destination port was the new harbour of Sihanoukville in Cambodia, for which charts had been unobtainable. A vague approximation of it on a tourist pamphlet was about the best knowledge we had of it. However we’d set our minds on travelling up to north of Phnom Penh to see the lost cities of Angkor Thom and Angkor Wat now reclaimed from the jungle. We reasoned our most prudent approach would be to put into an island, shown on the chart as Cambodian, where we would be able to receive more precise information.* 13th January: Held off the little port till daybreak of the 14th. 14th January: A day to remember. Sailed in close to the beach towards the small creek giving entrance to the little harbour. Passed by a stockade which we presumed the local prison. Flying Cambodian courtesy flag and Q flag, we grounded at the narrow, shallow entrance. Without the engine we began to make moves to get ourselves off. Suddenly from nowhere, the place became alive with khaki-clad military personnel. A motor boat was promptly despatched and towed us off, a hair-raising journey being pulled and bumped over shallow patches at high speed. We were made fast to the quay – we had arrived! Yes, but in wrong country, for what used to be Cambodian territory was now Vietnam and for a period of time had been the centre of dispute between the populations of these two very dissimilar peoples. The pieces fell together – the stockade was no prison but part of the fortification for this village made into a very concentrated army base. The surroundings were bright with the canary yellow and red of numerous Vietnamese flags fluttering in the breeze. We were ordered into a Jeep with our papers and went bumping along dusty roads, squealing around corners to another stockade. Interrogation began which lasted for * Though not identified in the text, the most likely candidate appears to be Phú Quốc island, some 27 miles south of Sihanoukville. 37

days. Jolly Swagman was closely guarded and throngs of people came in their irritating hords to stand, stare and, when curiosity got the better of them, to put their feet on the deck to make her heel at anchor. Occasionally a curious one would appear hanging upside down through the forward hatch, thinking perhaps that an upside down view of the interior better than none at all, whilst others persistently clicked the mechanism of the winches. The authorities for their part believed us to be espionage agents or gun-runners, and showed open disbelief that we could be sailing for pleasure. Cables were sent off to the Australian Embassy in Saigon. As the days passed by without reply the authorities were becoming more set in their conviction of our anti-Government activities. By the sixth day we were becoming very disgusted, now 17 days since we’d left the Philippines fresh fruit and vegetables were exhausted and we wanted to replenish our water supply, all commodities requiring money. The Vietnamese authorities would neither give us these items nor change any money to enable us to purchase for ourselves. The kindness of individuals was shown in a few limited fresh provisions given us. Since the engine had been got back into commission we’d established a habit of running it daily to charge the batteries; this daily ritual had become familiar to our guards. Our guards, one on the wharf by the boat and the other on a boat moored alongside, were becoming less tense as they became more used to us. 19th January: An alarm sounded in the village that day to search for two defectors to the Viet Cong and took all available men to join the search parties, including our wharf guard. An idea began forming in our minds, and there seemed no reason not to implement it. Too, we now had Sihanoukville pinpointed on our chart by a friendly Vietnamese gunboat captain. We began our battery charging later in the evening and our guard on the neighbouring boat did us the kindness of going off to sleep. I crept ashore and slipped our lines over theirs and waited a while. The village lights as usual went out at 11pm, we waited till midnight to allow all to settle, I slipped the lines, we put her in gear and were off, keeping the ship as dark and quiet as possible. The subsequent nerve-racking hour which seemed like ten, during which we ran aground and feverishly worked to get her off, then a second grounding which took the stern way up in the water, plus the frightening pictures conjured up in our imaginations, is almost a story in itself. Finally free, no bullets whizzing by our ears and not surrounded by gunboats we motor-sailed towards friendly Cambodia. 20th January: We found a kindly and understanding French Port Captain named Jacques in our destination – Sihanoukville. Almost before we knew it, by a lucky coincidence for us he had a car going up to Phnom Penh and us with it. After our return to the boat we agreed that it had been well worth it. A week after being whisked from the boat in Sihanoukville we were back on board and making our departure for Singapore 690 miles away, which we covered in six days. It seemed hard to believe the events of the past few weeks once in the civilisation of the bustling metropolis of Singapore.

HMS BEAGLE IN MINIATURE Ted Laurentius (Ted numbers among the OCC’s many hard-working volunteers. A member of General Committee since 2017, he is Members’ Global Support Network Co-ordinator for the Americas and has been Port Officer for St John’s, Newfoundland since 1995. During the summer – between OCC duties – he sails his C&C 38, Panache.) To quote Monty Python’s Flying Circus, one of my all-time favourite comedy series, ‘And now for something completely different...’. The following is not about cruising in exotic places or an adventure into unfrequented waters, but about what one of your fellow cruisers does to pass the time during the winter months in the frigid waters of Newfoundland. When I was a teenager back in the ’60s my father had leg surgery. While he was recuperating he assembled a plastic model of the Cutty Sark, spending hours rigging it with every block running free. Fast forward 35 years and I’m sitting at home during one of St John’s worst-ever winters with over 6m of snow, looking for something to do. At the local hobby shop I find a wooden model kit of the famous racing schooner America and decide to give it a try. Luckily I inherited a good dose of patience from my father, and completed it before spring came and it was time to get Panache ready for another season of coastal cruising.

HMS Endeavour under construction... ... and in her custom glass case on an oak base Next we jump ahead to six years ago, when I had a stroke from which I made a full recovery. They say that timing is everything and it sure is. It happened in late August and a week earlier I would have been on the deck putting in a reef and it would have been a very different outcome. Before Christmas that year I again visited the hobby shop and purchased a 1:60 scale kit of Captain Cook’s Endeavour. Over the course of the winter and early spring – and after 450 hours’ work – it was completed. I assisted John Butler, a good sailing buddy, to make a display case for it and it now sits in our den. Our daughter promptly laid claim to it, with the understanding that it will be inherited only when my wife and I can no longer look at it. 39

The completed model of Magellan’s Nao Victoria Later that year my wife, Karen, pointed out that since our daughter, Erica, had the rights to the Endeavour it was only fair that our son should have one too, so I let him pick one. His first choice was the Matthew, the ship in which John Cabot discovered Newfoundland in 1497, but there was no model kit available and I had no desire to start from scratch. We searched for the next best thing and he came up with Magellan’s ship, the Nao Victoria, which circumnavigated between 1519 and 1522. I found a 1:50 scale kit in California and began the project near Christmas. It was not as complicated as the Endeavour, but the shape was a challenge and bending the planks to form the blunted bow was difficult. The last piece of the project was getting it to Ted Jr in Ottawa unscathed, but fortunately my good friend Bob Halliday, who builds these sorts of models from scratch, was driving there and delivered it personally. That made two under my belt, not counting the America which still sits waiting for a suit of sails, but that’s another story. The next fall I was looking for another project, and told John Butler that if he bought a kit I would put it together for him. He wanted a traditional Newfoundland schooner and the closest thing we could find was the famous Nova Scotian banking schooner Bluenose, which raced against the Americans in the early part of the 20th century and is on our Canadian 10 cent coin. John and I visited our local hobby shop and found a 1:65 scale of the Bluenose which he bought on the The Canadian schooner Bluenose, for spot, so now another winter was which my wife Karen made the sails occupied. When it was finished he made a display case based on the one he had made for the Endeavour, with some improvements. This time the sails were not included with the kit, only a roll of sail cloth and patterns. I made working patterns from mylar, Karen very skilfully constructed the sails and I sewed on the bolt ropes and made the reef points. 40

The Bluenose presented a very different challenge in that the kit came with no directions about how to plank the hull. There was a bunch of cut planks but not much in the way of diagrams showing how to put them together. Luckily Bob came to the rescue. His skills include making his own line drawings of schooner hulls from photos, and then constructing a The French tunny boat, Marie Jean model in exactly the same way the old shipbuilders around Newfoundland would have done, and with his help I was able to figure it all out. The rigging was not nearly as complicated as on the previous boats, but fitting the sails and painting the hull were something new for me. Last winter Bob once again came through for me when he acquired a kit from a member of the Maritime Ship Modelers’ Guild in Halifax, Nova Scotia of which he is a member. Someone had started it but abandoned the project with most of the pieces still in the box. This one was a 19th century French tuna-fishing boat complete with outriggers. Again, Karen got out her sewing machine and did the sails. During construction she claimed it, and it now sits on our china cabinet. Since she is much more skilled than I when it comes to choosing colours I let her pick out the paints, and her artistic skills were invaluable when we reached that stage. As I hope that Erica will have to wait a long time to get the Endeavour, last winter I asked her the same question I had Ted Jr. After a little browsing she chose HMS Beagle, made famous by Charles Darwin, and I located a 1:60 scale kit in Toronto. The kit comes in a box just like a jigsaw puzzle with a picture of the finished model on the lid The kits One thing I have learned over the years is that not all kits are the same. Of the six models to date, only two were from the same manufacturer. All came with sufficient materials, but there sure is wide variance in the instructions provided, from detailed pictures and written instructions to almost nothing at all. The two kits from Billing Boats, a Danish company, had very poor instructions and I was left to my own resources and knowledge to assemble the bits and pieces. The deck layout and rigging drawings were done to scale, however, and were easy to follow. The materials were excellent, except for including plastic blocks instead of the traditional wooden ones which are a lot more authentic looking. 41

Tools and tricks The basic tools needed for the hull include a t a c k h a m m e r, tweezers, mini-clamps, a miniature mitre saw and box, X-Acto knives (precision craft knives available in a wide variety of widths and angles), mini files Tools of the trade of various shapes, fine needle-nosed pliers, a jeweller’s drill and bits down to 0∙3 mm, a small vice, lots of elastic bands of various sizes, a miniature block plane and sandpaper of various grits. Building the Beagle’s hull For the remainder of this article I will concentrate on the model under construction, so join me as I take a box of bits and pieces and assemble them all into a finished product. It all starts when you open the box and examine what has been provided and what will be needed. The first thing I do is to lay out all the pieces and read the directions and parts list thoroughly. The Beagle kit came from Spanish company OcCre – www.occre. com – with the parts list and instructions written in four languages. It is considered to be more at the beginner’s level, which is nice for a change, so the pictures that correspond with the instructions are very detailed and follow a logical sequence for construction. I’ve found that reading ahead sometimes lets me anticipate little tricks that help when I get farther along. There are also considerations such as the type of glue to be used in assembling particular parts. The two I use are a slower setting white wood glue, in this case Aliphatic Resin, that allows some flexibility once the parts come into contact – important when it comes to planning how to hold the bits in place while the glue dries; the other is an instant cure glue such as Cyanoacrylate, sometimes known as crazy glue. This is the glue that a hospital emergency department might use instead of stitching up a wound. Extreme care must be used, as it will stick fingers together or to a part on the model – I always keep a bottle of antidote close by for such occasions, also useful for unsticking a part that did not end up in the right place. I lay the individual wooden strips of various dimensions out on a rack. Picking one out is like going to the lumber yard 42

Clamping can take a bit of ingenuity

Clamping planks means being inventive in creating pressure points

This glue is particularly appropriate for joints that have to be held in position instead of setting up a clamp system, and also works well for flat pieces such as thin veneer strips. On the Beagle I tried to use the white glue whenever possible, as although it takes a lot longer to cure it is much easier to handle.

The challenges of gluing really come down to finding a way to clamp the parts long enough for it to cure, which in the case of the white glue is usually several hours. I generally use mini-clamps and multiple elastic bands, though it can be a real puzzle to figure out how to get the elastic band, or multiple bands, to secure the part. Sometimes I have to fabricate spacers and extensions out of miscellaneous bits of scrap wood to provide suitable attachment points. The first assembly step is usually to place the spine and bulkheads, The next step is to construct the bulkheads pre-cut pieces of thin plywood on which the deck is placed onto which the hull planking will be attached. Many of the kits come with 2mm thick softwood planking which is glued along the bulkheads as well as being secured with tiny brass tacks. The planks are placed from deck-level down and from the keel up and follow the natural contours of the bow and stern. Some must be bent to fit the natural curve of the frames (bulkheads), 43

Bending is done by soaking the planks and then using a special soldering iron

After smoothing and sanding the planked hull, veneer strips are glued on

which is done in the same way as on a real ship with the planks soaked in a bath and pre-fitted. In some cases heat is used to form the curve – I use a soldering iron with a coin-sized ice hockey puck at the end. On the Nao Victoria there was a compound curve needed near the underside of the stern planks which was a bit tricky. Allowances are made

After yet more sanding the hull is ready for painting

Painting the lower section of the Beagle’s topsides 44

The bare deck, ready for the hatches and skylights The hatches and skylights are constructed individually, piece by piece ... as the shape changes from decklevel to keel, with tapered pieces inserted fore and aft to allow for these changes. Once the hull is complete the surface is filed or planed and sanded to smooth out the bumps and the changes in curvature, particularly at the bow, stern and point of maximum tumblehome. On the Nao Victoria I had so many bumps and hollows in the planking that wood filler was required before the veneer was applied. With the Beagle, the hull shape was more suited to a smoother surface and a good filing and sanding was sufficient preparation for the final layer of mahogany veneer. The same tapered strips were needed to fit the curvature at the ends. Painting takes another set of skills and often I consult Karen on techniques and choice of brushes. Painting the waterline is an example. For this, Bob once again came to the rescue. The method he uses is to mount the hull in its stand as it would sit in the water, then clamp a pencil in a vice at the precise position ... and the four ship’s boats built plank by plank 45

Beagle’s longboat and dinghy

One of the two gigs ready to launch of the waterline and rotate the hull around the tip of the pencil. Then, with a wide fine brush, the paint may be applied to the line and dragged downward. (It is not uncommon to muck it up and the line might get adjusted slightly to accommodate the mistake.) An alternative is to use painter’s tape and, on the Beagle, that was the method I used. I have found that acrylic paints are easiest both for application and cleaning brushes. The Beagle was the first time I had to build longboats or dories and it was a different technique to learn. These were made from scratch, with a longitudinal keel and frames over which planks had to be bent and fitted. It was too risky to use crazy glue on these, since multiple clamps have to be placed in a sequence and one wrong move would ruin it. Instead, a combination of rubber bands and mini-clamps held the pieces together while the white glue cured. When the planking is complete there are floorboards and thwarts to go in, and then a pre-formed gunwale is glued over the top of the ribs. Finally the keel and rudder are attached, before sanding and painting. Masts and rigging Once the hull is complete, which in the case of the Beagle took about 300 hours, the next operation is to construct the masts and yardarms, and rig the model. The kit came The completed deck ready for spars

The foremast complete with shrouds and ratlines. This required hundreds of clove hitches tied with tweezers with a set of dowels which had to be cut precisely and then tapered. I discovered that the easiest way to do the tapering was to insert one end in a power drill chuck, protected with rubber from a tire tube, wrap it in sandpaper and turn, moving the sandpaper up and down continuously to avoid low spots. One thing I’ve learned is that if you use a power tool on a model you can do a lot of damage very quickly if you get it wrong. Except for large modifications I try to do most of it by hand, even if it takes more time.

Proper planning is imperative so that you don’t build a piece that can’t be placed because something else is in the way. Also, if there are repetitive processes it is better to do them all at once. The first few are a trial, but after you iron the bugs out it gets much easier. At the rigging stage this applies when a series of blocks must be assembled. I found that placing a block on the end of a needle held in the vice and then slipping an overhand knot around it works best. The type of line used is important for both aesthetics The fore and aft rigging and yards in place 47

Broken bowsprit after a disastrous docking, but nothing that glue and patience can’t fix and practicality. Some kits come with synthetic twine, which is darn near impossible to use and always wants to bend in the wrong direction and unravel. Raw cotton is by far the best, and with the Beagle there was sufficient supply of the several sizes needed. When you start on the rigging there is always the question of how much line you have and how much you can afford to waste. In the tying of many of the blocks there is a minimum amount needed to make it easy, but if you make the bits longer to make it easier you risk wasting too much. Luckily this was not the case with the Beagle and in the end I only used 80% of the line supplied. To trim and secure all the knots, a dab of crazy glue on the tip of a toothpick clamped in tweezers did the trick. The last thing about rigging is to always work from the top down to minimise getting in your own way later.

Maybe I should take up microsurgery in my next life... 48

The Beagle’s figurehead and finished rigging on the bow

The last thing I usually do is to add the flags, which generally come as fabric decals. Once they are cut out and folded, and then glued on a halyard, I use a heat gun to give them some curl to appear to be flying in a breeze. The rigging completed and the ship’s boats lashed in place. The ensign is the last thing to go on

The finished HMS Beagle in her perspex and oak case Display Some of my models end up in cases and some are left out to sit on a cabinet. The main reason for a case is to keep dust from accumulating on the rigging – cotton is the worst for this. Protection from accidental contact is also a factor and depends on the environment where it will be kept. The Endeavour lives under plate glass and the Beagle will live under perspex. I had just enough oak plywood left over from the Endeavour to make a base for the Beagle, so it’s a wee bit snug but works. The usual clearance is about 5cm all around to give it some perspective inside the case. The Beagle project was completed in time for me to get Panache ready for another season of coastal cruising and in the end consumed about 500 hours. The next is already on the drawing board. Though I could not source plans or a model kit for the Matthew when Ted Jr put in his request a few years ago, my friend Bob has recently acquired a set of digital plans for her and we will prepare a suitable scale plan and cut out all the bulkheads and pieces from scratch. I may be able to use a lot of the wood left over from previous kits, but Bob has a miniature table saw so we can cut the planks if required. By the time I get to it I will have forgotten all the frustrations and stuck fingers and be ready for another winter. I have a feeling that this one might end up with Ted Jr some day – but not too soon, I hope. 50

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Flying Fish and Members Handbook Half page: 105mm high x 148 mm wide Artwork should be supplied as: PDF, JPEG or EPS • a high res, 300 dpi at size • • CMYK (not RGB) as a PDF from Adobe inDesign, please use ‘Press (if Quality’ and include trim marks and bleed) Text and logos should ideally not extend beyond the Pink line to ensure that nothing is too close to the edge of the page Black line is the edge of the trimmed page Red line is the bleed line, and images should extend beyond this to ensure that white does not creep in if there 51 are inaccuracies in the trim

ATLANTIC ISLANDS – Anne Hammick, Hilary Keatinge and Linda Lane Thornton, 7th edition. Published in hard covers by Imray Laurie Norie & Wilson [www.imray.com] at £49.50. 451 210mm x 297mm pages, in full colour throughout and featuring hundreds of photographs and chartlets. ISBN 978-1-7867-9070-5 This is a remarkable volume in several ways. Its lead author, Anne Hammick FRIN, has been working on it since it was first published in 1989. There can be few, if any, authors of pilot books who have achieved such a long run. For the 6th edition she was joined by Hilary Keatinge, and for this edition by Linda Lane Thornton. All three are experienced ocean sailors. The other notable factor is the coverage, which ranges over 2500 miles from west to east, and 1500 miles from north to south and encompasses five archipelagos. It is, therefore, an essential requirement for any cruising sailor undertaking an Atlantic crossing. The book is well laid out and indexed and, whilst each author has her own discernible style, the layout for each section follows the same format. The Introductions and History are particularly interesting, with the Bermuda one being rather thinner than the others. The description of the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club fails to mention that no cash is passed over the bar. Drinks are put on a chit which is given to the barman and, at the end of your stay, the skipper is given the bill. This can lead to interesting discussions following departure! Some of the descriptions in the Facilities sections are rather generous. Eg. the showers at the Marina da Praia da Vitória, Terceira are described as ‘immaculate’ whereas in fact the cubicles are tiny, the fittings old and worn and the changing area cramped. The ones at Horta are accurately described, however, as being ‘in a rather sad state’. Actually, for a harbour which rightly calls itself the crossroads of the Atlantic, they are embarrassingly dreadful. The injunction not to arrive at Funchal Marina without making prior contact is correct. I did that once, and was told by a man on the end of the jetty to go away. On a subsequent visit I went to Quinta do Lorde Marina and took a bus to Funchal. I visited the marina office, where I was welcomed and given a berth inside the marina. Visitors to the Canaries should take note of the comments about anchoring. Except in the most benign conditions, anchoring overnight is at best uncomfortable and at worst dangerous. It is a disappointing aspect of these islands, which in some other respects compare with the Caribbean. Some years ago, whilst cruising in the Cape Verde islands, I arrived at Maio after a hard day’s sail. The Atlantic Islands of the day stated of Maio that there is ‘virtually no crime ashore or afloat’. Seduced by this statement, I foolishly failed to secure my 52

expensive Avon Air Deck dinghy with a wire strop – in the morning it had gone! While Maio remains one of the safer islands in the archipelago, I was pleased to see this advice has been updated. There are some minor grammatical errors in the text which might irritate the more pedantic reader, but the writing style is generally very readable and the book will be enjoyed as much by the fireside as at sea. All in all it is difficult to fault this pilot. It is clearly and consistently laid out; the navigational directions are concise and accurate; the Introductions and History of each archipelago and each island are interesting and whet one’s appetite for exploration. It is an excellent, informative and enjoyable companion for any Atlantic cruising sailor. MEHW

OLD MAN SAILING: Some dreams take a lifetime – John Passmore. Published in soft covers by Samsara Press and available via Amazon at £11.49. 341 127mm x 203mm pages, with no illustrations of any kind (though see page 1). ISBN 9798-5992-0840-2 The summary on the back cover – doubtless written by John – says it all far better than I ever could: ‘When Covid-19 struck the UK, the government advised the over-70s to ‘shield’ while the country went into lockdown. One old man went sailing instead. Single-handed and self-isolated, retired journalist John Passmore used the pandemic to achieve an ambition which had eluded him for 60 years. For 3629 miles, he disappeared into a world of perfect solitude, adventure and adversity – arriving back 42 days later, short of water and with shredded sails ... This is his story. It is also a story for anyone who ever thought a dream was unattainable.’ It’s a moot point whether you should review a book written by someone you know, particularly when it’s autobiographical, so I should declare an interest now and say that I first met John in 1984, on the first Yachting Monthly Triangle (Largo was so late arriving in Crosshaven that they had to re-open the yacht club bar) and our wakes have crossed at intervals ever since. We still sail broadly similar and distinctly elderly boats – John’s Rival 32 Samsara dates back to 1973 – though over vastly different distances. I thoroughly enjoyed this book – the first time I laughed aloud was page 8, then again on pages 12 and 15 and frequently thereafter, generally with a feeling of ‘absolutely, been there done that’, but I’m less sure how non-sailors would relate to some of John’s somewhat traditional attitudes to all kinds of things, not least personal safety. Most of us sail – whether across an ocean or across the bay – with the aim of getting somewhere, though hopefully we enjoy the sailing while it’s in progress. John comes at it from a different angle, summed up on page 200: ‘Destinations are all very well in terms of cold beer and fresh salad but mostly they are full of lists and chores. The voyage, on the other hand... the voyage is full of time and pleasure. Pure pleasure...’. Erskine Childers put similar words into the mouth of Davies in The Riddle of the Sands back in 1903. As the many followers of his Old Man Sailing blog will already know, after leaving 53

the Walton Backwaters on England’s east coast in mid-April 2020 John sailed around the north of Scotland – the same waters in which he nearly lost his life 20 years earlier (see Flying Fish 2000/2) – before heading south towards the Azores, a route he’s covered many times before. A mainsail shredded beyond repair persuaded him to discard thoughts of continuing towards Madeira or even the Canaries so, once within wifi and phone range of Graciosa, the northwesternmost island of the Azores’ Central Group, he spent a couple of days just sailing up and down – which worried the local Policia Marítima so much they called him up to ask if everything was okay. Then he turned and headed northeast for Falmouth, arriving towards the end of May with a non-functioning gas cooker – or at least, non-functioning without serious risk of explosion – and water rationed to 2 litres per day (though Samsara’s stores do include generous amounts of beer). Quite what non-sailors will make of all this I’m not sure – or those who sail large, modern yachts with 24/7 communications and all the other bells and whistles, for that matter. To some his approach to sailing will seem admirable, maybe even heroic; to others it may seem inexplicable bordering on dangerous. But although he doesn’t push the point – past experiences are often mentioned, but never boastfully – it should be remembered that John is a vastly more experienced sailor, and singlehander, than 99∙9% of his readers are ever likely to be. Having spent many years as a newspaper journalist John’s writing is both entertaining and vivid, and he seldom spares himself as the butt of his own misfortunes. Having said that, I’m doubtful that a dozen pages about mineral supplements have any place in the middle of a sailing book, however much John believes that he owes his undoubted good health to them. The largish print makes for quite a fast read ... or was he making allowances for the likely age of his readership? Either way, in poor cabin lighting it will be welcome. Read and enjoy! AOMH PS: I must correct John’s narrative on page 224 – Wrestler didn’t spend the first night of the 1987 AZAB in the Helford – we hadn’t got that far. We returned to our mooring off the Royal Cornwall Yacht Club and left after the early shipping forecast. John, meanwhile, provided drama and entertainment on the start line when his genoa sheet suddenly freed itself, causing Largo to veer off course and nearly hit Black Rock...

DICK CARTER, YACHT DESIGNER – Dick Carter. Published in hard covers by Fernhurst Books [www.fernhurstbooks.com] at £40, $50 or €45 (though Amazon. co.uk currently offers a sizeable discount). 327 212mm x 254mm pages with many illustrations. ISBN 978-1-9126-2131-6 I am happy to report that rumours of Dick Carter’s demise are highly exaggerated, as he has just written and published Dick Carter, Yacht Designer in the Golden Age of Offshore Racing, which is both interesting and entertaining. Younger readers may never have heard of Dick Carter, but sailors of more mature 54

years, amongst whom I regrettably count myself, will remember this extraordinary yacht designer and sailor from the 1960s and ‘70s very well indeed. Most sailing people hadn’t heard of him since, until a year or two ago when he made an appearance at the funeral of sailmaker Ted Hood and surprised a lot of people who rather pessimistically had assumed him to be dead. Still very much alive, following this event where he met many people from his past, he was persuaded to write a book about his sailing career resulting in Dick Carter, Yacht Designer in the Golden Age of Offshore Racing. This handsome, beautifully-illustrated hardback volume will set you back £40/$50/€45*, depending where you live or buy your books – not a small price tag, but still totally immaterial compared to the expense of running a half-decent boat. It runs to 327 pages, of which the last nine are a tabulation of his racing achievements. There are 167 illustrations – a mixture of colour photos, black and white photos (from the earlier days), plans of some of the boats he designed and basic charts of significant offshore races. In my opinion, it is a purchase that will not be regretted, as it is a jewel of a book for anybody who loves boats and sailing. Dick Carter grew up in Massachusetts, sailing and racing with his elder brother John from an early age. In the 1950s Dick raced Fireflies and International 14s, and he always seems to have been near the front of the fleet. Although a through-andthrough American, his centre of gravity moved east and he quickly became a sailor and designer to be watched in Britain and elsewhere in Europe. After racing in the 1963 Fastnet, back home in the States he decided to design and build a cruiser/racer of his own, despite holding absolutely no qualifications in naval architecture or yacht design. This first design attempt, built by a yard in Holland, was fitted out just in time for the 1965 RORC North Sea Race and then went on to win the 1965 Fastnet outright! I can remember watching the start of the 1965 Fastnet in Cowes, where Rabbit of Boston (‘that bloody little Rabbit’) had been causing general astonishment during Cowes Week. Not long after, he won the One Ton Cup and was a member of an American team which won the Admiral’s Cup. Without benefit of formal training, he designed Rabbit and a very large number of subsequent boats by applying his own logic and not fearing innovation. Dick Carter was the designer who separated the rudder from the keel. Before his designs, the rudder on a cruiser/racer was attached to the trailing edge of the keel, whereas today nearly all designs have a separate rudder, whether skegged or not. He reduced the wetted surface of the hull by getting rid of the hourglass cross section of the hull and keel, flattening the underside of the hull, and intercepting the keel virtually at a right-angle, hugely increasing speed. His yachts were the first to run halyards inside the mast to reduce windage, and carried many other small but significant innovations. He developed a swing keel for offshore racers and a trim tab on the keel to complement the rudder. Dick Carter’s boats seem to have been designed on the premise that you should maximise downwind speed and, when beating to windward, sail a little free and go as fast as possible instead of pinching every last degree. His yachts challenged the great designers of his day – Olin Stephens, Charles Nicholson and others – and frequently beat them. He was a phenomenon. British Prime Minister Ted Heath, fresh from winning the 1971 Admiral’s Cup, invited Carter to lunch at 10 Downing Street, which makes an interesting account although Queen Elizabeth might not be happy to hear Heath described as ‘Head of State’ when a Prime Minister is, of course, only ‘Head of 55

Government’. But she probably won’t read it, though Prince Philip might well have. Dick Carter went on to design a prolific number of boats and they in turn won a prolific number of offshore races, tabulated in the book. He designed the 39m Vendredi Treize for Jean-Yves Terlain’s attempt on the 1972 OSTAR, at the time the largest fibreglass boat ever built, and Baron Edmond de Rothschild’s Gitana V, while at the other end of the scale developed the Carter 30, a fast little boat with its origins in the design of Rabbit, which sold in huge numbers. He played a significant role in the development of the International Offshore Rule (IOR) and the politics which engulfed its creation. By his own admission he seems not to have been physically very strong, but without doubt this was offset by an extraordinary brain and a steely determination. It is not clear exactly when this happened, but one day, after a decade or more of fame and success, he just disappeared off the radar. A clue may be in the subtitle of the book, which includes the words ‘...the golden age of offshore racing’. Carter’s boats were essentially very fast cruiser/racers, in which you could cruise in reasonable comfort as well as race flat-out. He watched as offshore racing became an extreme sport with boats so light that they needed a big crew on the windward rail just to keep them going. It appears that all this professionalism seemed to him to herald a new era and represent the end of a golden age so, with characteristic decisiveness, he got out – at the top of his game. This book is not only packed with interesting facts and illustrations but it reads like a novel, although you would hardly expect Dick Carter to do anything in a half-hearted manner. If I was going to buy just one sailing book this year, it would be this one. BH

WHERE THERE IS NO PET DOCTOR: A Manual for Cruisers, RVer’s, and Backcountry Travelers – David W LaVigna, DVM, 4th edition. Independently published in soft covers at $26 or £18.32, or for Kindle at $12.64 or £9.21. 463 152mm x 2296mm pages with many photos. ISBN-979-8-5704-9320-9 Originally released as Captain Doctor Dave’s Wilderness Veterinary Companion for Cruisers and Other Outbackers in 2005, the author is a cruising veterinarian who understands the types of problems that may be encountered in remote regions of the world. Finding information about travelling with pets is often difficult enough, but getting veterinary assistance can be even harder. This new edition is expanded and has some very useful features, including a rating system for how difficult the procedures described in the book are for untrained individuals to perform. It covers ways in which pet owners can treat their furry friends temporarily until professional help can be obtained, and is also intended for distance travellers with pets in developing countries where veterinary care may be very limited. It even provides specific diets for various special needs that can be made from local ingredients. A useful section offers a selection of drugs and dosages that should be kept on board, as well as dosages for medications that may be in the yacht’s human medical kit and warnings about drugs that should not be used. Dr LaVigna also covers the best ways to prepare before departure to ensure that your pet is permitted entry to as many countries 56

as possible. In particular he covers international standards for microchipping and quarantine. One thing I would never have thought of is getting a tiny thumb drive and loading it with the animal’s information as well as your contact details. If attached to the collar or harness, just about anyone today will recognise the drive and know how to retrieve the information should the animal get lost. Suggestions and photos of how to restrain cats and dogs, how to give injections and pills, and what to do in an emergency are all very clearly described. The Kindle edition also includes many links to further information online. Visit captdrdave.com for a series of complementary free webinars about Cruising with Pets, a blog and purchase details (though also available via amazon.com). DOB

HILLYARD: THE MAN, HIS BOATS, AND THEIR SAILORS – Nicholas Gray. Published in hard covers by Lodestar Books [https://lodestarbooks.com/] at £19.66. 256 156mm x 234mm pages including two 12-page blocks of photographs. ISBN 978-1-9072-0654-2 It’s nearly fifty years since the last wooden Hillyard went down the slip at their Littlehampton yard in West Sussex and yet examples of these family-friendly cruising yachts can still be found in harbours across the UK. Usually double-ended and with a deep centre cockpit, they were built in large numbers post-war in what was the boom time and, as it turned out, also the swan song for wooden boat-building. Rugged and sea-kindly they inspired some notable small boat voyages and, whilst the adventures of Victor Clark, Keith Robinson and Frank Mulville amongst others found their way into print, little has ever been written about David Hillyard. Hillyard: The Man, His Boats and Their Sailors sets out to explain the man and his ethos as a self-taught designer and innovator who wanted his boats to appeal to ordinary people. It covers Hillyard’s life from his birth in 1883 in the east coast village of Rowhedge into a humble family with strong connections to the sea. Gray paints a vivid picture of the social divide of the times and the influences that living in a small religious community had on the young Hillyard. His father, David Sr, came from a long line of fishermen and during the summer months would, like many of the men in the area, crew on the large racing yachts belonging to the aristocracy. Young David chose to take up a boat-building apprenticeship in the nearby village of Wivenhoe. Despite proving himself to be a capable and fast worker, at the end of his seven year apprenticeship Hillyard, as was the custom, had to leave and seek work elsewhere, soon moving from Essex to join the grand-sounding Littlehampton Motor Boat Company on the south coast. Sadly David’s new employer had little work and it was the failure of this business that led him to set up on his own. Finding himself a small premises in Littlehampton, he soon won a contract building 8ft clinker dinghies for a large London department store. By the time the Great War came, Hillyard had become an established small boat builder and was soon engaged in work for the Admiralty producing Montagu Whalers and lighters. When peace arrived David Hillyard was already in his late 30s and, as Gray puts it, 57

made a decision that would lead him to ‘fame if not fortune’ when he put all his faith and money into purchasing new, larger premises on the west bank of the River Arun with the intention of building cruising yachts to his own design. Developing his own distinctive style and keeping costs down but not quality, Hillyard soon found himself with a productive and profitable business. Gray includes some enjoyable anecdotes of the workforce and their pride in, as well as loyalty to, the business despite the harsh working conditions. The yard quickly developed a reputation for quality, and Hillyard pushed sales by being one of the first builders of cruising yachts to exhibit at public exhibitions, including the very first boat show held in 1922. At the age of 76 he would have the privilege of opening the 1958 London Boat Show. The 1920s were a good time for the Littlehampton yard, but as the decade drew to a close so the world moved into a recession and, as the orders began to dwindle, he came up with an idea that not only saved his business but changed the way boatyards would work in the future – he began building boats ‘on spec’ rather than to order. This led him to establish standard ranges of boats, and to adopt a production-line system using similar sections for boats of differing lengths and patterns for planks on standard craft as well as prefabricated hatches and companionways. The Second World War put paid to yacht building, but once again the Admiralty were after Hillyard’s services to build 72ft (22m) Harbour Defence Motor Launches and large numbers of Landing Craft Assault vessels. Whilst some yards made large profits out of this work, Hillyard accepted a minimal level of profit and in 1946 was awarded the MBE. David Hillyard felt that in a post-war world sailing should no longer be a predominantly all-male pursuit, so adapted his pre-war designs to suit families. He invented the ‘three cabin layout’ – an aft cabin for the owner and his wife and a fore cabin for the children, separated by cockpit, galley and saloon. Boats also began to be fitted with carpets, and portholes received curtains. Despite being married for nearly 30 years David had no children, so his nephew Dennis Cullingford, who had joined the company as an apprentice, eventually took over the running of the yard. Hillyard never wore the trappings of wealth or owned a car, and continued to ride his trusty Francis Barnett Motorcycle until shortly before his death at the age of 80 ... by which time GRP boats were beginning to take over the market. The second half of the book contains short biographies of many of those who have owned or sailed Hillyards. Gray has provided a very nice who’s who of Hillyarders, including some well-known names as Nevil Shute and Arthur Ransome of Swallows and Amazons fame. It is refreshing that he also mentions many ordinary people – those who enjoy, along with their families, the simple pleasures of sailing these vessels and who have done so much to keep the name of Hillyard alive and well-represented at maritime festivals in the UK and further afield. Although David Hillyard proudly proclaimed that no boat came out of his yard that he had not designed, Appendix 1 shows that this is not entirely true as it covers those boats which he designed jointly or did not claim to have designed. Appendix 2 is a very entertaining and informative account by Chris Barnes of life as a Hillyard apprentice during the 1960s, an age before health and safety regulations. The Bibliography is also comprehensive, as is the index. 58

Hillyard: The Man, His Boats and their Sailors is an excellent and informative read. Nicholas Gray was the ideal author, as not only is he an experienced yachtsman but personally knew many of the people who feature in its pages. He has owned a number of classic yachts, one of which was the Hillyard 22-tonner, Wendy Woo. Highly recommended. GJ-H

TREASURED ISLANDS – Peter Naldrett. Published in soft covers by Conway, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing [www.bloomsbury.com] at £18.99 or $26. 320 220mm x 185mm pages bearing hundreds of colour photographs. ISBN 9781-8448-6592-5 The wording on the cover describes this book as ‘the explorer’s guide to over 200 of the most beautiful and intriguing islands around Britain’, but along with the relevant charts and pilot books it would be perfect for cruisers, particularly for visiting the islands of Scotland – nearly half the chapters focus on them. Obviously not all of them are suitable for yachts, having no safe anchorage or shelter, but even as you sail past some tiny, remote island this book will provide fascinating information about it. For those places where you can drop the hook, Treasured Islands will tell you where to find the best place to eat (and what the local speciality is), what wildlife to look out for – many of the islands are a birder’s paradise – events to take part in, and archaeological features of interest. If you’re meeting up with non-sailing friends, the ‘where to stay’ section gives details of onshore accommodation, from hotels to b&bs and self-catering, and tells them how to get there. Treasured Islands is illustrated throughout with often stunning photos, and Peter Naldrett’s research is impressive – he had intended to visit every single island included in the book, but cancelled boats and stormy seas, and then the Covid-19 pandemic, made travel very difficult. Nevertheless, the author was able to get to over 150 of the islands and managed to talk to people who had good knowledge of the remaining ones. While cruising the islands of Western Scotland would be the most obvious time to enjoy this book, it would also be a useful and interesting addition to the yacht’s library if you were visiting the Isles of Scilly, Lundy, the Isle of Wight, the Isle of Man, the islands off the Welsh coast and Northern Ireland, the Channel Islands – even the Faroes, which are not British but Danish but are included anyway! Even the islands of the Thames feature here, well worth reading about if you’re on a river trip. The only omission that I noticed was Brownsea Island in Poole Harbour. My only criticism is the lack of maps. It would make things much clearer if each geographical section started with a chartlet of the area with, perhaps, numbers linked to each description ... though sailors could overcome this problem by having the relevant small-scale chart handy. Overall, a lovely book and an impressive research achievement – definitely recommended. EHMH 59

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REMEMBERING SUNSTONE, SAILING ZEST Vicky and Tom Jackson (Vicky and Tom need little introduction, having written for Flying Fish 16 times over the past 22 years, most recently in Flying Fish 2019/2. Neither does the 1965-built, 39ft 9in (12m) Sunstone, with her meticulously varnished mahogany hull. Since departing the UK in 1997 they – and she – have circumnavigated via the southern capes and sailed two circuits of the Pacific Ocean. They are now based in Nelson on New Zealand’s South Island.) Moving On When we returned to New Zealand from Alaska and Canada in 2015 we realised that our voyaging days in Sunstone were over. Even when tedious or downright unpleasant, we had always looked back on our long ocean passages with pleasure and a sense of accomplishment. This time, despite our continued pleasure in Sunstone’s care of us in all weathers, we were just glad the final long passage was done. It is hard to take an objective view of a relationship with a boat that has been your home for 35 years. When she has also proved a competitive racer and a wonderful cruiser over more than 200,000 miles, objectivity is impossible. Like many owners, perhaps most, we look with biased eyes at Sunstone and see an almost perfect blend of fitness for purpose with uniqueness and beauty. However... Between us we now have five artificial joints and the others are plagued by arthritis.

Tom in the cockpit

Sunstone sailing in Tasman Bay We describe ourselves as suffering from RSI, repetitive steering injury. Nevertheless Sunstone still demands of us that we varnish her topsides, coachroof, covering boards and cockpit coamings at least twice a year. She is still going strong, but we are not. This was fully confirmed when, in 2016, we spent six weeks taking the topsides back to the wood and putting back ten coats of varnish, our final major payback to our partner of 35 years. Laying on another coat of varnish in 2016

We always knew the time would come, but it still took two more years to decide that we should part with Sunstone. Apart from a North Island cruise in 2018, we had done only local sailing in her. If we were to continue sailing, we needed a different boat. So in 2018/19 we began preparing Sunstone for sale. The market for a boat like Sunstone is a highly specialised one, so we knew that our transition could take some time. Nevertheless, we drew up our specification for a yacht that might suit our ‘geriatritude’. She needed to be smaller and lighter, but not so small and light that we would be thrown about like teenagers, so 35–38ft (10∙7–11∙6m) seemed about right. We hoped for good performance, but not at the expense of a comfortable cruising interior with a few more modern comforts than we were used to. We wanted an attractive design and one whose on-going maintenance requirements would be significantly less, and less physically demanding, than Sunstone’s.

Zest at anchor, Tasman Bay

With these ideas we began casual perusal of the internet, with no expectation or desire to find our next yacht immediately having vowed not to be ‘fleet’ owners. Such vows are easily broken. In June 2019 we came across an advertisement for Ekanta, a Craddock 36 launched in 1991. A fairly typical Kiwi design of the late ’80s and early ’90s, she was prettier than most and quite beautifully finished on the inside. Her hull was strip-planked cedar, with a fibreglass skin inside and out. Her masthead rig was as tall as Sunstone’s. After 40 years of under-powered sailing we liked the idea of a better power-to-weight ratio for the light winds of our home waters in Tasman Bay. Her U-shaped sections, fin keel and spade rudder also meant that she should be easily driven. We flew up to Auckland to take a look. It didn’t take long for us to be convinced that we liked her so we made an offer, which was accepted after a bit of bargaining. 63

With Zest’s previous owners The survey was satisfactory and we completed the change of ownership on 10th July 2019. Ekanta had been the apple of her owners’ eyes and designed and built for them; they had taken meticulous care of her. She had never been raced and only cruised in restricted North Island waters, so she had never suffered the wear and tear of many yachts her age. She was not really equipped for offshore passage-making, however, even of the limited kind necessary to get her to our home in Nelson, 600 miles away. A larger anchor, AIS, EPIRB, a leecloth for a sea berth and a variety of less significant Sunstone’s quarter wave...

... compared to Zest’s upgrades were required, as well as a new mainsail and genoa. Fortunately she had a storm jib – but no means of setting it, an omission remedied by the addition of an inner forestay and runners. The decision to change her name was reached well after the delivery passage, but it was during it that she earned the name: Zest. Even with much-reduced sail she accelerated away, maintaining excellent speed. Unlike Sunstone, which in similar conditions leaves a large, curling quarter wave and digs a deep hole, Zest left a smooth bubbling wake with little quarter wave. However, where Sunstone tracks evenly with her long fin keel and skeg-hung rudder, Zest’s shorter fin and spade rudder required more concentration on the helm to keep her tracking steadily. There is a price for everything. Local cruising since the delivery has given us time to contemplate some of the advantages of cruising Zest compared to Sunstone. A built-in fridge, pressure water, hot water and shower are obvious conveniences, while in the cockpit the shelter of a sprayhood is a major luxury. Zest’s motion is more lively than Sunstone’s, but because she rides over the waves rather than through them there is little spray on deck so we can On passage up the west coast, as seen through Zest’s sprayhood 65

often dispense with full oilies, unheard of on Sunstone. More subtly, because the wider companionway gives more direct access to the saloon, communication is easier and from below it is easy to see out of the cabin windows. We dislike the poor shape of a rolledup genoa, so have installed a battened blade jib set on a Solent stay, like Sunstone’s. So, overall, what have we lost and what have we gained? From a purely sailing and cruising point of view, Sunstone’s sea-kindly hull form and heavy displacement gave us the assurance that she would take care of us in almost any conditions on long ocean crossings as well as coastal hops. That heavy displacement also meant that she could stow the 1∙5 to 2 tons of gear and spares that we had needed for world cruising without any excessive sacrifice of performance. Her relatively small rig also meant that we had to reef less on long passages, while her easily-driven hull still kept her moving in lighter conditions. Sunstone’s displacement and her traditional emphasis on stowage space gave us the means to pack away everything we needed for cruising and for living aboard. However, that more traditional layout meant there was little space for a shower or refrigeration. With Zest we have gained acceleration, responsiveness and manoeuvrabily, because she has a much better power-to-weight ratio, but we do have to reef sooner. All her gear is lighter and easier for our aged muscles and joints to handle, but her motion is also livelier. While her hull form is easily driven, her flatter forward sections mean that she tends to slam more when beating into a heavy chop. Though she has nearly 4ft (1∙2m) less in overall length her internal volume is very similar to Sunstone’s, but it is devoted more towards comfort than stowage. We still have an aft cabin and a good-sized chart table. What we have gained suits our new set of sailing and cruising needs, and that is the recipe for happy owners. What we have lost in sailing terms is what we mostly no longer need, as well as what we can no longer physically manage. Of course all that takes no account of the emotions and memories that go with our relationship with Sunstone. Life on the water has been an essential part of our lives for 40 years and Sunstone has been our third partner in that life. In many ways she has shaped our lives, first by being our home, then by bringing us to offshore racing as an outlet for our competitive spirits, and finally by carrying us across the world’s oceans and to so many wonderful places. Though we may be moving on, sharing our lives with Sunstone can never be lost. Fortunately she has found an excellent new home back on the east coast of England with owners who have the knowledge, skills and desire to use and care for her as she deserves. Summer 2021 around the North Island of New Zealand The sail up the west coast was, in ten passages north and south over these waters, our fastest ever. We departed Nelson Marina early on Friday 22nd January. For nine hours from Farewell Spit it was a wet close reach with three reefs and the No 4 jib in a westerly 28–32 knots and a 10ft (3m) swell. Dinner was bread and jam for Tom, bread and hummus for Vicky. By midnight the wind was down to 22 knots, then 15, carrying us all the way to Cape Reinga. A light southwesterly took us through the strong tides at the top and down the east coast. We anchored in Whangaroa Harbour after just under 500 miles, three days and two hours out from Nelson. We needed a very long night’s sleep and two further days to catch up. 67

Tom and Vicky, plus the view from Duke’s Nose We walked and climbed up the Duke’s Nose, a classic one-hour tramp, in Whangaroa Harbour. It is a steep bush walk until near the top, when it becomes a rock climb. The former chain is now a solid metal bar to make ascending the near-vertical rock face easier, and the views from the top are The steeper part of the expansive across the coves and nooks of this Duke’s Nose ascent beautiful anchorage. After rest and recovery we headed a little north. Great Exhibition Bay, south from North Cape, has a shoreline that could rival a tropical island’s. The white-sand beach backed by dunes and marram grass sweeps for miles around the bay, with blue, almost turquoise, water in the shallows. We anchored twice off Karikari Moana’s spectacular beach. It beckoned for a long walk, but a strong easterly day breeze prevented shore excursions. Houhora in Rangaunu Bay, with a tricky river entrance, 4 knot tides and a shallow, narrow channel, tested our pilotage skills. Upstream we found a mooring as the water gurgled and swirled past the hull. Rows of houses lined the river, stretching for miles along the banks. Pukenui used to be a small, far north, wetland settlement with fishing as its mainstay – now it is full of holiday-makers. We moved south to Mangonui and took the opportunity for a road trip with our sailing friend, Rob. The glorious stretch of the 68

Cape Reinga lighthouse unspoilt dunes and views of Ninety Mile Beach were marred for us by the deep ruts left by vehicle tracks. The walk out to Cape Reinga lighthouse, high on its point, to watch the breaking seas on offshore Columbia Bank and see the mixing of the tides from the Tasman Sea and the Pacific Ocean gave a change of perspective, having previously experienced it only from a yacht at sea level. A 12-hour sail from Mangonui brought us to the showers, washing machines, fresh water and fuel at Opua Marina in the Bay of Islands. The first 7½ hours down the coast were slow going, beating into an easterly 15–20 knots. After days of sun, it rained for two, but not before we walked the varied and pretty 4 mile coastal track from Opua to Paihia – our favourite short walk in the North Island. Two long sailing days before strong easterly winds, with an overnight stop anchored at Tutukaka, got us to Great Barrier Island in mid-February. With gale force east then north winds of 35–40 knots and driving rain, we hunkered down at anchor in Port Fitzroy. There was some activity – constant monitoring of Zest’s position and that of other boats, a few maintenance jobs, reading, and watching films on the computer. Tom took an outing in the rain to scrub the teak Cape Reinga

A pity to waste all that water ... Tom scrubbing the cockpit decks – there was no shortage of rinsing rain water. Before the deep low we spent a convivial afternoon with Graeme and Kath on Windjammer, another Nelson yacht, watching TV coverage of the Prada Cup racing between Luna Rossa and Ineos. The Cove on Rakitu Island

Before we left Nelson one of our targets had been to cruise on the east side of Great Barrier Island. This coast is exposed and, in the prevailing summer easterlies, anchoring is often not tenable. We managed two nights, one in The Cove on Rakitu Island, a pretty spot with exceptionally clear water, caves and interesting rock formations, along with green rolling swards. The second night was off Oruawharo Beach, with white sand and turquoise water, and the constant noise of the breaking surf. The surf meant that landing and getting off the beach would be difficult. To get ashore for a walk, Vicky donned her lifejacket and put her camera into a waterproof bag. Watching the waves, she surfed the dinghy towards the beach. It was going well until she stepped out of the dinghy – which turned broadside on – slipped on an invisible rock, and completed an inelegant dumping! But it was a warm day and the camera was dry in its pouch. The walk/run on the beach was lovely – soft white sand, a pair of black oystercatchers and dotterel. Waiting for bigger waves to pass, Vicky timed her relaunch and shot out through the smaller surf. She was tired on her return, from the nervous energy expended more than the exercise. The sail across the Colville Channel was the perfect combination – a broad reach in 12 knots, warm sunshine, and the rugged Coromandel Peninsula as a backdrop. One night off the eastern end of Waiheke Island was followed by two in Islington Bay, Rangitoto Island. Berthing in Auckland always feels like ‘coming home’. Our allocated berth in Westhaven Marina was just one berth away from where we had lived on board Sunstone for six years. We caught up with friends, including the original owners of Zest, appeared on The Rock radio station, (we were berthed alongside an electric motor boat sponsored by The Rock), shopped and walked into the city and through the America’s Cup Village. When sailing we have learnt the importance of planning, but also to be ready to change that plan. Listening to the news late on Saturday 27th February it was announced that Auckland was about to go into lockdown; we made a speedy getaway before the deadline. Some longer sailing days led to anchorages at islands off the east coast of Coromandel – Great Mercury Island (crowded), and Mayor Island (rolly). On 3rd March we

The Auckland waterfront

berthed in Tauranga Marina. The early hours of Friday morning required another speedy departure, this time to the land to avoid possible incoming water – a tsunami warning after an earthquake off East Cape. We were woken at 0300 by a knock on the hull, and Jenny told us to follow her and Ted to their car to drive to higher land. We had met them the day before, yachties based in Tauranga Marina. We drove to their son’s house on a slight rise, looking at our phones for reports following the quake. The warnings were lifted by 0630 and we were back in our bunks. Next day, needing more exercise than just walking up and down the very long docks, we rented upright ‘person-pedal’ bikes and headed to Mount Maunganui. The resort town was humming on a sunny Saturday The tsunami evacuation route morning. We locked the bikes and started at Tauranga our walk. We took the base track around The Mount and then began climbing, taking it slowly to the 232m (761ft) summit with its varied views – the waters of the Bay of Plenty, sprawling Mount Maunganui town, cranes and ships in the large port, the narrow tidal harbour entrance and sandy beaches backed with pine trees. The route down was by an even steeper track with lots of steps. We still had to cycle back to Tauranga, 6 miles away. On board we knew that we had achieved our goals – more exercise, cycling and walking. Next we were headed across the Bay of Plenty and around East Cape, with a probable stop in Gisborne or Napier. On the morning of Monday 8th March an expected southwesterly kicked in with brief lulls in the 25 knots. Backing out of an unfamiliar, confined, wind and tide-swept marina berth is always a challenge but we just ‘escaped’, Tom holding the bow on the dock before jumping on board while Vicky steered, backing out with some speed. We were only inches clear of the pile before the bow fell away. 72

Mount Maunganui, overlooking Tauranga Harbour Out in the Bay of Plenty the wind was gusting to 32 knots and our yacht lived up to her name as we ran downwind under only the small jib. Off Whakaari / White Island we hoisted the main with three, then two, then one slab. The deep run was still fast until 2015 when, within five minutes, the wind shifted 180° and we were beating into 15–18 knots of northeasterly. And so it continued all night. We stayed in slightly less wind close along the coast, tacking every hour or so, a dead beat to East Cape. After each tack one of us dozed down below, napping for 20, 30 or 50 minutes while the other kept watch. It was similar to two-handed racing. We finally rounded East Cape at 0700. Crossing the Bay of Plenty

The wind stayed in the northerly sector at 8–16 knots giving a more pleasant beam to broad reach, with bright stars through the next night. In our travels around the world we have bought and often stored tins of food. Supper, sailing past Gisborne, was tinned corned beef hash bought in Canada. Vicky has never believed ‘best before’ dates and these tins said June 2016 – delicious! Our eight-day stay at the NSC was longer than expected, with a seasonal change from summer to autumn. For seven days there was a daily ritual – watching America’s Cup racing in the clubhouse. The win was a masterful team outcome for New Zealand. Otherwise we filled the days with maintenance and walking the steps and steep streets of The Bluff and around Ahuriri, the suburb close to the fishing harbour. We hired bikes one day and rode a flat 31 miles, taking in Marine Parade and limestone tracks past orchards and wetlands. We departed Napier on Thursday 18th March at 2200. The winds looked reasonable, southeast at first down the Wairarapa coast, then southerly after we turned the corner into Cook Strait, nothing more than 18 knots. The weather predictions were right – but there were a few problems on the way. The ‘bang’ came only half an hour after departure. We were watching the buoys flashing around the port entrance and a ship with tugs entering the port. We passed near one of the lit channel markers – bang. The engine stopped. This was not a good start. We had hit a fishing pot, not usually placed so close to ship channels. The engine restarted, but had the prop or shaft been damaged, would the engine continue, was there any other damage? Apparently not. After Cape Kidnappers we reached in a southeast or east-southeast wind, mostly motor-sailing in 6–13 knots but with a 6ft (2m) swell. The sparsely populated Wairarapa coast is one we find eerie, barren and inhospitable. There is no refuge until Wellington or Picton and for large sections of the coast, up to four miles off the land, the charts say ‘unsurveyed’. The stars on both nights were magnificent. The moon was a narrow crescent which set by midnight so the small jewels shone with all their intensity. Land tourists visit dark sky areas – sailors just look up. The leaping dolphins were a joy too. The inhospitable and eerie Wairarapa Coast

Accompanied by leaping dolphins We talk to them like children and feel such happiness watching their antics. Cook Strait gave us more wind aft of the beam, but nothing excessive. The sailing was fast and enjoyable ... until we noticed some water in the bilges. First we bailed out and mopped up, then we searched for the leak. In the end we found that water had flowed steadily from the engine water pump. We had used the engine quite a bit down the Wairarapa coast, and though it seemed okay clearly a seal had failed. By Saturday afternoon off Alligator Head, Guards Bay, in the Marlborough Sounds we were glad that the two-day passage was nearing completion. However, in the end we had to dig deep. It was only after inspecting three bays that we eventually found a protected haven. The first was too windy; the second was full of fishing boat moorings and too deep; at the third we stopped. It was an early night for us – but not the long French Pass in the early morning ... and this was ‘slack’ tide!

The Cut at Nelson sleep we desired. The wind, although not strong, shifted overnight giving a short chop and we were glad to depart early next morning. The last night on board was at Catherine Cove, D’Urville Island, on a mooring. The bay gave us a calm day and night, with bird song and a long, uninterrupted sleep. But before that Tom managed to renew the bearings and seals in the water pump, with limited tools and his trusty portable vice. Spare parts are important. Early on Monday 22nd March we transited French Pass at ‘slack’ tide, but the current was still running against us at 4 knots. After that we had a lovely sail, reaching down into Tasman Bay before motoring the last 10 miles to Nelson. Over eight weeks and four days we had circumnavigated the North Island, covering 1635 miles.

People on land think of the sea as a void, an emptiness, haunted by mythological hazards. The sea marks the end of things. It is where life stops and the unknown begins. It is a necessary, comforting fiction to conceive of the sea as the residence of gods and monsters – Aeolus, the Sirens, Scylla, Charybdis, the Goodwins, the Bermuda Triangle. In fact the sea is just an alternative known world. Its topography is as intricate as that of the land, its place names as particular and evocative, its maps and signposts rather more reliable. Jonathan Raban, Coasting 76

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NEW HORIZONS Natasha Gray Beyond the horizon, on distant shores not yet known, life goes on ... as I learned when I found myself in the legendary Peter Café Sport in Horta on the luscious Azorean island of Faial. Looking around I tried to absorb every flag, banner and memento that had been left by previous crews, weaving together to tell their own tales of adventure. Soon I would be having one of my own. How did I end up in paradise? Five weeks previously I had been back home in Bonnie Scotland scrolling through my spam e-mails when I came across an interesting proposition. I had applied for the OCC Youth Sponsorship Programme

In the bar at Peter Café Sport almost a year earlier and had completely forgotten about it. For more than 10 days an unsurpassable opportunity had been hidden from me – to help crew a boat from the Caribbean back to the UK! Having spent the last year learning online – I was a media student – I jumped at the chance to cross an ocean, a long-held dream. I was 24 and hadn’t been sailing for well over a year. Unfortunately, due to quarantine I could not make it out to Grenada in time, but luck was on my side as the boat was stopping in the Azores. After a quick online meeting with Pete and Libby, skipper and chef on the delivery trip, I was invited to join Lunulata in Horta a few weeks later. I first stepped on a sailing yacht when I was 17 as part of a Scout trip with the Ocean Youth Trust Scotland. We sailed on a 72ft Challenger yacht for seven days around the 78

western isles of Scotland and I was hooked. From then on I would volunteer as staff during any time off and, after 2½ seasons of about 12 weeks per year, had worked my way up to third mate (and gained my Yachtmaster Coastal Certificate), giving back to other young people the life-changing experience that I had enjoyed. The weeks flew by. Getting all my coursework completed early and arranging to get to the Azores with the ever-changing restrictions sometimes seemed near impossible – notably after waiting on hold for two hours to get my PCR test results, six hours before my first flight, only to be told I was not on the system! I really thought the green, luscious islands were going to elude me, just as St Kilda has three times, but that’s another story. When the plane finally touched down on Faial on 11th June 2021 and I made it through border control two hours over my 72-hour window, I was in disbelief. A whirlwind taxi ride blew the stress away and a few hours later I was gazing around Peter’s, sipping on a cool beer and eagerly awaiting dinner. I had found myself on what seemed like a different planet. Everything here was so relaxed. What ... A ... Relief. Five days later I stepped aboard Lunulata, a 57ft Swedish-built Najad sloop. She made great time crossing from Grenada in 19 days, but due to engine troubles had to be heroically towed the last 60 miles by an American boat, High Cotton, with whom we became fast friends. After a period of quarantine and a quick crew change, I was able to get on board and straight to work helping get the boat ready for the engineer to diagnose the engine problem. Before long we were visited by the police, with three divers in the water and a dog on board. This was a routine check, however, as the border patrol pick a random boat every day to search. As the days went by we saw this happen frequently, since we were allowed to stay on the quarantine dock until the engine was fixed – fortunately with a simple battery replacement. Both Atlantic leg crews with our Lunulata logo in Horta

We slipped lines unceremoniously on 22nd June. I had spent ten wonderful days on a tiny island in the Atlantic that I will never forget, fuelled by sun, new friendships, experiences and good food. Drunken laughter and dancing echoed in the evenings, with new sights and opportunities during the day. I breathed out deeply and took one last look at the green pastures separated by winding hedgerows of blue hydrangeas and the volcanic mountainsides of Faial. Light winds and motoring were the name of the game on the first day, but our first problem occurred quickly, just before we started watch rotas – an O-ring for the watermaker filter had been misplaced. We had to find it, fix it or turn around. After tearing the boat apart and swapping the secondary’s filter for the primary’s, Matt fashioned a new O-ring out of string which held with just a little leak. After a few tweaks we were back on track with no leaks at all. Matt and I were on the first double night watch as I got to know the boat and all her technology. I was used to training young adults on a Challenger 72 or Oyster 70 intended for sail training – no electric winches, autopilots, cockpit cushions, in-mast furling, biminis, bow thrusters or electric toilets! We even enjoyed hot showers at sea, and I’m ashamed to say that I never touched a winch handle the whole passage. Ocean cruising on a Najad 570 is a luxury I could easily get used to! The three-hour watch flew by as Matt and I got to know each other better. Before I knew it, it was 0300 and we were back on deck for our second watch of the night. We were moving very slowly in the light winds, so decided to take turns sleeping. I spotted a small cluster on the radar two miles off and, as I was peering towards it, had one of the most magical moments of my life as a pod of dolphins came alongside. They were jumping straight out of the water, lit up like the northern lights by bioluminescence. I could not believe my eyes. They were a group of glowing guardians wishing us well on our voyage. It was a very serene moment. Lunulata just before we slipped our lines

In my element in force 6

By the third day the wind had picked up to a force 6 and I was in my element, though the rest of the crew had become somewhat incapacitated, preferring to stay below. I hand steered for some of my watch, enjoying every second as the occasional wave tried to soak me. Lunulata handled well – she felt light and took every wave with a small shrug. I watched the full moon and stars for a long time that night, then finally got my first decent sleep of the passage. A few nights later I was on watch for one of the first proper sunsets – phenomenal, and full of vibrant hues. As I was watching, my mind pondering all the unanswered questions of the universe, a small bird landed on the dinghy motor. Another guardian had joined me. He flew off after a while, but as I watched the colours change and mix he reappeared, joining me for the rest of my watch. We both sat in silence, content with the world. By the next night the waves had grown considerably and the skipper wanted us fully alert with no audio books or music. We’d had some big waves that sounded like a car crash when sleeping up front, but Lunulata kept ploughing through unfazed. ‘The crew always break first’ is what we tell the youth crew back home to help reassure them – for some bizarre reason, now that I think about it. I was dreading the night watch, constantly waking, thinking I’d missed my watch and should be on deck. I had done the Scout thing and prepared beforehand, sleeping in my thermals, so I was more than warm enough on deck. Nothing eventful happened, apart from taking a wave in the face while I was checking the instruments at the helm. We were still on port tack the following night with big waves and force 6 winds. It was a long, dark watch. By the seventh day the wind had died to force 4 and the weather had brightened, with more traffic around. We were just over a day from our intended landfall at Falmouth. The wind continued to die during the day until we eventually fired up the hamster wheel 81

Lovely weather on the approach to Falmouth (engine). Matt and I cleaned the salt off the deck now we were at a more manageable angle. After my second shower at sea I peeled tatties as my contribution to that evening’s roast dinner. The sun had lifted everyone’s spirits and we were all on deck when we were joined by another pod of the dolphins we had seen almost every day. This pod was met with whoops and cheers as five jumped out of the water in unison. We brought the sails in and motored so we could have a civilised dinner on deck with plates instead of bowls ... what an extravagance! The roast was delicious, especially the homemade Yorkshire puddings. In fact, every meal we had on board was exquisite! Thanks again to Libby for all the preparation and guidance – she really knows how to feed a crew! It was like a veggie detox, bar the chorizo in the pizza wraps that I made (for Pete and me) on the first day, and the last of the fresh tuna caught on the Atlantic crossing, the best tuna I’ve ever had. The sun was shining as we reached Falmouth the next afternoon and moored up as unceremoniously as we had left. Then we chucked our glad rags on and headed straight to the pub for a nice, cold pint. That was it ... we had sailed for eight days and covered just under 1200 miles. A few years ago I had never heard of the Azores. Now the islands and the people I met there (especially the Danes, they know how to party!) will hold a dear place in my heart. I am sure that one day I will be back, hopefully in my own boat so I can pass this privilege on to someone else. I enjoyed a luxurious sail that helped blow away the cobwebs, and the experience opened my eyes to a world of opportunities that I had thought were not going to be possible for a long time due to our current world predicament. Next time I want to go bigger, further and harsher. I want to be challenged, gaining the type of fun that comes long after, when the suffering is a distant memory and you hype yourself up for an even crazier adventure. Maybe high latitude or Southern Ocean, or even a solo sail. I want to do it all! This trip showed me that everything is possible, and I am very grateful to everyone at the OCC, particularly Fiona Jones, for granting me this opportunity. And of course to Pete and Libby for keeping me safe and well fed.



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TO SAVE A SOUL Philippe Jamotte Introduction by Randall Reeves “Someone at the Singlehanded Sailing Society of San Francisco said I should meet you”. That and an invitation to tour his Class 40, Changabang, was how I first came to know of solo sailor Philippe Jamotte and his project. It was the summer of 2020 and by this time Philippe was in the final stages of outfitting at the Sugar Dock in Richmond, California. I remember climbing aboard Changabang and being struck by how different a vessel she was from mine – light, lithe, powerfully-rigged – a rocket ship. And as Philippe described his plans – for a non-stop circumnavigation east to west and against the prevailing winds – I marvelled too at how different his challenges were from my own. Torres Strait, Cape of Good Hope and then the Horn, all the wrong way. The idea still makes me shudder. Singlehanders are a unique breed. Except for their shared exploits, Tetley, Moitessier and Knox-Johnston had as little in common as do contemporaries like Bill Hatfield, Bert ter Hart, and Jon Sanders. Each were, to some degree, chasing a record in a line of work that gave them, and a few other sailors, intense satisfaction. The risks can seem crazy to those who don’t share the vision. As it turns out, Philippe wasn’t successful on his first attempt. Early mechanical failures and country closures due to Covid caused Philippe to decide it was better to return home than risk an illegal landing in the south. Failure has a rich tradition among solo attempts, extending at least as far back as the first Golden Globe Race in 1968. But the point is to learn and But it’s so big... return safely in order to try again. Just so, here is the first chapter of Phillipe’s story. In La Longue Route (The Long Way), Moitessier tells us that he’s dropping out of the first Golden Globe Race because he’s happy at sea, and maybe to save his soul. Instead of sailing back into the hustle and bustle of a busy cosmopolitan humanity, he pointed his bow towards the Pacific Islands. What was he saving his soul from? I can’t be Moitessier, I can only be moi, and my story doesn’t weigh much in comparison to Bernard’s exploits. Even so, allow me to write a short story about my attempt to sail around the Earth. 85

A chapter ends, a new chapter begins

The backstory Where did it all begin? And why? I’ve given these questions much thought and I think I’ve finally nailed the answers. I wish I could say that I grew up in a sailing family, or that I met a sailor who became my mentor, or that I love sailing so much that I sail at every occasion possible, but that’s just not true. I came into sailing by way of a poster, an advert for a sailing school. Sailing for me is escapism. I came close to understanding this when I read Alone Around the World by Naomi James before my departure, though it was only after being back on land for a few months that I truly realised my motivations. I’m originally from Belgium, born in the Belgian Congo in 1971. In 2001 I emigrated to the USA with an engineering diploma and a woman strong enough to tolerate me, and have lived in the San Francisco Bay area ever since. Like most of us I toiled in the business world, aspiring to great future milestones of business successes. Unfortunately these didn’t materialise – instead what became clear is my addictive nature, which got me in trouble at every occasion when alcohol or pot were present. This plagued me from my early twenties all the way to my early thirties. A clear pattern haunted me: work hard, abstain, binge, despair, repeat. Simply put, I wasn’t able to cope too well with my human nature and the nature of my humanity: I was regularly seeking oblivion. It all came crashing down one day and now, when I think about my time in the USA, it’s clear to me that the most beautiful gift I received from America was sobriety. After the removal of the safety valves that alcohol and pot provided I could no longer escape – I was with me at all times. Some serious build-up was corroding my insides. When you know what man is capable of doing (murder, rape, torture, war and more), when you know you’re nothing but a man, how can one look inside and not be desperate at what one sees? How can one not desire to escape from oneself? I can’t. I didn’t know then that I was trying to escape – I told myself that I was just trying to learn new stuff, stay active, interested. That’s when another pattern emerged for me – I began 86

Learning to sail in South San Francisco Bay picking up activities to escape from my reality. I tried writing, pottery, triathlons, diving, motorcycling, hiking ... but I couldn’t find peace. At the end of each activity I’d be back where I started. So when 2013 came along and I saw an advert for a sailing school I decided to give that a try. Baby steps At the Spinnaker Sailing School in Redwood City I went through my first American Sailing Association (ASA) certification. Then for a year or so I joined cruises with the school as a crew member. I followed that with my second certification, which gave me the option to charter a small sailing boat, a Merit 25. I sailed with fellow club members for a while, but the complexities of scheduling and most importantly those of social dynamics on a small boat led me to singlehanding. It was not easy – at that point I was still just trying to learn to sail. But one day I was sailing with my wife and daughter on a typical San Francisco Bay afternoon with winds in the 15–25 knots range. We started from the

At the end of a twoweek family charter in Guadeloupe

Redwood City Marina, slipped under the San Mateo-Hayward Bridge, and continued a little while before turning around. San Francisco proper was on the horizon, the boat well heeled as we beat our way north, spray coming over the bow and the air fresh and salty. And that’s where I was hit by the promise of the horizon ... come to me, leave all behind! I was so excited – I didn’t know what I know now. The call of adventure, that’s what it was ... and still is, but now I know better. Of course we soon had to turn around to get home before sunset, but that afternoon marked a step change in my sailing aspirations. I started reading more than ASA course books, and dove into everything I could find about solo sailing and heavy weather sailing. In particular, I started reading stories of sailors who’d embarked on grand adventures. I went through all the classics, all the while continuing to sail. I even became an instructor! Not that I’m a good teacher, but I saw it as an opportunity to learn more about sailing. Even so, I knew I needed to get offshore experience and started looking at my options. High seas In my quest for offshore experience I landed on the Clipper Round the World Race. I also discovered that a solo yacht race from San Francisco to Hawaii happens every two years. Both were costly propositions! I had to make a choice and, after much ruminating, opted for the Clipper Race. I planned to do two legs – the South Atlantic crossing as a ‘warm up’ to the North Pacific crossing. My goal was to experience heavy weather with an experienced skipper. I went through Clipper’s four weeks of training and waited with great anticipation for the day on which I’d leave for the high seas. Sadly, Arriving in Cape Town with the Clipper Round the World Race

The day I met Double Espresso I should have known better. Relationships between skipper and crew aboard even a 70ft boat can be difficult, and a crew of 22 is not a happy environment for me. I’ll skip the details, but when I came back home, with much relief, I chose to opt out of my second Clipper leg. Then at some point, I can’t remember exactly when, I decided that I needed to do the solo race to Hawaii too! I made connections with the Singlehanded Sailing Society of San Francisco Bay (SSS) and explored my options for buying a boat. I didn’t want to spend hours, weeks, months preparing a boat for an ocean crossing so I was looking for a boat that was in good shape. Of the cruiser/racers that I was seeing, the ones I liked best were those that leaned towards racing, mostly because they appeared simple to me – no cabinetry, no plumbing, no complex engine etc. I was tempted by an Olson 30 that had been prepared for the Pacific Cup, and after much debate and dropping more money than I should have, I was good to go sailing. I dry sailed Double Espresso out of Santa Cruz for a year, spending a lot of time heeling off the Pacific coast in 20+ knots of winds. I progressively became familiar with all the weirdness of sailing solo and how much control you have to give up. I also became familiar with the harshness of being alone when one is tired, cold, wet, sick and stressed out. I strongly recommend any aspiring singlehander to read Andrew Evans’ Singlehanded Sailing: Thoughts, Tips, Techniques & Tactics*. I still think the second chapter is the most important. My experience of solo sailing is that it’s not much about sailing. It’s about taking care of the skipper to make sure that a relatively fresh body and mind are ready when needed. It’s about taking care of the boat – being a mechanic, plumber, electrician (who’s also good with electronics), sailmaker, fibreglass repair amateur, and all the other little jobs that pop up along the way. It’s about staying out of harm’s way and getting good speed from the boat by analysing weather charts and routeing software * Published by International Marine / Ragged Mountain Press in 2014. 89

Dead downwind under twin jibs with the backup generator charging the batteries projections. And finally, yes, it’s also about sail trim and sail changes, but outside the context of a race this is not important. It’s rarely about helming as the autopilot is going to do it better (at least for me). The ultimate lesson for singlehanded sailing is not much different from what a life coach would say – take it easy, stay healthy, stay sane, and take care of what you see when you see it. With all my outings and reading, the pull of the horizon kept growing. I was not even through with this race to Hawaii project and I was already looking for a bigger boat, one to sail around the world... We have a winner! The race started in June 2018. The 16 or so competitors battled to get as far west as they could, as an area of light to no wind was due to plague the fleet 24 hours after the start. Despite my best efforts I got stuck in it for a few hours and found myself trailing behind the leaders. Originally I hadn’t planned to actually race – my reason for participating was to make an ocean crossing within a safe(r) environment, surrounded by other skippers, should something go awry – but under peer pressure I caught the racing spirit. I put in a lot of mental preparation, mostly due to my fear of losing, or more precisely to my fear of feeling like a loser should I do poorly. An oh so familiar feeling – regardless of how well I do something, I’ll always feel like I’m not good enough. I’ll skip the details of my twelve days at sea, which I thoroughly enjoyed once I got over the sea sickness. I was lucky in that race and finished first overall and in several other categories, coming home with five trophies. For anyone interested there is a long thread about this race and the preparation leading to it on the SSS forum. 90

The big leap – Changabang! Back home after selling Double Espresso to the Kauai Yacht Club, I continued my search for a new boat. After much consideration I had settled on a Class 40. They are designed for fast, safe, short-handed, long-distance offshore sailing, with valuable safety features. My budget didn’t allow me to buy a recent generation boat, so I was looking at older boats when I discovered Changabang was for sale in France. She was designed by François Lucas and built in a barn by her first owner, Pascal Doin. With red cedar stripplanked construction she is solid, light and stiff. Inside, there is plenty of head room for this 6ft 6in (2m) sailor. After a bit of negotiating, the seller and I found common ground and by January 2020 Changabang was hoisted onto a cargo ship, transported to San Diego, and dropped into the waters of the Pacific. With friends we sailed her to Half Moon Bay, where she resides today. I have to say it, I like Changabang. She definitely feels like a home to me – sparse and bare but a home nonetheless. Changabang in France where I found her Throughout her life CaB had been run on a small budget and I was not about to change that tradition. I invested what I could, reached out to companies for inkind donations or product discounts, and was the lucky recipient of an OCC Challenge Grant (yeah!), but for the most part this was all self-funded. But why go West? I’d like to stop a moment and share how I came to settle on a San Francisco to San Francisco westabout solo non-stop unassisted voyage. In researching boats and voyages, I discovered that Chinese sailor Guo Chan had set a baseline for the 40ft and under 91

The intended course of my round the world escapade solo round the world record (per WSSRC* guidelines). I dug a little more and learned that Christian Dumard had been his remote navigator. When Christian realised I was in San Francisco he quickly suggested that I should go west instead of east – and it made perfect sense! Granted Torres Strait, Cape Agulhas and Cape Horn are no easy feats going west, but for the rest it could be lots of tradewind sailing. Sign me up! The next thing I knew, Chris Tibbs had my journey all charted out. All that was left was * The World Sailing Speed Record Council A practice day, proudly showing the OCC Challenge Grant’s investment

Changabang’s nav table, galley, sleeping quarters ... well, everything to get ready, which meant training, provisioning, loading back up plans for backup plans, and more ... much more. Who’s Marie? I have limited space to tell you the rest of the story so it may feel a little rushed from now on, but I have a blog at https://pjsails.com which has tons of information about my journey, describing the different steps I took and sharing progress updates. I’d encourage the nerdy reader to check it out for additional details. For this story,

I’ll skip over a good deal and take us to the day I left – 30th September 2020. By now I was quite nervous and anxious to leave. Again, using hindsight, what I was really anxious about was to ‘get it done with’. There are so many reasons why a project like this can fall short of accomplishing its intended goal that I truly wanted to have accomplished what I set out to do and be done with it. I had completely forgotten why I wanted to leave in the first place and, to be fair to myself, back then I didn’t know it clearly. Departing from San Francisco, 30th September 2020. Photo Keaton Hare Photography 93

The weather wasn’t looking very attractive. In the turbulence left behind by Tropical Storm Lowell another depression was brewing. I could have waited, but there was a risk of seeing no wind along the Pacific coast after the depression cleared, which could have delayed departure several weeks. And there could still have been additional depressions after this one, so I decided to give it a go and benefit from the pick-up in wind we anticipated. About the time I left the depression was designated as Tropical Storm Marie, and it would escalate all the way to category 4. Most often, late in the season as we were, tropical storms and hurricanes tend to go west for a bit. then back east to Baja, but this one was set on seeing Changabang up close. So it was a game of hide and seek as I tried to make my way south and Marie moved west.

Tropical Storm Marie’s path as shown on Wikipedia Can you say bang? Although I managed to sail around Marie unscathed (with much help from land, including Christian, Skip, Randall and Tom), my lack of true long-distance offshore solo experience started to take its toll. I began to ignore small signs and that abdication of seamanship cost me. First I damaged the big spinnaker, then lost a spinnaker sheet, then procrastinated to repair a halyard, then damaged the big spinnaker again (as in completely tore it apart), then an autopilot failed, followed by a hydro-generator, then I damaged the boom and lost two spinnakers. After two weeks and crossing the doldrums, I decided to turn around and sail home. When sailing solo, it is important to realise that small mistakes add up – I’ll give an example. My spinnaker halyard had chafed so I took it down and replaced it with a new halyard, just as strong but of 9mm diameter instead of 11mm. Being new, it was a little more slippery and wasn’t holding as well on the winch as the old 11mm rope. I also lost a spinnaker sheet, which I didn’t think I needed to replace as I’d be on the same tack for a very long time. So now I’m flying my A2 with a different halyard and only one sheet, which is fine ... except when things go wrong. The wind picked up later that 94

Putting the GoPro down to check the foil

day, leading me to decide to drop the A2, but when I went forward to pull the sock down it wouldn’t come past a third of the way. My next best choice would have been to do a letterbox drop*, but with only one sheet I couldn’t. I then decided to try to use the sock dousing lines to pull the spinnaker through the slot between the mainsail and the boom. This worked fine until I needed to ease the halyard, but with the new halyard not showing much friction on the winch it slipped, and in a moment the sail was in the water. As I tried to get it back aboard the weight of water tore the sail. None of this would have happened had I repaired the spinnaker halyard and replaced the lost sheet. Small things with big consequences – the usual outcome for the procrastinating solo skipper. There had been many things to be proud of. We had made very good progress, mostly making 200–240 miles a day. I had not been injured. I like to think that I was doing a good job keeping my blog updated and, for the most part, attending to Changabang’s needs. But I became increasingly concerned that, at the rate things were going downhill, I would find myself in an isolated place having to disburse large amounts of money to fix up Changabang so I could limp back home. There were also concerns that with the Covid crisis ongoing, finding a safe port could be an issue. And so, after two weeks going southwest, I pocketed my dream and started my * When flying a loose-footed mainsail, one can use the slot between the foot of the mainsail and the boom (the letterbox opening) to squeeze the air out of the spinnaker. To do this you bring the lazy spinnaker sheet round and lead it through the letterbox opening, then pull the spinnaker through and into the cockpit, cabin or bag (you don’t want it to inflate again) by letting go of the tack and progressively easing the halyard at the same time. 95

journey back home – which proved to be my hardest sailing. For the better part of three weeks I sailed upwind in a lightweight boat which loves to bang hard off the back of waves. After a couple of weeks of that ungodly treatment we were approaching the Pacific coast, and the wind started dropping as a low pressure system caught up with the Pacific high. A day or two away from home I was parked for half a day and half a night, but finally the northwest winds filled in and carried me home, power-reaching with two reefs in the main and the gennaker pushing CaB to speeds regularly above 10 knots. It must have been around midnight when I made landfall to meet my wife, daughter and a friend. And? What then? After landfall I went through a flurry of activity to take care of Changabang’s wounds and empty all the stuff that was aboard. But after a Christmas had passed I retreated from sailing. Changabang was left on her own for the better part of three months while I took coding classes and tried to find gainful employment. I was depressed, sad and not in a good place, but with spring things started to get better. As I write this in May 2021 I’m again in preparation mode, fixing up some of the leftovers from my first attempt. I need to acquire more spare parts and maybe get new spinnakers*. I’m afraid more money will be spent on this not so ultimate (more like foolish) escape plan, but I have high hopes that I will find my stride again. I know two important things now – why I want to do this, and what not to do while at sea (ignore that little voice inside that tells me to take care of things). I just need the stars to line up again, to float up my cruising kitty, and well, cast off. I’ve set a new departure date for October 2022. Follow me at https://pjsails.com and reach out if you would like to support, comment, donate, share – anything! Thank you to the OCC and to all the members who supported CaB and me in this adventure – Randall Reeves, Lauren Henry, Bill Hatfield and Bill Strickland – and to the companies who helped us in kind – PredictWind, apsu nutrition, ATN, Pelagic Autopilot Systems, Backpacker’s Pantry, Hammer Nutrition, Ronstan, Leading Edge Sails, BMC, UK Sailmakers, Bainbridge International and PYI. And last, a big thank you to my wife, mother and daughter for their ongoing support.

About the OCC Challenge Grants OCC Challenge Grants were established in 2020 as a way to support sailors in pursuit of world-class sailing and sail exploration, or those looking to make a difference with a conservation or environmental project centred around the ocean, marine or maritime environment. Grants are open to both members and non-members, although non-members must satisfy the minimum requirement for membership. Intended to help with project costs, they range from £250 up to £3000. Visit https:// oceancruisingclub.org/Challenge-Grant for more information. If you think that you, or someone you know, might qualify we encourage you to contact us at challengegrant@oceancruisingclub.com. * See page 108. 96

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FROM THE GALLEY OF ... Linda Park, aboard Ocean Hobo SWEET POTATO AND COURGETTE TORTILLA Linda brought this to the 2021 West Country Meet Upriver Party, and it was so good I asked her to share the recipe. I should have taken a photo, but by the time I’d fetched my camera the last slice had been eaten! Ingredients • • • • • • •

2 medium sweet potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced 1 onion, thinly sliced 1 courgette, thinly sliced (frozen peas also work well) 2 tbsp olive oil 6 eggs 50gm crème fraîche, sour cream or just regular milk 30g cheese, grated. Preferably manchego or mozzarella, though mature Cheddar also works fine • 1 tbsp chopped chives or other herbs as available Heat oven to 180°C, 350°F, Gas Mk 4/5. Put the sweet potato, onion and courgette (or other vegetable/s) into a medium non-stick baking dish, drizzle with olive oil, season and stir. Bake for 30 minutes, stirring halfway through. By then the sweet potatoes should be tender, the courgette a little charred and the onion softened. Whisk the eggs and the crème fraîche or substitute together and pour over the vegetables. Sprinkle with manchego or other cheese and put back in the oven for another 30 minutes until the tortilla is just set. Sprinkle with chives or other herbs. Eat hot or cold. Adapted from a recipe in BBC Good Food Magazine.

  “You’ll find a tongue” said the voice of doom, “in the starboard sofa-locker; beer under the floor in the bilge.” ... A medley of damp tins of various sizes showed in the gloom, exuding a mouldy odour. Faded legends on dissolving paper, like the remnants of old posters on a disused hoarding, spoke of soups, curries, beefs, potted meats, and other hidden delicacies. I picked out a tongue, reimprisoned the odour, and explored for beer. ... I regarded my hard-won and ill-favoured pledges of a meal with giddiness and discouragement. Erskine Childers, The Riddle of the Sands 98

A CRUISE DESIGNED TO BREAK THINGS Jon Sparks In one way we were a novice crew, for none of us had many miles of sailing under our belts. Conversely, my co-owner Andrew and I do have years of professional experience at sea, Andrew as an engineer and me as a seaman and navigator on many types of vessels from submarines to a sail training ship. His sailing experience was limited to cruising on the Australian east and west coasts and a little time sailing in the UK. Mine included cruising on the eastern Australian seaboard and in the Greek Isles, working on a 30m, 70 tonne ketch built in the 1920s in Canada, and a passage through Southeast Asia that was brought to a sudden halt at the end of 2019 courtesy of Covid restrictions. Jenni, my wife of many years, had almost no offshore passagemaking experience so had signed up for a steep learning curve ... and she was not disappointed. In mid-2019 we bought Aquabat, an Adams 40 aluminium cutter, specifically with the aim of sailing to Antarctica. When we purchased her she was berthed in Brisbane, Australia and our plan was to take her north around New Guinea, then south to Darwin, across the Indian Ocean to Madagascar and around the Cape of Good Hope to Namibia. We would then come back and double the Cape prior to heading into the Southern Ocean on passage to Adelaide, South Australia. By then we would know the boat well so, after a refit, could head to Antarctica. Then the world changed. Confined to Australia in 2020, we based Aquabat at Moreton Bay near Brisbane and pottered around the Queensland coast waiting for travel restrictions to ease. While fun, these were not the passages we had envisaged and, with no end to restrictions in sight, we decided to do an out-of-season shakedown cruise from Brisbane to Adelaide in February/March 2021. The constant headwinds would add quite a few miles to the direct route of 1450 miles. It might seem odd to view a three-week passage in the Tasman Sea and Bass Strait as a shakedown cruise, but we wanted to find out what was going to fail so that we could fix it and be ready to cruise overseas as soon as international port entry restrictions lifted. We were not disappointed, as there was a long list of things that did fail, or that we realised should be improved. Aquabat in the slings 99

Aquabat at her berth in Morton Bay

Intending to break things was not as crazy as it sounds. Before departure we dusted off some old naval architecture knowledge and took time to go over the structural integrity of the boat, as well as rebalance her and return her centre of gravity to where her designer intended it to be. We trialled the boat in some big seas and were confident that no matter what might break, her watertight integrity was solid. Our ability to carry out repairs was backed by a fair range of spares, and we carried enough Dyneema*, sail makers’ thimbles etc to build and replace stays, guard rails and pretty well every piece of rigging.

* Similar to Spectra, but with a slightly different molecular structure. Jon, Andrew and Jenni about to cast off from Morton Bay

100

And things did break As our first day at sea ended we had our Rocna anchor ready for letting go as we crossed the surf bar heading out of Morton Bay and into the Tasman Sea. At sunset we were about to secure it when it came off the bow roller – suddenly we had a sharp, 33kg piece of metal being driven into our 4mm aluminium hull by a 3m swell and 25 knots of wind. We managed to bring it aboard in a similar way to recovering an unconscious man overboard and secured it on deck. It turned out that the Rocna was a retrofit and the shallow bow roller did not adequately support its shaft. While at sea, to prevent a repeat performance we could do little more than add restraining aluminium guide bars to the sides of the roller. We got an updated weather forecast and, as the night became inky black, shortened sail and settled down heading into southeasterly winds as we made our way further offshore. At about 2200, without warning the wind backed 90o and we were hit with 45 knots gusting to 60 knots. We were well over on our beam and very over-canvassed. As we worked to shorten sail, the bolt-rope on the genoa gave way, giving us our first repair of the passage. Hand stitching on a replacement bolt-rope was something I had not done for many years. After hours of sewing my fingers were aching – I obviously need more time at sea to gain the fitness that would be needed in Antarctica. Probably initiated by the knockdown on the first night and exacerbated by sailing at 90o to a big swell, three of the tape loops between the luff and the main failed. We Jon hand-stitching the genoa bolt-rope chose to repair these with the main partially hoisted to provide a bit more stability while working at the mast. Lessons learnt  For greater resilience, we need more tape loops between the luff and the mainsail track.

Mainsail trackto-sail loops

 We need to prepare some thinner loops that can be quickly larks-headed into the place of a failed loop as a running repair. From the minute we entered the Tasman Sea the conditions were blustery – 45 knots gusting to 60 knots with a 4m swell which remained with us for the remainder of the passage. Surprisingly, conditions were better in the Southern Ocean than they were in the Tasman Sea. 101

Jon at the helm in 30 knots

After six days we nosed into Pittwater, north of Sydney, as Jenni needed to return to work. We dropped her off and picked up a friend, then began the 1105-mile passage to Adelaide. Wayne, our new crew member, is an experienced hand with several Sydney to Hobarts under his belt; this allowed us the relative luxury of standing watch for three hours with six off, rather than the watch and watch that Andrew and I had been doing. I always find it amazing how, on passage, it’s possible to miss interacting with another of the crew for a day or two at a time. To avoid this I usually adopt a ‘vespers’ addition to the watch routine whereby all the crew down tools and gather together as sunset approaches. Some sing songs at vespers, others tell yarns (some of them are even true) and it finishes with a short brief on what we are going to do overnight and any special requirements. We don’t drink while at sea, but a nonalcoholic beer at vespers feels like a good end to a day. Jon, wet but happy at the end of a watch 102

Vespers, with Andrew (left) off watch and Wayne on Rigging A useful tool to have on board is a simple load cell – I use mine between the primary winches to test the safe working load of any rigging I make. On this trip I replaced the corroded stainless steel lifelines around the pushpit with 5mm Dyneema and replaced a couple of lifeline turnbuckles (bottlescrews) with frapped 3mm Dyneema. I also made a replacement boom preventer strop from 8mm Dyneema while we were in moderate conditions prior to entering Bass Strait. This meant we no longer needed to lean over the guard rails to secure the outboard end of the preventer to the toe rail. I will refine this by using the load cell to test the breaking point of the double braid on the preventer, then add a weak link between the preventer and the 8mm strop so the weak link will break to protect the boom in a serious broach. In terms of standing rigging, I have read test results on a range of rig tension gauges which revealed that they were quite inaccurate, providing readings both too high and too low. In place of this gauge we carried a vernier calliper so we could re-tension the stainless standing rigging as the temperature changed from northern to southern Australia*. This will be even more important when we head to Antarctica. * Jon’s explanation of how he goes about this will be found at the end of the article. In the Bass Strait 103

On a side note, 316 stainless steel has a coefficient of thermal expansion of about +16, aluminium around +23 and Dyneema about -12 (ie. unlike metals, Dyneema contracts as it gets warmer). As Aquabat uses all three of these materials, being able to accurately adjust for thermal changes is an important aspect in keeping the hull and rigging safe and working optimally. Fuel problems When we bought Aquabat she had years of growth in the diesel tanks. Before departure we went through the usual processes of adding diesel fuel biocide, cleaning the tanks (in hindsight, inadequately) and taking on fresh fuel. Predictably, with the pounding we received at sea, the fuel system became blocked, requiring us to replace the filters Andrew at home in the bilges and bleed the system. Once at our destination, Andrew made a compact fuel polishing system so we have been able to completely clean both tanks and fuel. Again, a brief description of this will be found at the end of the article. Being in a ship is like being in a jail, with the chance of being drowned* Judging by Samuel Johnson’s words, he did not grasp the joy of being at sea and in control of your own destiny. While we weren’t looking for unfavourable weather and breakages, the trip inevitably had some glorious moments. There were schools of dolphins playing at the bow and doing somersaults to greet us. There were stunningly beautiful storm clouds and sunsets. There was the tranquillity that comes with sitting quietly, undistracted by worldly demands. For me, though, the highlight was more personal. Jenni had joined us for the first (and roughest) week of the trip, her longest passage so far. She suffered from sea sickness for the first three days, and at that stage I had visions of her not wanting to return for * The full quotation, which has appeared in Flying Fish more than once, is: ‘No man will be a sailor who has contrivance enough to get himself into a jail; for being in a ship is being in a jail, with the chance of being drowned ... a man in a jail has more room, better food, and commonly better company’. 104

Sunset at the western entrance to Bass Strait

longer cruises which, in our imminent retirement, we plan to do. To her credit, Jenni did not complain, bounced back, and did her share of onboard duties for the second half of her passage. Her jury is still out on whether or not she will come to Antarctica, but she hasn’t ruled it out! We arrived with all but one system serviceable The rudder position sensor on the primary self-steering system failed at 0200 about eight hours before we were due to reach our destination of Adelaide. It was blowing about 25 knots, with 3m swells. We could have hand-steered the remaining miles, but opted to rig the back-up system to test it in these conditions. This evolution proved unpleasant, requiring us to work upside down in the lazarette in force 6. Lesson learnt, and we are making some changes to the back-up system to make it more user-friendly even in a big sea. Although the primary system was fixed when in harbour, the root cause of the fault still eludes us so we are going to need some more heavy weather to see if we can replicate the problem. Work in a boat is never done! Jenni met us on arrival in Adelaide 105

What next? This was my OCC qualifying passage and it proved perhaps busier than a straight ocean passage. To quote someone with far more experience, ‘it’s not the open sea that’s the challenge, it’s the sharp bits at the edges’ and we had plenty of those. It is now, however, time to look for practical routes further afield. Jenni and I live in Hong Kong and, as of September 2021, the Australian government has locked the borders and will not allow us to visit Australia. On the positive side, Andrew lives in Adelaide and regularly uses the boat. As things stand we hope to race in the 2021 Sydney Hobart Race (if it’s not cancelled again) and the boat is being prepared for that. Realistically we will have to curtail our Southeast Asia and Indian Ocean plans, and in their place look at passages around Tasmania and to New Zealand (where time at sea en route counts as time in quarantine), then into the Southern Ocean, as our preparation for Antarctica. Our planned Antarctica route In the meantime, we are planning our Southern adventure. The current plan is Adelaide to Hobart, then to Commonwealth Bay, Antarctica. The Guinness Book of World Records and the National Geographic Atlas list it as ‘the windiest place on Earth’ with gusts regularly exceeding 139 knots and an average of 43 knots (force 9). While in the area we plan to see the snow petrels at Petrel Island and visit the South Magnetic Pole. We will then head north to Auckland Island south of New Zealand to thaw, before returning to Australia and the vagaries of lockdowns – all being well a ten-week trip. For now, it is something to dream about... Technical notes 1. Jon describes re-tensioning the standing rigging as the temperature changes by measuring elongation with a vernier calliper, which he claims has three advantages over a rig-tension gauge: 106

1. It is more accurate 2. One caliper can do all sizes of rigging 3. Calipers cost AU $30, whereas a rig gauge costs AU $300 and is bulkier to stow ‘I want the cables tensioned to 15% of their strength. At 1% tension a cable stretches 0∙5mm for every 2m of length, so for 15% this will be 7∙5mm per 2m. Put a piece of tape on the slack cables (in port/starboard pairs), accurately measure down 4m or 6m and put another mark, then find a way to see its starting position. (I use a line I run horizontally between guardrails or stays.) Tension the cables, switching from port to starboard to keep the mast straight, and use the callipers to measure the stretch until you get to the required elongation. The next step is done in port. I dismantle each piece of rigging and crack test it with dye – see www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEK-c1pkTUI. It’s also necessary to test all the spare turnbuckles etc on board.’ 2. Andrew describes his compact fuel polishing system: ‘I used a 12 volt diesel pump and a 15micron filter with a clear bowl to allow us to monitor fuel clarity and water while in use. Before polishing, we added biocide and scrubbed the bottom of the tanks in situ to put the biomatter into solution. For polishing, the suction is connected to the tank drains, helping the biomatter to flow down and out of the tanks, and the fuel is cycled between tanks and drums until it is pure. Being separate from the boat’s fuel system, the polishing filter is very easy to change. The system is portable so can be taken on deck or ashore to filter potentially impure diesel when refuelling.’

Whenever I find myself growing firm about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hat's off – then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can ... I quietly take to the ship. Herman Melville 107

Neil McCubbin, BC, Canada

July 2021

Printing The Gig by Hum Barton in Flying Fish 2021/1 was great. He survived by seamanship, determination and some luck. Had he perished, the OCC would probably not exist. One detail: page 54 of that issue has a footnote converting 2½ inch rope to 63mm diameter. I think that Hum was probably referring to rope in the old Naval way (Eric Hiscock did the same in his early articles but changed later). In the UK both the Royal and Merchant Navies used to define rope by circumference instead of diameter. Thus 2½ inch rope was actually about ¾ inch diameter, or 20mm. I guess I am giving away my age by being familiar with antiquated terminology. Keep up the good work on Flying Fish!

Philippe Jamotte, Redwood City, CA July 2021 You may remember the flying fish spinnaker I procured thanks to the OCC grant*. You may also remember the cover of 2017/2 Flying Fish. Well, I discovered it was for sale, and owner Bill Strickland (a very kind man) and I struck a deal. It’s on its way to me now and I hope to give it a try soon. Fit-wise it’s not going to be perfect, but I couldn’t resist the idea of flying the flying fish again. Bill flew it as a regular spinnaker, but it’s actually an asymmetric so I plan to carry it on the bowsprit. I’ll need to explore trimming to see what works best. * See page 87 of this issue. 108

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THE CHALLENGES OF CRUISING THE CHILEAN CHANNELS Karyn James (Flying Fish has had to wait 13 years for Karyn (and Steve) James to make a second appearance in its pages, following 5000 Miles of Atlantic Islands for Flying Fish 2008/2. Very well worth the wait, however! Karyn and Steve launched Threshold, their 54ft Paine/Kanter aluminium cutter, in 2002 and headed east across the North Atlantic two years later. They have since cruised as far north as Svalbard and through the Mediterranean to Turkey. In 2018 Steve was joined by a variety of crews to sail Threshold south to Tierra Del Fuego, where Karyn joined him, then in early 2019 they cruised north through Patagonia’s Chilean Channels.) Bucket Lists ... some are longer than others and Patagonia features on many these days. ‘Cold, rainy, windy, bleak, lonely, spectacularly wild with raw unspoiled nature ... el fin del mundo (the end of the earth)’ is how Tierra del Fuego is described. Meaning the ‘land of fire’, Tierra del Fuego encompasses the southernmost tip of South America and was so named when early Karyn and Steve

Threshold secured in Caleta Mediodia 111

Ushuaia’s European-style architecture European explorers saw the campfires of the native Selk’nam and Yaghan cultures. Excellent chronicles have been written about the adventures of some of these explorers – Captain FitzRoy of HMS Beagle, Captain Allen Gardiner, missionary Thomas Bridges – and how they interacted with the primitive native population. Good preparatory background reading can be found in E Lucas Bridges’ Uttermost Part of the Earth and Dallas Murphy’s Rounding the Horn. Ushuaia, Argentina reminds one of a ski town in off-season. Its larger streets are filled with restaurants, tourist and outfitters shops, some housed in wooden buildings with architecture reminiscent of early European villages. It is bustling with visitors as it is the only harbour for cruise ships and expedition yachts departing for Antarctica. It is the best place to stock up before heading off since everything – including the wonderful Argentinian wines! – are available from the local grocery stores, butchers, and produce warehouses and Carrefour (a European hypermarket chain). My task was to decide on the best place to berth Threshold, locate the offices of customs, immigration and the Prefectura*, and find sources for provisioning and boat supplies. Threshold was having fuel issues and was in dire need of filters! The challenge, however, is that Ushuaia is seriously lacking in marine supplies for yachts (no Racor filters!), berthing for transient sailors and conveniences such as fuel docks. Its harbour is exposed and the afternoon breezes cause a blustery chop. No one anchors out, the moorings are just for small local boats, and there are only two places available to pleasure yachts – the Club Náutico close to town and the Club Náutico AFASyN across the harbour. The former has one dock with boats rafted up to five abreast, water and electricity are limited, and all fuel must be jerry-jugged. Finally it is shallow, so not an option for Threshold. With the help of Roxana Diaz, our wonderful local OCC Port Officer, we stayed at the Club Náutico AFASyN. Again, there’s just one dock with rafting two to three * The Argentine Naval Prefecture, which oversees the country’s rivers and maritime territory, is similar to other countries’ coastguards though with a wider remit. 112

deep, but this is where the serious expedition sailing yachts berth. It was quite an experience to be rafted amongst these seasoned adventurous sailors, all hustling about, restocking with crates of food and beverages, loading on kayaks and expedition gear and scrambling to accomplish last minute repairs. There was a constant daily shuffling of yachts arriving and departing, making it prudent to have someone aboard most of the time. When the winds kicked up our typical yacht fenders just weren’t up to the job of protecting boats from surging onto the high rough dock, but if you were lucky you could borrow an oversized round one. On the plus side AFASyN had a small clubhouse, internet connectivity, a workshop, decent showers and was set up to handle fuel deliveries by truck. Throughout January and February 2019, friends joined Threshold to fulfil another item on their bucket lists. Both the Robinsons and the Lhamons arrived laden with filters and boat parts and cruised with us for about two weeks each up and down the Beagle Channel. It was a learning curve for all of us. Last minute travel arrangements had to be modified once we realised how logistically inconvenient and time-consuming it would be if everyone travelled in and out of Ushuaia. Although it is at the entrance to the most scenic parts of the Beagle Channel, it is in Argentina while the north and south arms of the Beagle are in Chile. This means having to sail 30 miles east (and in the wrong direction), to clear into Chile at Puerto Williams, then backtrack past Ushuaia to head into the best parts of the Channel. This, coupled with the tedious process of clearing in and out, would have cut into our time at sea, so everyone rearranged flights to fly through Puerto Williams’s tiny airport. Another challenge was provisioning. Although Ushuaia had everything we needed, rumour had it that the Chilean Agricultural Department was banning some fresh Serious provisioning, but things keep well in the cold climate

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produce from entering the country – some cruisers were inspected and had food confiscated. Since Puerto Williams was the last place in Chile to stock up for either Cabo de Hornos, Antarctica or the Chilean Channels this was quite a concern, especially because the food supply ship came only once a week! If you happened to be arriving and departing from Puerto Williams just before the ship was due, your fresh food choices could be quite limited. Our solution was to stash our Argentinian produce under the bedding when arriving from Ushuaia, just in case inspections were happening that day. Puerto Williams, the world’s southernmost ‘city’, is capital of the Chilean Antarctic Province. It is a naval base and home of the Armada (navy) which monitors all marine travel throughout Chilean waters. This small village with its ramshackle wooden houses is accented by the jagged, snow-topped peaks of the Dientes de Navarino mountains, popular with trekkers. There is one bank with an ATM, a few small cafés, an occasional tourist shop (mainly for organising local trips), several quaint grocery stores with limited selections and a new, small chandlery! Horses casually roam throughout town and there is a small marina for the local fishing fleet. The highlight of this remote little outpost is the ‘Yacht Club’ Micalvi. The Micalvi is a decommissioned Chilean naval ship tucked into the only secure bay in town. Built in Germany nearly 100 years ago, she led an interesting life before coming to Puerto Williams in 1961, where she was intentionally grounded. This is where all the visiting yachts gather, rafted out as many as five or six deep. It’s quite a sight to see electrical cables and hoses stretched across all the boats and people teaming up to pass along jerry-jugs of fuel. The Micalvi is a clubhouse of sorts, with nautical furnishings in the These twice-baked batards keep for weeks!

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Tad and Joyce Lhamon at the entrance to ‘Yacht Club’ Micalvi salon and a bar which, when we were there, was unfortunately closed. In years past yachties could gather for pisco sours (Chile’s national cocktail) and impromptu parties, but bureaucracy has apparently changed that for now. Nevertheless there was internet connectivity, showers and a social refuge for all. Cruising the Chilean Channels Cruising the channels presented several more challenges. First of all, the prevailing winds and current are from the Pacific so travelling west and north can be quite difficult. Due to the steepness of the mountains and the narrowness of the channels, by midday the winds funnel through at 25–35 knots, often with higher gusts. Threshold always had a reefed mainsail and we actually removed the jib for the trip, using just the staysail. Tacking westward through the Beagle was gruelling, so most of the time we motored. The anchorages were another challenge. As we ventured up a fjord towards a glacier, or maybe into the bay of a rocky island, we would have to tuck into caletas (small coves) close to shore not only to find anchorable depths, but also to hide from the prevailing winds and possible williwaws. This demanded a whole new set of skills – tying to trees or rocks after anchoring, due to limited swing room. Ideally, each yacht should be equipped with at least four 300+ft (90+m) floating lines, easily deployable from either reels or containers, with which to secure ashore. After the anchor is set a crew member quickly dinghies ashore with these lines. This can be quite daunting for the shorthanded crew and takes a bit of practice. We had good coaching on these techniques from CCA/OCC members who had preceded us in years past, including the Wadlows aboard Joyant and Evans Starzinger and Beth Leonard aboard Hawk. We purchased a small, lightweight, inflatable-bottomed dinghy which we carried 115

Steve at Brecknock athwartships on deck making it easy to launch – no one seems to tow dinghies in this part of the world – and rarely used our larger RIB, which we carried deflated on the foredeck. As for all that line, it can be stowed on custom reels, in canvas sacks or in plastic trash containers, which is what we used. We were very fortunate to always have two extra people on board, which made this routine run smoothly, and we have the utmost respect for those of our friends who have done it double-handed. After cruising the more picturesque north arm of the Beagle Channel twice with visiting friends, we then had OCC/CCA members Charlie and Heather Lalanne join us for the long slog up the channels through Patagonia. Our final destination was to be Puerto Montt, at 41°28’S 72°56∙5W approximately halfway up the Chilean west coast. It has a fairly large port servicing the fishing industry of the northern channels and nearby Isla Chiloé, and is also a stop for small cruise ships passing through. Being 1500 miles from Ushuaia and Puerto Williams, it took us seven weeks of meandering through the maze of channels to get there – February until mid-March – summertime in South America. The passage north Summertime that far south is a relative term. The average temperatures were in the 40°s and 50°s fahrenheit, snow still lingered on the Andes, and the slowly-melting glaciers provided spectacular waterfalls. Patagonia is one of the wettest parts of the world – it rained almost every day – which was fortunate for us since the watermaker wasn’t working! We were able to catch rainwater by placing rolled up towels around the deck fillers in the scuppers, and on occasion collected water from streams but had to be careful about its purity. For our first 500 miles, which took three weeks, there were no villages nor people nearby. 116

Navigation was done in triplicate – the Fugawi program on the ship’s computer, and ISailor and Navionics on iPads. Both iPad programs were necessary as backups because some charts were not detailed enough for safe navigation. As a paper back-up we used the invaluable Patagonia Tierra del Fuego Nautical Guide by Mariolina Rolfo and Giorgio Ardrizzi, along with the RCCPF’s Chile by Andy O’Grady. We also had the tome of hydrographic charts produced by the Chilean Armada but it required a strong magnifying glass to read it! A typical day would be to waken before sunrise, wipe the heavy condensation from the interior ports and hatches, make coffee, gear up with two layers of thermals plus foul weather gear, boots etc, and be ready to weigh anchor by daybreak. With Steve at the helm, Charlie – nicknamed ‘steamer duck’ after the cute little flightless Kelp on the anchor steamer ducks that paddle rapidly through the water like miniature paddlewheel steamers – would row out to collect the lines, which Heather flaked into the baskets as Karyn started bringing up the anchor. There were often mounds of kelp hanging from the anchor and chain. Most of it quickly sloughed off with the saltwater pressure hose, but the stubborn pieces had to be cut with a curved tree saw. By this point it would be light enough to finally get underway. ‘Steamer duck’ Charlie tying us to shore. Photo by Heather Lalanne

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Heather Lalanne at the wheel – note the basket of line Because of our time schedule for the passage, and also due to the opposing winds and currents, we motor-sailed at 6–7 knots every day. The length of each day would depend on the weather and the distance to the next secure anchorage, but fortunately it was summer and the days were long. Moving at night isn’t recommended due to the possibility of running into kelp patches. We had to be vigilant at all times. Companionship Companionship made the whole experience enriching and enjoyable. At the end of a long, wet and chilly day at sea we could often go ashore for a hike if the weather was favourable, but often cocktail hour and a quick round of Mexican Train dominoes won out. Heather’s experience as a teacher kept all of us occupied with games and movies, while Charlie enjoyed whipping up surprises in the galley. We A guanaco and her calf 118

Steve (up the mast) and Charlie repairing the shroud in 30 knots of wind were our only entertainment. In the past there had been an active cruisers’ net so everyone could stay in touch, but it was not functioning this year. There were no villages along this long, lonely stretch of the channels and we rarely saw another yacht. A hike ashore was a highlight, but often access was difficult and the foliage was so thick one needed a machete to get through. Except for ducks and a few sea birds there wasn’t much fauna ashore aside from the rare fox, puma or guanaco (a close relative of the llama). The ground was similar to arctic tundra – muddy with little flowers – so knee-high boots were essential. If we were lucky an anchorage would have a spectacular view of a glacier, prompting an exploratory dinghy ride, or a bubbling stream for fetching water and doing laundry. Swimming was out of the question. Safety Part of the daily routine was to relay position reports to the Chilean Armada once or twice a day. This is required of every vessel transiting the channels – military and fishing vessels, occasional cruise ships and the rare yacht. The reports were formatted and had to be broadcast in Spanish via either VHF, SSB or e-mail. We used our Iridium Go! system and sent e-mails. In fact, the Iridium Go! was our source for almost all communications including weather downloads from PredictWind. There are very few VHF antennas in these remote and often inhospitable channels, and if one were to have a mechanical failure or an emergency the Armada would be one’s only contact. The villages The first town we came to, 500 miles after leaving Puerto Williams, was Puerto Natales. It was a diversion off the main track, but for us a necessary and most welcome stop. We had discovered stranding of the starboard aft lower shroud, and though Steve and Charlie had reinforced it with a block and tackle more needed to be done. Amazingly, in this bustling little town popular with trekkers heading for the Torres del Paine National Park, we were able to find galvanised wire and the other items needed to 119

The boardwalk village of Puerto Eden. Photo Heather Lalanne jury rig a repair – a challenge while anchored in 30 knots of wind! Puerto Natales was a re-energising stop. Heather rented us a room in a local hostel where we could take showers, do laundry and carry water back to the boat. We topped off the propane tanks, provisioned, and jerry-jugged 160 gallons of fuel from the local filling station. This was an all-day event, but our rewards were a bus tour of the national park along with some excellent restaurant meals. Sailing! towards civilisation! With our reinforced shroud we were ready for our first open ocean passage – 150 miles across the Golfo de Penas. Although it was only a 24 hour passage, we needed to watch the weather carefully as the Pacific systems rolled through. Fortunately our transit was benign, having just enough wind to sail without stressing the rig. Back into the channels for 284 miles and seven days to our next village, Puerto Eden, where we rafted alongside a Swiss boat which Steve had met back in Mar de Plata, Argentina. We arranged for fuel to be delivered by a local fisherman and were able to top off our tanks by siphoning out of a 55 gallon drum, carefully filtering it as much as we could. Staying ahead of the fuel consumption from motoring allowed us the luxury of running the heater for more than just two short periods each day. Other than our luck in finding fuel, this tiny boardwalk-connected village had little to offer – the internet at the small school wasn’t working, there were hardly any provisions to be purchased and a meal ashore was out of the question because the local hotel wasn’t cooking that day! Our next village, Puerto Aguirre a further 170 miles and six days away, had internet and a floating pontoon with water – we were in heaven! As we progressed further north there was more habitation, and when we arrived into the archipelago of islands in the Golfo Corcovado, just south of Puerto Montt, it was a whole new world! We were 120

greeted by fishing villages, rolling hills with farms and grazing livestock, better weather and dramatic tides. Isla Chiloé is a popular vacation spot for Chileans and is known for its iconic wooden churches which are UNESCO World Heritage sites, its palafitos (houses on stilts) and its serious fish farming industry. We were able to explore the island via rental car, leaving Threshold securely docked at the delightful Quinched Marina. By now it was the end of March 2019 and Puerto Montt was in sight – it was the end of a challenging journey and time to return home to attend to taxes. Coming up from the south Puerto Montt, with its Magellanic penguins three small marinas, is the only reasonable place to leave a boat for an extended period of time. We chose the Yacht Club Reloncavi, as recommended by the Wadlows, where Threshold remained high and dry under Covid-19 lockdown, re-rigged and eager to move on to her next adventure. The magical moments Despite their challenges, the Chilean channels constantly thrilled us with spectacular surprises of nature ... the adorable little Magellanic penguins swimming by or waddling on the beaches ... the curious sea lions basking on rocks ... the spouting pods of whales commandeering their own private cove ... and the elusive guanaco silhouetted on a distant hillside. The start of a daily passage might give us a glimpse of the fresh overnight snowfall on the mountain peaks, glistening in the sun as it swirled in the whipping winds, and culminate with the cosiness of being squeezed into a tight caleta, alone, surrounded by towering rocks and trees. The crew Siphoning fuel from a fisherman in Puerto Eden. Photo Heather Lalanne 121

Threshold in Caleta Beaulieu with a rainbow over the Romanche Glacier. Photo SV Zoomax aboard Threshold were able to experience the blue ice shimmering from the depths of the glaciers, the cascading waterfalls from their summertime melt, and wake to the scraping of ice bits against the hull on a cold, quiet, windless morning. And the rainbows – sometimes even doubles – were the highlight after a rainy day. Karyn watching for ice at the Romanche Glacier

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Finally, there were those climactic moments which make the challenges that much more rewarding. These included entering the narrow, rocky entrance of the Caleta Teotika anchorage on a dark, moonless night after a 90 mile / 18 hour passage using only the guidebook’s hand-drawn chartlet and our trusty nightscope for guidance; correctly calculating the confusing timing of the riptides of Angostura Kirke and Angostura White channels en route to and from Puerto Natales; and anxiously waiting for a daybreak departure while being blown to within 6 feet (2m) of a rocky island in a kelp-laden bay. Cruising in the Chilean Channels isn’t for everyone, but those of us who have been fortunate enough to do so, and to have had the delight of sharing it with good friends, have been rewarded with a confidence-building experience of a lifetime. Personally, I couldn’t have done it without them. With many thanks to the Cruising Club of America, in whose journal Voyages this article first appeared.

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SENDING SUBMISSIONS TO FLYING FISH CONTENT: anything which is likely to be of interest to other members – cruise and liveaboard accounts (including humour), technical articles, recipes, letters, book reviews and obituaries. Please check with me before submitting the latter two, and also tell me if you’re sending the same piece elsewhere, inside or outside the OCC. Finally, please double check that all place, personal and boat names are spelt correctly. LENGTH: no more than 3500 words and preferably fewer than 3000, except in very special cases – and normally only one article per member per issue. FORMAT: MS Word (any version) or PDF, with or without embedded photos (though see below), sent by e-mail to flying.fish@oceancruisingclub.org. ILLUSTRATIONS: up to 20 captioned photos, professional-standard drawings or cartoons. PLEASE don’t send more than this – while you have a single piece to illustrate, I receive up to 20 articles for each issue, so may have 400+ images to juggle! Any digital format is fine, but please contact me before sending prints. Photos should measure at least 16cm wide at 300 dpi or 67cm wide at 72 dpi (the default setting for most cameras). If this means nothing to you, please send your photos EXACTLY as they were downloaded from the camera – merely opening and saving under another name degrades the quality. If sending photos by e-mail, manually attach no more than three per e-mail (do NOT use the ‘attach to e-mail’ facility available in many image programs, which compresses the file data), rounding off with a separate message telling me what you’ve sent. Alternatively use WeTransfer [www.wetransfer. com] a great little free (!) internet program. Please include a list of captions, including credits, in the order the photos relate to the text, and place the numbers (in red) in the text where applicable. Captions along the lines of: ‘01 (DCM 3285) Preparing the boat for sea; 02 (DCM 3321) Leaving Horta, John at the helm; 03 (DSP 00045) The whale! Photo Sue Black;’ are ideal. CHARTLETS & POSITIONS: a rough chartlet if relevant, for professional redrawing. If your article includes cruising information useful to others, include latitudes and longitudes where appropriate, preferably as a separate list. COVER PHOTOS: eye-catching, upright photos of high resolution and quality, with fairly plain areas top and bottom – sky and sea? – to take the standard wording. COPYRIGHT: please ensure you either own the copyright of photos or have the photographer’s permission for them to be reproduced on the OCC website as well as in Flying Fish. A credit can be included, but Flying Fish does not pay reproduction fees. DEADLINES: 1st FEBRUARY for June publication and 1st OCTOBER for December publication, though an issue may be closed earlier if it becomes full. Equally, I can often be flexible if I know an article is nearly ready. For more information, either e-mail me or refer to the GUIDELINES FOR CONTRIBUTORS to be found on the website. Thank you. Anne Hammick, Editor flying.fish@oceancruisingclub.org 124

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HARD AGROUND ON THE BRICKS OF BUREAUCRACY Peter Stoops (Peter bought his first boat, Freedom, a 1971 Swan 36, with his father in 1986. The beauty, ruggedness and seakindliness of that boat (which he still owns) prompted him to form a partnership to buy another older Swan, Chase, in 1996, with the idea of sailing longer distances in the company of friends. Partners have changed over time, but the idea has more than been fulfilled. Peter and his wife Kate continue to sail Freedom from their home in Maine, and travel to wherever Chase happens to be so they can enjoy cruising in other exotic places.) In 2019 Chase, our Swan 40, was seized by the Italian government for non-payment of VAT. Looking back on what we’ve been through trying to extricate her, re-insure her, and (someday, I hope) actually use her again, the take-away would be this: it is far, far better to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission. Chase is owned by a partnership of four friends. She’s a remarkable boat, with a pedigree that includes ownership by Christopher Reeves and a complete refit by the Systems Program students at the Landing School in Arundel, Maine. We took her on an Atlantic circuit in 2003/04 and Peter at the wheel of Chase then to the Med in 2010, intending to stay a year or two before bringing her back to the Caribbean. Instead, she spent the next ten years taking us to Turkey, Greece, up into the Adriatic, all around Italy and finally back to Sardinia where Chase, after 50 years afloat, finally ran into something that managed to stop her sailing progress cold – EU/Italian bureaucracy. During our stay in the Med we always were careful to observe the law about incurring VAT payments – ie. that the boat must leave the EU, for any 126

Chase in the Caribbean prior to her Mediterranean adventures

length of time, at least every 18 months. Essentially, the EU considers a stay of over 18 months as an attempt to import a boat without paying VAT – roughly their equivalent of our sales tax. Theoretically, any boat that has overstayed that time period can be considered contraband and subject to seizure for unpaid taxes. Chase spent the sailing seasons of 2016 and 2017 in the Adriatic, passing the intervening winter in Split. After two seasons cruising in Croatia we headed south again in the fall of 2017, diverting to Montenegro in November. This turned out to be a critical date, as our intent was to reset the EU VAT clock in that non-EU country. After accomplishing that, and thinking it was finally time to start heading back west, Chase got as far as Italy and spent the winter of 2017 in Calaforte, Sardinia. Unfortunately, during the 2018 sailing season, she sustained damage to her stern, destroying the Monitor self-steering gear and raising concerns about the integrity of the area where the backstay attaches to the chainplate. Given the possibility of crossing the Atlantic again On the dock in Falmouth, Maine, ready to cross the Atlantic 127

in the near future, we filed an insurance claim for the damage and moved her to Olbia, Sardinia for the repair and to spend the coming winter. Knowing that our 18 months of VAT time would run out in May 2019, while Chase was on the hard awaiting repair, we were faced with a decision – return in the spring and sail her back and forth to the closest non-EU country (Tunisia, about 200 miles away), or request that the boat be ‘bonded’ for an additional six months. Bonding is available to owners whose boats are on the hard, unused, with the crew not in the country and the boat’s papers surrendered to local customs authorities, and we had taken advantage of it in Italy eight years previously. It is intended for exactly the purpose we sought – to acknowledge our awareness of her tax status, to guarantee that the boat would not be sailed in EU waters during that time and to request a stay on VAT payment due to extenuating circumstances. Given the damage to the self-steering, the questions about the backstay, and the cost of paying a crew to move her (or flying over ourselves to do so), the choice seemed obvious, so we set about finding an agent who could represent us in applying for the bond. That was when everything started to go wrong. First, our insurance company, Pantaenius, announced that it would no longer be insuring US-flagged boats in foreign countries, meaning we would almost certainly need a new survey once (if?) we found another company willing to cover us when our policy expired in June 2019. Next – while we were lucky enough to know someone on the Italian Chase in mainland who could Ayamonte, interpret for us – we were Spain unlucky enough to have him find a customs agent in Sardinia who did not communicate well. We requested he apply for VAT bonding of the boat, which he did, but when the Italian government initially turned us down claiming the boat was fit for sailing, he did not point out the most salient part of the denial – that we had the right to appeal the decision, and that if we didn’t, customs would assume we were admitting to felonious smuggling of the vessel into the EU. Without knowing that we were soon to cross the line from cruisers to criminals, we took the next 128

The author’s wife Kate at the helm on passage

tack – inquiring about paying VAT so we could just stop worrying about the whole issue altogether. After all, 22% on a boat we could probably get them to value at under US $50,000 was less expensive than flying over to move her or to hire a crew to do so. At that point, however, customs denied our application for VAT, claiming that their records showed the boat had been in the EU for more than two years prior to checking into Calaforte in 2017, and that she was contraband, we were smugglers, and therefore the boat was now the property of the Italian government. Chase was sealed off, with access to her by any parties considered to be criminal trespassing. We talked seriously about just letting the Italians keep her. In order to extricate ourselves we would need to hire an Italian attorney, pay the VAT and all penalties levied, etc. A brief conversation with a local attorney dissuaded us from this when he pointed out that the government would still levy the same amount of tax, but triple the penalties if we did not pay them – and that they could initiate collections in the US and make any return to the EU for us close to impossible (without being jailed, anyway). So we hired an attorney named Berardo who turned out, miraculously, to be fluent in English, sympathetic to our situation and reasonably priced. In Italy, no one pays what they are charged for in any situation, so Berardo began negotiations on our behalf with the authorities. By now we had obtained (electronically, since our boat papers were now sealed up on Chase and unavailable to us to use as evidence) our customs paperwork showing our exit from Montenegro in November of 2017. This, we naively thought, was clearcut evidence that we were not guilty of VAT evasion, so we could simply pay VAT at this point and call it even. Justice would no doubt prevail! Not so. The Italian government – probably seeing such easy money in their gunsights – only said they would take this under advisement* and would continue to negotiate with our attorney. * A US legal term meaning to consider something carefully. 129

By now this had been going on for four months, chewing up legal fees, international phone calls and a ton of time. Finally, in December 2019, Berardo informed us that the government would not consider our initial efforts to bond the boat or pay VAT as relevant – despite our having proved that these efforts occurred prior to the VAT clock running out on Chase. They claimed that we had ‘not tried hard enough to mitigate the issue well prior to the deadline’. Instead, they said they would work out the fines and that we needed to prove the boat’s market value so they could (a) provide an appropriate VAT amount to levy on her and (b) arrive at a value that would allow us to ‘buy the boat back from Italy’ (since Italian customs now owned it). This valuation exercise proved to be the only time I think we actually got something over on the bureaucracy. Suffice it to say that one can find a lot of inexpensive 40ft, 1970s-built sailboats on YachtWorld to use for comparison. Later in December, Italian customs finally responded with their bottom line number. The total cost to repossess the boat we already owned added up to US $30,500: boat value – $14,900; VAT – $3,300; penalties – $4,800; attorney’s fees – $7,500. Unfortunately our ongoing torment didn’t entirely end there. In order to renew her insurance we needed to find a surveyor who was (a) certified under NAMS* and (b) could provide the full survey in English. A rare bird in Sardinia, but with the help of our Italian go-between we found someone who ticked both boxes and three months later had a new policy on her. In keeping with the flow of things, just as we instructed the yard to proceed with the now long-delayed repair work they announced they did not have the capacity to do it. We were thus forced to launch Chase and have her towed to yet another yard and hauled for the work. In February 2020, deciding that the worst was over, I booked a flight to Sardinia for May with the intention – after a year and a half of dereliction – of finally starting the process of rejuvenating the boat that has provided me with so many safe and enjoyable sea miles and so many great adventures. But if I was patting myself on the back for rescuing Chase from Italian customs, fickle insurers and unreliable boatyards, I failed to guess that a far more formidable opponent would come along in the form of Covid-19. Certainly Chase and her owners encountered a string of bad luck, much of which, like the insurance issue and the virus, could not be avoided. Looking back on it, however, I have to say that we were naive to think we could communicate in a logical manner with authorities which had the power to do what they wanted with us – or that they would respond in a helpful (or at least non-vindictive) way. The truth is that if you look at any subset of foreign boats sailing in the EU, there will always be a number who are not in compliance with VAT rules. Not because the owners are smugglers, but because they are either unaware of the violation or aware that there is no accurate/ reliable/enforced way to track their movements in and out of the EU. So why would you raise your hand and volunteer about a potential violation, if the penalties for doing so were equal to the penalties for actually getting caught? That is certainly what we found with Chase. We cleared customs legitimately in Sardinia – with proof of our validating Montenegro visit – and had the boat hauled and ready for * The National Association of Marine Surveyors, based in Houston, Texas. 130

At anchor in Levitha, Greece (main and inset)

work in 2018. We would probably have been unmolested by customs or police if we had said nothing and simply launched again in 2019, making it a point to clear in and out of a nonEU country in the near future. Instead, by asking for advance assistance with a situation that had yet to happen, instead of seeking forgiveness after the fact if caught, we called attention to ourselves and the authorities pounced, taking the opportunity to inflict the same type of penalties regardless. I’m not advocating that non-EU sailors ply the Med and elsewhere without regard to the rules. I am only pointing out that one should consider the risk – if pushing the envelope of the regulations it would be wise (assuming you are not local and do not speak the language) to be careful about how you proceed. Finding a reputable, reliable agent in the area is one good way, and (until Sardinia) we generally had good luck with agents recommended by the boatyards in many different countries. All in all, we are delighted to have our boat back, despite the cost, and to be able to continue sailing in the Med. And there is a silver lining – we have paid our VAT fees and are now free to meander European waters without the recurring 18-month scramble to exit the Union. With many thanks to the Cruising Club of America, in whose journal Voyages this article first appeared. 131

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SAILING HOME Robert Grant 8ft (2.5m) seas swelled against the hull of Ursa as I steered calibration circles on my sloop’s autopilot ... a mere 1500 miles away from the nearest land. Nothing to be worried about if I hadn’t been on this transatlantic journey solo. I was singlehanding from Tenerife in the Canaries to Antigua when Ursa began to veer off course after every attempt to use auto-steering on a new heading. After dropping the sails and a couple of hours of unsuccessful recalibration and technical manual reading, worry crept under my skin. Isn’t it funny how, when we have something go wrong, our minds catapult us to all the other things that might go wrong as a consequence? I was faced with hand-steering the next 1500 miles with periods of heaving-to to sleep. This would probably add a week to my schedule and put a strain on the water and food supply. I’d likely miss my own welcome home party at the Camden Yacht Club in Maine. My wife joked that if I didn’t make it at all, it could be a memorial service instead. Lastly, and certainly not least, the Atlantic hurricane season would officially start in a few days and so watching the forecasts closely was imperative. You get the idea. I was determined to stay positive, however, and remembered how I began this adventure. Having raced Star Class keelboats as a teenager and sailed cruising boats for over 50 years on both East and West coasts of the US, I decided in 2016 to sell my Sabre 34 and buy an ocean-capable replacement. I combed Yacht World to find the ideal boat – I particularly wanted a large walk-out cockpit, since my wife Bobbie and I own three golden retrievers which need space and easy dinghy entry on our coastal cruises along the Maine coastline. I soon found the Salona 45, which is built in Croatia by a German company, AD Boats. The Salona 45 has a CE force 8 design (a rating based on the Beaufort wind scale), is fast (over 9 knots on a beam reach) and has a 14ft long cockpit, with singlehanding sail control in mind. I compared half a dozen boats for sale Ursa ashore

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Alone in the heart of the Atlantic

in Croatia, one of the sailing capitals of Europe, and settled on Ursa after a week-long trip to Split. She was built in 2008 in Split and had mostly been sailed in the Adriatic Sea. After survey, purchase and US Coast Guard documentation, I had some shipyard work done to add AIS and correct some mechanical issues. On the last day that I could depart without paying VAT, Ursa was ready to clear out of Croatia. On 1st April 2017, schooner captain Aaron Lincoln and I cleared customs and immigration and left Split, after the necessary ‘gratuity’ to the port captain. Our zarpe (port clearance document) declared Malta as our first stop. There was certainly some anxiety on our part due to the relatively unknown nature of Ursa, including sailing characteristics, electronic equipment, engine, fuel quality and the wind forecasts for the Adriatic, Mediterranean, Atlantic and Caribbean. I always knew that things like

Captain Aaron Lincoln

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Ursa moored stern-to in Montenegro line squalls, chafe, bad fuel, failing batteries and inaccurate forecasts existed, but now we were about to experience the reality of an extended sailing trip through the Adriatic and Mediterranean in preparation for my passage to the Caribbean. Little did we know that one of the hardest stretches of the entire journey lay just ahead. On the second day we were within 5 miles of the foot of Italy and in an unpredicted gale with 5m waves and a 40 knot wind on the nose. Just a few more miles and we would have cleared the heel and been reaching off toward Malta in relative comfort. It was challenging to tack due to the wave size, and the shipping traffic waiting to enter the port at Brindisi was heavy, leaving us little leeway from time to time. We needed something extra, so started up the diesel to motor-sail, but the constant agitation must have kicked up clouds of sediment in the tank and soon the fuel filters clogged and we lost power. Heavy seas and a slippery floor made complicated adversaries as we cleared them. 30 minutes later they clogged again so we repeated the process. Another stoppage and we were out of filters. After sailing for a couple of hours more without engine use, we needed to tack. Due to the sizeable waves we failed to turn through the wind, even using the bow-thruster, and by the time we were back under control and on a new tack, Ursa had lost 8 miles. Without power we could not even enter a port upwind on the Italian coast. Then Aaron spotted a port on the chart which could be sail-only accessible, so we turned downwind with huge following seas toward Montenegro and entered the port of Kotor under sail. We finally anchored, 26 hours after turning back near the foot of Italy, tired and relieved. I will always remember the towering dark mountains surrounding the port and the port officer, after asking for our zarpe, telling me – with the height of humour for a former communist official – ‘This is not Malta!’. The next day, after acquiring more filters and clean fuel, all the while dodging the port captain’s suggestion 135

that we might have to pay a fine for entering Montenegro, we left for Sicily. We had to forego Malta due to the lost two days on our schedule. To our relief we had lighter winds and an easier sail as we cleared the Italian peninsula and tacked up the Strait of Messina to the north coast of Sicily, avoiding the heavy refugee traffic between Sicily and North Africa. We put into Palermo after passing the island of Stromboli and witnessing the active volcano of Mount Etna on Sicily. But our luck didn’t stick for long and the leg to Sardinia consisted of motor-sailing in poor winds. Even more time lost meant Aaron needed to fly back to the USA to get his schooner Olad ready for the tourist season. In his stead, Scott Woodruff, a yacht broker from Camden, joined Ursa for the voyage from Sardinia to Spain, Gibraltar and the Canaries. While near Gibraltar we scattered some of the ashes of our friend Ben Cashen in sight of the Rock, a place he had always wanted to see. Then we left for the Canary Islands of Lanzarote and Tenerife, where we stopped in Porto Radazul for rest, repairs to the headsail furler, fuel and Scott’s departure back to the USA. The challenges presented by the shipping traffic in the Mediterranean, and particularly around Gibraltar, were as mighty a foe as the weather and repairs. Fortunately Ursa is equipped with AIS, so we could see most surrounding vessels and they could see us. Container ships and tankers approaching at up to 20 knots didn’t surprise us, and we could watch their bearing suddenly change slightly in order to miss us by one or two miles, but military vessels and smaller fishing vessels would sometimes not use AIS, which kept us on our toes. Near Gibraltar the AIS screen was crowded with contacts and I scanned from one to the next to discern how we could avoid each one. One contact was approaching us at over 40 knots with an apparent closest point of approach of only metres – for a man with good blood pressure, mine was mounting fast. We were

Scott Woodruff

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Scattering Ben Cashen’s ashes off Gibraltar moving too slowly to have control of the situation, so I called over the VHF with no reply. Dawn was breaking and we could see the contact now – it was dangerously near and its bearing was not changing. I continued calling on the VHF. Finally we saw it alter course to miss us by 200m or so, and then settle down off its foils. It turned out to be the hydrofoil ferry that runs between Gibraltar and Ceuta, Spanish North Africa. On 20th April, after waiting for the wind to improve after a storm in the Azores disrupted the northeast trades for a week, I headed out singlehanded to make the 2600 mile passage from Tenerife to Antigua. I had not planned to singlehand, but my intended crew had to return home due to a family emergency back in Germany. I continued to communicate as ‘we’, however, to avoid alarming my wife and friends – which lasted for a week or so until my wife noticed the absence of the usual crew photos and asked me direct, which I had to answer honestly. Once out of the wind shadow of Tenerife the wind provided a steady broad reach, and I was able to shut down the engine for the rest of the passage other than for charging the batteries. In some years I could have headed west-northwest towards Bermuda, but the forecasts showed weakening winds near the Sargasso Sea and I wanted to avoid getting becalmed. So instead I headed south-southwest to get into the stronger winds that would take me to the Caribbean with more certainty. In contrast to the sail through the Mediterranean, most of the Atlantic passage was free of shipping contacts ... except one. I was sailing directly downwind toward a nonmoving contact identified by the AIS as the research vessel James Cook. I would be crossing close to her stern and, based on my days on ballistic missile submarines and naval research vessels, I worried that she might be trailing wires. I called on the VHF, with no response. Ten minutes later, after altering my course to pass well astern of her, someone called Ursa. He sent his greetings, said they were not towing any instruments 137

Arrival in Antigua, 10th June 2017 and offered an updated weather forecast. We exchanged pleasantries and I thanked him and signed off. That was the only AIS or VHF radio contact I had on the entire passage from Tenerife to Antigua. I always reefed the mainsail at night for safety. One night I found a chafed reefing line near the leech cringle, and was in the process of cutting it out and rethreading it when I looked ahead and noticed the normal 1∙5m seas seemed to end on what looked like a shoreline. We hear about mirages in the desert – this was mine on the open sea. My eyes told me the sea was ending, and the story of Moses and the Red Sea came to mind. Then I realised the flat water ahead was actually created by a downpour, so immediately started to roll up the poled-out genoa to prepare for the inevitable strong wind gusts. Just as I had safely rolled up the genoa, it occurred to me that all the hatches and ports were open. The rain fell in sheets, and by the time I had finished mopping up the rainwater inside Ursa half an hour later, the squall was gone. The next few days were routine, but I noticed the domestic battery voltage was suspiciously low. With a sinking feeling in my stomach I checked with a digital voltmeter before and after the next charging cycle, but it turned out that all was well and Ursa’s panel-mounted voltmeter was wrong. I wasn’t out of the dark yet, however. Just when I breathed a sigh of relief, the autopilot lost its mind. I had changed course after a long gybe and the new heading apparently created a condition the autopilot had not seen previously, and it steered in a circle. After hours of attempting to recalibrate the system I had a small epiphany – maybe the issue with the autopilot was due to the magnetometer*? At first I couldn’t find the magnetometer, but after a lengthy search found it adjacent to the locker * Effectively a sophisticated compass which measures magnetic fields and the direction, strength, or relative change of a magnetic field at a particular location. 138

where I kept a heavy toolbox, which must have confused it. I moved the toolbox, groomed the autopilot by steering more calibration circles, raised the main, poled out the genoa and off I went. By this point my negative thoughts were beginning to fade and be replaced by hope and confidence. The next morning, a right whale surfaced within 2m of Ursa, showing its spotted white belly as it looked at me with one eye. Knowing it was too late to grab the camera, I waved as the 9m creature submerged, not to be seen again. I took this as a good omen for the remainder of the trip and, for the first time in a while, I allowed myself to relax. I made bread in a way shown to me by an Italian couple in Sardinia, and though it took some time to clean up the flour blown around the cabin, it was good to eat fresh bread again. I had several more days of downwind sailing prior to making port, and for some reason imagined my engine not starting and Ursa being swept farther into the Caribbean. My worries were unfounded, however, as on 10th June I located the narrow entrance to Falmouth Harbour, Antigua and pulled into the empty pontoons of the Antigua Yacht Club (the season was over and most boats had left for Europe and America), so ending my singlehanded transatlantic adventure. All that remained now were the 1000-mile singlehanded reach to Bermuda and the double-handed 950-mile broad reach to Camden, Maine. Strong winds took me to St George’s, Bermuda in only 5½ days, arriving on 19th June and just skirting the western side of Sargasso Sea. It was fun to be sailing fast on a reach again, often hitting 10 knots. At Captain Smokes Marina I met my wife Bobbie and middle son Corey. Corey helped me sail an enjoyable last leg north to Camden in 4½ days to complete my successful maiden voyage on Ursa ... and I made the welcome home party after all! Bobbie walking the plank at Captain Smokes Marina

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TO SEEK, TO FIND, AND NOT TO YIELD: A family Atlantic adventure, Part 2 Peter Owens and Vera Quinlan (Flying Fish 2021/1 left the Quinlan family – Peter, Vera, Lilian (11) and Ruairí (9) – aboard Danú, their 43ft Bruce Roberts Mauritius ketch, in Fajã d’Agua on the Cabo Verdean island of Brava, contemplating their departure across the Atlantic towards French Guiana...) The morning of 29th November 2019 was marked for two reasons – first, we had bacon butties and eggs all round and second, after breakfast we departed Isla Brava for French Guiana. This passage would take us 14 days, dipping down to 5°22’N and passing through long sections of squalls with intense rain and electrical activity around the Intertropical Convergence Zone (the doldrums). None of this was detailed on PredictWind, or on any other weather site for that matter. We hadn’t yet sorted downloading GRIB files at sea so instead texted our position to Fergus and Kay Quinlan every two days (see Flying Fish 2021/1). They would then send a brief forecast for our position for the coming few days – always east, always force 5. The reality was somewhat different at times, but in the norm we sailed with a poled-out genoa and a goose-winged main.

The electrical activity we could see in the distance closed around us, a huge strike hitting the water just off the stern. We were running ‘dark’ at that stage – all electrics disconnected, lights off, sat phone in the pressure cooker. For such a strike to hit the water so close was amazing and the phenomenon was incredible to watch. By this time we had settled into the rhythm of a big ocean passage. Baking bread became a ritual, with 141

A fine wahoo en route to French Guiana each loaf improving on the last. The kids did school in the mornings and this somewhat noisy affair could be difficult just after the night shift. Board games or poker tournaments filled the afternoons. Working the boat and fixing things filled in the rest of the time. A new night shift and the process would start again, every day closer to our landfall. Back in March we had collected an ‘Argo float’ from the Irish Marine Institute in Galway and agreed to take part in this global project for understanding climate change* – visit https://en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/Argo_(oceanography) to learn more about the project. With some apprehension we followed the pre-deployment procedure – would it still work after all this time? The mini-sub sprang into life and we carried it like a new-born to the aft deck. Lilian and Ruairí gave a speech on camera to send to their school friends back home and, at 9°16’N, 40°04’W, we pitched the float into the sea. We are very proud that the float did work and is currently reporting temperature and salinity data back to the Marine Institute, which it should do for a period of four years. Looking over to Devil’s Island, Îles du Salut

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The Maroni river, French Guiana

Days 10 to 13 brought us rough conditions, with cross swells, soul-sapping counter currents and the feeling of being inside a washing machine. The seas seldom exceeded 3m in winds around 20–25 knots. Sometimes we were making 3 knots, with 2 knots contrary current, sometimes back up to 6 knots over the ground. At 0800 on the morning of 12th December, we dropped anchor in the murky waters of the Îles du Salut off French Guiana, having sailed 1789 miles from Brava. The islands were made famous by the book Papillon and its horrific tales of life in the French penal colony. It was fascinating to walk through the relics of that bygone era (though not that long ago – the prisons on the Salut islands were not decommissioned until the 1950s). To the delight of the kids, large numbers of tortoises and Capucin monkeys live on the islands. After a few days at Isle St Joseph we sailed overnight to the mainland and the Kourou river. The depths shoaled quickly, a little unnerving in the darkness. The channel markers led us across the bar, our sounder showing 0m in the muddy estuary for quite a few miles until we crossed into the deep river channel. We anchored in soft mud off the main town of Kourou in heavy rain. Ashore we found a broad mix of nationalities living in this strange place. The town itself is unremarkable, except for the European Space Agency launch site close by with a Soyuz 10 launch planned for two days later. After a few false starts, the launch went ahead and Soyuz blasted into space. We saw a few brief glimpses through the clouds at 0500, and heard the roar of the engines even though the launch pad was 20 miles away. Since our arrival in French Guiana it had rained hard and almost continuously, with 100 percent humidity. Mosquito nets were essential from dusk onwards – if there was a breach in our defences we got eaten. From Kourou we sailed northwestwards with 2 knots of Guianan current which made us arrive early at the Maroni river entrance, so we hove-to in rain showers to wait for dawn. Forming the border between French Guiana and Suriname, the Maroni reaches inland for 100 miles. Our destination was St Laurent du Maroni, a large town about 30 miles upriver, but first we took a detour up a tributary to the Amerindian village of 143

Coswine. This tributary was navigable for 15 miles and gave us a thrilling experience. We anchored opposite the village in a strong tidal flow but with excellent holding. The village itself was built on an island, the only access by fast pirogue, and as night fell the sounds of the jungle came alive in the still air. Here we had a huge sense of being ‘off grid’ in a place few sail to. Next morning we continued upriver, the branches of the trees almost clipping the spreaders at times. Danú motored slowly through, all of us lost in wonder at our surroundings. We regained the main river and sailed on to St Laurent, picking up a mooring belonging to the St Laurent Yacht Association. Across from where we lay, the imposing walls of the Camp de la Transportation enclosed the site where convicts first arrived from mainland France. It is here that Papillon stayed for some time, and the pages of his book came to life as we viewed the prison from our deck. It still rained profusely, the mosquitoes never let up, and we joked that we would never complain of Irish weather again. The dinghy filled so much one day that Ruairí had a bath in it. We celebrated Christmas at St Laurent – and Santa did find our GPS position. With ship procurement on festive overdrive we managed to source turkey and ham and all the trimmings for dinner on Danú, albeit French Guiana style. On St Stephen’s Day (26th December) we were off again, bound for the Caribbean. French Guiana was fascinating in so many ways, but a tough environment to sail in. The kids wanted to swim and we wanted blue skies so, a little earlier than planned, we made our way out of the Maroni river and turned northwest for Bequia in the Grenadines. The passage was wonderful, reaching in a northeast swell with up to 2 knots pushing us along. We recorded 170 miles in one 24-hour period, and the closer we got to the Caribbean the better the weather became. After four days we dropped anchor in the crystal-clear water of Admiralty Bay, the kids jumping overboard even before the anchor was properly set. Anchored off Coswine on a Maroni river tributary

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Chatham Bay from the summit of Union Island New Year was spent at Bequia, our days filled with messing about in the water and enjoying some great sundowners with crews we had met on the other side of the Atlantic. Then we sailed south to the Tobago Cays, famous for their reefs and marine life, visiting Mayreau, Canouan and Union Island. The Caribbean was everything we remembered from our visit in 2004/5, but this time there were many more yachts. No longer the sole domain of long-distance cruisers, charter yachts now make up a large proportion and the sheer numbers of boats at anchor must be putting pressure on these beautiful yet fragile ecosystems. The Caribbean has also changed in other ways. Fifteen years ago, robbery and assault on boats was so bad on St Vincent that it was deemed unsafe to visit. We remembered looking at its forested hills back then pondering what it was like. Now, with government policy shifting towards eco-tourism, it has become safer to visit. We left Bequia and sailed north to St Vincent, anchoring stern-to a large tree in Wallilabou Bay. This bay was one of the locations for the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, and the kids recognised the places straight away. We enjoyed Wallilabou, the highlight being snorkelling off a bat cave a few miles to the south, reached by dinghy. From there we continued north to Soufrière on St Lucia and climbed Petit Piton. For this we briefly became local celebrities, climbing the mountain with kids and no guide despite the dire warnings of certain death if we did. It was a fun day out – some climbing skills were useful at times and the view from the summit outstanding. We spent two weeks on Martinique, mostly due to Peter and Lilian going down with a bout of salmonella. Martinique is like a little piece of France set in a Caribbean backdrop. Provisioning was excellent, but it didn’t feel like the real thing. We did climb Soufriere, the island’s highest point, a wet and windy affair. The weather was mixed during our stay with many dull, rainy days, so we departed French soil for Dominica on 17th February, laden with stores from Carrefour and eager for somewhere new. The wonderful island of Dominica was full of exciting places to visit, and there were 145

At the top of Petit Piton, St Lucia

many great walks into the interior to explore. This we did without local guides, based on our own research. For most places you can hitch or get local buses to your starting point – it takes a bit more time, but would have been prohibitive otherwise as the tour operators weren’t cheap. Highlights included ‘Champagne Bay’, known for a stretch of water filled with geothermally-spread bubbles rising up though the sea floor, the eight-hour walk through rainforest and over volcanic hillsides to the second largest boiling lake in the world, multiple visits to swim at Chaudiere Pool, and the day-long scramble up an overgrown trail through pristine rainforest to the summit of Morne Diablotin, Dominica’s highest peak. Initially we picked up a mooring at Roseau, the lively capital of the island, later moving up to Portsmouth on Prince Rupert Bay, a fine anchorage in the north of the island. We spent two very enjoyable weeks on Dominica, unanimously our favourite island on the trip so far. Deep Bay, Antigua

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By the start of March we were at the small islands of Les Saintes south of Guadeloupe. Approaching the anchorage at Terre de Haut, Peter spied a crag with 40m basaltic columns that could be climbed, and with Kevin from German yacht Serenity climbed several routes, the hardest going at E2. We continued to Point-à-Pitre on Guadeloupe, where we visited the incredible Museum of Slavery, surfed at Port Louis and – of course – climbed the island’s highest peak, another Soufriere, in wet and muggy conditions. It was at Pidgeon Island, the Jacques Cousteau marine reserve, that we heard the world had changed and lockdown was coming. See Flying Fish 2021/1 for the next two months of the Quinlan family’s cruise. On 16th May 2020 we departed Deep Bay, Antigua, with a lovely send off from Peter and Wendy Whatley of Henry, for the 2300 mile passage to Horta in the Azores. We had a great start, reaching at 6 knots along the west coast of Barbuda, and then made the break out into the Atlantic. Sunny days were followed by clear nights as we settled into the rhythm of a long passage. Our watch schedule now included the kids, who would be on watch for specific periods aided by a parent ‘buddy’. In this way the ‘buddy’ would be fully geared up and ready to go if anything needed attention, but could avail of extra sleep while Lilian or Ruairi was in the cockpit. They had strict instructions not to leave the cockpit unless going below, and to keep their lifeline clipped on at all times. The kids enjoyed the sense of responsibility this gave and took their watches very seriously. Each morning we would send our position to Alex Blackwell, who had kindly agreed to relay this to the PredictWind server. This updated our position on the OCC tracker, monitoring the progress of yachts as they made their way to Europe from the

A deepwater swim en route to Azores

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Caribbean*. As the days passed the winds became lighter and from the northeast. We sailed close-hauled as much as we could until the wind died completely leaving us on a mirror sea – one of the PredictWind forecast map’s ‘blue holes of death’ as we fondly came to call them. We motored on in search of wind, downloading the weather charts every few days. Our starting forecast had changed for the worse, the winds expected from the Americas were not pushing the high eastwards and, worse still, this zone of high pressure was expected to expand and stay still. There were some positives to this – a family of four swimming in 6000m of perfect blue water, Ruairi’s ever-improving bread, the endless calm, sunny days. We pushed on northeastwards, sometimes getting short periods of wind, albeit close-hauled. Every day brought something new to fix. A plumbing failure caused the loss of 100 litres of our precious fresh water, which would have been worse if we hadn’t fitted a bilge alarm while in the Spanish rías. Ten days on we noticed a change in temperature, with the duvet jackets coming out at night. The wind always blew from the northeast – exactly where we wanted to go. It was mostly light with not enough power to sail, but sometimes short periods of stronger winds up to 30 knots were encountered. Our diesel situation was becoming worrying. We had brought an extra 100 litres (22 gallons) in jerry cans for this passage, giving a range of 550 miles, but this was fast diminishing. By the start of June all spare fuel was used and we were down to a 20 litre (4∙4 gallon) ‘reserve’ can alone. Zephyrs of wind came and went and we tried our best to sail when we could. To add to the insult, a 2 knot counter current found us for 24 hours. On 5th June, with the forecast promising more of the same, we made the decision to motor-sail * See Retreat From Paradise by Vice Commodore Daria Blackwell, and Lessons Learned from Providing Shore Support during the 2020 west-to-east Atlantic crossing by Alex Blackwell, Regional Rear Commodore, Ireland, both in Flying Fish 2020/2. It took a while, but we found Ruairí eventually

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A fine welcome to Horta from the lads at Peter Café Sport for six hours more and then shut down and wait for wind. While we were drifting, the container vessel Ileanao came within VHF range so we politely asked for fuel. There followed a fine example of camaraderie at sea, the officer on watch organising an efficient fuel drop. Within a few minutes the Ileanao changed course to intercept us and we were given instructions to motor alongside when she caught up with us. They had reduced speed considerably and were preparing 200 litres in 20 litre cans to be deployed on our signal. The enormous container ship came with 60m of us and, just at the right moment, a bandolier of cans dropped to the sea. Ileanao drifted on as we grappled the cans on board, a difficult hauling manoeuvre, cheered on by the Filipino crew gathered on her aft deck. With the extra fuel we now had the ability to motor north to areas of better wind – and we did find wind, but it only lasted 30 hours before fizzling out again. We continued to motor for a few days but soon realised that we would still not make Faial with our remaining fuel, so resorted to tacking towards Horta in very light airs. 1½ knots in nearly the right direction is better than nothing. Then on 10th June the wind eventually backed to the north and we sailed direct to our waypoint, the first time in 20 days. After 25 days at sea, our longest passage yet, we dropped anchor amongst the eighty other boats on Covid-19 quarantine in the harbour of Horta. The boys from Peter Café Sport were alongside first with a hearty welcome and to give us the lie of the land. The police were next, all very cordial. Then the Café Sport guys returned to give us a big bag of fresh goodies from Faial residents and our great friends Gary and Kirsten of Wandering Albatross, last seen on Barbuda. The rules were firm, clear and concise – we were to remain on board, no socialising with other boats was allowed, food could be ordered from Peter Café Sport via WhatsApp, and fuel and water could be taken aboard at a cordoned-off end of the marina manned by security. With great timing on our part, a few days later the Azorean travel restrictions policy changed, allowing cruisers ashore if they tested negative for Covid. There’s no doubt that a lot work was done behind the scenes to make this happen and that José Azevedo, owner of Peter Café Sport and Port Officer for Horta, had a lot to do with it. 149

On the summit of Pico

They called up the boats with children aboard for testing first, so Danú’s crew were first ashore amid some ceremony from the harbour authorities and even made the local news on Faial TV. 24 hours later the results were back and we could officially clear into European waters. We spent a glorious week with the Wandering Albatross crew, staying at their house on Faial. The Azores invoked so many great memories from the first time we visited – they really are a wonderful cruising ground, the islands so diverse in landscape and culture. We relaxed on Faial, walking and swimming every day, often followed by beers and a barbecue in the warm summer evenings. We took the ferry over to Pico, climbing to its summit – something we had to do, as you will know by now. We visited São Jorge and Terceira – on each island we would hire a car and explore as much as we could of the inland landscapes and spectacular swimming holes. Five weeks were spent, as we felt, ‘on holiday’. Our last port of call was the small and friendly marina at Praia da Vitória on Terceira. Time was moving on and, as for all voyages, our thoughts returned to that last passage homeward, to stocking up, to weather forecasts and to departure planning. On Sunday 19th July we motored out from Praia to the sound of horns blowing and cheers from our new friends there. We had a few days under engine to escape the Azores high, and then hoped to find favourable wind. As on the previous passage, Lilian and Ruairí shared the watches. The wind filled in at last, pushing us away from the high, and Danú sailed goose-winged before southerly winds. Then a sei whale almost collided with us, crossing our bow with metres to spare as we sailed at 6 knots. We were so close we could see clearly the baleen*. A magnificent creature, it was almost the length of our boat. * The filter-feeding system inside the mouth of a baleen whale. After opening its mouth while submerged the whale then expels the water, the baleen filtering out krill and other small food creatures as it does so. 150

By the 25th the swell had increased, with gusty conditions giving us lots of sail changes. We were back to 140 mile daily runs and spirits were high. Dark nights were lit up with fanciful bioluminescence and we piled on the layers for these hours. We fitted into the routine of family life at sea, a lot different to a crew of adults. The downloaded forecast on the 26th showed an intense low to pass over our track, imminent. Winds from the south increased to force 5, making for great progress initially. Backing to the southeast and then quickly to the north, the barometer plunged to 980 millibars and we were in gale 8 with 4m seas and increasing. We hove-to for 12 hours and let it pass, hearing the occasional roar of a big one rolling and breaking over Danú, foam streaming off the decks. By morning the barometer had started to rise and we got sailing again, conditions improving with every hour. We viewed the latest forecast – northerly winds veering easterly, sure to give challenging sailing. By now the temperature had plummeted and ocean blue had given way to steel-grey Atlantic, the familiar hue of home waters. The southeast wind backed east and increased fresh, with squalls of rain. As we closed in on the Arans we realised we wouldn’t make the Gregory Sound by sail, so bore off to the north, conditions deteriorating. The biggest battles of the entire year were our first 24 hours after leaving and now closing in on the Aran islands on our return. Danú finally pulled around the harbour entrance on Inis Mor after 1248 miles at sea. During our Atlantic circuit we sought excitement and adventure everywhere we went, from the highest mountains to deep jungle rivers. We learned about many different countries and cultures, but perhaps the greatest thing we discovered was about ourselves and how we work as a family on a small boat. In the words of Ulysses, when planning this voyage and certainly while on the voyage, there were times when we did not yield. Arrival at Parkmore, Kinvara. Photo Andrew Downes

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FAREWELL MR PUFFIN: A Small Boat Voyage to Iceland – Paul Heiney. Published in soft covers by Adlard Coles Nautical [www.bloomsbury.com] at £12.99 or $18.00. 256 154mm x 234mm pages, with a limited number of black and white photos. ISBN 978-1-7299-9097-6 The voyage begins on the east coast of England, where the need to return to sea, to visit the colder, lonelier, more exposed high latitudes and rediscover the joy of seeing puffins urges Paul to set sail aboard his Victoria 38 Wild Song. He notes that he has seen puffins before and that sighting them always brings a smile. He describes the remote places where they like to conceal themselves and the treacherous conditions they must survive. As he sails along the coast of east Yorkshire, past the haunts of his youth, Paul imagines how things have changed with the passage of time and the decline of industries such as fishing, but he cannot see a thing because it’s almost always shrouded in mist and fog. Yet he manages to enter harbours when the fog magically lifts long enough to enable him to moor his vessel securely to a wall. He sadly discovers that the puffins have disappeared from the Farne Islands off the Northumberland coast where he expected to encounter them first. Humorous and thoughtful, Paul skilfully tells stories of encounters with people and places, painting a vivid picture of his journey. One such is his encounter with a woman in a town that was once the epicentre of the herring fishery. When asked where he can find some kippers, she answers, ‘Tesco’. He stumbles upon a radio museum in the Orkney Isles, an amazing find in a sleepy village that time has forgotten. He frets about the tides in the Faroes and gets curious advice from locals. In Tórshavn, the Faroese capital, Paul decides he must ask the librarian a delicate question. He had found a recipe for puffin in his Scandinavian cookbook and he simply had to know if it was true that the Faroese eat puffins. He waits around like a schoolboy in a pharmacy until no one is within earshot and blurts out the question. The librarian matter-of-factly responds that yes, they do eat puffins but not so often anymore because their population needs to recover. What follows is a deep dive into the nature of being an omnivore and how his love of puffins is contrary to his love of meat and his prior life as a farmer. Apparently, in the Faroes and St Kilda, puffins were a staple, as were other seabirds like fulmars, and so, of course, were their eggs. But then they reproduced by the millions. On this journey so far, not one puffin has been spotted. The remainder of the book takes us on a short tour of Iceland before Wild Song is laid up for the winter in Hafnarfjörður, about 5 miles south of Reykjavik. Paul returns to circumnavigate Iceland and head home the following year. Throughout the trip he takes on various crew members, some good friends with whom he’s sailed before, others newcomers who add a bit of intrigue and entertainment to the journey. 153

In Farewell Mr Puffin Paul weaves together the history of the lands with a story of altered biodiversity, and paints a picture of an ever challenging and changing landscape and adaptable peoples. Occasional black and white photos complement the stories. OCC member and Rose Medal winner Paul Heiney is a well-known British writer and broadcaster, who has done a fair bit of singlehanding including the OSTAR. A previous book, One Wild Song, was about his voyage to Cape Horn – 18,000 miles in all, of which 11,000 were sailed singlehanded. He is also the author, together with members of the OCC, RCC and CCA, of Ocean Sailing: The Offshore Cruising Experience with Real-Life Practical Advice. He is the current Commodore of the Royal Cruising Club. Does Paul eventually spot the puffins he sets off to find? That I won’t divulge! DOB

THE INFLUENCE OF STONEHENGE ON MINOAN NAVIGATION AND TRADE IN EUROPE: How Michigan Copper arrived in the Mediterranean during the Bronze Age – Dick de Grasse. Published in soft covers by Universal Publishers [https://www.universal-publishers.com/] at £19.95 or $25.95. 116 156mm x 234mm pages but no photos, drawings or maps. ISBN 978-1-6273-4350-3 The Influence of Stonehenge on Minoan Navigation and Trade in Europe is a thoughtprovoking book even if, like this reviewer, you struggle with its basic premise. The author posits that miners from the Minoan civilisation, which flourished on Crete from about 3500 to 1500 BCE, sailed a roughly 13,700 nautical mile round trip to Michigan, USA for their copper even though there were numerous mines around the eastern Mediterranean, including one on Cyprus some 300 miles away. In addition to the question of whether Minoan vessels of the period could have managed the ocean passages involved, laden with cargo as well as crew and provisions on the return voyage, one is left wondering how the Minoans could have first become aware of these copper mines in another continent. Even the author admits to uncertainty on this point! Having said that, Dick de Grasse makes an interesting case for his theory, which will encourage many readers to undertake further research. He knows his subjects when talking about both celestial navigation and Atlantic winds and currents, having crossed in his own 35ft yacht some years ago, and has clearly done a good deal of research on matters such as water levels in what are now Lakes Superior, Michigan and Huron. Back in 2500 BC, when water levels were much higher, these formed the single Lake Nipissing. Unfortunately the ‘thousands of Minoan tools, weapons and implements’ supposedly found near the Isle Royale mines are not mentioned in more mainstream sources, which generally agree that 19th century miners destroyed most of the archaeological record left by their predecessors. Dick postulates that, having made the east-west crossing on the tradewind route still used today, Minoan ships would have been sailed or rowed up the Mississippi – hard work, unless today’s average surface speed of between 1∙2 and 3 knots* was radically less back then (National Park Service Mississippi River Facts – https://www.nps.gov/miss/riverfacts. htm). The crew would then have had to cover at least a hundred miles overland to reach 154

the nearest part of the lake and the mines on what is now Isle Royale in Lake Superior. He suggests they departed either via the Mississippi – downstream, but with many extra miles – or eastward via the Ottawa and St Lawrence Rivers to cross the North Atlantic towards Scotland – a much shorter route but potentially much more dangerous. Dick de Grasse is not the first to suggest that voyagers from the Mediterranean visited North America in the Bronze Age. He is, however, the first that I am aware of to link their navigation techniques to northwest Europe’s many stone circles. He visualises a far greater network of communication between remote peoples than is commonly accepted, as well as a far higher level of sophistication, including relatively advanced mathematical skills and the ability to record their findings, than is generally ascribed to Bronze Age communities in the (now) UK. He is quite correct that civilisations around the Mediterranean were far more advanced at that time and that many, including the Minoans, had both writing and mathematics. The review copy received from the American publishers contained a small number of typographical errors, but these may well have been corrected by the time it goes on sale. There were also some factual mistakes which should have been picked up at the editing/proof-reading stage – eg. on page 4 we are told that the timbers of the Uluburun Shipwreck* were dated to 1306 BCE, which is well within the accepted range. Then on page 5, directly opposite, it is described as a ‘4300-year-old Bronze Age ship’, an error repeated frequently from then on. On page 81 the author states that the Callanish stone circle is, at 58∙2°N, ‘nearly on the Arctic Circle’ (it’s actually more than 500 miles further south, about the distance from Washington, DC to Florida), and later that ‘at a latitude of 58°N the North Star – Polaris – is nearly overhead’. It’s not, it’s 32° from the zenith at that latitude. Finally, the Hebridean islands off Scotland’s west coast are repeatedly referred to as the ‘New Hebrides’. Those islands lie east of New Guinea and are now called Vanuatu. To sum up, there are some books which take you on virtual voyages of discovery and this is one of them. Many of Dick de Grasse’s stated facts are indisputable, but his theories frequently draw on sources which could reasonably be described as speculative rather than proven fact, and it is these which stimulate further research. This reviewer remains unconvinced by the author’s arguments and could not help noticing how often the phrase, ‘I can imagine...’ is encountered throughout the book. NPM Editor’s note I can throw some light on Dick’s repeated speculation that Stonehenge became the recognised prime meridian in the Bronze Age and that ‘the Stonehenge prime meridian eventually evolved into nearby Greenwich, England that is the prime meridian today’. Not so! In 1675 the first Royal Observatory was established by King Charles II on land he owned close to the royal palace at Greenwich (Queen Elizabeth 1 was born there). He also created the post of Astronomer Royal to ‘find out the so much desired longitude of places for the perfecting of the art of navigation’. This resulted in The Nautical Almanac, first published in 1765 using the meridian of the Royal Observatory. * See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uluburun_shipwreck for more about this fascinating vessel. 155

By the late 18th century the increasing number of charts being published in Great Britain required a common prime meridian and Greenwich was the obvious choice. Most other countries chose their respective capitals. By the time of the International Meridian Conference held in Washington, DC in 1884 the British Admiralty had surveyed far more global coastlines than any other nation and 22 countries voted to adopt the Greenwich meridian. The French continued to use Paris as their prime meridian until 1914.

SHARKS OF THE WORLD, A COMPLETE GUIDE – David A Ebert, Marc Dando and Sarah Fowler, 2nd edition. Published in hard covers by Princeton University and Wild Nature Press [press.princeton.edu/series/wild-nature-press] at £42*, $49.95 or €45. 608 231mm x 218mm pages with 2000+ colour illustrations, photos, maps, and diagrams. ISBN 978-0-6912-0599-1 and A POCKET GUIDE TO SHARKS OF THE WORLD – David A Ebert, Marc Dando and Sarah Fowler, 2nd edition. Published in soft covers by Princeton University and Wild Nature Press at £16.99, $19.95 or €17.99 (again, amazon. co.uk offers a sizeable discount). 288 129mm x 198mm pages with many colour illustrations. ISBN 978-0-6912-1874-8 Aside from watching the movie Jaws, my personal encounters with sharks have been limited to watching basking sharks off the coast of Ireland, catching dogfish sharks in lobster pots, seeing fins swim past the US East Coast beaches, and seeing my husband dive down while snorkelling in Belize to catch a shark by the tail and shake it awake. That was shortly after we were married and I thought I’d be widowed soon. Little did I know that it was a nurse shark and harmless. I had been looking forward to studying this group of vertebrates and gaining new respect for these magnificent creatures. This most comprehensive reference guide covers 536 of the world’s known shark species, many of which have only recently been described. Who knew there were so many unusual shapes and sizes in this biodiverse chondrichthyes (from the Greek chondros : cartilage and ichthos : fish) class of cartilaginous fish? The first edition appeared in 2013. The new edition, at a hefty 608 pages, is fully revised and updated, packed with colour illustrations, colour photos and informative diagrams, and with a colour distribution map for every species. The authors are two scientists and an exceptional nature illustrator. It is a massively impressive work. Sharks are some of the most misunderstood and maligned creatures in the world. Many species are seriously threatened with extinction and are among the vertebrates most in need of protection and management. They first appeared more than 400 million years ago and have since adopted numerous habitats and reproductive strategies, yet many species have been unable to withstand the pressures exerted by their primary natural enemy – modern man and his ocean hoovering machines. This book examines 156

what is known about the biology, ecology and threats to sharks. With its companion, A Pocket Guide to Sharks of the World, the two reference books make a wonderful resource for anyone interested in these magnificent creatures, though the Pocket Guide would be more suitable to have on board a cruising yacht. It is the only field guide to identify, illustrate and describe every known species of shark and snorkellers and divers would benefit from it tremendously as it is very easy to use. The Complete Guide also contains special sections on the identification of shark teeth and shark fins that are most commonly found in the shark trade. It was good to read that shark finning (catching sharks, cutting off their fins, and throwing them back into the sea to die) is now banned in more than 40 countries, including the largest shark fisheries. It is such a cruel practice. Depletion of shark populations is far more likely than of bony fish because sharks are slower to reproduce and produce a small number of large young. For this reason shark fisheries need to be managed, but the majority remain unmanaged or managed only to the same standards as those for rapidly reproducing bony fish. Almost 80 percent of known shark species have been reported as bycatch of largescale commercial fisheries, and anyone who has encountered these giant trawlers at sea will comprehend the scale of loss. There is no market for many of the sharks caught in the trawls, so the dead fish are just discarded at sea. Of course sharks are also present as bycatch on longlines, in gillnets and purse seines. Longlining is the least destructive pelagic fishing technique. It targets tuna and billfish, but will often catch valuable shark species such as mako that can either be landed and sold or released. It is almost impossible to release fish caught by the other methods. There is much to be done to protect endangered shark populations. At least we can inform ourselves of the true nature of the situation and what we can do to assist and spread the honest word. Sharks of the World is the essential illustrated guide for the shark enthusiast. DOB

THE PRACTICAL GUIDE TO CELESTIAL NAVIGATION – Phil Somerville. Published in hard covers by Adlard Coles Nautical [www.bloomsbury.com] at £30. 160 215mm x 280mm pages, with diagrams, work facsimiles and photos on nearly every page. ISBN 978-1-4729-8758-7 My astro (aka celestial) navigation is distinctly rusty and studying Phil Somerville’s Practical Guide to Celestial Navigation proved an excellent way to bring it back up to speed. How someone totally new to the subject would get on, however, I’m not so sure. He launches in with all the enthusiasm of the true devotee in a way that some might find rather intimidating, not least his assumption that readers are able to think in three dimensions – something which, in my experience, many people find difficult if not impossible. Even the mathematically confident would be wise not to rush at this book, as not for nothing has astro navigation traditionally been described as an ‘art and mystery’. 157

Phil Somerville believes that, in order to navigate by sextant, it is essential to understand the background trigonometry – the PZX triangle makes its first appearance on page 39. Talking to fellow skippers in the Caribbean in the 1980s, a time when few cruising yachts carried SatNav and GPS had yet to be invented, my strong impression was that most worked their sights out by rote. They started by using a pro forma sheet (as I had) until familiarity allowed them to discard it, and they knew that if they added and subtracted carefully they (generally) came up with a usable position line ... but they often had little idea of the how and why. I’m not claiming this was ideal, but for the vast majority it worked. Those who, like me, got hooked on the subject and wanted to expand their knowledge, maybe with moon and star sights, studied well-thumbed copies of Mary Blewitt and argued the merits of Sight Reduction Tables versus programmable calculators. Hopefully a copy of The Practical Guide to Celestial Navigation will add to their number. After ‘Defining the Geographical Position’, early chapters cover Nautical Almanacs, introduce pro formas (blanks are available in the Appendices) and tables of Increments and Corrections. Only then does the sextant make an appearance, and then merely to explain the need to apply further corrections – ‘Practical Aspects of Sight Taking’ isn’t covered for another 86 pages. I found the explanation of the ‘Intercept Method’ in Chapter 6 particularly clear, though the following (long) chapter entitled ‘Undertaking a full sight reduction’ will probably take a newcomer to the subject some time to get to grips with. The brief ‘Sun sight reduction – Quick start and recap’, which follows it, is a wise precaution. Only then is the very straightforward Meridian Passage introduced – a simple and satisfying achievement for anyone new to celestial navigation and often the first thing that a beginner masters. Plotting the corrected results comes next, a foray back on to paper for those more used to on-screen navigation. How to check your compass for Deviation is a useful inclusion, relevant to all who sail out of sight of land, as is a brief explanation of time zones. Then we reach Chapter 15 and the sextant comes to the fore – how to choose one, how to check it for errors, how to take an accurate sight and how to read off the result. The final chapter, ‘Troubleshooting’, offers various reasons why your sight may have put you in the Sahara Desert, though personally I’d kick off with ‘check your maths’! Following the pattern set by the rest of the book, the Glossary is clear and comprehensive – essential, because astro nav is full of abbreviations and knowing your AP from your GHA is one of the first things to master. It does, however, omit the CoP (Circle of Probability), central to all celestial navigation. Unlike GPS, to achieve accuracy within three miles by traditional means is considered good – probably much more when the yacht is bouncing around. From the moment one picks it up The Practical Guide to Celestial Navigation impresses as being well-produced, with clear printing on high quality matt paper, though I found the very light typeface a little hard on my (older) eyes. It would make an excellent present for any skipper planning a long passage – total reliance on electronics is never a good idea – and will keep them occupied for many hours thereafter. AOMH

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CORAL REEFS: A Natural History – Charles Sheppard. Published in hard covers by Princeton University Press [press.princeton.edu/] / at $35, £28 or €39, or for Kindle at £18.11. 240 206mm x 256mm pages and more than 200 colour photos. ISBN 978-0-6911-9868-2 Coral Reefs is an illustrated look at corals and the reefs they build around the world, as well as the causes and dire consequences of their rapid destruction. Corals are among the most varied lifeforms on earth. Bridging the space between plant and animal, these marine invertebrates serve as nurseries and homes to an abundance of fish, molluscs, crustaceans and echinoderm species which find refuge from predators within their complex shapes. They share symbiotic relationships with photosynthesizing algae, which provide corals with their nourishment. Each square centimetre of coral holds captive millions of single-celled algae. This stunningly beautiful book profiles the astonishing diversity of the world’s coral groups, ranging from mushroom corals and leather corals to button polyps, sea fans, anemones and pulse corals. It describes key aspects of their natural history and explains why coral reefs are critical to the health of our oceans. Representative examples of corals have been selected to illustrate the broad range of species and the book’s informative commentary covers everything from identification to conservation. There are chapters on reef fish and how the diverse species living on the reefs interact, making it an excellent resource for naturalists, divers, cruisers and anyone who has been enthralled by seeing these remarkable ocean dwellers and colourful reef architects. It also covers the formation of different types of reef communities, atolls, islands and limestone land structures. The book details the enormous range of threats that reefs face today, including destructive fishing practices, sewage and nutrient runoff, diseases, predators, shoreline development, pollution, climate change and more. It also describes how people are working to protect them and are assisting with artificial reef structures. It even has a chapter on anchoring! A yacht can create a 30ft (9m) ‘halo’ each time the anchor is deployed as the chain drags across the bottom with the sweep of the tides. The author makes the point that this type of destruction is most evident in the sheltered harbours of holiday destinations favoured by charter fleets. There is an illustration showing how a mooring is much more environmentally sound than anchoring, and a photo of where anchors have dragged across sea grass beds. Coral Reefs features more than 200 exquisite colour photos, including some rare and unusual species. I will never look at a coral reef in the same way again and will marvel even more at their beauty and complexity. I worry about the health of our reefs. The warming sea attacks the evolutionary bond between coral and algae, the main engine of the ecosystem’s existence. Charles Sheppard is Professor Emeritus in the School of Life Sciences at the University of Warwick. Consultant editor Russell Kelley is the author of Indo Pacific Coral Finder and Reef Finder. He is also programme director of the Coral Identification Capacity Building Programme, which provides training in coral identification around the world. DOB 159

SALT IN THE BLOOD – Patrick and Sheila Dixon. Published in soft covers by Adlard Coles Nautical [www.bloomsbury.com] at £10.99. 288 126mm x 206mm pages with eight pages of colour photographs. ISBN 978-1-4729-8626-9 Subtitled Two Philosophers go to Sea, this book by a gilded couple tells of their experiences and personal growth sailing a boat in many stages from Lagos in Portugal across the Mediterranean and back and thence to the Caribbean, whilst maintaining their careers. They set out determinedly but with little prior experience to ‘live the dream’ and now share their experience with the reading public. This is a very recent adventure ending during the Covid-19 era. The authors are respectively a lapsed physician and founder of a worldwide AIDS charity with some 15 books on best business practice to his name, and a magistrate and business partner. They are clearly an exceptional team, being able to share skippering and live with each other’s mistakes with equanimity and lack of rancour. Mistakes there are many, and they have more than their fair share of mishaps, near-disasters and bad weather during their passages. The account starts routinely enough with choosing and equipping a suitable boat (they opt for a Beneteau Oceanis 473 Clipper), then shorter to longer hops through the Mediterranean, and concludes with a roller-coaster ride from Cadiz to the Canaries and Cape Verdes, and thence to Barbados, St Lucia and Antigua. We learn of their preparations and the anxiety of their early exploits as well as of their growing confidence and skills. All this will be well understood by any member of the OCC and holds no surprises. The chapters are written by both authors in their individual styles, and each ends with a list of sailing tips and their philosophical thoughts. They set out with a certain sense of entitlement, making such statements as ‘anchor wherever you like, the seabed belongs to everyone’, and being surprised to have the attention of the Israeli coastguard when sailing into Tel Aviv at night. They also offer some rather basic advice such as learn to tie a bowline (dinghies go adrift). With time they grow increasingly appreciative of all the sailing life can offer, learn of the threat to marine life that anchors can cause and manage difficult situations with skill and fortitude. There are many appreciative descriptions of the places they visit, their history and the life-lessons they can teach us about our own miniscule place in the scheme of things. Both authors share a strong religious ethic. Their philosophical musings and observations about what sailing can teach us about life are interesting, and they are able to rationalise and downplay the anxieties they experience – which must have been considerable considering the conditions they met and unrelated medical problems. Interestingly, like both Shackleton and Slocum, they become aware of ‘another person’ with them when things go particularly pear-shaped. So, who is this book for? Firstly, it is clearly for the authors who have bared their souls and carefully chronicled an important time in their lives. It would also be a useful read for those about to follow in their footsteps, as there are many lessons to be learned, while the more experienced will enjoy the ride and may learn things that will surprise them...

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SAILING SWIFT ~ The French Canals, Part 2 Morgan Finley (Flying Fish 2021/1 followed Swift, a Moody 44, together with Canadian owners Morgan and Melanie and their daughters Isla (12) and Pippa (9), through the French canal system from Cherbourg as they headed towards the Mediterranean. But what should have been a relaxed and scenic trip became a race against time as the waterlevel dropped and canal closures threatened. We left them on 24th July 2020, Day 15, near Joinville on the Canal entre Champagne et Bourgogne, with thick weed and less than 0·4m under Swift’s keel... The Finley family share pictures on Instagram @sailing.swift and have a blog at https:// www.sailblogs.com/member/sailingswift/ which they update from time to time.)

Swift’s travels in Flying Fish 2021/1 as well as in this issue 162

The race to the top Weed. And more weed. The lock is in sight, but it is achingly slow progress. Eventually we manage to smear our way in amid a big raft of weed – we turn the engine off when we are moored up so I can clear the strainer. The lock cycles and up we go. A VNF* van shows up and an official asks how we are. We mention the water levels in the last stretch and explain that we draw 1∙5m. He grimaces and looks surprised. However, he also says it should be better for the next bit. Yes please! Weed in the lock doors

The entire day goes by like this. Fortunately no more stretches are quite as bad and we start to transition to stunningly beautiful rural countryside – sunflower fields, wheat, pastures etc. It is gorgeous, and the irony of finding exactly the picturesque countryside we wanted but not being able to stop is not lost on us. We don’t make it to Chaumont that night, but we get close. Instead we select a rural stop in a canal we can swim in and tie up to a blue dolphin. These are set up for commercial barges, with a small ramp from the shore out to a single pile and bollards set into the shore for the fore and aft lines. The fender boards provide protection against the pile/ramp. Best of all, they leave us far enough in the centre of the canal to remain afloat for the night. * Voies Navigables de France, the agency responsible for the French waterway system. 163

Isla with our curious rural neighbors

Swift coming down the canal

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Day 16, 25th July, and we are up early again. Tea, cookies, the first lock opening – it’s like déjà vu. We find the going acceptable and make pretty good time through the first couple of locks and a small tunnel. At one lock early in our day we encounter a closed lock and no lights. Our remote doesn’t work. We just can’t imagine suffering any sort of delay. We can see a VNF van, some machinery and some people but they don’t notice us or hear our horn. We take the chance of unloading Isla from the bow on to a small stone staircase by the lock entrance. There isn’t really room for this manoeuvre, but

Sunflower fields I sneak the boat in and she slides off without falling in. She runs up to find out what is happening. Isla and Pippa were in French immersion back in Canada and Isla uses her French skills not only to get their attention but also to expedite the lock reopening – awesome! We are back on our way! That night we have chosen a stop just short of Langres. We have read that 1∙8m should be available at a Picnique Halte. Sadly, it doesn’t work out that way and our first try has us aground well short of the wall. We move upstream 20m and can get close enough to get off the bow, but we leave the stern in deeper water. Day 17, 26th July. I’m up early again, but feeling a bit better because we plan to tackle the summit today. The race may be over. It’s Sunday and early, but I decide to check out the little boulangerie so walk into the sleepy farming town. No one is up. The sheds all hold tractors. The buildings are stonework with big, rough, wooden beams above the doors. They look hundreds of years old and they probably are. Bright flowers decorate some of the front yards and I stop to take a few Sheds full of tractors

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pictures. As I come around the corner the boulangerie is open! I’m welcomed in and I figure out which croissants are made from butter and which are made from margarine. I choose the butter ones – of course. I grab some baguettes and head back to the boat. Coffee, croissants and pain au chocolat in the cockpit make for a better start! Our day is a good one. We aren’t far from the top, and if we are correct in our understanding of which part is closing we should have a day and a half to spare so spirits are high. We come to the lock immediately before the summit tunnel and, although we haven’t seen a boat in a while, we wonder who is going to control the traffic lights that will allow us through. Everything seems automated, yet the tunnel is too narrow to pass anyone so we think the system will be like a one-way bridge ... except that it is nearly 5km long. A long, narrow, stone-worked canal funnels us towards the tunnel. There is a green traffic light and we see the entrance. It looks much smaller than we anticipated and as we get close it narrows further to accommodate a walkway along the side – the old tow path we assume. When we enter, we find we have 0∙4m (16 inches) to spare on each side. Travelling at 4 knots, it requires constant attention to avoid smearing the boat against the walls. The girls spend the whole tunnel providing constant updates on the size of the gap as measured by the size of a water bottle we have in the cockpit – ‘1¾ ... 1¾ ... 1½ ... 1½ ...’. The tunnel is fascinating if a little damp and claustrophobic. It was constructed in 1883 and there are stalactites forming on the sides. It feels like it goes for ever and despite the lights in the ceiling the water is a long black ribbon. We feel like we are on a Disney ride. When we are in the middle the tunnel is just straight enough to see the light at both ends. Finally we reach the other side and exit into torrential rain. When will this race end? But then we turn a corner and see the last lock! There is a crew of VNF personnel and even a VNF office at the lock. They confirm we have passed the closure point. We made it – champagne for happy hour that evening! However, they also tell us that we aren’t quite free from weed, but at least we are clear from the low water levels and closures – for now. Seriously? For now ... again? Our ending to the day is an amazing staircase of eight locks, each of which descends 5m. For the first time we go down in a lock! So much easier. The bollards are easier to access and Pippa is done with slippery ladders. The new challenge is that on some locks the water level is very near to overflowing. Navigating into a lock when the wind is blowing and a stone wall is at waterline height on both sides is nerve-racking, but at least we’ve already had lots of practice with the narrow entrances. The Saône and the Rhône We spend the next few days travelling slowly down the remaining 50km of the Canal entre Champagne et Bourgogne. The countryside continues to be scenic and rural and we spend time in tree-lined stretches tied up in remote stops, most often to blue dolphins. We swim to stay cool. Sometimes there are villages to explore but none is large enough to have a boulangerie. They are pretty, however, with impressive churches and full of the character that comes from centuries of apparently random additions and building on narrow streets that never take the most direct path. Weedy stretches and even shallows continue to plague us. Our raw-water strainer needs constant attention and one morning we burn out the impeller on a stretch of canal. 166

Celebration time! We quickly tie to the railings on the tow-path where it passes under a bridge and, fortunately, we carry a spare and so get going again soon. On our last few kilometres on the Canal entre Champagne et Bourgogne we encounter several other vessels, including one heading upstream. Should we let them know that this is now a road to nowhere? We also pass a ‘LeBoat’ rental, and when we finally turn onto the Saône River there is another ‘LeBoat’ waiting at the first lock. We had heard horror stories of the hire boats, partly because no prerequisite skills are required to rent them. We wonder if we should turn and run back to the safety of the quiet countryside except that the beer is running out. It’s still a narrow waterway and as we pull up behind the ‘LeBoat’ we suck our bow line into our propeller. Instant panic! In less than a minute I’m in the water with my mask and a knife. The rope cutter on the shaft has already done most of the work and in less than two minutes the engine is running again with no apparent damage. And here we were looking at a rental boat and fearing their lack of boating skills. The hire boat family look at us like we are crazy. We pretend nothing out of the ordinary has happened and continue to tootle around waiting for the lock to open. The River Saône surprises us in a good way. It is beautiful and clean, and the small towns with cobble streets and massive cathedrals providing welcoming Haltes are relatively close together. Our first stop is Auxonne. The mooring is free and the power and water is 10€ paid at the tourism office by the cathedral. We generally keep our quick pace down the Saône but stop when we see somewhere nice. We had heard that the Saône and Rhône would have few suitable stopping places, but the Saône has plenty and many are free. 167

The Bollène lock, at 22m the deepest in France The temperature soars and when we see 39°C (102°F) we hastily install the fans we bought in the UK. Out of necessity the river becomes a long narrow swimming pool, both for us and for many of the other vacationers we see camping or picnicking along the riverbank. We even pass cows standing chest deep in the river. When we get to Chalon-sur-Saône it is still cooking, but at only 36°C we hope we are entering a period of more manageable temperatures. Chalon-surSaône has a welcoming marina with easy access to a big supermarket for reprovisioning. We walk the streets of the old town in the evening and there are blocks full of restaurants that overflow, turning the streets pedestrian only. All the restaurants are packed. I wish we had known – dinner out would have been great! I’m already feeling nostalgic for the trip as I reminisce about the planning we did and the excitement we felt while we were still in Canada. I don’t want the good parts to end and I don’t want to miss any potential defining moments. We contemplate staying, but the next day is Sunday when everything closes down, so on we go. We pass through the city of Lyon at lunchtime. It impresses more than we had expected. It hurts a bit to pass places like this where we would have liked to explore, but the Mediterranean beckons. The River Saône merges with the River Rhône. The waterway gets wider and we start to pick up some current going the right way for once. The locks get bigger. We are now entering locks that are up to 200m long and much deeper. One day we transit the famous Bollène lock which we have heard is the deepest in France at 22m. We go in alone and tie to a floating bollard that follows us down. By the time we are at the bottom the boat is in a deep canyon and our voices echo. It is a guillotine lock and we motor out under the massive gate lifted high above us. The hills along the Rhône are covered in vineyards, and crumbling castles, ruins and keeps overlook the valley from cliffs or hilltops every five to ten kilometres. We feel like we are finally getting close to the Mediterranean. The landscape appears more arid and 168

there are cicadas in the trees. We find some free stops on the Rhône, which always makes us happy, including one little Halte Nautique in the heart of the vineyards where the local mini-mart carries reasonably-priced bottles of Côtes-du-Rhône from vineyards within 10km – but we also pick up a box of ice cream for the kids, so everyone’s a winner. I look in the bilge at the wine collection. At this rate we’ll have to repaint the waterline. On 7th August we arrive in the city of Avignon. It is stunning but crowded with tourists. Many of the places we have visited, including Paris, were relatively uncrowded in the summer of 2020 as travel restrictions and fears surrounding Covid travel kept people away. Not so Avignon, and in the evening it seems that every outdoor restaurant is full. The heat has returned and it is 36° again. We’ve tied to the baking hot stone town quay, right next to a busy road, but it is free because the bathrooms are not accessible due to Covid. We hear that in a normal year it costs 70€ a night! Yikes, looks like we’re definitely in the South of France now! We stay two nights in Avignon. It is not our favourite place to moor but the town is very interesting and we have a night to spare before the mast is scheduled to go back in. Mel and I go out for a couple of glasses of wine and some entrées*. The kids stay on the boat and watch a movie. Our reservation is for 9:15pm, which is when most of the * In modern French table service, and that of much of the English-speaking world outside the United States and parts of Canada, an entrée is a dish served before the main course of a meal – effectively an hors d’oeuvre, appetiser or starter.

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restaurants are at their busiest. We sit at a small outside table in a cobbled square by the wall of an old church. People stroll past and all the tables around us are full. We order frogs legs which I can’t decide if I like or not. There are five or six pairs of little legs. Mel decides she doesn’t want to try them after all. Their appeal hasn’t grown on me by the last pair, but I eat them all because I’m a cheap cruiser who doesn’t want to waste anything. At least the salad and garlic butter are good. Our route has taken us 1435km, Swift in the Mediterranean, through 175 a sailing boat again! locks, several tunnels and over 345m of summitlevel elevation. We’ve spent a month doing the trip which was barely enough. On Sunday 9th August we go through the last lock and into the town harbour at Port St Louis. The boat tastes saltwater for the first time in a month. We are so excited to be in the Med! Pippa and Isla insist on a big happy hour with cheese and other treats to celebrate – can’t argue with that! The mast goes in even faster than it came out and without any hiccups, except that it is brutally hot for the two days we are in the marina and we don’t have anywhere to put up shade. But then we are done and are a sailing boat again! We leave on Wednesday morning and sail east for 20 miles to anchor in beautiful, clear water in a bay on an island by Marseille ... but that’s a story for another time. 170

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CARIBBEAN FREEDOM Matt Whitley (Turn to page 5 for the backstory of how Youth Sponsorship recipient Matt Whitley came to be in Suriname. Matt also contributed the front cover photo, taken during his time in the Caribbean.) The small engine whines as it sends a little Toyota bouncing along a dust road full of puddles and jungle foliage. I am in Suriname and have been for a few weeks, the sun is slowly melting over the horizon. After an incredible experience crewing aboard Mothership across the Atlantic I am back on dry land. Well, I would say dry land, but it’s the very start of the wet season and every few hours sheets of water fall from the skies and drench the country buzzing with life. I t ’s a w o n d e r f u l p l a c e , Suriname. Although very poor with 70 percent of its population living below the poverty line, it is a country that has only shown me smiles. As I’m driving this little car over the rough terrain which a Land Rover would likely struggle on, a scene from Top Gear enters my mind – it’s Jeremy Clarkson gritting his teeth and exclaiming ‘speed is the key’. Maybe it’s just pure excitement The little Toyota which took me all over Suriname – what more could a 20-year-old want than speeding through the Amazon rainforest in a rental car? It came without a working radio, so the only sound is the water hitting its underside as it bounces through thick orange puddles. There’s no one around, no other cars, no pedestrians, it’s a quiet and seemingly simple moment and it’s how life should be – there are no outside pressures and I’m as happy as I’ve ever been. It’s the same freedom you feel when sailing, when the waves crash Wandering through remote towns deep in the bush 173

The Surinamese jungle

against the hull of your boat and the wind fills the sails. The sense of freedom is all the more heightened when the land drops below the horizon and you are left in the panoramic vastness of the ocean. The first time I ever sailed offshore and could no longer see the land an almost baby-like sense came over me. It was as if I was being taken from my mother, my motherland. It’s this feeling which has almost become addictive, that of pushing away from safety and civilisation. For the next six months I would take every opportunity to have that feeling wash over me. After six weeks in Suriname I joined Dutch couple Karin and Jeroen aboard White Pearl, their 38ft (11∙6m) Dufour classic, to sail to St Vincent. Their hospitality in welcoming me on board made the passage joyous, as was the onboard quarantine following our arrival, and great memories were made. Karin and Jeroen were inspirational to me, because they are ambitious and always found the good in everything. During the sail to St Vincent they shared their travel stories and backpacking adventures and we On passage to talked about our future St Vincent travelling plans. It was great to see that Covid-19 hadn’t dampened their spirits in the slightest, and they were perhaps slightly reluctant for the world to open back up as they enjoyed the limited tourists and the chance to explore places normally spoilt by crowds. If I was to sum up Karin and Jeroen, I think the most powerful thing I could say would be that if I manage to be doing what they are doing at their age I will be content. 174

Dinghy exploration around our quarantine anchorage with ‘Fort Duvernette’ in the background

The sail from Suriname to St Vincent almost felt like it was sped up. On 19th March we sailed out of the Suriname river past the capital city Paramaribo and onto the open ocean. The tradewinds hit us on the beam as we sailed northwest on starboard tack, the regular squalls only accelerating our speed. We flew the 562 mile journey, averaging 7–7∙5 knots the whole way. White Pearl’s 24-hour record was broken, with 176 miles being logged in a single day – and remember she’s a 38ft Dufour, laden with cruising stores. The speed and good wind were at the expense of comfort and it took us all a bit of time to adjust back to passage sailing. In fact we all felt pretty groggy for the first 24 hours. Once we had settled into the passage life we spent the days reading, fishing and chatting, while my highlight each day would be the little sailing lesson Karin would give me. To our disappointment we saw no wildlife during the entire passage, no whales or dolphins swimming over to say hello and not even any other boats. Karin and Jeroen always had something funny to say, and when we discussed the Dutch and English stereotypes we had plenty of laughs. When we finally spotted land after only three nights we were buzzing with excitement to see what St Vincent was like and whether the water was as blue as in the pictures. As we sailed into an anchorage between the south coast of St Vincent and the much smaller Young Island we were surprised how normal the water looked. We were only a few hundred metres off and still there was sargassum seaweed floating on the water surface and the deep, dark ocean blue hadn’t become the pastel we had hoped for. It was only as the depth dropped to 10m that the sea changed to the classic postcard tropical blue. It was here we spent quarantine, and for the next eight days the waters around Young Island became our playground. Our days were spent swimming laps, baking bread, drinking beer and lying on the deck. We went snorkelling almost every day and did all the jobs you do after a passage like cleaning the boat down and giving everything a good scrub. The snorkelling close to the boat was amazing and the clarity of the blue water still blows me away. When the jobs were done the dinghy exploring began. We ventured to an uninhabited island, a huge rock called Fort Duvernette, which proved to be the perfect place from which to watch the sunset. We would bring beer 175

and wine with us and sit at the top watching the sun slowly melt into the sea. The time passed quickly and it wasn’t long before we were given our freedom to explore the Grenadines. On the morning of our release we set sail for Bequia, the largest of the St Vincent Grenadines. It was an 8-mile sail, and with the Caribbean sun beating down and the warm water lapping at the bow it could only be described as a champagne sail. Bequia is an island of colour – all the shops are in vibrant shades, each different from the next, and it makes for an incredible, picturesque Caribbean landscape. Small vegetable stalls lined the roads and the locals came up to us, guiding us to their tables. People laughed with one another

Colourful Bequia shopfronts and others shouted across the street. There was a thriving buzz as we walked through the main street of Port Elizabeth. It was great to see people walking around, unfazed by the pandemic that had suffocated the rest of the world. Locals greeted us with smiles and a welcome, all so eager to hear what we thought of their little Bequia. A local dish in the Caribbean is lobster. As it costs a fortune back home I’d never had the chance to taste it, but in the Caribbean, with an ocean floor full of them, we decided after an afternoon of trying to catch our own to buy First time up the mast and feeling like a pirate 176

The view from up the mast at the Tobago Cays, with Elixir at far left some from a local fisherman. This turned out to be a beautiful evening. He cooked the lobster in the galley and joined us to eat. We drank a toast to the end of quarantine and listened to the stories of a man who has spent his life among the Caribbean waters. Friends I had met in the Canary Islands were sailing around the Grenadines. We had stayed in contact, and when I heard they had space aboard for another young soul I had asked to join them and they happily agreed. We planned to meet in a few days, but first decided to spend a few nights in the Tobago Cays. Then, as we rounded a small island to drop anchor, a boat came into view that I recognised as Elixir, the yacht I was joining. The crew were some of the coolest people I had ever met. I had got to know Max and Harry fairly well in Gran Canaria – they were both Cornish surfers, enough said. Since then they had been joined by Beth and Tegan, friends of theirs from home, who were also awesome company, very chilled and surfers just like the boys. I couldn’t stop grinning at the sight of them all on the deck, smiling as we sailed past and dropped anchor. As soon as that was done I jumped in and swam over. As we sat on Elixir’s deck in the beautiful Tobago Cays chatting and catching up, I felt like the luckiest kid in the world. I can’t describe the feeling of reconnecting with young people once more. And Max, Harry, Beth and Tegan aren’t just any young people. From Falmouth, Cornwall they are surfers and wild swimmers and were now, in their mid-20s, eyeing up a circumnavigation. I wanted to learn every tip and trick these guys had for me, and the next two months on board Elixir were some of the best days of my life. The crew of ‘Elixir’. Left to right: Max, Beth, Harry and Tegan

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My first few weeks aboard Elixir, an S&S-designed Swan 37 built in 1970, were spent exploring the Grenadines, working our way from north to south, on to Carriacou and finally Grenada. Every day we would drop anchor in blue Caribbean waters – it was as if we could take our pick and swim with either turtles, sharks, barracudas or rays almost every day. One day when we were snorkelling just off the Tobago Cays, as we dived down to look at the coral and all the life within, Beth grabbed all our attention with, “I think there’s

A happy Matt with a less than happy barracuda The biggest lobster any of us had ever seen. It fed us well! a shark over here”. Without hesitation we all turned in her direction and there was indeed a small nurse shark, head under a rock calmly sleeping as we swam around, eyes wide with excitement – we couldn’t quite believe our luck. We went on endless adventures like the 178

Dinner! Fresh fish caught just off the boat Famous Five of the Caribbean. I have never felt so free – free to swim in fish-filled anchorages, free to go out and catch our dinner, free to run along the beach and free to forage for fruit up in the hills or coconuts down on the beach*. The Caribbean life slowly stole all our hearts. We were constantly raising and dropping sail, tacking around headlands and dropping anchor only to pull it up again a few days later. All these short sails really helped me gain confidence and widen my sailing skills. The wind was surprisingly strong in places as it funnelled around and between the islands, which provided a full-blown sailing experience even if we were only going a few miles. There was no outside pressure, and as we worked our * Though note Ellen Massey Leonard’s Respecting Paradise ~ Thoughts on Voyaging Responsibly in Flying Fish 2021/1.

Enjoying the simple way of life – coconut foraging 179

Beth looking out over Carriacou on one of our group hikes way around the coast of Carriacou, Grenada and the smaller Grenadine islands we were reminded how beautiful this world is and what freedom really feels like. The hardest decision we had to make every day was whether or not we could leave the beautiful spot we were in. We met so many people with stories and advice along the way. Friends we made invited us for dinner and we stayed over at their houses. We met Trevor Robertson and had drinks aboard Iron Bark III while he told us stories about his high-latitude sailing

The wildlife was pretty good, and not just in the water. Here an iguana lies absorbing some rays 180

Posing with the rubbish after helping at a beach clean in Grenada years and wintering multiple times in both the Arctic and Antarctica. Sailing Hecate were a couple from Devon who became like our sailing parents. Obsessed with surf and adventure, we were left jaw-dropped after hearing some of their adventures. As I look back at the memories made and read over the diary extracts from my days of boat life on the other side of the Atlantic, I’m reminded how many amazing things I was able to experience. Living on a boat has given me an insight into how free life can be, how free it should be and how freedom can be so simple. When the whole world was sombre, Covid leaving nations in despair and continents being forced into bleak lockdowns, the Caribbean stayed smiling, yachties and locals alike. Covid has tested everyone in different ways, but the Caribbean islands have been defiant, stayed upbeat and continue to see the glint of freedom at the end of the tunnel. It was to the Caribbean I went chasing freedom and it was in the Caribbean that I found it.

Elixir and Hecate anchored a stone’s throw from one another in a hidden anchorage

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OBITUARIES & APPRECIATIONS Derrick Thomas Allen, Founder Member Derrick passed away on 13th September 2021, 16 days short of his 95th birthday. He was born in West Ham, London on 29th September 1926, but suffered from asthma as a child and in 1935 went to live with his grandmother in Frinton-on-Sea in Essex to escape London’s air pollution. The following August his parents and sister – as well as a maid and the chauffeur/gardener – joined him there. A family friend who lived at Quay House in nearby Kirby le Soken acquired a sailing dinghy and taught him to sail, igniting a life-long passion. From 1940 to 1945 he attended Kelly College in Tavistock, Devon. When war broke out in 1939 many of the staff were either called up or volunteered, so Derrick assisted the ground staff in the massive task of maintaining the school’s extensive gardens and playing fields. He developed considerable gardening skills and an obsession with mowing which never left him. At the end of each term he would take the train from Plymouth to Liverpool, where his family had joined his father who was serving as a Commander at Royal Navy headquarters. As soon as he was old enough he attempted to follow in his father’s footsteps and join the Royal Navy, but despite three attempts at different recruitment offices was repeatedly failed due to his asthma. On leaving Kelly College he found a job at the National & Provincial Bank in Liverpool, and when the family returned to Essex after the war was transferred to the bank’s Colchester branch. In May 1949, in recognition of the many ships and lives saved from German U-boats by his father’s Royal Navy team in Liverpool, Cunard offered Tom Allen senior a free voyage to Bermuda on their new liner Caronia and the 23-year-old Derrick travelled with him. While they were there he visited the Bank of Butterfield to cash a £5 traveller’s cheque, and in passing mentioned his background in banking and his intention to work for Coutts & Company in the Strand in London. By the end of this brief visit he not only had his £5 cash but a job offer should he return to Bermuda. A Derrick as a young man few months later he decided to take up the offer and returned to Hamilton to set up a new life. It was in Hamilton that his 56year association with Lloyd’s of London began when he was appointed Lloyd’s Agent, responsible for merchant navy traffic visiting the island. This role lasted 4½ years and he always said that it was the most enjoyable and rewarding work he ever did. When his term of employment in Bermuda drew to a close in 1954 he was persuaded 182

to enter the yacht charter business in Antigua, for which he bought a 52ft ketch, Fedoa, and sailed her across the Atlantic. This qualified for Full Membership, having previously been the OCC’s first Provisional Member, known today as Associate Member. The story of his passage will be found in Flying Fish 2014/1, available online at https://oceancruisingclub.org/ Flying-Fish-Archive. He later claimed he was the only person to have crossed the Atlantic in the 1950s and not written a book about it! On returning to England in 1956 he settled near Harwich and in 1967 was appointed Port Officer for the Harwich area, his Port Officer burgee being delivered to him by water during Hon Secretary Howard Fowler’s annual cruise! He wanted to Millie, Derrick’s Thames Barge continue employment within the Lloyd’s environment and, after a fortuitous meeting at Frinton Golf Club, joined the Eric Sampson Syndicate in Lloyd’s, underwriting predominantly North American Liability business. He then went on to have a long and successful career as a broker with Hartley Cooper. In 1958 Derrick married Sheila Elizabeth Cameron, and they bought the aforementioned Quay House where his Thames Barge Millie, and later the 30ft ketch Alan which replaced her, were able to lie alongside. They had two children before Sheila succumbed to breast cancer in January 1979. A heartbroken Derrick asked that he be buried with her in Kirby le Soken churchyard, a wish that was carried out on 6th October 2021. Having married a Cameron, Derrick grew as deeply in love with Scotland as she was and spent a large part of his 39 years of retirement in that country. With Sheila he bought a beautiful croft across the water from the village of Shieldaig on the west coast, but sold it soon after she died and later purchased another on the beach at Ardenaeskan. Derrick was not one to embark on anything lightly, and every time he started a project he made sure he was fully educated and qualified. He didn’t just learn to sail, he went on several courses and was one of the last to take a Barge Master exam when he purchased Millie. He reached the highest level of accreditation in navigation, which enabled him to cross the Atlantic and made him very valuable on the Lloyd’s yacht Lutine, aboard which he spent many happy days – he was one of only three people in 183

0n the foredeck of Lutine, the yacht owned by Lloyds of London the Lloyd’s Yacht Club permitted to skipper her. He was also a qualified meteorologist. He used to be a competent classical pianist, was a very decent shot with a twelve bore, and was a fully-qualified steam locomotive driver and the creator of several quite incredible model railway layouts. He also made extraordinarily beautiful furniture for dolls’ houses, was surprisingly good at embroidery, was a brilliant writer with beautiful handwriting and learned to speak very passable French and Dutch. As an insurance broker Derrick accumulated so many East Anglian clients that Hartley Cooper opened an office in Colchester to look after his business. As a Lloyd’s Agent he was fully qualified in stacking cargo on container ships, while his competency in stocks and shares regularly dumfounded his own stockbroker. He took a deep interest in ornithology, had gleaned a massive amount of philatelic knowledge from his father and was a keen horologist (collector of clocks). He was a regular contributor to the RNLI and The Woodland Trust, and an enthusiastic part-owner of Robertson’s boatyard in Woodbridge, Suffolk. In Scotland he helped with Lochcarron Sailing Club competitions, including donating a cup in his name, and was an enthusiastic part-owner of a restaurant in Lochcarron. He also purchased and personalised a large consignment of MacAllan’s malt whisky which he shared with his many friends. Despite his many other pursuits and pastimes there is no doubt Derrick was at his happiest when sailing, and it was through this that he made many enduring friendships. He used to describe sailing with his mates as a ‘relentless nautical search for the perfect gin and tonic’. After he married Alison Hutchison in 1981 the sailing trips continued and they both considered their times on the water as among their happiest. He had a great sense of decency, a fine sense of humour and stood up for what he considered right. When, in the early ’80s, two punk rockers were intimidating passing rush hour commuters, he knocked one of them against the wall, stood face to face 184

At home in Aldeburgh with him and said, “Everybody’s got green hair. If you really want to be different, show some manners”. I feared the worst, but they simply waved as he walked away. Of the Scottish midges he suggested, “talk to them and befriend them and then they won’t bite”, of drinking water with a meal “never touch the stuff, it rusts the natural iron in your body”, and when another round of drinks was suggested or a second helping of food mooted he would often announce, “I think we’ve all had enough”. His humour and eccentricities took many forms: he discovered that vehicles registered in the Exeter area carried his initials DTA on their licence plates, so rather than shell out on a personalised number plate he drove from Rendham to Exeter to buy his next car; as a generous grandfather he discreetly popped a £20 note into the hand of his grandson, who was about nine at the time, and told him not to spend it all on drugs; and he once astonished me when he told me he had just got round Strathcarron Golf Course in under a hundred shots – an impressive performance from someone I didn’t even know played golf. It was many years before I discovered that it only had nine holes. Derrick’s family was very precious to him and he was tremendously proud of all of them. It’s true that he didn’t suffer fools gladly, and it’s also true that latterly he was massively frustrated by his physical deterioration. He carried a tough, defensive, upright exterior throughout his long life, but his mates (and there were a lot of them) would say that, once he was your friend, you could not find a more loyal, amusing, mischievous and kind companion to tie up alongside. Thomas Allen

Peter Corby Many OCC members will remember Peter from the Cowes ‘Tea Parties’ at The Sloop, a part of the Solent Rallies for many years during and after Peter’s time as Port Officer for Cowes. Others may own or have seen a Corby Trouser Press. Born in 1924, Peter joined the RAF during World War Two and learned to navigate with a sextant at great speed, something he was really good at. This was the tool that gave him the confidence to sail across the Atlantic three times in the 1970s 185

when it was still quite rare, boats were much slower and navigation was by sextant – no GPS! His first long voyage was in 1977 in the family’s 62ft Buchanan ketch Avrion, from the Hamble to the Canaries, Bermuda, New York, Newport RI and back to Hamble, and he chose the final passage as his qualifying voyage for the OCC. His youngest son John, now a yacht designer, sailed the first and last legs with him as a 15-year-old during the school holidays. The America’s Cup was taking place in Newport when they left for the 3024 mile passage back home, which took 31 days. Avrion had a relatively small and old engine, so long periods of motoring when becalmed weren’t an option and they Peter Corby in the mid 1970s covered only 400 miles over the first week at sea, which was foggy and almost windless. There were four on board, including a girl who had joined as cook, so the three men each took watches of three hours. Peter then sailed from New York to Greece in a friend’s 60ft catamaran. His role was intended to be as navigator, but he found himself fixing just about everything on board at one time or another, including the radio, ’fridge and forestay, which had sheared. A man of many talents! These talents were also displayed during an incident aboard Avrion which I remember from my childhood – I must have been about ten – when Avrion’s forestay parted company with the foredeck. Peter gave me the helm and told me to keep a steady course 20° to 30° off the wind while he and my father battled to get the sail (with its big furling drum swinging around) under control. Eventually it was all lashed safely and the inner forestay kept the rig up. I think that early recognition of my sailing abilities encouraged me to sail to the Caribbean some 20 years later – and join the OCC. When Peter hung up his sextant and retired from long-distance sailing he became Port Officer for Cowes, Isle of Wight, serving from the late 1980s until 2015. Together with Ines he hosted many members at The Sloop, their home overlooking the Medina River and just by the Red Jet terminal. In the later years of his life he kept active with local charities, including checking all pieces were present in jigsaw puzzles that were then offered for sale. He was also proud to be able to climb (unassisted) aboard my boat alongside his dock aged 96, which is quite remarkable. Paddy Barker

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Patsy Watney Born in London in 1932, Patsy Jeanne Moncaster Watney (née Lachelin) was a Cambridge exhibitioner*, and a medical student from 1952-1955. In 1955 she joined St Thomas’ Hospital in London as a house surgeon and later became their first female obstetrics registrar. Patsy became interested in sailing when she joined the hospital sailing team, and was also a member of the St Thomas’ ladies squash team. Patsy and I met while skiing in Austria in 1957 (I am non-medical), were married in 1960 and were together for 60 years. Following our marriage she left sophisticated London life to join me in the colonial service in Jalingo, northern Nigeria, and live in a mud hut. The Nigerian government would not allow her to work as a doctor, so she toured with me in my province and completed writing up her Cambridge MD under a Neem tree outside our house in Jalingo. Despite the government ruling, she had always a queue of people lining up outside the house asking for her advice and treatment. She developed a cordial relationship with the local witch doctor, referring to him any cases she felt he could best treat, and he in turn referred to her any cases he did not want to deal with. On 1st October 1960 Nigeria became an independent country within the Commonwealth, and three years later became a republic, again remaining in the Commonwealth. There was no future for Europeans in the colonial service, so we returned to the UK in 1964, where Patsy became a senior registrar in Burton on Trent and then a consultant gynaecologist at the hospital in West Bromwich. Our son Richard was born in Burton on Trent. We were both keen sailors, and in 1979 qualified for the OCC with a passage from the Azores to Milford Haven with then-Secretary Peter Pattinson and his * A form of scholarship or bursary. Patsy in the 1990s during Jalingo III’s circumnavigation

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wife Shirley aboard Kishorn, their Westerly 33. We bought a Westerly Centaur which we named Jalingo, and by 1984 had moved up to a Nicholson 32, Jalingo II, which we sailed down to the Canaries and back. A few years later, wanting to sail longer distances, we bought Jalingo III, a 1974-built Nicholson 42. We spent the five Patsy meeting local people in the Pacific years from 1991 until 1996 circumnavigating the globe – Madeira, Antigua and the West Indies, and through the Panama to visit the Galapagos and remote islands – for which we were awarded the 1994 David Wallis Trophy for our Flying Fish 1993/1 article Seal with a Loving Kiss. We continued on to New Zealand, Australia, Indonesia, Aden and the Suez Canal, Tunisia and through the Mediterranean back to England. We returned to the Mediterranean two years later, staying for three years, returning to the UK in 2001. Patsy was a qualified diver and an expert in astro navigation, necessary while the Americans fooled around with the satellite navigation system, and enjoyed meeting people in remote Pacific island markets. From 2008 she undertook a further university degree in Fine Arts at Chichester University, followed by extensive travel to remote parts of the world – the Arctic and the Antarctic, Africa, India and the Himalayas. A well-fulfilled life. Chris Watney

Chris Guy Chris was a wartime baby, born in 1942. On leaving school he joined the Merchant Navy, learning navigation as a young deck officer with the Shell Company and at what was then the Plymouth Navigation School. He didn’t stay in the Merchant Service, however, spending most of his working life with United Molasses, a subsidiary of Tate & Lyle. He took over the running of their depot in Greenock in 1970 – where we sailed Eskan, a 2½ tonner, until the arrival of our second son made it imperative to get something bigger than an 18-footer so we bought Teko, a 26ft Stella, sold when Chris was moved to Denmark to set up a new subsidiary in Aarhus. There we learned to speak Danish more or less fluently, and his work took him all over Scandinavia. 188

Chris taking a sextant sight aboard Libra II in June 2000 The two postings gave us a lifelong love of both Scotland and Scandinavia as cruising grounds and we joined OCC rallies in both, sailing to Helsinki in 2006 and also joining the wonderful sunflower in Loch Drum Buidh in Scotland in 2010. As for Chris’s qualifying passage, in 2000 Colin Fergusson’s 39ft Libra II had been lying all winter in the Caribbean, where she had been used by various friends Kea sailing in the river Colne, Essex

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as a base for sailing holidays. Mike Taylor-Jones was offered the last slot – on the condition that he left Libra in the Solent at the end! Chris was taken on as navigator, complete with sextant, the final crew members being David Nichol and our younger son Nicholas. The 34 day passage via the Great Circle route included a short stop in Bermuda, and it was the 3000 mile leg from Bermuda to the Hamble that he cited as his qualifying passage. After returning to England in 2000 we bought a 24ft John Leather-designed gaff cutter named Eliza-Maude, our third wooden boat. It startled everyone when, in 2003, we ‘went plastic’ and bought Kea of Lymington, a white Nicholson 32, but Chris had always wanted a Nic 32 and we began to feel the need of a little more comfort than ElizaChris at the helm of Kea Maude could offer! One summer we sailed Kea round Britain via the Orkneys and Lands End. We much enjoyed the many OCC meets we attended, often on our way to or from our home in Wivenhoe, Essex having sailed to Scotland, France or Norway, and we would time a leg to coincide with the Falmouth Dinner and upriver party the following day. The last miles to Kea’s home port of Walton-on-the-Naze could sometimes be a bit of an anti-climax, which was partially responsible for our move to the Plymouth area and a mooring at Weir Quay on the River Tamar. It also made it a little quicker to sail to Scotland! It is, perhaps, worth noting that our ship’s journals have been a huge source of comfort, enjoyment and entertainment to both of us over the past few years. They include comments not only on the sailing and the weather, but also on current affairs and news, big sporting events (especially if England was on a winning streak), and comments on the local geology, flora and fauna, architecture and cuisine – plus, naturally, the many people, boats and events encountered along the way. Jill Guy

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ADVERTISERS IN FLYING FISH Adlard Coles Nautical (nautical almanacs, books and guides) ............................... 77 Admiral Marine (flexible yacht & boat insurance for offshore cruising) ............... 51 Alcaidesa Marina (full service marina & boatyard at the gateway to the Med) .... OBC Astilleros Lagos (full service boatyard in NW Spain) ............................................. 22 Berthon International (international yacht brokers) .............................................. 83 Bruntons Propellers (feathering propellers for sailing yachts) .............................. 125 Edward Williams (yacht insurance specialists) ......................................................... 4 Epifanes Yacht Coatings (manufacturer of yacht paints & varnishes) ......................... IFC Evolution Sails Chesapeake Bay (sailmakers) ........................................................... 97 Fox’s Marina (boatyard (refit and repair) and marina in Suffolk, UK) ................... 60 Hydrovane Self Steering (wind vane self-steering systems) .................................... 18 John Rodriguez Yachts (specialist blue water and cruising yacht brokers) ............ 123 Konpira Consulting (supports cruisers & organises yacht charters in Japan) ............ 84 Mactra Marine Equipment (watermakers, Superwind turbines and solar panels) ...... 84 MailASail (e-mail and satellite communications) ................................................ 140 Mid Atlantic Yacht Services (services & chandlery for yachts in the Azores) ....... 21 OCC Regalia (UK) ................................................................................................ 172 PredictWind (detailed worldwide forecasts, weather routeing & GRIBs) ............ 109 RCN Portosín (yacht club and marina in Galicia, Spain) .................................... 161 Royal Newfoundland Yacht Club (50 ton lift, clubhouse, gasoline, dockage etc) ....... 51 Sanders Sails (sailmakers, upholstery and covers) ................................................. 33 Scanmar International (wind vane self-steering systems & anchor trip device) ..... 132 Sevenstar Yacht Transport (yacht transport by sea) ............................................ IBC SHIP Insurance International (yacht insurance specialists) ................................. 171 ShiptoShore (mail forwarding and scanning service for travellers) ...................... 161 Sillette Sonic (marine propulsion specialists, custom engineering) ........................ 17 St Katharine Docks Marina (moorings in central London) ................................ 152 Please support advertisers by giving consideration to their products or services, and mention the OCC and Flying Fish when replying to advertisements. Details of advertising rates and deadlines will be found overleaf. 191

ADVERTISEMENTS RATES Advertising is sold on a two consecutive issues basis Inside pages Full page colour ...................£280 (for two issues) Half page colour...................£170 (for two issues) Cover pages Inside covers colour........................ £525 (for two issues) Outside back cover colour.............. £840 (for two issues) A 10% discount is available to OCC members

COPY Copy should be supplied as a high res PDF, JPEG or EPS file, at a resolution of 300 dpi (118 dpcm) at finished size Full page (portrait): bleed 210 x 143 mm; non-bleed 188 x 120mm Half page (landscape): bleed 100 x 143 mm; non-bleed 90 x 120mm Bleed adverts should allow 2mm all round in addition to the dimensions above

DEADLINES Advertisements are accepted for inclusion on a ‘first come, first served’ basis. Space may not permit all advertisements to be accepted, but please try! Latest dates by which orders must be confirmed are: 14 March 2022 for Flying Fish 2022/1 14 October 2022 for Flying Fish 2022/2 though new artwork may be accepted after these dates

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