OCC Flying Fish 2022-1 by Ocean Cruising Club

2022/1

The Journal of the Ocean Cruising Club 1

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OCC officers

FOUNDED 1954

COMMODORE Simon Currin VICE COMMODORES Daria Blackwell Phil Heaton REAR COMMODORES Zdenka Griswold Fiona Jones REGIONAL REAR COMMODORES IRELAND Alex Blackwell NW EUROPE Hans Hansell NE USA & ATLANTIC CANADA Janet Garnier & Henry DiPietro SE USA Greta Gustavson & Gary Naigle W COAST NORTH AMERICA Liza Copeland CALIFORNIA, MEXICO & HAWAII Rick Whiting NE AUSTRALIA John Hembrow SE AUSTRALIA Scot Wheelhouse NEW ZEALAND & SW PACIFIC Viki Moore SOUTH AFRICA John Franklin ROVING REAR COMMODORES Nicky & Reg Barker, Steve Brown, Guy Chester, Thierry Courvoisier, Andrew Curtain, 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

PAST COMMODORES 1954-1960 Humphrey Barton 1994-1998 1960-1968 Tim Heywood 1998-2002 1968-1975 Brian Stewart 2002-2006 1975-1982 Peter Carter-Ruck 2006-2009 1982-1988 John Foot 2009-2012 1988-1994 Mary Barton 2012-2016 ..2016-2019 Anne Hammick

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

SECRETARY Rachelle Turk 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 240 OCC WEBSITE www.oceancruisingclub.org 1

CONTENTS

PAGE

Editorial The 2021 Awards Sailing Around the World Alone, Part 1 400 Miles with the Wind and Sun Sailing and Diving the Many Motu Mentoring Charles and Caroline

3 5 34 47 56 70

Risky Business ~ Italy to Australia

81 93 103 114 125

Voyage of Discovery (55) London by Sea Chapter One of the Rest of my Life Book Reviews

Tern’s Travels ~ For the Love of Rock The Zora Saga, Part 3 Cape Horn the Hard Way From the Archives:... Taki-Au-Tahi to New Zealand in 1957 Greece, Autumn 2021 Book Reviews

133 148 159

A Year and a Half to Cross the Pacific Denmark and Back in the Pandemic From the Galley of... Obituaries and Appreciations Sending Submissions to Flying Fish Advertisers in Flying Fish Advertising Rates and Deadlines

194 204 214 217 238 239 240

168 176 188

Dustin Reynolds Pete Weller Ellen Massey Leonard Nick Nottingham, Charles Delaney and Caroline Chard Barry Lewis Laura Hampton and Noa Goovaerts Fergus and Katherine Quinlan Michael Gough Addicted to More Adventure; All Hands on Deck; Sail the World with Me; The Boy, Me, and the Cat Manice Stabbins Rhys Walters Rev Bob Shepton Rick Mohun Mike and Helen Norris Ocean Passages and Landfalls; In the Wake of the Gods; World Cruising Routes / World Cruising Destinations; Creative Ropecraft Nicole Burns Erik Vischer Marcia Laranson

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.

Welcome to an encouragingly fat Flying Fish, a good indicator that OCC members are getting out and about again, though part of its generous girth is due to our amazing Award winners – turn the page to read about their exploits and achievements. But first a few practicalities. I’m occasionally asked how I decide the order in which book reviews and, more importantly, obituaries, should feature. The former gives priority to books written by members, in this issue the Rev Bob Shepton’s Addicted to More Adventure leading off the first batch and Rod Heikell and Andy O’Grady’s Ocean Passages and Landfalls the second. Both are excellent, by the way! After that I try to vary the subject matter, avoiding two cruising guides or two narratives in succession. Obituaries normally run in the order in which the person joined the OCC, though exceptions are made for those who have given outstanding service to our Club. Usually this means having served as a worldwide Flag Officer – but not always, and in this issue the first obituary is that of Honorary Member Alfredo Lagos, appointed the Club’s first Port Officer on its founding in 1954. He is followed by two members who both joined in 1958. It is sad to be losing so many of our older, and not so old, members. Every death is one too many, and this issue carries nine obituaries, ‘all of them fascinating and impressive lives’ as one of my proof-readers noted on his returned proofs. On a happier note, though also ‘fascinating and impressive’, on page 168 you’ll find another gem from the Flying Fish archives – this time a Pacific crossing by two young men in a home-built 21-footer, which first appeared in Flying Fish 1966/1. It’s a remarkable passage, modestly and entertainingly described. In a few places, however, you may wonder if my excellent proof-reading team (otherwise known as the grammar police) were asleep on the job. They weren’t. Grammar, and particularly the use of commas, has changed over the past 56 years and to update the writing style seemed patronising. No one tries to update Jane Austen, who used commas as though they were going out of style! Thinking of grammar (and spelling), we all know that this differs around the world. While I’d never claim that one nationality’s is better than the next, Flying Fish uses British spellings and usage except in proper nouns – eg. ‘enter harbour’ but ‘Boston Harbor’. Why British? Well partly because we’ve always had more members in the UK and Ireland than in any other area, but mostly because I’m a Brit who learned English grammar and spelling at school and I’m far too set in my ways to change now! Spellings of place names may also change over time, of course, often reverting from those imposed by the first chartmakers to those used locally – eg. Bayona to Baiona. Oh yes, mustn’t forget ... the DEADLINE for submissions to Flying Fish 2022/2 is Saturday 1st October, but if you plan on sending something – and please do – I’d advise you to aim for early September as I already have three articles held over from this issue! Cover photos: Rudis on passage from Port Vila to Ambrym, Vanuatu – see ‘Sailing Around the World Alone, Part 1’, page 34. Photo S/V Pangea 3

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THE 2021 AWARDS After having to be cancelled in both 2020 and 2021, the 2022 AGM and Annual Dinner were finally able to take place at the Annapolis Yacht Club in Annapolis, Maryland on Saturday 2nd April, the first time the AGM has ever taken place outside the UK. Events over the weekend were organised by Lydia and Bill Strickland, with Janet Garnier and Henry DiPietro acting as Masters of Ceremonies for the Award presentations which, as usual, took place during the Annual Dinner. Our thanks to all four of them! All the photographs taken during the presentation ceremony are reproduced courtesy of John van-Schalkwyk and Alex Blackwell. Thanks are also due to Eoin Robson, Chair of the Awards MCs Janet Garnier and Henry DiPietro Sub-committee, for receiving the award nominations and overseeing the judging panel, the fourth year he has brought his organisational skills and wise judgement to this sometimes challenging task. The weekend as a whole, including the Annual Dinner, was sponsored by Safe Harbor Marinas, Mantus Marine and Evolution Sails, to which Latell & Ailsworth Sailmakers is affiliated. Their combined support helped keep costs within reasonable bounds. Further details of the history and criteria for all the awards, together with information about how to submit a nomination online, will be found at oceancruisingclub.org/Awards.

 THE DAVID WALLIS TROPHY Presented by the family of David Wallis, Founding Editor of Flying Fish, and first awarded in 1991, this silver salver recognises the ‘most outstanding, valuable or enjoyable contribution’ to the year’s issues. The winner is decided by vote among the Flying Fish Editorial Sub-committee. Although winners Graham and Avril Johnson received the 2021 David Wallis Trophy for Full Circle, published in Flying Fish 2021/1, there is little doubt that the Editorial Sub-committee were equally impressed by their 18 previous submissions to Flying Fish, sent from all over the globe during the course of their 18-year circumnavigation. Prior to that both worked in academia, so writing came naturally to them, and both are excellent photographers. The only surprise is that they’d not won the Trophy previously (though they’ve been awarded the Vasey Vase twice, for 2007 and 2020). 5

Graham and Avril Johnson were presented with the David Wallis Trophy at the Solent Rally on 22nd April. Photo Kathy Mansfield

Full Circle recalled some of the highlights of their voyage, using a chartlet and key to link through to previous articles (all downloadable from oceancruisingclub.org/ Flying-Fish-Archive). After setting off from Hythe, near Southampton in June 2002 aboard their Peterson 44 cutter Dream Away, Graham and Avril made some 65 stops in around 40 countries and islands, and covered an estimated 60,000 miles before returning to Hythe in September 2020. They made a point of interacting with local people as well as with other cruisers, and were among the six crews who received the (now discontinued) OCC Award of Merit for 2015 for assisting the people of Vanuatu after the devastation caused by Cyclone Pam in March 2015. In their acceptance message, Graham and Avril stressed how much receiving the David Wallis Trophy meant to them: ‘We were thrilled to receive the wonderful news about the David Wallis Trophy. We have always enjoyed writing articles for Flying Fish and hoped that members have been informed, entertained and occasionally amused or inspired by them. The award answers our hopes, and is much cherished. We would like to thank the editorial team for their outstanding work on, and presentation of, our various articles. The chartlets, layout, brief introductions and faultless editing have contributed hugely to our success.’ * Graham and Avril were unable to attend the Annual Dinner to receive their award in person, so instead it was presented on 22nd April during the first evening of the Solent Rally at the Royal Southampton Yacht Club’s premises at Gins Farm, Beaulieu. * In response I would like to say that Graham and Avril’s submissions have always been outstandingly well written and illustrated – not to mention correctly spelled! – making our job both easy and enjoyable. As one proof-reader remarked, ‘I’m always happy to see ‘Johnson’ on the list as it means an interesting read, very little to do, and a second slice of pie when the issue comes out and we get to see the photos’. Editor 6

THE QUALIFIER’S MUG Presented by Admiral (then Commodore) Mary Barton and first awarded in 1993, the Qualifier’s Mug recognises the most ambitious or arduous qualifying voyage published by a member in print or online, or submitted to the OCC for future publication. Winner of the Qualifier’s Mug for 2021 is James Frederick, and no reader of his article 1000 Miles Steered by Drogue in Flying Fish 2021/2 could possibly claim that it falls short of the requirement to be both ‘ambitious’ and ‘arduous’. After being introduced to sailing in 2014 with a cruise around the Orkney Islands, down the North Sea and through the Caledonian Canal, James became hooked. Since then he has covered some 7000 miles, mainly as a delivery crew or skipper in the Baltic Sea, the western Atlantic and along the entire west coast of the United States including the Channel Island chain near his home in Los Angeles. His qualifications include a USCG Near Coastal Master’s License and an Advanced Diver certification with PADI. In 2017 he bought Triteia, a 52-year-old Alberg 30 which had been unused and unloved for the previous six years and set about refitting her as a bluewater cruiser. After four years’ work his preparations were complete and in June 2020 James left Marina del Rey heading singlehanded for Honolulu, Hawaii some 2215 miles away. It was his first solo ocean crossing and the first leg of a planned ‘very slow crawl around this amazing world we live in’. James Frederick with the Qualifier’s Mug On his 14th day at sea, with some 1000 miles still to sail, the rudder became detached from the rudder post. After inspecting the damage from the water and attempting various means of persuading his heavy, long-keel yacht to steer herself, it became clear that, at least downwind, she was not going to co-operate. To learn how James set up a jury steering system using a spinnaker pole lashed athwartships and a plastic drogue – a combination which, together with his Sailormat self-steering gear, steered Triteia for the next 18 days until James dropped anchor off Waikiki Beach – refer to his very readable and wellillustrated article in Flying Fish 2021/2. Calling for rescue and abandoning his vessel does not seem to have crossed his mind. 7

James at work in Triteia’s galley James is a writer and filmmaker with several books in print, a blog at www.svtriteia.com and more than 200 videos on his YouTube channel at www.youtube.com/sailorjames. He and Triteia are currently based in Hawaii and plan to explore the South Pacific later this year.

 THE PORT OFFICER SERVICE AWARD First presented in 2008, the Port Officer Service Award is made to one or more OCC Port Officers or Port Officer Representatives who have provided outstanding service to both local and visiting members, as well as to the wider sailing community. As often happens, the Awards Judging Panel considered two Port Officers so outstanding that the decision was made to present two Port Officer Service Awards. With the AGM, Annual Dinner and Award presentations being held in Annapolis, it was fitting (though pure coincidence) that one should be local Port Officer Westbrook Murphy. Westbrook started sailing on the Chesapeake Bay more than 70 years ago, but it was another 40 before he was introduced to ocean sailing by his friend and neighbour Wolfgang Reuter, with a voyage from Bermuda back to Annapolis aboard the latter’s Bristol 45 Ru’ah. In due course Wolfgang and his partner Gemma Nachbar sponsored Westbrook’s application for OCC membership, later arranging for him to succeed Wolfgang as Port Officer for Annapolis. On learning of his win Westbrook wrote: ‘The tradition continues. When the OCC created the Port Officer Service Award in 2008 Wolfgang was the first to receive it. The outstanding hospitality I’ve enjoyed from other previous winners Gary Naigle and Greta Gustavson (Norfolk, VA) and George and Nancy Marvin (Hobe Sound, FL) gave me additional examples to follow.’ He added, ‘My wife Cindy is not a sailor but she excels at a shore party so she 8

joins me in extending a warm welcome to OCC visitors. Instead of cruising the globe, we sit at home and let the world come to us. Many arrive as sailors and leave as friends.’ His and Cindy’s hospitality is certainly appreciated by members, one of whom wrote, ‘Westbrook and his wife Cindy provide exceptional service to OCC members. He not only welcomes members to use his private dock on the South River, often for extended periods, but they also extend generous hospitality and assistance.’ Another added, ‘During our summer sailing up the Eastern Seaboard of the United States we received a Cindy and Westbrook Murphy warm welcome from all the OCC with their daughter Cameron Heutill Port Officers. They helped with research, showed us around, offered us lifts and/or the use of a vehicle and did our laundry, as well as feeding and entertaining us. Among them were Westbrook and Cindy, who made a difficult overseas trip much easier’.

 As noted opposite, it is not unusual for winners of the Port Officer Service Award to receive more than one nomination, but Natasha Wolmarans’ six (one of them from four different crews) may well be a record. Natasha was appointed POR for Richards Bay, South Africa in October 2017 and qualified for Full Membership the following year with a passage to the Seychelles aboard the Michelle Rose. A very busy lady, who combines her Port Officer duties with a full-time job and family responsibilities, Natasha nevertheless makes a point of meeting every single new arrival, in the early morning if they’ve arrived overnight or in the evening after work. Then she assists them in any way she can – as she says, ‘as a Port Officer, you’re a jack of all trades’. Among the praise on her nomination forms was, ‘Natasha welcomed us to Richards Bay in South Africa very professionally and with lots of enthusiasm ... she goes the extra mile to find out answers and/or solutions if a request is beyond her immediate knowledge.’ ‘We had the best welcome on arrival in Richards Bay. We already miss Natasha and hope to see her again when we come back next time ... we do not want to deal with robots and fill forms in on the internet, we want this human connection and Natasha brought the best kind.’ 9

Natasha Wolmarans, Port Officer for Richards Bay, South Africa Another said, ‘We, along with upwards of 60 yachts so far in this second year of Covid, have been welcomed to Richards Bay by Natasha. ... She was on the dock from 0600 until well after dark, all the while doing her normal day job. ... She has been present every day during our three weeks here, going around the boats making sure everyone has what they need and keeping the government and port officials on-side.’ Another described how Natasha has become the ‘face’ of the OCC in Richards Bay, greeting every single foreign yacht – some 110 during 2021 – with sweets for sailing kids and cold beers for thirsty skippers, and handing out SIM cards to internet-starved cruisers. She has co-ordinated sea rescues, worked tirelessly as liaison between port authorities, Immigration and Customs officials, organised PCR tests during Covid times, taken people out shopping and even managed to get time off work to take members to a game park for the day. Natasha told a South African sailing magazine about learning of her award: ‘I was having a really bad day at work and I received this e-mail from the OCC congratulating me and I think I burst into tears, I was so, so excited and so, so happy and very proud. Not the fact that it adds something to my CV, but I had worked very hard for five years ... receiving an award of recognition means a lot to me.’

 THE OCC EVENTS AND RALLIES AWARD This award recognises any Member, Port Officer or Port Officer Representative who has organised and run an exceptional rally or other event. The Events and Rallies Award makes a welcome return after not being awarded last year when Covid restrictions caused almost all the events and rallies planned for 2020 to be cancelled. It goes to Colin Campbell, Port Officer for Falmouth and John Head, Port Officer for neighbouring Helford River, with special mention of their wives Rebecca and Sue, for running one of the most enjoyable West Country Meets anyone could remember. This Meet has a long history, having started out some 30 years ago as a Saturday evening dinner at the Royal Cornwall Yacht Club on August Bank Holiday weekend. It soon expanded to include a Sunday picnic on the Helford River, which was later changed to a bring-a-plate party on an upriver pontoon on the Fal. In 2020 it was cut back to a single, 10

socially-distanced, upriver gathering, but for 2021 Colin and John decided to expand it to three days, retaining the dinner and upriver party, after which the fleet would sail round to the Helford River for dinner at the Helford River Sailing Club. Although by late August Covid restrictions had been largely relaxed this was far from certain a few months previously, so Colin, John, Rebecca and Sue had to start the forward planning well before there was any certainty the event would be able to go ahead. Their confidence was justified, as some 51 members and their guests attended over the three days with 14 boats heading upriver on Sunday. Everything ran with the smoothness only achieved by impeccable planning, and it was clear that everyone enjoyed themselves immensely throughout. An account of the Meet appeared in the December Newsletter. John’s initial response was, ‘We are all in shock re winning. It is the first thing I have been awarded, other than a speeding fine, since kindergarten!’. Colin later followed this up with a more formal response from them both: ‘Firstly, thank you for the 2021 Events and Rallies Award – neither of us have overloaded trophy cabinets so the plaques are all the more appreciated! Given the uncertainty of the Covid situation last year it was a case of fingers crossed when we decided to hold the event and we wondered whether we would have enough interest given the uncertainty at the time. As it turned out, the weather was glorious, we were full to capacity at both dinners and Covid was largely forgotten for the three days of good company on and off the water. Special thanks must go to the RCYC and the HRSC – both did us proud by pulling out all the stops to make the dinners happen so soon after the lifting of Covid restrictions. Preparations are already underway for this year’s West Country Meet in August, so here’s hoping we can capture some of the essence from last year’s event.’

Colin, Rebecca, Sue and John, the team behind the 2021 West Country Meet

THE AUSTRALIAN TROPHY First awarded in 1990, the Australian Trophy was donated by Sid Jaffe, twice Rear Commodore Australia. Carved from a solid piece of teak, it is awarded for a voyage made by an Australian member or members which starts or finishes in Australia. The winner is decided by vote of the Australian membership. The Australian Trophy for 2021 was awarded to Barry Lewis for his passage home from Italy to Australia and his meritorious seamanship in sailing Risky Business, a tender 44ft racing yacht, either singlehanded or with his wife Ros. Having left New Zealand in May 2018 and sailed to the Mediterranean via the Torres Strait and Cape Town, Barry and Ros spent most of 2019 cruising the western Mediterranean. In November they reached Ostia Marina near Rome, from where Ros flew home to Australia. Leaving Ostia in December, Barry sailed solo to Agadir, Morocco to visit his sister, and then direct to Jamaica where Ros rejoined him. They continued to Cuba but, after just five days, were given 24 hours to leave. On being refused reentry to Jamaica they continued to Panama, only to learn that the Canal was closed to smallcraft. When the Canal reopened they were ready, and were in the second group to go through. Their first stop once in the Pacific was the Marquesas where, after a short period of quarantine, they received permission to cruise French Polynesia. Then Tahiti called, and after passing Fiji and New Caledonia Risky Business reached Bundaberg, Queensland in October 2020, having logged 13,845 miles over the previous ten months. Turn to page 81 of this issue to read Barry’s story in detail. Barry’s seamanship was demonstrated by his handling of a sometimes challenging 44ft fast racing yacht, designed by the late Joe Adams for a racing crew of seven. The aluminium hull has a retracting keel which Barry always keeps down while he is sailing, only raising it to enter Pacific atolls or shallow river entrances under power. Barry was presented with the Trophy at a barbecue on 19th February organised by Regional RC Scot Wheelhouse and held at the Kuring-gai Motor Yacht Club, Cottage Point, New South Wales.

Scot Wheelhouse (centre) presents the Australian Trophy to Barry Lewis, with Barry’s wife Roslyn on the left 12

THE VERTUE AWARD The Vertue Award is presented to a member in North America for an outstanding voyage or for service to the Club. Named after Vertue XXXV, in which OCC Founder Humphrey Barton crossed the North Atlantic in 1950, it was created in 2014 to commemorate the Club’s 60th anniversary. Awardees are selected by North American Regional Rear Commodores. The Vertue Award for 2021 went to Moira and Dick Bentzel, and was presented to them during the Maine Rally held at the Camden Yacht Club on 22nd August 2021, as already reported in the December Newsletter. Moira and Dick served as Regional Rear Commodores for the North East USA from 2017 until 2020, and during that time worked tirelessly and enthusiastically to organise numerous highly successful events, luncheons and cruises, including both the OCC Maine Rally and Maine Mini-Cruise over several years. Joining in 2008 and 2010 respectively, Dick and Moira’s qualifying passage in 2009 was from Beaufort, North Carolina to Puerto Rico aboard their Westerly Corsair 36, Equinox. They have since crossed the Atlantic in her twice, cruised up and down the Eastern Seaboard multiple times, and cruised Cuba as well as their home waters in Maine. They gave generously of their time and knowledge to cruisers in both the Caribbean and the Pacific when Covid hit. As Moira describes it: Dick and Moira Bentzel with both the permanent trophy and their ‘keeper’ plaque ‘We ended up helping skippers who were caught in the Caribbean as borders were being closed, often needing to depart without crew and without full passage preparation. Actions to assist were taking place in both Atlantic and Pacific waters and, as the OCC became more and more involved in an organised effort to help, other groups such as Noonsite, the Seven Seas Cruising Association and the US Coast Guard and Fleet Control became involved. Weather conditions varied and some boats encountered engine failures or other mechanical or medical issues and were forced to turn 13

round – sometimes having to go to a different country because they weren’t allowed back into the one they had left from. Members started making lists of boats, crew members and when/where they hoped to leave from and head to, and at that point we became involved because there were incidents happening when co-ordinators in the UK were asleep. I would often receive the first e-mail when someone was in distress and needed assistance.’ Moira was part of the team which won the 2020 OCC Award for their response to the pandemic – see Retreat from Paradise in Flying Fish 2020/2. In summary, and to quote Dale Bruce – herself Regional Rear Commodore NE USA from 2009 to 2014 – who made the presentation, ‘Moira and Dick have made many outstanding contributions to the OCC and have served the Club with great distinction’.

 THE OCC JESTER AWARD Donated by the Jester Trust as a way to perpetuate the spirit and ideals epitomised by Blondie Hasler and Mike Richey aboard the junk-rigged Folkboat Jester, this award recognises a noteworthy singlehanded voyage or series of voyages made in a vessel of 30ft or less overall, or a contribution to the art of singlehanded ocean sailing. It was first presented in 2006 and is open to both members and non-members. Despite some stiff competition, the Jester Award for 2021 went to Katie McCabe, who at the age of 14 became the youngest person to sail round Great Britain singlehanded. A liveaboard since babyhood in a family of wooden boat enthusiasts, it was no surprise that Katie hankered for a boat of her own and achieved the ambition when only 12. But whereas most would have settled for a dinghy, Katie fell in love with a semi-derelict 26ft Morgan Giles-designed West Channel One Design built of mahogany on oak in 1950 and named Falanda. After nearly ten years ashore she was half full of fresh water and needed an immense amount of work. After getting her towed home to the River Exe in south Devon, Katie spent every spare moment working on her. In 2020 she sailed solo to the Isles of Scilly and back, accompanied by her father in his own boat. When her plans to cross the Atlantic were firmly quashed by her mother she came up with another challenge – sailing singlehanded round Britain. While willing to cover her for singlehanding, her insurers were adamant that there had to be a ‘responsible’ adult nearby, so her father agreed to follow her at a distance of 1½ miles. In the meantime Falanda needed more work, plus Katie – by now aged 14 – had schoolwork to keep up with and had started a Yachtmaster theory course. After a great send-off on 30th June 2021 Katie day-sailed east along the UK south coast to Cowes. Then a decision had to be made whether to press on to Brighton in a poor forecast or wait it out, a decision that lay firmly with Katie. She opted to continue, on what turned out to be a wet and windy passage, though the real challenge lay in the entry to Brighton Marina, which is narrow with a tight dog-leg. Falanda has the low topsides typical of her era and everything ended up soaked. 14

Next came the passage through the Dover Straits and round South Foreland in fog – Falanda does not have radar – with more of the same across the Thames Estuary. They encountered frustratingly light winds up the east coast, the longer overnight legs leaving both Katie and her father very tired. A pod of minke whales joined Falanda between Eyemouth and Arbroath, then it was north to Peterhead and finally west towards Inverness and the Caledonian Canal, a transit which took a little over two days in continuous rain. In Oban there was another decision to make – whether to press on to Port Ellen on Islay about 65 miles southwest in the face of bad weather, or wait it out in Oban, possibly for weeks. Having made it to Port Ellen in strong winds and swell, Katie decided to go for the longest leg of the passage, the 175 miles round the Mulls of Kintyre and Galloway to Conwy in North Wales. Approaching the Mull of Galloway in 10ft waves it became necessary to reef, a relatively unfamiliar task for Katie, but she succeeded after a struggle only for the wind to die overnight. When it picked up again next day the mainsail tack shackle failed. Stopping at the Isle of Man wasn’t an option due to Covid restrictions, but the two boats made it to Conwy after 32½ hours at sea, just ahead of more bad weather. Katie McCabe aboard Falanda

A week later they set off through the Menai Strait for Fishguard – shot through at 12 knots due to a glitch in Katie’s tidal calculations – and briefly put into Port Dinorwic. Within hours they continued to Fishguard, a longish leg made longer when Katie’s autopilot failed. It later proved to be full of water, but a replacement was sourced on a visit (by car) to Milford Haven. 15

Falanda under sail

The next leg took them across the mouth of the Bristol Channel, a beam reach in 20 knots of wind accompanied much of the way by a pod of dolphins, then round Land’s End and into Newlyn. Back on familiar territory they called in at Fowey, Plymouth and Torquay before reaching Falanda’s home port of Topsham on the River Exe and a great reception ... though left to herself Katie would have continued across the Channel to France!

One of Katie’s reasons for making her trip was to increase awareness of ocean pollution and to raise money for two ocean charities: Sea Shepherd UK and Lonely Whale. She raised more than £16,000 for Sea Shepherd, while donations to Lonely Whale were made direct. Katie kept a blog about her voyage at falandasailing.blogspot.com/ and maintains a Facebook page at www.facebook.com/falanda.sailing/. Katie is modest about her achievement, which she describes as, ‘essentially a load of individual day trips (along with a few overnighters), so it didn’t, and still doesn’t, feel like a major expedition’. She now has her sights set on the 2023 Mini Fastnet and the 2025 Mini Transat, which has a minimum age limit of 18. This will mean a new and much faster boat of course, but with her track record she shouldn’t have too much trouble finding a sponsor.

 THE OCC AWARD The Club’s oldest award, dating back to 1960, the OCC Award recognises valuable service to the OCC or to the ocean cruising community as a whole. Although separate OCC Awards can be made to members and non-members, on this occasion the two categories are combined as the recipients, Team South Pacific 2020, 16

comprises eight people of whom four are members while four are not. In alphabetical order they are Liz Back (non-member), Juan Boschetti (non-member), John Hembrow (member), John and Lyn Martin (members), Viki Moore (member), Cynthia Rasch (non-member) and Sue Richards (non-member). The team was instrumental in supporting yachts caught in Covid limbo across the Pacific in 2020. Each worked on specific aspects, co-ordinating their efforts for the best outcomes, and without their various solutions cruisers would have faced serious issues. As it was, pragmatic workarounds ensured that yachts in Covid limbo had opportunities for safe haven in suitable ports during the southern cyclone season, even if not always in the place they might have chosen. All the team members run businesses – marinas, rallies etc – and have many other commitments, yet all put aside their commercial interests and worked tirelessly to support the cruising community generally, whether clients or not. They used their knowledge, contacts and influence to gain safe outcomes for the benefit of all cruisers, even when those outcomes benefited competitor businesses, working collaboratively with the OCC and openly sharing contacts and information as situations evolved. Liz Back is Australian Honorary Consul in Panama. Immediately the Canal closed to yachts she started working with the Canal Authorities to get it re-opened first to yachts from Australia and New Zealand and then to yachts of all nationalities. When necessary she also assisted with diplomatic liaisons to facilitate various unique crew clearance and quarantine solutions. Janet with Juan Boschetti, the only one of the eight OCC Award winners able to Juan Boschetti is General attend the presentation ceremony Manager of Shelter Bay Marina at the Caribbean end of the Panama Canal and our POR for Colón. All yachts arriving in Panama were subject to strict quarantine, during which he provided much-needed assistance – see page 85 of this issue. Juan was instrumental in supporting the re-opening of the canal to yachts and encouraging special consideration for pilots and line handlers. John Hembrow from Australia is organiser of the Down Under Rally. John was tireless in seeking out suitable ports where crews could quarantine 17

John Hembrow, recently appointed Regional Rear Commodore NE Australia aboard, and later facilitated individual yacht arrivals. In collaboration with the OCC and with the support of a senior politician, in later 2020 the ‘safe haven’ border exemption process was created, which stayed in place throughout 2021. John also successfully advocated for international cruisers stuck in Australia to have their visas extended and for the temporary import of yachts to be deferred. John and Lyn Martin first cruised the South Pacific in the mid 1990s with their children, and reckon to have covered some 100,000 miles around the area in their 43ft Hartley Fijian Windflower, building up a vast store of local knowledge. Basing themselves in New Zealand, in 2015 they set up Sail South Pacific – www. sailsouthpacific.com – to make this knowledge available to others. Their established Kiwi marine industry contacts were invaluable when lobbying for yachts to be allowed entry to New Zealand and an exemption process was created with new, specific quarantine arrangements and approvals aboard. Viki Moore is based in Christchurch, New Zealand where she is Port Officer for Lyttleton. She has a background in politics and sits on the board of Yachting New Zealand. W h e n N Z ’s borders shut John and Lyn Martin in 2020 she of SV Windflower was able to use her political experience and connections to help lobby officials and Members of Parliament on behalf of the sailors who were stuck in New Zealand or separated 18

from their boats. She set up a Facebook group and a database to help stranded yachties through the process of extending their visas and deferring import duty on their boats, and continues to lobby on behalf of those wanting to return to their vessels and those in the Pacific wanting to come to New Zealand. Last year she purchased the Island Cruising NZ rally business – www. islandcruising.nz – from John and Lyn Martin and is currently planning a rally to the South Pacific. Cynthia Rasch is General Manager and CEO of Port Denarau Marina in Fiji, and was instrumental in the introduction of the ‘Blue Lane’ Covid Framework that saw Fiji reopen its maritime borders to foreign yachts in July 2020, offering safe haven to many cruisers caught in French Polynesia. She continues Viki Moore, recently appointed Regional to liaise with the government as Rear Commodore NZ and South Pacific protocols change and evolve. Of all the replies thanking the OCC for this Award Cynthia’s, dated 25th January 2022, was the most heartfelt: ‘At 7pm last night I sat at my desk drawing up the framework for Blue Lanes 3.0 and aligning it to the new changes that Fiji has recently

Cynthia Rasch with the Hon Voreqe Bainimarama, Prime Minister of Fiji

imposed. ... Exhausted, I wondered why I was still working on this, by now singlehandedly. It is without reward as no one knows who has done the legwork silently behind the scenes. ... It has taken hours of my personal time away from my family and friends and definitely given me several grey hairs that have reared prematurely! Waking up to your letter this morning was so uplifting. It makes it all worthwhile to know that all the work hasn’t been for nothing and that it has indeed made a difference far and wide. Thank you immensely for the recognition and the award, it is a great feeling to be recognised for my hard work.’ Sue Richards has been Editor of Noonsite for the past 14 years, but it was only really during the Covid pandemic that the true necessity of Noonsite emerged. With contacts worldwide and a vast library of formalities information, Sue worked hand-in-hand with the rest of Team South Pacific 2020 to document border changes and provide accurate information for boats needing to find a way through the maze of disruption. N o o n s i t e ’s t i m e l y information on port closures, entry restrictions and port re-openings began at the start of the pandemic in March 2020 and continues to this day, a vital tool for worldwide cruisers. Sue Richards of Noonsite Noonsite’s Pacific guidance echoed a similar operation for yachts crossing the Atlantic the previous summer – see Retreat from Paradise in Flying Fish 2020/2.

 THE VASEY VASE Donated by past Commodore Tony Vasey and his wife Jill, and first awarded in 1997, this handsome trophy recognises an unusual or exploratory voyage made by an OCC member or members. The Vasey Vase for 2021 was awarded to double-circumnavigators Ginger and Peter Niemann, though in any other year it might well have been the Barton Cup. The Cruising Club of America recognised their achievement with the highly prestigious Blue Water Medal. 20

Ginger and Peter Niemann receive the Vasey Vase from MC Janet Garnier Ginger and Peter began their liveaboard, cruising life in 2004 when they bought Marcy, a 47ft sloop. She was in disrepair, but they fixed her up and departed on a four-year ‘southern’ circumnavigation which took them westabout from their home in Seattle via the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Horn. Highlights included the South Pacific islands, New Zealand, Australia and Madagascar, rounding Cape Horn and exploring the Beagle and Patagonian Channels, and returning home via Hawaii and Alaska. Back in Seattle they recharged the cruising kitty, sold Marcy and replaced her with Irene, a 50ft ketch. In 2016 they departed again, this time eastabout via the Northwest Passage – only the 30th US-flagged vessel to complete the transit – down the US East Coast to Florida, across the Atlantic to the UK and then into the Mediterranean. They were in Turkey when Covid struck and, rather than remain trapped or leave Irene laid up, headed south for Port Said and the entrance to the Suez Canal. On emerging at

Peter and Ginger’s 50ft ketch Irene in Canada’s Georgia Strait in September 2016

Rowing out to Tioram Castle on Scotland’s Loch Moidart in April 2019 Suez they set off direct for Batam, Indonesia more than 5000 miles away, where they had been granted permission to stay. Crossing the Arabian Sea and Bay of Bengal in the monsoon season proved just as tough as they’d anticipated with rough seas most of the way, the silver lining being the decreased risk of pirates. On arrival in Batam it transpired that their permission to stay in Indonesia had been revoked, and while nearby Singapore allowed them to stay, they were forbidden to leave their boat. They lived aboard Irene at the Changi Sailing Club for five months, totalling nearly 300 days aboard, and on 2nd February 2021 departed for the long passage home via Japan and the Aleutian Islands. They finally returned to their home port of Ballard, a seafaring district of Seattle, in August 2021. While all long-distance voyages are challenging, Peter and Ginger’s experience brings a new meaning to the word. In addition to the anticipated challenges of wind and weather, they persevered in the face of Covid, enduring extended on-board quarantine. To quote their Blue Water Medal citation, ‘Their teamwork, courage, good humour, flexibility and innovative spirit are evidence of their exceptional personal and sailing mettle. During these uncertain and difficult times, their persistence and ingenuity are truly inspiring.’

 THE OCC ENVIRONMENT AWARD Presented for the first time this year, the OCC Environment Award was suggested by OCC Member Jonathan Webster as a memorial to HRH The Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. It recognises cruisers who contribute towards the environment, or cruisers who raise issues pertinent to the environment especially where ocean cruising is concerned. The inaugural OCC Environment Award goes to Richard and Stephanie Hackett of Sea Mercy. This non-profit charity, whose motto is ‘Sailing with a higher purpose’, organises the delivery of humanitarian aid and disaster relief to the island 22

nations of the South Pacific. It currently specialises in distributing portable solar- and generator-driven desalination units and reusable water filters across this vast area in the wake of natural disasters, all delivered by a volunteer fleet of private yachts. Several OCC Members are involved, either making deliveries or as co-ordinators. Visit their website at www.seamercy.org/. Richard Hackett told us more about Sea Mercy and its aims when thanking the OCC for the Award: ‘It’s such an honour for my wife and me to be awarded the Ocean Cruising Club Environment Award. With so many environmental needs around the world, and so many incredible organisations doing their best to address them, this truly is an honour. As I told the Commodore when he notified us of this award, it should really be going to all the Sea Mercy volunteer chaptains who are on the front lines for us, but my request for an additional 350 individual plaques to be mailed out was politely refused! Although we often get the majority of the kudos and recognition for all the incredible work our volunteers do across the South Pacific, we’ve also been nearly keel-hauled a few times by our island nation partners for some unwise, although well-intentioned, decisions our captains have made on our behalf without prior approval. Receiving an award like this reminds us that it’s worth the risks – besides, they say love covers over a multitude of sins, and we love our volunteer captains and crew. Although Sea Mercy programmes focus on disaster response, health care and economic development, our goal is to ‘do no harm, while doing good’. Since its founding ten years ago Sea Mercy has responded to five Category 5 cyclones in the South Pacific, and with each disaster we learn something new about how we can improve on our efforts. One such area was addressing the ecological disasters that international aid organisations were creating while providing emergency drinking water ... unfortunately they were unknowingly doing harm, while doing good. Delivering emergency food, shelter and clean drinking water are generally the top three goals of disaster response agencies, and their solution for the latter is to deliver tens of thousands of plastic water bottles to the affected island communities. Unfortunately, once the contents are consumed the majority end up scattered across the island and floating inside their reefs for decades to come. We knew there had to be a better way and started putting it in motion. With financial and in-kind support from the yachting community, we began collecting solar desalination units at our base at Port Denarau, Fiji. With a little training these portable units proved to be self-sustaining, produced enough clean water for a village, and could be delivered and set up by our volunteer vessels to deliver clean drinking water to stricken 23

Jonathan Robinson explaining how to operate and maintain a Sea Mercy portable solar desalination unit A completed solar desalination unit ready to start work

communities within days of a disaster. When the need has passed we pick them up, have them refurbished and put them back in storage for the next emergency. They eliminate the need to deliver plastic water bottles wherever Sea Mercy vessels respond. It obviously didn’t need a rocket scientist to come up with this solution – we probably couldn’t find one in our volunteer fleet even if we tried! – it just required someone to question what is viewed as normal and think outside the box for a better solution. If you think about it, that pretty much describes a yacht skipper, always needing to find a way to fix something that was designed by someone who did not truly understand how it was going to be used in real life. Sea Mercy’s motto of ‘Sailing with a greater purpose’ is really about empowering our volunteer captains to do just that wherever they sail – to question the norm, and then work with the Sea Mercy leadership in developing new ways to help others. This partnership of minds and purpose has allowed Sea Mercy and the yachting community to make a difference wherever we sail in the world.’

 THE OCC SEAMANSHIP AWARD Donated by Past Commodore John Franklin and first presented in 2013, this award recognises feats of exceptional seamanship and/or bravery at sea. It is open to both members and non-members. The OCC Seamanship Award for 2021 goes to singlehanders George Arnison of Good Report and Duncan Lougee of Minke, in recognition of their outstanding seamanship during the 2021 Jester Azores Challenge – jesterchallenge.wordpress.com/ – from 24

Plymouth to Praia da Vitória on the island of Terceira in the Azores. Both were adamant that Roger Taylor also deserved considerable credit for co-ordinating the rescue, as for the first five days they had no direct communication whenever darkness or weather conditions forced the two boats apart – it was only through text messages to and from Roger that they could check each other’s position and re-establish contact. Roger also provided advice and encouragement and – although Duncan and George never required their help – liaised with the maritime authorities who were monitoring the situation. On 1st July Minke, a 25ft Folkboat, was lying to a drogue in gale-force George Arnison, joint winner of the conditions 380 miles northeast of Seamanship Award, with MC Henry DiPietro Terceira, the northeasternmost of the nine Azorean islands. Good Report, a solidly-built 30ft 9in wooden yacht, was some 40 miles to leeward, hove-to and also reporting force 8–9. That afternoon Minke’s rudder became detached from the trailing edge of her keel, leaving the yacht helpless. George received a satellite message from Roger asking if he could go to Minke’s assistance, and immediately started the long beat to windward in search of the crippled boat. In deteriorating conditions Good Report encountered problems of her own Minke under tow. Good Report was under sail, not power

when the genoa furling line parted, but George continued their beat to windward, sometimes heaving-to in the galeforce conditions. It took him two days to reach Minke. On arrival George could see that Duncan had succeeded in removing the damaged rudder and was attempting to sail using a jury-rigged replacement, and for a while both boats continued towards Good Report on arrival at Praia da Vitória. Terceira. However, after Photo John Willis a few hours the Folkboat’s emergency rudder failed and George stood by while Duncan sought an alternative solution. Eventually he managed to get Minke sailing in roughly the right direction by balancing the sail plan, but with no rudder Minke would only track at around 40° to the wind. Duncan sailed Minke 240 miles south in gradually easing conditions, with Good Report remaining nearby. On 6th July, with several hundred miles remaining and the wind direction no longer favourable, the two men decided on a tow. George and Good Report towed Minke, under sail alone, for 232 of the remaining 289 miles in a range of wind conditions, replacing broken tow lines as necessary and even using a spinnaker for 6½ hours and 23 miles, though rough weather, including a force 9 gale, repeatedly forced both boats to heave-to. Perhaps the final word should go to George Arnison: ‘The Jester Azores Challenge turned out to be quite an adventure, though possibly not in the way I had anticipated. It certainly tested boat and skipper alike, and both Minke and Good Report demonstrated the ocean seaworthiness of well-found small boats of traditional long keel design. I think Duncan, Roger and I all took particular satisfaction that we were able to uphold the Jester tradition of self-reliance and good seamanship to get Minke safely home without the need for external assistance. A friend told me that he could find very few records of one sailing boat towing another, under sail, for any distance, so I thought it might be worth recording that of the nine days and 681 logged miles that it took us to make Praia da Vitória, Good Report towed Minke for 3 days and 8 hours at an average speed of around 2∙9 knots and in conditions from force 3 to force 6, all under sail with no use of the engine. On 11th July we crossed the Jester Azores Challenge finish line at Praia da Vitória like that, together and without assistance.’ 26

THE OCC LIFETIME AWARD First presented in 2018 and open to both members and non-members, the OCC Lifetime Award recognises a lifetime of noteworthy ocean voyaging or other significant achievement in the sailing world. The Lifetime Award for 2021 was made posthumously to James Wharram, who sadly passed away on 14th December 2021 at the age of 93 – see page 231 of this issue. Although James came from a non-sailing background – he was born in Manchester in 1928 – he became fascinated by Polynesian double canoes after reading Éric de Bisschop’s The Voyage of the Kaimiloa as a teenager. Starting small in the early 1950s, one of his first designs was the 23ft 5in Tangaroa in which he, Ruth Merseburger and Jutta Schultze-Rhonhof sailed from Falmouth to Trinidad via the Canaries in 1955. There they built the 40ft Rongo in which they sailed north up the US East Coast to New York, where he was invited to appear on a TV quiz show together with mountaineer Sir Edmund Hillary. Sir Edmund ensured that James won, enabling him to buy a radio for the passage back to the UK, the first such voyage to be made by a multihull. Nearly all James’s voyages were made aboard vessels that he designed and built himself with the help of his largely female workforce – he was very aware that most Wharram catamarans were built by amateurs and provided economical entry-level cruising for many with limited finances. Despite production catamarans now outnumbering them, Wharram designs

Hanneke Boon receiving the Lifetime Cruising Award on behalf of the late James Wharram

Tangaroa in Falmouth in 1955 27

maintain a loyal following and have made some notable voyages, including that of Rory McDougall who received the 2015 Jester Medal for circumnavigating aboard Cooking Fat, a 21ft Wharram-designed Tiki. In addition to seven Atlantic crossings – see Two Girls Two Catamarans (1968) and People of the Sea (2020) – during the 1990s James, his long-time companions Ruth Merseburger and Hanneke Boon and their son Jamie, plus other crew for various legs, made a five-year circumnavigation aboard his 63ft Spirit of Gaia – one of the larger vessels to have transited the world’s two major canals propelled only by outboards. At the age of 80 James made one last notable voyage in the Pacific, the 4000 mile Lapita Voyage, to demonstrate that the canoes of the Polynesians were capable of migrating from southeast Asia to the Pacific islands, despite these lying to windward. James remained active as a designer until shortly before his death. He was also an authority on traditional design and construction methods worldwide, always viewed with a designer/builder’s eye rather than from a more academic perspective. Finally, he was a fine writer, writing several books and many magazine articles. His autobiography People of the Sea, written with Hanneke Boon, was reviewed in Flying Fish 2021/1 and is highly recommended. Hanneke was invited to attend the Annual Dinner and accept the Award on behalf of James, and spoke about him and their time together: ‘Following James’s death I was kept very busy and received hundreds of messages of condolence from all round the world. Then I was asked by German friends if I would like to join them on their 65ft Wharram catamaran to cross the Atlantic in January. It did not take me long to decide this would give me time to adjust to a new life without James, to reconnect with the ocean and have peace to remember our life Spirit of Gaia, aboard which James, Ruth, Hanneke and their son Jamie circumnavigated in the 1990s

James in 2015 checking the lines of their latest design, the 24ft Mana. Hanneke always made the models

together whilst watching the ocean waves and starry skies. The day before our departure from Lanzarote I received an e-mail from the OCC telling me James had been chosen to receive a posthumous Lifetime Award. I know James would have been delighted as he really valued the Award of Merit that he received in 2013 and which led to us both joining the OCC. However, his response to the award would have been that he did not achieve what he did alone. To the sailing world James Wharram was a pioneer of sailing catamarans, the vocal, charismatic motivator whose name became a legend, but he would always admit that he would not have become this without his two lifetime partners and soul mates, Ruth and myself. James’ early, pioneering voyages in the 1950s on Polynesianinspired double canoes were achieved with the strong support of Ruth Merseburger (later Wharram), who was his navigator both at sea and in his life path. Throughout her 62 years with James she was the person who organised the business side of things, who sent out the plans, communicated with all the Wharram builders and managed the finances for building new boats. She was James’ rock and the mother of the Wharram world. She died in 2013 at the age of 92. From the early 1970s I also became part of the Wharram team, adding my drawing and designing skills. For nearly 50 years James and I worked as co-designers, co-researchers in our studies of canoe craft and sailing partners. My instructional drawings were essential in enabling our builders to create their beautiful boats. The last thing we worked on together was our autobiography, People of the Sea, which was published in October 2020. With its appearance James had achieved everything he wanted to do in this life. So I would like to accept this award on behalf of the Wharram team of James, Ruth and myself, for our joint achievements. I will of course continue to design and, via our website at www.wharram.com/, to support our many builders.’ 29

THE OCC BARTON CUP The Club’s premier award, named after OCC Founder Humphrey Barton and donated by his adult children, twins Peter Barton and Pat Pocock, the Barton Cup was first presented in 1981. It recognises an exceptional or challenging voyage or series of voyages made by an OCC member or members. The very popular winner of the Barton Cup for 2021 was Dustin Reynolds for his 7½ year solo Dustin Reynolds, winner of the Barton Cup for 2021, circumnavigation starting with Randall Reeves, winner for 2019 and ending in Kona, Hawaii. 2019 Barton Cup winner Randall Reeves was invited to introduce Dustin to the audience and to make the presentation – of the very Cup he would have received himself two years ago had the 2020 Annual Dinner not been cancelled – see Flying Fishes 2020/1, 2020/2 and 2021/1. In Randall’s words: ‘Dustin came to sailing in an unusual way. One night in October 2008 he was riding his motorcycle not far from his home on the Big Island of Hawaii when he was hit headon by a drunk d r i v e r. A m o n g other injuries, that accident violently Dustin tells those present about his circumnavigation 30

severed his left arm and mangled his left leg beyond recovery. In a hospital bed hours later, doctors gave Dustin the choice of spending his last few minutes with family or undergoing a difficult surgery that they thought probably wouldn’t work. He chose surgery and he survived. Three years later Dustin was without money, job or purpose. Then one day he discovered a circumnavigator’s list on the Joshua Slocum Society website. He noted that no person like himself had made the record books and suddenly he had a goal – he would somehow buy a boat and be the first double-amputee to sail solo around the world. Problem: he didn’t know how to sail. Solution: YouTube and books. In June of 2014 Dustin cast off alone from Kona, Hawaii in a 46-yearold Alberg 35 named Rudis with $20 to his name. His first ocean passage ever was from Hawaii to Palmyra, nearly 1000 miles. The following year in Thailand he sold Rudis (she was very old and her engine had died – in fact, she soon sank on her mooring) and bought a 1983-built Bristol 35.5 which he named Tiama. Illustrative of Dustin’s grit is that Tiama hadn’t the luxury of self-tailing halyard or mainsail reefing winches. How do you grind and tail a main up the mast or secure a reef to the boom with a single arm? Answer: you tail with your teeth! Throughout 2018 and 2019 Dustin sailed with his teeth across the Indian Ocean, stopping in Sri Lanka, the Chagos Archipelago, Madagascar and Mozambique before reaching South Africa. In the last of these he salvaged an old self-tailer and then was gifted a self-tailing mast winch by the Royal Cape Yacht Club. Dustin aboard Tiama, the yacht in which he completed his circumnavigation

Dustin welcomed home in the traditional Hawaiian manner

Dustin completed his amazing solo circumnavigation via the Panama Canal, returning to Kona in December 2021, 7½ years after departure. Equally as impressive as his voyage, however, is how Dustin undertook it. According to one of his nominators for this award, “Being alone and moving slowly allowed Dustin to become a part of the communities he visited, and in so doing he accumulated a wealth of experiences that most circumnavigators can only dream of. As he has travelled, Dustin has always been quick to help others, and in turn he has been the recipient of a generosity without which this incredible life experience would not have been possible.” In the words of another, “Dustin has given many motivational talks during his circumnavigation, demonstrating by his own example that almost any obstacle can be overcome with determination and perseverance. Following his accident and slow recovery his aim was to seek a different way of life, and the life he chose is an inspiration to all of us.” On a personal note, I’ve spent a few cold, dirty nights at the mast attempting to convince the mainsail to play nicely ... and I’ve often wished I had a third arm and leg. Given that, I’m even more impressed that Dustin had the courage to dream so big and follow it through.’ Dustin received the OCC Seamanship Award for 2018 for ‘his outstanding courage and tenacity as a double-amputee in setting out to circumnavigate alone’, at which time he was about halfway around the world, followed by an OCC Challenge Grant to assist with his expenses. Turn the page to read Sailing Around the World Alone, Part 1, Dustin’s account of the first half of his unique circumnavigation, and visit his website/blog at thesinglehandedsailor.com/. 32

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SAILING AROUND THE WORLD ALONE, Part 1 Dustin Reynolds (Dustin received the 2018 OCC Seamanship Award for the first part of his circumnavigation, much of which he describes below. As documented on the previous pages he has now been awarded the Barton Cup for his completed voyage, after arriving home in Hawaii in December 2021. Part Two of Dustin’s circumnavigation account is planned for Flying Fish 2022/2. In addition to the chartlet on page 42 which shows Dustin’s route from Darwin, Australia to Krabi, Thailand, his passage across the Pacific appears in dark blue on the chartlet on page 170. Visit thesinglehandedsailor.com/ for more information about Dustin, and share.garmin. com/dustinreynolds to follow his track around the world in more detail. Rudis, Dustin’s Alberg 35, features on the cover of this issue.) With the exception of a non-stop journey, sailing around the world alone is a succession of passage preparation, passages, boat repairs, bureaucracy, sundowners, adventure, rinse, wash, repeat. There are a few tough spots to sail to because of weather, customs and crime, but for the most part it is not too tough. One just needs a bit of courage to throw off the dock lines, a bit of self-reliance, some sort of income and faith that it will all work if one wants to become part of one of the most exclusive clubs in the world. Most cruising sailors have a story about what made them set out to sea and it’s one of the most common questions from other cruising sailors. It is not easy leaving the comfort of home and easy access to parts and service to sail off to foreign parts and most sailors need a not-so-gentle nudge. Because of this there is a far greater number of sailors wanting to sail around the world than of those actually doing it. The not-so-gentle nudge for me came in 2008 when I was in a head-on collision with a drunk driver. The crash resulted in me losing my left arm and foot, being sued for US $440,000 by my health insurance company, and my entire community coming together to help put back the pieces of my life. I had a four-year struggle to learn to walk again, pay off an IRS debt and file for bankruptcy. Then suddenly there was a day when I was walking well, my bankruptcy was complete and I dropped off my last cheque to the IRS. All that remained to my name was an out-of-maintenance carpet cleaning business and a fishing boat. With no cash or credit I did not see an easy way to rebuild my business so started looking for other options. Randomly I came across the slocumsociety.com* and noticed there was no double amputee on their list of recordsetting solo circumnavigators. So, like anyone in my position, I sold my remaining assets for $12,000, bought a $12,000 sailboat, and decided to be the first double amputee to sail around the world alone. * No longer accessible, sadly, as the Joshua Slocum Society International disbanded in 2011 after 56 years documenting the achievements of solo circumnavigators. Some of the information it contained is still available at www.stexboat.com/slocum/ slocum.htm. 34

Rudis on a mooring in Kona, Hawaii My first cruising partner was a 1968 Alberg 35 which had seen better days and which I named Rudis. A ‘rudis’ is a wooden practice sword that gladiators used. If a gladiator won his freedom he was given a rudis as proof he was no longer a slave. Rudis had just finished a circumnavigation with her previous owner, Jonas. She was not the best boat I looked at but she was the only one with an experienced circumnavigator as the owner and, since I had never sailed before, I felt this was my best option. Jonas agreed to give me a few sailing lessons and sail back to Hawaii’s Big Island with me from Oahu if I bought the boat. I was sold. The trip was light and downwind so I really didn’t learn much and because of scheduling issues I never did get the sailing lessons. Jonas was always quick to answer questions via e-mail, however, which was beyond price. It took a year to get Rudis to a condition where I thought she was ready for another lap. I ordered used sails, added a few solar panels and installed new batteries. When I thought she was ready to go, my friend Brandon and I decided to cruise the Hawaiian islands to test the boat and me. At this point I still had only a single day of sailing experience, the downwind trip from Oahu to Hawaii with Jonas, but I had nearly a year of books and YouTube teaching videos under my belt so I felt ready for a shakedown cruise. Our trip started with the Alenuihaha Channel between Big Island and Maui, which is one of the roughest parts of the Pacific Ocean. My vast one day of sailing experience was evident since I sheeted the wind vane backwards, took waves through open hatches, and dragged my reefing lines and halyards in the drink. Luckily for us Rudis was a tough boat and forgave my inexperience. We became better sailors with every trip and after a month of island-hopping I felt ready. My last month in Hawaii consisted of lots of boat work, goodbyes and a pretty wild going-away party/benefit concert which raised enough money for a watermaker and electric windlass. (I highly recommend both of these to cruising sailors.) When I finally untied from the dock on 18th June 2014 I had $20 left in my bank account, one month of sailing experience and a boat overloaded with food and whiskey. It was my first time ever sailing – or even leaving a harbour – alone. 35

A resident lemon shark that followed me on my snorkelling excursions

Hanging out with Rain the booby in Palmyra

Looking for nesting boobies in Palmyra

The 940-mile passage to Palmyra Atoll was my first ocean voyage. There were no communications on board other than VHF and my American cell phone, so I stayed close to shore for the 40-mile passage down the coast to call my friends and family and say my last goodbyes. As I sailed past South Point a squall came in. I went out to reef the genoa and by the time I returned to my phone there was no signal. I was alone. The nine-day passage to Palmyra was pretty simple. I basically just adjusted the headsail for squalls and got used to cooking at sea. My only breakage on the trip was the line holding my fruit hammock, which turned it into an apple slingshot with surprising accuracy. I had a moment of panic when closing Palmyra. Since it is only 2m above sea level at its highest point I still could not see it from 10 miles out, but after a few moments of checking every GPS and paper chart on board I started hearing radio traffic from the research camp. Whew! Giant coconut crabs patrol the trees and beaches in Palmyra At the time I didn’t realise how rare a place Palmyra was. There were untouched corals, countless sharks and big predator fish on the reefs. Boobies, frigatebirds and terns were nesting in the trees and on the ground. Giant coconut crabs patrolled the beaches and the trees. I felt like I was in a National Geographic special only missing David Attenborough narrating it. During my two weeks there I got to know the Nature Conservancy employees and coral scientists. We snorkelled the reefs twice a day and I would hang out with Rain the booby in between. It was unreal. The passage from Palmyra to Fanning was a tricky one along the Intertropical Convergence Zone – seven days of thunderstorms to travel 200 miles. I had a favourable current but very little wind other than in the thunderstorms. When I arrived an official told me there’d be a $500 fine because I didn’t have clearance paperwork from Palmyra. I explained this was not possible since Palmyra is a privately-owned atoll and offered the $20 I had on board. I also brought a lot of supplies from Hawaii and Palmyra to give to the locals. He did not care and sent me on my way. With no other option I raised anchor and sailed for American Samoa to get my paperwork sorted. 37

300 miles from Pago Pago I was becalmed. The wind went from trades to light and variable. Now I’d know this was probably caused by a low pressure system nearby and motor to the nearest shelter, but I was still green then and just waited for the wind – which came at 30–50 knots for days. I hove to until I needed to set the storm trysail to avoid drifting onto American Samoa. My Monitor windvane worked admirably and I sailed slowly upwind, staying offshore. My only failure was the deck seam which split into a small crack, allowing a lot of water to get below. After initial panic and thoughts of the liferaft I searched for the leak, then T-shirts and plastic bags stuffed into the crack slowed it to a manageable level and I sailed on. The entrance to Pago Pago My first time crossing the in rough conditions is still Equator one of the trickiest I’ve ever done. There were breakers everywhere making the markers difficult to see and I just had to trust that my GPS would lead me through. Luckily the anchor held at the first attempt. I was instructed by VHF to dinghy in for customs, but it was still blowing up to 35 knots so I told them this would be impossible for my flat-bottomed Avon with its 2hp outboard, whereupon Mahi chimed in and offered to bring me in by RIB. This was my first anchorage with other cruising boats and within moments of dropping the hook the cruising community was already helping me out. My leak was easily fixed in a few hours with a bit of fibreglass and epoxy. I then spent the next few weeks exploring American Samoa, which was really nice despite what I’d read in some cruising guides. There was also some of the best provisioning in the Pacific, kind people, $2 buses to anywhere on the island and amazing hikes. Soon it was time to move on and, once the weather and seas calmed down and I saw a decent weather window, I was off to Niuatoputapu in the Tonga group. 38

Meeting the bishop of Tonga at Niuatoputapu Island Moments after arriving in Tonga Alan, who was sailing a Chris Whitedesigned Atlantic 57, dinghied over and invited me to dinner. We became fast friends and still are today. When I got to Fiji my gearbox failed, but Alan said it wasn’t a problem and to just sail everywhere. I had never sailed off an anchor and was still intimidated about using my mainsail, so he came aboard and gave me my first and only sailing lesson. We sailed off and on the anchor and tacked around the Fijian reefs. I learned skills that I probably should have learned before setting off on a trip around the world. While hanging out at Vuda Marina in Fiji another new cruising friend named Brett offered to help with my broken gearbox if I helped deliver his boat from Fiji to New Zealand. I informed Brett of my limited sailing experience, but he said he’d seen me come into Pago Pago alone and trusted me. After a rough trip to New Zealand Brett asked if I would stay on board and skipper the boat on to Australia. He paid me generously and when I returned to Rudis in Fiji I got a new gearbox and fixed up Rudis to the best condition I ever saw her in. This delay also gave me another season in the South Pacific. Winner of the dinghy race at Vuda Marina, Fiji 39

Feed me, Seymour! * A giant clam in Fiji From Fiji I continued on to Vanuatu and the Solomon Islands. I had been planning on going up through Micronesia, but the engine’s heat exchanger failed and since I thought it would be easier to get parts in Australia I decided to head there instead. I also had a few encounters with local pirates so cut my Solomon Islands cruise short. I made a quick stop in the Louisiade Archipelago and then sailed to Thursday Island in Australia’s Torres Strait, arriving in September 2015. The passage through the barrier reef to Thursday Island was one of the toughest to do solo in my entire trip. One cannot anchor anywhere before checking in, and it took me over 48 hours dodging ships and reefs before I could drop the hook and rest. I even had a moment where I started hallucinating and thought there was someone on board holding a bucket until I realised it was just a bucket I had * A memorable sequence from the 1986 film Little Shop of Horrors.

Rudis in Uraparapara, Vanuatu

With the best coconut collectors in Uraparapara hanging on the dinghy outboard. Australia was a great place to work on the boat and the favourable US$/AU$ exchange rate along with duty free parts made it surprisingly affordable. During my week on Thursday Island I got the heat exchanger welded up, went to an Aboriginal feast, saw some local art and again had local yachties lending a hand when I needed it. It was a nice downwind trip to Darwin, with amazing fishing. Darwin has massive tidal changes, huge saltwater crocodiles and beer philanthropy. It was difficult to buy drinks or pick up tabs at the Dinah Beach Cruising Yacht Association with so many philanthropic Aussies around. There was also amazing provisioning at the grocery stores and duty free fuel, making this a perfect launching point for Southeast Asia. The passage to Kupang in Indonesia was a light/no wind affair and in the middle of the passage I was becalmed for three days near a bunch of oil rigs, but after having so many engine problems I was afraid to use it for the last few hundred miles. One night while sleeping my AIS alarm went off. I saw the offending ship was going in a different direction, so cleared the alarm and went back to sleep. Shortly afterwards I was rudely awoken by a fog horn and saw the massive The 200lb yellowfin tuna I caught off bow of a ship from my bunk. I hopped to the coast of Australia. I just barely got my VHF, which was on Channel 16, and it on board before the sharks arrived hailed the ship. They told me a tanker was coming in and because of security protocol I needed to move 10 miles. I mentioned my questionable engine and they offered a tow if I needed one, but luckily the engine fired up and took me the rest of the way to Indonesia. Checking into Indonesia in late October 2015 was the most complicated of my trip thus far. Even after getting my visa in Australia and paying US $350 for a CAIT* the agents said they needed * A Cruising Application for Indonesian Territory, replaced in 2017 by the YachtERS (yacht Electronic Registration System). 41

another $200 for official bribes. Two other boats checked in at the same time as me and paid the $200, but I went with a $40 taxi to try to save some money. The officials kept trying to delay me, saying ‘come back tomorrow’ and I simply said I couldn’t afford another taxi. They grumbled but stamped my paperwork. The only fee I paid was $5 to quarantine, while the other boats ended up paying an additional $200 in bribes. I’m not sure if the agent was working against them or if the officials simply took pity on me. Kupang was a nice town and had amazing food, as was the case in all of Indonesia, though there was a sickening amount of plastic in the water – another thing common to all of SE Asia. With some fresh provisions it was time to go to the Komodo Islands! It is hard to put into words how amazing the south anchorage in Rinca Island, southeast of Komodo, is. Dolphins were pretty much always around and the Komodo dragons would patrol the beaches in the afternoon. I used both of my tanks on the first day and they were both amazing dives. In the evening a liveaboard dive charter would come in and drop off some scraps to get the komodos out on display for their guests. I swung by with a pack of cigarettes and my two empty tanks and they happily filled them for me. I spent the next seven days doing this on repeat, but started to get a bit tired of being alone so visited Komodo Island for a few days to see the dragons up close and meet the villagers. Just after dropping anchor a man came by on a ting ting (a small boat powered by a single cylinder engine ... makes a ‘ting ting’ sound) who wanted to sell pearls. He first asked $100 for a necklace and $20 for a bracelet. I told him I had no money on board but gave him a beer – we drank two beers together and he gave me the necklace and bracelet. I asked if they had somewhere to dump some rubbish and he nodded ‘yes’, 42

I’m glad the komodos were in a chill mood but sadly I saw him throw the bag overboard as he neared the village. The Komodos were my favourite cruising grounds so far, but it was getting pretty lonely with the Indonesian language barrier. Sailing from the Komodos to the Gili Islands is tricky, with very little wind and tons of fishing boats and nets. The fishermen will yell and wave their arms as you approach, but giving no indication as to which way you should go around them. Luckily I didn’t catch any nets, but I did wrap my prop in woven plastic rice bags a few times. They were not too tough to remove as long as you shut down the motor right away, and my 24hp diesel was not powerful enough to melt the bags so would just shut itself down. The Gili Islands were quite a surprise after a month in the Komodos. There were speed boats, dive charters, parasailing and lots of beachside bars. Moments after dropping the hook a German named Harry swam over from his catamaran With some of the people of Komodo Island 43

and invited me over for dinner. It was my first time having a full conversation in English in over a month and we became instant friends. We would dive and adventure during the day, then enjoy drinks and games at night. After a few weeks we decided to sail up north. My plan was to continue on to Borneo and Harry’s to return to Bali after doing some diving at the uninhabited islands along the way, but sadly after the first hop my transmission started slipping again – the plastic bags wrapping my prop probably did not help – so we both sailed down to Serangan Island near Bali where I could hopefully fix my boat. Sailing to Serangan from Northern Bali is stunning. The landscape and the thousands of local fishing boats sailing back in with colourful sails are unreal. Some of Harry’s friends let me use their mooring while I got my engine repaired, which ended up taking ten months. Three times I attempted to set off for Malaysia and three times I made it less than 5 miles before needing to be towed back to my mooring. My gearbox failed again, the engine seized and the forestay dropped onto the deck in less than 10 knots of wind. I had no money for any of these things but Harry and other friends kept giving/lending me money. My fourth time leaving Serangan I got a Balinese blessing on Rudis before I left. There were different levels of blessings, with the most effective involving sacrificing a live chicken. I really did not want chicken blood on the boat so went with the second most effective. If I had been towed in again the chicken would have gone down. It is approximately 1800 miles from Bali to Langkawi. My engine was barely working, the gearbox was slipping and the alternator functioning solely as a pulley. Because of a storm in the southern Indian Ocean I had 24 days of thunderstorms and doldrums on the first 900 miles to the Mentawi Islands off the west coast of Sumatra. After 21 days of frustration and swearing, Rudis had become a fish aggregation device and a whale shark swam up. I try never to leave the boat at sea, but after days of no wind I jumped in and my spirits were lifted by my fellow swimmer. A breeze came the next day and I finally sailed into the Mentawi in July 2016. The islands off west Sumatra are incredible, with lots of welcoming surf camps and local villages, all with amazing food. I spent a few months making my way north with the light breezes until I saw a good weather report that could take me the rest of the way to Langkawi, Malaysia. There was a woman named Jamie whom I’d spent time with in Bali who was meeting me there and my dad lived in Thailand. I was looking forward to a break in my trip and really looking forward to seeing my dad and Jamie. The trip around Pulau Wei and across the Malacca Strait was rough but fast, and with several lanes of ships going between 12 and 20 knots I felt like I was playing Frogger*. At one point I hailed a ship to which I was going to make a close approach and suggested a course change. The ship responded, ‘No problem, and there’s a sailboat out here that does not show up on our radar’. I almost responded, ‘that’s me’, but let it go. At least they could see me. Jamie was on the dock when I arrived in Langkawi. I was pretty beat up from the trip but immediately felt better seeing a familiar face. We spent a few weeks cruising around the island and looking for ways to fix up Rudis. My dad convinced me that it * An arcade game dating from 1981, in which the player helps a frog travel from the bottom of the screen to the top. Hazards include a busy road and a fast-flowing river. 44

Rudis at anchor in Port Vila, Vanuatu

would be easier in Thailand, so we made our way north, stopping in some amazing spots on the way to Koh Phi Phi. But it was tough sailing during the monsoon season and sadly Jamie was feeling pretty green the whole way. While Jamie was making dinner one night I heard a scream from the galley. There had been an accident with the pressure cooker and Jamie had second degree burns on her face, stomach and foot. We spent the evening in the hospital and I got a room for her the next day. We ended up taking a ferry to where my dad lived in Krabi so she could recover in better comfort than on my boat. My dad came with me back to Koh Phi Phi and we sailed to Krabi together. I had no idea this would be my last time sailing Rudis. On the way into the Krabi river I hit an uncharted rock and was stranded for the tide. Every time a boat went by Rudis would bang on the rock until she started taking water through the rudder seal. When the tide rose we were able to get in and I brought her into Krabi Boat Lagoon. I had no money, but she had to be hauled out to fix the leak – otherwise she would sink. Rudis was a mess, Jamie was hurt and I was fatigued. I felt like I had failed and just wanted a break from the boat work. After a lot of talk Jamie convinced me to start a GoFundMe* page. This was a scary idea. What if nobody donated? Even worse, what if I raised enough money to be expected to continue but not enough to make Rudis ready for the Indian Ocean crossing? Until this point I had avoided the media because I did not want pressure on my trip. By asking people to help finance it I was committing to finish it. I started the GoFundMe page. * GoFundMe is an online crowd-funding platform which allows people to raise money for anything from celebrations to accidents and illnesses. 45

400 MILES WITH THE WIND AND SUN Pete Weller (Pete’s been sailing since before he can remember, and was just a few months old when he had his first night afloat on Butley Creek! He now spends summers on Celsius. He and Rosie met while he was on the boat in Falmouth. She hadn’t sailed much beyond the safe confines of Falmouth Bay, but hasn’t looked back since joining him! Celsius is a 1974-built Hustler 30, with fin and skeg underwater configuration. The class’s displacement is subject to dispute, with different sources quoting either 4·3 or 3∙4 tonnes, though all agree that nearly half is ballast. Her route from Falmouth, Cornwall to Butley Creek, Suffolk is shown in red on the chartlet on page 104.) Just before the third lockdown in January 2021, Rosie and I decided to escape Falmouth Harbour for an overnight stay on the Helford. After eagerly rowing over to Celsius and getting everything ready it was time to drop the mooring and head off. The batteries needed charging, so we decided to motor out of the harbour for some juice ... but the engine wouldn’t start. Although we tend to sail on and off moorings and anchors, we decided that it might be considered irresponsible to go sailing in the midst of a pandemic knowing the engine was out of commission. We resigned ourselves to a night on the mooring. Engines have always been an afterthought for me. My brother and I used to sail the family cruiser on and off her mooring on the Alde. She had a combination padlock for the companionway so we could get aboard easily, but our parents were always in possession of the engine key! Later, I would sail my first small cruiser (a Kingfisher 20) into and out of her marina berth in Southampton as I never managed to will myself to get

Pete and Rosie aboard Celsius

Celsius running downwind … an outboard. The decision to stay on the mooring, therefore, particularly stung. I was also keenly conscious of the impact of diesel emissions and their negative contributions to the natural environment, so the seeds were sown for a plan to re-power Celsius with an electric motor. In order to complete the conversion on a tight budget we decided on a Lynch electric motor backed up by a 100Ah 48V lithium iron battery bank, charged by solar power*. We kept the battery bank small – and the range short – as we primarily consider the motor a tool for anchoring and mooring up. This allowed us to keep costs under £9000 after selling the old diesel engine. We did most of the work ourselves over the course of two weeks at Freeman’s Wharf Boatyard, possibly the friendliest yard on the Penryn River and filled with beautiful wooden pilot cutters to boot! It was here that we learnt about some of the early Baker electric cars and the charging network which existed in New York in the early 1900s. These cars were maintenance-free and could do 100 miles on a charge. It was eye-opening to realise for just how long the technology we were about to use had been around. The arrival of the new motor was a watershed moment for us. The old engine had been craned out – it just about fitted through the companionway – whereas the new motor was carried aboard with one hand. Reactions as we left the boatyard for the first time were priceless, “Are they going to turn their engine on!?” ... “It is on!” * Celsius carries five 60W solar panels, capable of producing more than 1kWh on a sunny day. … and from the masthead, showing the layout of the solar panels

A windless Mevagissey Bay

Shortly after the conversion my mother asked me whether we were planning to come to Aldeburgh in Suffolk for her birthday celebrations in Celsius. The gauntlet had been thrown down and after some hasty preparations we slipped our lines and left Falmouth Yacht Haven early in the morning for St Austell Bay. There was not much breeze that day and it took us 13 hours to make it as far as Mevagissey Bay before the last whispers of breeze died away totally – time to test the motor! We had 3½ miles to go, and at about 3∙5 knots over ground the battery monitor was reporting 55 minutes before the batteries would be flat, despite being 65% charged. Mild panic and self-doubt started creeping in – had I done the wrong thing by converting to an electric motor? Were my calculations totally out? We reached our anchorage for the evening with a few minutes remaining on the clock but 53% of battery reported – and the sudden realisation that the battery monitor considered 50% to be ‘discharged’, a relic from the days of lead acid batteries! Concern was replaced by relief ... this experiment might yet work!

Sailing out of the Yealm

Celsius in her element – a fast windward passage to Salcombe

Cruising with an electric motor which has a limited range certainly changes your attitude and approach to sailing. Schedules have to be thrown out of the window. Weather forecasting apps litter your phone. Escape options in case of light winds and adverse tides are considered. In effect, you are forced to give your passage planning much more thought and care than you might do when a constant 4 or 5 knots is guaranteed with just the turn of a key. We cruised easily from St Austell, sailing to the Yealm, Burgh Island, Salcombe and on to Portland, where we were so enamoured with the climbing on the limestone cliffs that we stayed a month. Eventually we realised just how close it was to mum’s birthday, so it was time to move on. We picked our weather well and had fair winds for our passages to Studland, Hamble and then on to Ramsgate. Perspectives shift. Sailing upwind towards Salcombe in 25–30 knots of wind, making 7–8 knots over ground, we watched another yacht with incredulity as they made the Dolphins keep us company across Lyme Bay 50

same passage under power with no sail up, rolling uncomfortably from rail to rail in the swell. On the passage from Hamble to Ramsgate a series of boats – motor-sailing, we could hear them approaching – passed us as we sailed downwind, enjoying our quiet progress under main and poled-out genoa. Reactions to our experiment so far have varied. ‘Grown ups’ of our parents’ generation seem to have a habit of suggesting that we get a diesel generator. “Just in case”, they say. The generation before them are more interested in our ground tackle, anchor lights and sail arrangements. It becomes easy to identify those who have sailed in a world where engines were considered an auxiliary. In Around The World In Wanderer III (first published in 1956) Eric Hiscock wrote, ‘The auxiliary motor, a 4hp Stuart Turner two-stroke running on petrol, is installed beneath the self-draining cockpit. The two-bladed propeller is placed on the centre line and is driven through a centrifugal

Sunset over the Solent from Newtown Creek

clutch – it is not possible to go astern. When under sail the propeller can be clamped with its blades vertical abaft the sternpost. In a calm and absolutely smooth water the motor gives a speed of 3 knots.’ Having spent the previous passage working our way through Roger Gasper’s excellent Crossing the Thames Estuary, we came up with a minute-by-minute plan to make the most of the tides across the Estuary. We were apprehensive about the lack of wind as we left Ramsgate but hoped it would fill in soon. Twelve hours into our ‘7-hour’ passage we crossed due north of Gunfleet Sand, across the tide at a steady 1 knot. I seriously entertained the notion of anchoring just inside the NE Gunfleet cardinal mark* and waiting out the tide. * Yes, really! Although the mark itself is an East Cardinal its name – both on charts and painted on the buoy itself – is NE Gunfleet... 51

Running under spinnaker across the Thames Estuary Only a few days previously I had read the Pardeys’ account of crossing the Thames Estuary in their first engineless boat, Seraffyn. ‘We often had so little wind that only the tide moved us along. As soon as the tide started to turn against us, we’d work over to a shoal patch and anchor over it at low tide. We felt safe from shipping with our kerosene anchor lamp burning, although we were anchored ten miles from the nearest land.’ Rosie completed her first night passage when we sailed to Ramsgate from Hamble, so we decided to continue ghosting along into the dark, being rewarded later for our efforts by the bioluminescence lighting up the ripple from our bow. As we entered the lock at Shotley Point, Harwich at 0330 – 17 hours after leaving Ramsgate – the lock-master asked, “Do your mummy and daddy know you’re out this late!?” Catching up with him the next day we think he was impressed by our adventures, and he gave us some much-appreciated tips and advice about navigating the entrances to the Deben and to the Rivers Ore and Alde, notorious for tricky entry. I’m not sure yet what Rosie thinks of the North Sea. She excitedly quotes Griff Rhys Jones’ description from To the Baltic with Bob: ‘The darkness hid the dirty mud-grey water, which was now flooding in all around us. Hid the flecks of poisonous-looking yellow foam that always accompanied the rising waters on the east coast.’

The North Sea 52

Slipping out at 0400 Celsius about a couple of days later, to mid-tack we caught the ebbing tide out of Harwich and a few breaths of wind upwind toward Orford Haven. Steering by hand to catch every little shift, the wind backed and the tide turned against us as we were coming past the beach at Bawdsey. On our next tack we were further south than we had been half an hour before! After experimenting with different RPMs and some quick mental maths to determine our likely progress we decided to drop the hook off the beach. We were within 2 miles of the entrance to the Ore and Alde after almost 400 miles of sailing, but maybe we hadn’t offered Neptune enough rum when we poured him a tot on the way to Ramsgate and this was his way of getting back at us. Time to wait and see if the wind would fill in while the tide abated. We watched a yacht motoring in an erratic zigzag against the 2 knot spring tide. Rosie turned in for a nap and I caught up with some reading. From the saloon berth I spotted some flickering shadows and movement out of the corner of my eye – the ensign was flying! We had been anchored an hour and the tide had died down a bit as well. I dashed out on deck, hoisting the main on the way to pull up the anchor and the genoa on the way back to the helm, and we were soon on the move again towards Orford Haven. The recommendation is to arrive on a rising tide, but we were pushing it to arrive before high water. My mother was on the beach at Shingle Street watching the time creep closer and closer towards high water as we continued our slow beat up the coast. Bearing away at the Oxley buoy we made a line for Weir, closely watching the depth as we sought out the deepest water. Our track crossed over some very green looking patches on the chart plotter, a testament to just how much the shoals shift year on year – we were nowhere near the channel from two years ago. Celsius was approaching the far side of the entrance at 7 knots over ground, a boost from the last of the tide giving us more apparent wind. With one eye on the depth sounder and one on the shore, I called “ready about ... lee-oh!” as we tacked close enough to the beach to make out the features on the faces of my mother, uncle and their partners. An outgoing yacht gave us a long look and wave as we passed in the narrow channel. Rosie was in a state somewhere between giggling and hyperventilation as we shorttacked our way up the river and along the western side of Havergate Island. “No wonder you’re so good at tacking!” she exclaimed, before we dropped our sails and took the turn for Butley Creek where we were to meet my mother the next day. We had made it, and with time to spare! We were treated to a beautiful sunset and I think Rosie had started to warm to the area despite her initial misgivings. 53

Sunset over Butley Creek

So – would I do it again? Absolutely, without a doubt. As I sit on the boat in Butley Creek thinking back over the trip, the idea of a loud, smelly diesel seems almost like an outdated concept. Fresh in my mind are the plumes of acrid yellow smoke spreading across the horizon from cruise ships, the jet-skis buzzing past on either side in an otherwise peaceful anchorage, and people selfishly using their outboards to try and take a closer look at the majestic sea eagles perched on the sea wall bordering Clamerkin Lake in Newtown Creek, ultimately scaring them off. I didn’t see the eagles again. The same occurs here in Butley Creek, but with egrets and oystercatchers. There are other benefits too – Rosie and I can talk to each other without raising our voices when manoeuvring or anchoring. Our sailing skills are continuously being honed ... we have no other option. Some might not want to remove the safety net of an engine with a longer operating range, but we would argue that the sailing skills you get from having to sail give you a better safety net. Maintenance intervals for the motor are 3000 hours, so we have another 2974 hours before we need to do any servicing. Our wallets are slowly getting fatter after the initial expense as we don’t need to buy diesel, and the risk of fuel spills is eliminated if you don’t need to refuel. The boat smells much nicer too, now oily bilges are a thing of the past! What’s next for Celsius? We haven’t quite decided yet, but we were gifted a copy of the Cruising Almanac by some new-found friends departing Shotley Point, and Rosie has friends she would like to see in Edinburgh!

Aldeburgh at last – Celsius in front of the Martello Tower

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SAILING AND DIVING THE MANY MOTU A long-awaited return to the Tuamotu Archipelago Ellen Massey Leonard (Ellen and Seth Leonard have sailed nearly 60,000 miles together, including a circumnavigation in their early 20s, a voyage to the Alaskan Arctic and a second Pacific crossing. In November 2020, after three seasons in French Polynesia, they made a 20-day passage from the Tuamotu Archipelago to their home in Hawaii and have since been working on Celeste’s maintenance, with one cruise among the Hawaiian Islands. Celeste is a 40ft LOA, 28ft LWL cold-moulded wooden cutter designed by Francis Kinney (editor of Skene’s Elements of Yacht Design) and built by Bent Jespersen in British Columbia in 1985. Photographs by Seth Leonard and Ellen Massey Leonard.) Ever since we first sailed to the Tuamotu Archipelago 15 years ago, Seth and I wanted to dive the famous South Pass of Fakarava Atoll. At that time we were still fairly new to ocean sailing and certainly to scuba diving. We were part-way along our first bluewater journey, our voyage around the world, and we were both in our early 20s. Seth and I had sailed Heretic, our fairly basic 38ft sloop copy of the Sparkman & Stephens’s yawl Finisterre, from Maine through the Panama Canal and across the Pacific to French Polynesia. Before the voyage we had both been small boat sailors and racers, but those 10,000 miles were our first offshore ones. As for scuba diving, we were complete novices – we had only breathed underwater for the first time while en route to Panama. In the Galapagos we had earned our advanced dive certifications, and in the Marquesas we had made our first dives from Heretic without a guide. We Heretic in Rangiroa, 2007

were keen on our new sport, but little did we know that when we reached the Tuamotu atolls we would be hooked for life. Tuamotu means ‘many motu’ in the local language, a motu being a coral islet (motu is both plural and singular). It’s a perfect name for this great arc of coral atolls stretching across more than a thousand miles of ocean in the South Pacific. An atoll is essentially a coral reef enclosing a lagoon, often with motu atop the reef. The Tuamotu islands – part of French Polynesia – lie right in the path of any sailor en route from Panama to Tahiti. Prior to the advent of GPS and really accurate charts they had long been known to voyagers as the Dangerous Archipelago because of the hazards posed by the reefs. Today much of that risk is gone and sailing there is no longer the sort of adventure where a misstep can bring grave mishap. While that’s very pleasant of course, sometimes it’s good to have a challenge. Enter diving. Diving in the Tuamotu is all about sharks and fast currents. If you wish, it can also be about depth and decompression. Most of the diving takes place in the passes that lead into the atolls, and on an outgoing tide these passes are dangerous for sailors and divers alike. The ebb pours out of some of the lagoons at speeds exceeding 8 knots, generating steep standing waves as it sets against the wind. Beneath the waves the outflow creates a ferocious down-current, potentially lethal to any diver caught in it. All drift dives* are consequently done on flood tides, going into the lagoon. Sailors navigate these passes at slack water or at the beginning of the flood, when the surface is calm and the current negligible. The largest atoll of the archipelago, Rangiroa, has one of the strongest currents. When Seth and I sailed there 15 years ago we managed to time our arrival for slack tide, though given that we were arriving at the end of a six-day passage from the Marquesas about * A drift dive uses the current, entering the water at one point, drifting with the current and exiting the water at another point. They are more advanced than normal dives where entry and exit are in the same place (often an anchored or moored boat), and most dive operators require divers to have advanced certification to do them. Most drift dives are done with a boat following the divers to pick them up.

Bottlenose dolphins at Rangiroa’s Tiputa Pass 58

Reef sharks in the shallows at Rangiroa lagoon 600 miles to the northeast, our favourable timing was mostly luck – but we took it and wafted through the placid pass under genoa alone. Then we rounded the corner into the anchorage, tacked up into shallower water, luffed up and dropped the hook. We were true sailing purists – and also impoverished 20-year-olds – and we never used our engine if we could help it. A few hours later, while taking a walk ashore, we saw what Tiputa Pass becomes on the ebb with dolphins leaping from the steep white water – it was quite a sight, not something we would want to be caught in. The following day, on the flood tide, we slipped underwater to witness Rangiroa’s phenomenal diving. We began by backrolling1 into the open ocean, right into a school of barracuda, and then descending to a school of grey reef sharks. Still a novice diver at that time, I remember marvelling at the otherworldly sensation of floating weightless in a water column that felt as clear as air, surrounded by the predators whose home this was. Then we let the current take us into the pass, flying along faster and faster. It was exhilarating, to the point where I actually ran out of air and had to breath from the dive guide’s extra regulator2. Towards the end a huge manta ray was turning somersaults right in our path. Even now, with many dives under my weight-belt, this is still my most memorable – partly because it was memorable and partly because it was the first really challenging dive I’d done. In the same way, our first crossing of the Pacific remains my most memorable passage. When Rangiroa’s fringe of palms dipped below the horizon in Heretic’s wake about ten days later, we vowed that someday we’d come back. Through a series of very lucky circumstances we managed to do so, after nearly a dozen years. By then we’d sold Heretic 1. Backrolling is when you sit on the gunwale of a small dive boat or dinghy, usually an inflatable, in your full dive kit and literally roll backwards into the water. 2. A regulator allows you to breathe compressed air by controlling the pressure both at the tank end and at the mouthpiece. Divers normally carry two on their tanks – your own, plus a second one which can be used by your buddy diver should he/she run out of air. Of course, all divers should have air gauges, pay attention to how much air they are using and plan their dives accordingly. But sometimes problems occur and the extra regulator – called an ‘octopus’ – on someone else’s tank is a safety measure that allows the out-of-air diver to get to the surface safely. 59

Ebb tide at Hao Atoll, 2018

and had replaced her with another timber classic, Celeste. In 2018 we again made the long passage across the Pacific to French Polynesia, this time from Mexico. After a week or so in the Marquesas we set off for the southern end of the Tuamotu chain, an atoll called Hao. The first time we’d sailed to Tuamotu, from the Marquesas, we’d enjoyed a pleasant and even-keeled – if slow – six-day amble downwind. This time would be different. Our angle to the trade winds was a close reach and the breeze was strong. Instead of swaying before the wind wing-and-wing we punched into head seas for 4½ days under triple-reefed main, jib, and staysail. In our 30s instead of our 20s, we were now too conscientious to rely solely on luck for

Seth sailing Celeste in the sheltered waters of the lagoon

either our weather forecasting or timing our tides. And so, of course, we got worse weather – strong headwinds – and we got the tides all wrong. (In fact our tide tables were wrong.) So we had to wait outside the atoll, tacking back and forth just offshore, for five hours before the current moderated enough for us to sail into the lagoon. Sailing inside a lagoon is a treat for ocean sailors. The water is flat calm but the wind blows strong and consistent over the tops of the palms. It’s like a lake or a sheltered bay, but better because there’s almost nothing to block or shift the wind and because many of these lagoons are immense. You can fly along for hours without any pitching or rolling, your boat showing off her best performance. Once inside Hao’s lagoon, it was quick – and extremely pleasant – work to skim across the water to the anchorage.

Celeste alongside Hao’s abandoned wharf, with Ellen just visible on her bicycle The anchorage was in fact a crumbling wharf, convenient and very sheltered. Hao is a sleepy place without any tourist infrastructure – the atoll is the site of the former French military base from which the nuclear tests, undertaken between 1966 and 1996, were launched. Until fairly recently no one was allowed to visit the place. Seth and I were curious to see it, in part because of its history. Ashore, there is still evidence of the military presence, particularly in the enormous runway completely out of proportion to the tiny amount of local air traffic that now uses it. Underwater, we were saddened to see the state of the lagoon – murky, much of the coral dead, and with significant sunken debris, seemingly thrown there at random. The lagoon was fortunately not what Jacques Cousteau called the ‘universal sewer’ but it did seem to have been the trash heap. Nevertheless there were a surprising number of reef fish and eels despite the debris and algae-covered coral. 61

Over and under ... Celeste lies at anchor in the southern Tuamotus in 2018 while Ellen free-dives in the foreground

A ball of paddletail and one-spot snapper at Tumahokua Pass, Fakarava

In a place like this there are no scuba operators. Seth and I are not strangers to diving on our own from Celeste, but in the Tuamotu the best diving is outside the lagoons, and that makes it tricky. Anchoring on coral harms the coral and would offer terrible holding even if it wasn’t ecologically irresponsible. Free-diving down to secure a dinghy is easier and better, of course, but the ideal solution is for someone to operate the yacht or dinghy while the divers are underwater. If you are only two on board, however, as we are, and you both wish to dive (one shouldn’t dive alone anyway), this isn’t feasible. So Seth and I were thrilled to be invited to join the Fafapiti Diving Club, a group of French teachers at the local school who had come together to buy a boat and an air compressor. These French divers were all very skilled and rather risk-loving, preferring to make

quite deep dives on the coral walls outside the lagoon entrance. Indeed that is where most of the big critters were – reef sharks cruising above seemingly infinite schools of red bigeyes, manta rays turning lazy circles just below us and occasionally above us at 140 feet, schools of rainbow runners, sometimes a big tuna or amberjack and once or twice a 16ft tiger shark. After two months between Hao and an even more remote neighbouring atoll it was time to sail back to the Marquesas, where we planned to leave Celeste for the cyclone season after our visas ran out. We rode the back of a low pressure system east for two days – easy reaching under genoa and single-reefed main, beneath overcast skies – but we were slower than the system and soon we were back to clear skies and trade winds well forward of the beam. We had a splendid reward for our upwind sailing, however, when we dropped anchor in the moonlight all alone among the spires of the famous Baie des Vierges on Fatu Hiva. The following year we spent entirely in the Marquesas, but in 2020 we returned once again to the Tuamotu. This time our main destination was the place we had long dreamed of diving – Fakarava Atoll. Fakarava lies in the middle of the Tuamotu arc and is one of the largest of the group – its coral motu encompass a lagoon with a surface area of over 1000km2 (nearly 400m2). Two passes lead into the lagoon from the ocean, the mile-wide Garuae Pass in the north and the narrow, coral-lined alleyway of Tumakohua Pass in the south. It is this pass in particular that has made the atoll renowned among divers and that has led to Fakarava’s status as a UNESCO biosphere reserve. The coral reefs there are brilliantly alive, hosting thousands of reef fish from little dartfish hiding in the coral to behemoth Napoleon wrasse which can tip the scales at 400 pounds. Thanks to the health of the marine ecosystem, the reefs are also home to hundreds of sharks, including one of the biggest aggregations of grey reef sharks in the world. Tumahokua Pass Beach, Fakarava

Fast passage to windward, 2020

While we had expected our passages to and from Hao to be more or less upwind, we hoped on this trip to repeat the easy downwind passage we had enjoyed 14 years previously. Instead, Celeste took us for a fast gallop to windward. With the wind well in the south – thus forward of the beam –and the swell height reaching 12ft, it was a wet and bouncy ride. Under only jib and staysail, we had the lee rail buried nearly the entire time and were shipping so much water over the bow that we couldn’t open the centre hatch for air. As we plotted our noon position each day, however, we found we were consistently making our fastest runs ever with 180 miles made good each day – once even a little more – and that in a boat only 28ft on the waterline. We covered the 550 nautical miles and raised the atoll in just three days. On arrival we decided first to dive Garuae Pass, which turned out to be one of the most adrenaline-pumping dives I’ve ever done. Soon we were addicted to it and went back again and again. We would backroll into the open ocean just outside the pass during the height of the flooding current and make a rapid descent to the coral shelf at 120ft in order to keep from being swept Orange-fin anemonefish, Garuae Pass 64

Seth and Ellen at Fakarava in 2020 into the lagoon before we’d seen anything. Down at depths close to decompression limits we would hook onto outcroppings of dead coral and stare out into the blue at the parade of reef sharks. The current flowing over us was occasionally so strong that it threatened to tear my regulator out of my mouth. After about ten minutes of shark lookout – already almost enough time to require decompression – the guide would signal to let go and we would lift off into the current. The first time the speeding water grabbed us I estimated the current to be between 4 and 5 knots. I’d made decompression dives before, and wreck dives well inside submerged ships, but this was a thrilling dive, exactly the sort of challenge I’d hoped for. Tumakohua – South Pass – was beckoning, however. To get there, Seth and I sailed Celeste the full length of Fakarava’s lagoon, nearly 40 miles along the coral motu lining the windward side. The protected waters once again made for superb sailing. We were closehauled on the way south against about 15 knots of wind, but it was a far cry from upwind ocean sailing. Instead of pitching against head-seas and shipping green waves over the

Ellen watches a grey reef shark over aball of goatfish at Garuae Pass, Fakarava

Perfect sailing inside Fakarava lagoon, 2020 bow, Celeste heeled cleanly and flew along through the flat water. When we’re offshore, C e l e s t e ’s t i l l e r i s usually hooked up to her wind vane, but inside these lagoons we instead attached the tiller extension and stood out on the windward deck, steering her like she was a dinghy. It was great fun. The anchorage off the South Pass is unprotected – it’s open to quite a lot of fetch across the wide lagoon – so is only comfortable when there is little wind. This meant we were unable to dive the South Pass as much as we would have liked, as every time the wind got up we had to retreat 7 miles upwind to a perfectly-protected bay tucked into the southeast corner of the lagoon. But when we could anchor near the dive site, it was spectacular. I have never seen such pristine coral as where we began the dive at the drop-off at 90 feet down. Plate after plate of it staircased into the abyss. On our first dive we were visited by five of the most enormous eagle rays I’ve ever seen, but every time the sharks were the stars of the show. There were literally hundreds of them swimming slowly past in phalanxes. In the mix were a species one doesn’t often see – blacktips – not blacktip reef sharks but the open water species which are faster and more energetic. Just as in the North Pass, we drifted into the lagoon with the current, skimming over beautiful coral and colourful fish until we ascended beside a ball of snapper, scales shimmering in the sunlight. Tumakohua Pass has an exalted reputation and yet still we were bowled over by the beauty and health of its ecosystem. This was a place of which we would never tire. 66

Sailors like to sail, however, so after as many more dives as we could we set off for the less-visited atoll of Toau, making the trip in just a couple of day sails. First we had a perfect downwind trip back north over Fakarava’s smooth lagoon and then, after a night’s sleep, we exited the lagoon at slack tide and swayed downwind over the swell. We anchored in several different spots on Toau over the next week or so, doing a few dives from our dinghy, snorkelling, walking the beaches, and getting to know the few local residents. Then we returned to Rangiroa. The overnight sail to this largest atoll, the site of so many of our best memories from our circumnavigation, was the sort to make any ocean sailor forget all the gales and upwind slogs he or she has ever made. I had one of those night watches you don’t want to end, ghosting downwind with 12 knots on the quarter, a clear sky glittering with stars and phosphorescence shining in the wake. Perfect. From a distance Rangiroa looked the same as it had on our first visit in 2007, but once we had dropped anchor we realised that it now supports both a much larger local population and more tourists. Even in the middle of the pandemic – this was October 2020 – there seemed to be more tourists than there had been 15 years earlier. There were correspondingly more dive and snorkel boats, but happily it didn’t seem to have affected the marine life – our dives were almost as good as that first one we had done when we’d been such novices aboard Heretic. While we didn’t see any manta rays this time, instead we were approached by an inquisitive great hammerhead. To be investigated by this iconic and critically endangered shark, while floating 50ft down and a quarter of a mile out to sea in the disorienting world of the bottomless blue ocean, was an unforgettable experience. On our previous visit we had circumnavigated Rangiroa’s lagoon, revelling in the flat water and brisk winds, one of us always on bow lookout for coral bommies* (most * A coral outcrop or single coral head which stands higher than the surrounding reef.

Beautiful coral in the shallows

Celeste at anchor in the Tuamotu Archipelago, 2020 of the lagoons in the Tuamotu remain uncharted once you get away from the pass and village). We had taken about a week over it – the lagoon covers nearly 1500 sq km – and we’d stopped at a number of lovely motu, the two of us all alone with the coconut trees and the reef fish. That little cruise had been perhaps the biggest highlight of our entire trip around the world. We knew we wouldn’t be able to replicate it – most of life’s best memories cannot be – and so instead we focused on diving the pass and the outer reefs. We did a couple of sunset dives, during one of which we saw big schools of tangs and surgeonfish spawning in little dances in the water column. But before we left the atoll – and French Polynesia – we did make two more sails over the rippled lagoon. Once again we had the beautiful palm-fringed motu to ourselves and we passed a few lazy days strolling the coral beaches and snorkelling from Celeste. We sailed back up to the pass on the day of our departure for the 2400-mile passage to Hawaii, sliding through at just the start of the ebb. As we went, we were visited by Rangiroa’s favourite residents, its pod of bottlenose dolphins, perhaps the same dolphins we had seen leaping clear of the standing waves all those years before. Rangiroa was every bit as wonderful as we’d remembered and we were every bit as sad to be leaving. And so, once again, as we watched Rangiroa recede in the waves astern, we vowed to ourselves that one day we’ll go back.

Save the Ocean, Protect Your Passion - Liz Clark, sailor, surfer, and environmentalist

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MENTORING CHARLES AND CAROLINE Nick Nottingham, Charles Delaney and Caroline Chard Nick writes: The Hundred Year Life: Living and Working in an Age of Longevity* is an interesting read. It challenges the societal expectations of how we should live our lives in the 21st century – should we accept that the school-university-work-retire-die continuum is still how we should do things? My friends Charles and Caroline thought otherwise and chose to take a career break in their late 20s and go bluewater sailing. This story tells how they did it, how I mentored them, and what they thought about it. It starts back in 2017 when I was preparing to head off on my own Atlantic circuit aboard my Hallberg Rassy 40 Spellbinder (see travelsofspellbinder.blog). I was serving as a brigadier in the British Army, on exchange with the French Army, and at the time was running a battlefield tour in Normandy. I thought it would be fun to sail my yacht over to Ouistreham and use it as a base. Having asked for volunteers, Charles and a friend, both serving British Army officers, joined me for the return trip from Gosport. Let me introduce him. Charles is a bit of a dreamer. Along with his then-girlfriend Caroline he had read the book I cite above and was motivated by the challenges which this seminal work lays down. Having left university and gone into the City, he had joined the Army and had had fun, but was thinking of doing other things, in different ways, and rejoined the London rat-race. He is physically fit and hugely capable on the practical side (he fixes things, is good with electrics, mechanics and plumbing, free dives, flies drones and loves all types of fishing, including spear fishing). He hadn’t done much sailing but knew the rudiments and, in a manner typical of those with military training, is very mission or task orientated. Following university, Caroline became a portfolio manager in the asset management industry. Having been very successful, she too was thinking about the years ahead and wondering whether life could be lived differently. Characterwise, she turns Charles’ dreams into practical results by providing workable boundaries – she is the one with the spreadsheet, the organisational skills and the sense of reality. She is clever, determined and canny, and quietly courageous and gritty. She is also really good at managing a wealth of different things at the same time. She drives things and keeps things on track – she helms the dream. She had sailed dinghies a fair amount too, so had useful skills in that department, though had little yachting experience. They are a great couple with some very complementary personality characteristics, who had met at university and been together for several years. They announced their engagement in December 2019. Typically, Charles sent me a photo of the moment he proposed, taken by drone as he went down on one knee in Chile – how could a girl say no? With their engagement, a plan started to evolve. They aimed to buy a yacht, * By Lynda Gratton and Andrew Scott, and published by Bloomsbury in 2017. Nick states that he has no connection with the authors or their work. 70

prepare her for bluewater sailing, give up work for a year, get married, then head off on a long honeymoon or sabbatical by undertaking an Atlantic circuit before returning to professional life and seeing whether children would come along. When they made this call they were both 29. My self-appointed task, as mentor, was to guide them through the research and purchase of a yacht, the refitting of her for extended offshore sailing, sea trials and get them ready for an Atlantic crossing so they could gain an OCC burgee without an ‘A’ on it. They sought my advice initially as a friend with some relevant and recent experience. As I got into it I began to enjoy our interactions, and they found it increasingly useful. The three of us sailed together in Spellbinder in June 2020 – just coastal stuff, but it was clear that they were taking their plan seriously. I formalised the mentoring arrangement only insofar as notifying the OCC, to have it listed under the broader mentoring scheme. There was never any question of anything financial; both sides would put in and get out of it what they wished, and things remained very informal throughout. The first challenge was the yacht. It was summer 2020 and people were mentally reappraising their lives after the first Covid wave and lockdowns. Suitable yachts were selling fast. Charles and Caroline had a £100,000 ($135,000) budget to purchase, refit, prepare and insure their dream boat. They were clear on certain requirements: they wanted a heavier displacement monohull to be more stable in a seaway, they disliked inmast furling preferring slab reefing, they wanted a centre-cockpit to allow a reasonable aft cabin and an island berth (but with sufficient sea berths), and they were looking at yachts from around 36ft to 42ft (11–13m). This was a tall order! I broadly agreed with their views but wondered whether they would find anything suitable. Some Moodys were looked at, but none had slab reefing. Aboard Caris in Marigot Bay, St Lucia, February 2022

Caroline and Charles hoisting their OCC Associate burgee on the Firth of Clyde They were in luck. One yacht which seemed to tick most of their boxes was Caris, a 41ft Westerly Oceanlord built in 1992, for sale up in Kip Marina on the Clyde. Almost 30 years old, she had been well maintained and most recently used by a charity. She had a virtually brand-new Volvo engine, some upgraded electronics, robust ground tackle, relatively new sails and everything looked fairly seaworthy. On the downside, she had few or no bluewater additions, had a substantial plexiglass fixed sprayhood (great for Scotland but not so good in the tropics), the main winches (while huge) were not self-tailing and her teak deck was ageing slightly. Having been used mainly as a motor sailer in recent years she was fitted with a large fixed prop and a self-tacking working jib and had little in the way of downwind rig. There was quite a bit of competition for Caris, with two other couples interested in her. We exchanged plentiful e-mails about her pros and cons and what would be required in terms of refit. After making a lower offer which was rejected, Charles and Caroline offered near the asking price, paying £71,000 ($95,000) for her. The survey highlighted some minor issues, and on 10th September 2020 they became proud owners. With a planned departure date of June 2021 they had nine months to get her ready – not long in these turbulent times. I helped them sail Caris down from the Clyde to the Solent in October in typically

Nick, Charles and Caroline on their delivery trip from Scotland to Portsmouth, October 2020

blustery seasonal conditions. With a useful northeasterly airflow, which gave us sustained periods of force 6–7, we managed it in four days, stopping in Newlyn, Cornwall en route. Caris proved to be as robust and seaworthy as her reputation and handled very well and I knew that she would do the job for them, but there was much to do to get her ready for bluewater adventures. My next task was to draw up a list of suggestions for spending the remaining budget on her refit. Looking back, I see it was divided into ‘Priority’, ‘Routine’, ‘Cosmetic’ and ‘Bluewater’. The first were mainly imperative safety issues (gas, rigging and safety/ lifesaving equipment), the second was stuff which really ought to be done before they left but which wasn’t an immediate priority, and the third only if they had the time or money to do them. In the event they did all of the first, most of the second, and some of the third. Most of the money went on the fourth. Big items here were a proper downwind rig (spinnaker boom, cruising chute and fuller genoa), a Gori three-bladed folding prop, a newer plotter and radar, replacement of and increased numbers of batteries plus their management system and an inverter, solar panels, a watermaker, a Hydrovane self-steering gear, satellite communications, charts (paper and electronic) and courtesy flags. This lot obviously ate most of their remaining £30,000 ($40,000) budget. They were canny though, buying secondhand where they could and supervising the work closely. There were a host of other minor jobs to do and spares to buy, but they were meticulous in their plans and lists and achieved most of what they wanted. Caroline had the spreadsheet and smoothed the way, Charles was there to lend a hand and to supervise in person. They also needed to ‘skill up’ as their own experience, particularly offshore, was relatively limited, so went off for a bit of local sailing before some of the final jobs had been completed. This proved useful in terms of getting to know Caris and her

Caroline and Charles on their wedding day in June 2021. Thousands of demonstrators 73 cheered as they crossed Piccadilly

foibles, but they had yet even to cross the Channel (Covid and Brexit hadn’t helped). During this time we had regular video chats as there were plenty of decisions still to make – about equipment, maintenance and crewing matters. They both experienced the ‘ground rush’ as their focus quite understandably turned to their wedding, a magnificent affair held in London on 26th June 2021. London was in chaos and the bride and groom had to walk through demonstrations and take the tube to their reception, as central London had been effectively gridlocked! The protestors gave them an understanding cheer, though. Once married the adventure proper began, and they enjoyed a leisurely cruise along the UK’s south coast to Scilly while the last aspects of the refit were arranged. Their first Channel crossing, from Falmouth to Roscoff during August, seemed to go okay. Once around the northwest tip of France they got into a leisurely routine, enjoying southern Brittany and catching up with friends. Their first major drama came around this time when they ran into a navigation buoy in daylight, doing some damage to the bow – a combination of poor passage planning and watch-keeping. As soon as I heard that the damage was limited and nobody hurt I was secretly pleased. It was, perhaps, just the wake-up call they needed. Having put into La Rochelle for repairs they then planned their passages around northwest Spain to Lisbon, from where they aimed to head out to the Canaries. Orcas were damaging many yachts in the area, so they planned to stay well offshore and in so doing encountered ocean swell and strong winds for the first time with just the two of them. It proved quite a challenge, was clearly quite a frightening experience and Caroline continued to suffer from seasickness. Once they recovered and considered what they had done they drew positive lessons from the experience, most notably how well Caris had looked after them. I also hoped they would see that it was an excellent inoculation – it might well turn out to be the worst they would encounter and they had succeeded double-handed. I joined them for their first planned ocean passage, to the Canaries, during which they got accustomed to prolonged downwind passages and sorted out the last equipment Charles, Nick and Caroline exploring La Graciosa in the Canaries

Caris passing the Pitons, St Lucia issues. From there they continued to the Cape Verdes with Charles’s father aboard, cruising the islands before accomplishing an independent (non-ARC) 17-day passage from there to St Lucia. For this they were joined by Charles’s friend Ciaran – an experienced sailor who had been his Best Man at their wedding – and Olivia, less experienced but a very quick learner. Fast forward to January 22nd, and as I write they are lolling about in the Tobago Cays, a part of the Grenadines. I much enjoyed mentoring them, and they achieved all their initial aims despite facing some real challenges. When they arrived safely in St Lucia I felt a great sense of pride in them. I think for the mentor/mentee relationship to work you need to get on well as people, and we do. As a mentor it can be easy to get too involved or become too personally invested – at the end of the day it is the mentees who are taking the risks to themselves and to their pockets, not you. For example, I would have liked them to have done a couple of things differently in terms of boat preparation, but financial choices had to be made and I respected them for it. Some of the most interesting times were discussing quite personal matters: Who should skipper and how? How many crew for long crossings, and what do you look for in your crew? How do your skills complement each other? What are your weaknesses and how do you mitigate them? What happens when things go wrong, and how do you avoid arguing as a couple or apportioning blame? That they were open to discussing these things speaks volumes for them and helps explain why this couple succeeded in their dreams. They are also very determined. For example, Caroline conquered her seasickness through experience and Hyoscine. As mentor, I put a lot in and got a lot out. I also learned much in the process. But that is not the whole story, and you should hear from the mentees themselves... Charles and Caroline write: Like many others, the first lockdown in England in March 2020 afforded us the time to slow down, have some thinking space and assess our lives. A month earlier we had started to look at properties in the countryside as part of the inevitable next step 75

Charles with a mahi mahi caught between St Lucia and St Vincent ... for us post marriage, but we realised that locking ourselves into a mortgage would reduce our options, something discussed a lot in The Hundred Year Life. Getting married, having children, getting a pet or taking on debt all reduce the options an individual has. We didn’t want to avoid marriage, but we did come to the realisation that this was a unique time in our lives during which we had the physical and financial freedom to make bold choices. Inspiration came in the form of watching other couples on YouTube making lives for themselves on sailing yachts. This was combined with the passion that we both share for sailing, whether dinghy racing or yachting holidays in the Med. We started to read up on the idea, the practicalities and costs, and came to the conclusion that although it wouldn’t be easy, it was something we wanted to do. We almost felt obliged to do it, as so many people have the dream but not the time, means or opportunity. We also enrolled in a RYA Yachtmaster theory course over Zoom in order to build comfort in our base knowledge. Once lockdown eased i n t h e s u m m e r, Caroline also did h e r R YA D a y Skipper practical course. Having struck up a friendship when initially crewing for Nick, ... and hoisting their new OCC burgee in Bequia on New Year’s Day 2022 76

Caroline diving with turtles in the Tobago Cays

Charles also crewed for him between the Canary islands and the Cape Verdes on his Atlantic loop in 2017 and enjoyed it hugely. When Nick kindly invited us to join him for a weekend sail from Gosport to Poole and back in summer 2020 we knew it would be the perfect time to float our idea and get the opinion of an experienced yachtsman. He could not have been more encouraging, having not met any British couples under the age of 40 during his Atlantic loop. Nick also provided a healthy dose of realism and was very honest about the tight timelines and budget we were setting ourselves. With our goal of setting off in July 2021 he cautioned that we should be looking to buy a boat sooner rather than later, both to do any work required to ensure she was bluewater capable, and to give us time to get to know her before leaving the UK. We returned home to London after a wonderful weekend of sailing with more accurate expectations and a renewed fervour to crack on with making the dream a reality. Nick advised joining the OCC as Associate Members to benefit from all the resources and support available, and to join owners’ associations for the boat brands in which we were interested. As we searched for a boat, primarily online, we exchanged messages with Nick on suitability and the work likely to be required. Having eyed up several Moodys but not found quite the right one, or missed out on recently sold boats, Nick casually asked if we’d considered a We s t e r l y Oceanlord. This wasn’t a class we’d heard of before, but we began to do some research and decided it was indeed a viable option for us. As luck 77

Enjoying a lovely sunset over Chatham Bay, Union Island

would have it we found Caris, a Westerly Oceanlord which ticked a lot of our boxes. Nick very kindly offered to sail Caris down from Scotland to Gosport with us. This gave him the opportunity to get to know the boat alongside us, and to create the lists which he used to guide us in our refit. Having Nick with us also boosted our confidence in sailing Caris and understanding the levels of wind and waves she could manage with ease. It is unlikely we would have taken on the 60-hour passage from the Clyde to Newlyn in October without Nick’s presence and encouragement. Over the following months Nick continued to provide support in the form of video calls to discuss progress, and incredibly speedy responses to any questions we asked by e-mail. He also shared with us his favourite spots on the Solent which we explored in the spring of 2021 to build up our experience. Neither of us having come from particularly nautical backgrounds, this guidance was a massive help in building our confidence and knowledge and ensured we were comfortable moving on board Caris full time in early July 2021. This support continued as we sailed along the south coast to the Isles of Scilly in July, and then during our crossing to France and our sail southward to Portugal in August/ September. Nick spoke to us both individually following our first major ‘incident’ – hitting a buoy on the west coast of France, resulting in a new bow roller. He was very open about mistakes he had made during his sailing career and encouraged us not to be disheartened by such an avoidable lapse in concentration and to take lessons from it to prevent future, potentially more serious, accidents. Nick was there for us again, on the phone, after a very intense passage from La Rochelle, France to Cascais, Portugal where we encountered 4m seas and 30+ knot 78

winds 55 miles off the Portuguese coast. Never had we seen such a speed over ground from Caris. Typically she sails at between 5 and 7 knots, but we were consistently in the 11–13 knot range, hitting 15 knots at one point as we surfed the waves. We weren’t sure if it was dumb luck that we had made it in one piece, or if we had in fact done the right things. Speaking to Nick about our passage reassured us, allayed our fears and built our confidence in Caris for future passages. As Nick predicted, that was the worst of our passages so far and we enjoyed his company on a leisurely downwind sail from Portugal to the Canaries, during which he continued to impart knowledge and advice that stood us in good stead for our Atlantic crossing. We ’ v e n o w reached the Caribbean, and having had the time to relax and reflect on our journey hitherto we can say with certainty that we would not have made it this far, with such ambitious timelines and in such good order, had it not been for Nick’s mentoring and generous advice Caroline with a longfin trevally caught off Grenada. over the past 18 Delicious pan-fried with butter and garlic! months. The value of having someone experienced to bounce ideas off is immeasurable. There were some recommendations we chose not to follow, generally from a budget perspective – for example, not getting a furler for the cruising chute before seeing how we managed with a sock. However, Nick was very clear that we could pick and choose the advice that works for us, within the bounds of safety. He asked us to be candid for this article about what he could have done better as a mentor. We can genuinely say that as mentees we wouldn’t have wanted him to do anything differently. Besides his experience, what we respected and appreciated most was his great honesty. He was not afraid to indicate any short-comings or where we were unrealistic on timelines, budget and capabilities. We are incredibly grateful for his deepening friendship and advice, and hope that one day we can be as valuable to others as he has been to us. If you’re interested in learning more about our journey or have any questions, feel free to reach out to us on www.theboatthatbuilds.blog or on Instagram @yachting_otters. 79

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RISKY BUSINESS ~ ITALY TO AUSTRALIA Sailing in the year of Covid Barry Lewis (Both Barry and his yacht Risky Business have interesting backgrounds. Barry has been aboard boats since childhood and sailed with his father, Dr David Lewis, from the UK to the Pacific in 1968 aboard Isbjorn, an elderly gaff ketch, to research Polynesian navigation. Later he took Isbjorn to the Gilbert Islands (now Kiribati) where he used her commercially. After Isbjorn was lost his father bought the 32ft steel yacht Icebird and sailed her singlehanded to Antarctica in 1973, after which Barry sailed her, also singlehanded, from Cape Town to Sydney in 1974/5. In 1986 Barry skippered the 47ft Riquita to the entrance to Cape Hallett in Antarctica’s Ross Sea, the furthest south reached by any yacht in the 20th century. Barry’s wife Ros started sailing after they met and together they sailed Icebird to Papua New Guinea and back to Australia in the 1970s. In the following decade they established a sailing and navigation school as well as competing in several offshore races, including the Sydney Hobart Race, and undertook many return deliveries from races. It was this experience that steered them towards the cruiser/racer, and the Joe Adams-designed Risky Business is an exemplar of the type. Risky Business is an Adams 13, designed by Joe Adams and built of aluminium in Tasmania in 1985. She is 13∙5m (44ft) LOA, with 3∙1m (10ft 2in) beam and displaces 9∙5 tons in cruising trim. She was modified in the later 1980s when the original shoal-draught ballast keel and daggerboard were replaced by a Graham Radford-designed drop-ballast keel, with 2∙7 tons of lead. Draught is 1∙6m (5ft 2in) with the keel up and 3m (10ft) with it down. It is always kept fully down when sailing, but when raised under power offers the chance to venture into shallow areas not accessible to most cruising yachts. She was built for racing and was very successful, but never cruised until Barry and Ros bought her in 2013 – since then they’ve logged about 53,000 miles. They made many changes to suit her for cruising, starting by refurbishing her three-quarter rig, and fitting a trysail track and a removable inner forestay for the storm jib or staysail. Between 2014 and 2018 they made several passages to New Zealand, Fiji and Vanuatu, working on her between trips. She carries 150 litres of fuel plus two 20 litre jerry cans lashed in the cockpit. There’s a 70 litre water tank, plus a further 190 litres in ten 10 litre containers and about seventy 1∙25 litre bottles. There are also three 5 litre water containers for personal washing. Her main anchor is a 20kg (44lb) Rocna on 80m (262ft) of chain, and her kedge is a Fortress on warp. Part of Risky Business’s route is shown in red on the chartlet on page 170.) We left Opua, New Zealand in early May 2018 and sailed to the Mediterranean via the Torres Strait and Cape Town. We spent most of 2019 cruising in the Mediterranean – Crete, the Greek islands, the Turkish coast, Montenegro, Croatia, Malta and Sicily – and finally berthed in Ostia Marina near Rome in November. Apart from sightseeing, we caught up with relatives living in Europe, including two nephews we hadn’t met before. Ros flew back to Australia to spend Christmas with our children 81

and grandchildren in Australia and New Zealand, while I pottered around getting ready for the trip to Jamaica. The log shows about two weeks of shopping and stowing, looking for non-bio diesel and a diver to clean the bottom. The weather was foul with rain, strong onshore winds and squalls. Ostia Marina is huge, about 1000m long, and the surge from onshore waves is so violent that Risky Business broke several mooring lines, even after running the anchor snubber nylon warps as springs. I bought two heavy-duty rubber snubbers, then two more much bigger. At least the rain washed away the light brown sand that had accumulated on the rigging, until the last gale covered everything with a brown, slightly greasy feeling gunk blown in from France and Spain.

Swell breaking at the entrance of Ostia Marina near Rome

Finally the weather eased, and Christmas Day 2019 saw me depart Ostia singlehanded heading for Jamaica. After a week of light and variable winds we were three-fifths of the way between Ibiza and Algiers. The AIS was proving its worth, giving warning of the numerous cargo ships and fishing boats that came up day and night. 2020 was quite an eventful year for Risky. At 2100 on 2nd January the autopilot failed. This turned out to be due to the rudder position sensor, and fortunately I had a rheostat and resistor on board that I was able to fudge into the old housing, finishing about midnight with a working autopilot. During the night of 3rd January the wind was ahead but frequently shifting by 40° to 50°, causing four accidental tacks and a plaintive VHF call from a cargo ship, ‘could I make up my mind where I was going?’ Very embarrassing! The next night, about 105 miles from the Straits of Gibraltar, the AIS showed a 17m vessel named Ragamuffin motoring east, probably one of the former Australian racing yachts. Then in the early hours of the 5th the logbook shows Risky playing dodgems with ferries and cargo vessels transiting the Straits as we approached Gibraltar sailing to the north of the Traffic Separation Zone. We were making 7+ knots over ground against a 2–2∙5 knot east-going current, sailing in brisk conditions with three reefs down in a following wind. Amazingly, throughout all this I had occasional WhatsApp calls with Ros via smartphone. I altered course for Agadir in Morocco to see my sister and get a replacement rudder sensor for the autopilot. The winds were mainly free and up and down in strength, but only once required the fourth reef. On 7th January, about 30 miles off the Moroccan 82

Agadir beach, Morocco

coast, Risky snagged a fishing float and buoy which took 20 minutes to clear. The following night the moonlight was so bright, and the sky so clear, that it cast a shadow of boom and mainsail on the sea. Next day we arrived in Agadir having logged 1354 miles in 16 days and having motored a total of 36 hours. By Thursday 30th January the replacement rudder sensor had still not arrived and I was experimenting with the faulty one. No appropriate replacement potentiometer could be found and the faulty one turned out to be hugely non-linear and ineffective. Fortunately the replacement arrived next day and was fitted that afternoon. On Sunday I swapped the jib for the older one for the trade-wind passage ahead, and topped up water and fresh stores. Next day, after a farewell lunch with my sister, I cleared customs, topped up fuel and departed in the late afternoon for Jamaica, where Ros was to rejoin. After several days of mostly light and variable winds, Thursday 6th February saw Risky and me passing through the Canaries. By the 8th the trade winds seemed to have set in and we were logging 7 knots with the apparent wind 125° to starboard at about 14 knots. Life was now a round of reefing and unreefing as the wind varied, rolling in the jib when it was too far aft to avoid it collapsing, then out when the wind moved to a broad reach. I avoided poling out the headsail due to the weight of the spinnaker poles. The Sail-Gen needs over 5 knots through the water, preferably 6, to generate enough electricity to match the autopilot and ’fridge drains, especially at night, the solar panels covering everything else. This encouraged me to try and maintain at least 5–6 knots of boat speed. On the 12th I caught a small dorado, letting Ros know by satphone text while getting GRIB (weather) files. Back in 2018 in Cocos Keeling, fellow OCC member Thom Darcy in his 27ft Fathom had helped us to get the satphone talking to a laptop talking to SailMail so that we could get GRIB files. Between satphone weather forecasts, GPS and Navionics on a tablet and smartphone, navigation is very different to what we did in my earlier years aboard Isbjorn and Icebird among others. A note in the log on the 16th says ‘sky 5/8Cu and murk’, actually a sandstorm from the Sahara. This murk/haze, mainly sand-related, continued for quite a number of days. On the 22nd I unreefed to one reef after tucking in the third on the 18th, when I logged ‘washing machine seas’. That day saw our first meetings with the floating seaweed that would foul the fishing line and, more importantly, the Sail-Gen, a problem which continued all the way to Jamaica. 83

On the 23rd February we passed and spoke to two ladies rowing the ORB Making Memories. I was able to take some photos and sent them after they had arrived in the West Indies. Of interest was that they showed up on AIS about 6∙5 miles off, but visually only 0∙5 mile, in spite of their bright paint and knowing where to look – a sobering experience.

ORB Making Memories on 23rd February 2020 at 17°09’N 55°06’W

By the evening of the next day Risky and I were about 200 miles from the West Indies and I was clearing seaweed from the Sail-Gen at least twice an hour. Two days after that, on the evening of the 26th, we were closing the passage between Dominica and Marie Galante, passing Guadeloupe about midnight. On 2nd March, for no discernible reason, the autopilot started randomly going off course, which continued for the next couple of days. Then on the morning of the 5th I sighted Jamaica. Flying the ensign, Q-flag, courtesy flag and OCC burgee, by 1600 I was filling in forms for the marina, quarantine and customs in Errol Flynn Marina, Port Antonio, Jamaica. We had logged 4924 miles in 31 days, my second longest non-stop singlehanded passage (my longest was sailing Icebird from Cape Town to Sydney back in 1974/5). A week later, on 12th March, Ros arrived from Sydney. By the 17th Covid was becoming an issue and we slipped across to Cuba whilst we could, to Mario Marina near Santiago de Cuba. After five days we had finally managed to get some local cash, meet some interesting people and seen extraordinary poverty. Then we (and all other visitors) were given 24 hours to leave due to Covid. The cash went on Cuban rum and we headed back to Jamaica where we were refused entry – we were actually chased out of Port Antonio by two RIBs full of armed and aggressive police and coastguard. So we sailed for Panama, great sailing marred by hearing that the Canal was The wharf at Mario Marina, Cuba 84

closed to smallcraft and uncertain whether we would be allowed into port. Thankfully we were, to quarantine aboard for 14 days in Shelter Bay under the watchful eye of the AeroMarine, Panama’s military, which has a base alongside the marina which looks straight out to the quarantine anchorage. Juanjo, manager of Shelter Bay Marina, ran a VHF net each morning and organised a daily visit with supplies and water so we lived like kings, even enjoying a daily cockpit bath. Juanjo kept a close watch on the yachts in quarantine, and one morning on the net we heard him say that the yacht which had been visited by a powerboat from Panama City would be restarting their 14-day quarantine that day. Ros’s birthday fell during quarantine, and Juanjo brought out our celebratory takeaway dinner and he and his family sang ‘happy birthday’ from his launch. On finishing quarantine we were allowed into the marina, where we joined a fleet of yachts including many OCC members all uncertain as to their future. We all joined a mailing list which Liz Back, the Australian Honorary Consul, was using to co-ordinate with the Panamanian authorities. We also got in contact via e-mail with Roving Rear Commodore Guy Chester, who had raced against Risky in Cairns back in the 1990s. When the Canal reopened we stocked up from the marina store for a probable direct passage to Australia. The selection was limited. With the help of Juanjo we completed customs, immigration and Canal formalities, all in the marina office. We were in the second batch through the Canal, on 23rd April, with one of only three female pilot advisors employed by the Canal. She was friendly and very helpful on board, even assisting with lines when Ros was taking photos. We were rafted alongside a giant cat, with the Australian yacht Dakota on the cat’s other side. Once into the Pacific we self-isolated for a week in the Las Perlas islands and then headed for the Marquesas, getting permission to enter only a few days before arriving – we engaged ‘Tahiti Crew’ Barry with our Panama Canal Pilotage Advisor

Our raft shared this lock with a cargo ship

as our agents while still on passage. We picked our way through the Intertropical Convergence Zone, trying to avoid the worst of the thunder squalls and passed close north of the Galapagos before picking up the SE trades. An easy tradewind sail was highlighted by catching another dorado and marred by a couple of random autopilot failures. We arrived in Taiohae Bay, Nuku Hiva on 31st May, 32 days out from Panama. After three days’ quarantine (the Health Department allowing our sea time as self-isolation) we were free to roam French Polynesia, and met up with Guy Chester on Sanctuary along with several other OCC members. On board Sanctuary with Guy Chester in Taiohae Bay 86

Risky B under sail in Taiohae Bay. Photo Guy Chester

Taiohae Bay, Nuku Hiva

Entering Daniel’s Bay, Nuku Hiva

On 26th June we left the perpetually rolling anchorage in Taiohae Bay to visit the other anchorages around Nuka Hiva. All were uncomfortable except for Daniel’s Bay – indeed, all the anchorages we visited in the Marquesas were uncomfortable, with swells piling in and rolling the yachts in them incessantly. On the morning of Friday 10th July we finally left Taiohae Bay for the next island to the south. Guy towed us back into the bay that same evening after the propeller fell off the saildrive. Garry and Louise from the cat Takamoana gave us a fixed, two-bladed propeller. Guy lent us an air compressor, hose and breathing regulator and also carved a couple of inches off each blade of the replacement prop so it didn’t hit the hull, and I spent several days fitting it. We ordered a new one from Sydney, which made its way to Hiva Oa via Los Angeles despite Covid. At anchor in Daniel’s Bay, the only quiet anchorage in the Marquesas

Hauling out on the hydraulic trailer at Maintenance Marquesas Services in Hiva Oa

We followed the new prop to Hiva Oa, where on 18th August we were lifted out on a giant hydraulic trailer and put on the hard-standing at Maintenance Marquesas Services. With the propeller had come seals and bearings for the saildrive. The boatyard’s mechanics did an excellent job fitting these, also dropping the rudder and freeing its bearings which had become really tight over the previous few months. We antifouled and were back in the water a week later. We also took the opportunity to have the old jib’s seams restitched in the boatyard’s sail loft. I can’t praise the competence and professionalism of Vincent’s operation at Maintenance Marquesas Services highly enough. A week later we left for a leisurely cruise to Tahiti, overnighting at Fatu Hiva then spending 12 days at Fakarava in the Tuamotus. This was Ros’s first Polynesian atoll, the highlight being drift snorkelling on the inbound tide along the coral of the southern reef pass. We mostly lay on a visitor’s mooring at the main centre, Rota Ava, in the northeast of the island. Landmarks in Hanavave Bay, Fatu Hiva, en route to the Tuamotus

Risky B anchored in Fakarava lagoon in the Tuamotus

The 21st saw us arrive in Papeete, Tahiti. Again ‘Tahiti Crew’ helped us with the formalities. We were fortunate to get the last berth at Papeete Marina near the town centre at a reduced fee, as facilities were closed for rebuilding, so hired a car for the day and drove round the island. Then following a brief sail to Moorea and back we anchored near Sanctuary and Takamoana. We borrowed Guy’s RIB and went to clear out, then had final showers aboard Takamoana.

Ros relaxing at Moorea in the Society Islands

We had put in applications to both Queensland Health and NSW Health for exemptions from hotel quarantine but heard from neither before we left, so once again we were not sure of our destination. At least it would be Australia, but Bundaberg or Sydney? We planned to pass close south of New Caledonia, by which time we would hopefully have heard back from one or the other health service. After departing we started a crew health register, and screenshot our daily positions on the Navionics tablet. So, another tradewind passage, still with occasional random failures of the autopilot. Servicing our stove had also become a frequent activity as the effects of poor quality meths from Europe and Panama hit home. The Sail-Gen also required repairs as it was slowly dying, having been streamed for nearly 50,000 miles – not too bad! On 15th October we caught a large dorado and used some of our dedicated 15 litres of washing water for cockpit showers.

The largest dorado we ever caught, on the last leg to Australia. Note double bridge deck hatch, home for washboards and Jordan Series Drogue Next day we were passing south of Vanua Vatu and the day after that we were in the South Pacific Convergence Zone. The log says, ‘A very uncomfortable night, keeping close-hauled on the port tack as the wind backed round, always pitching into a short, steep sea, probably only a metre high, keeping her pinched to slow down’. By the 19th we were back to four reefs in the main. Kadavu, Fiji, was seen and dinner was the last of the dorado. A few days later we were passing south of New Caledonia and heading for Bundaberg. Crossing the Coral Sea, we heard from Queensland Health – we would get an exemption provided we had negative Covid tests on arrival and satisfied the police we hadn’t stopped anywhere. NSW Health responded a few days later saying we would need to do the full hotel quarantine if we made landfall at Sydney. 91

The Gold Coast in southern Queensland

On 23rd October 2020, 28 days out from Tahiti, we arrived in Bundaberg where, after negative Covid tests, we were allowed back into Australia. There we met up with Sanctuary and Takamoana again. From Rome to Bundaberg we had logged 13,845 miles over the course of ten months. We spent a month coast-hopping to Southport, then on to Coffs Harbour and back home to Hardys Bay after almost three years and a circumnavigation. Since our return we have been working on our house and starting to refit Risky Business. We visited our daughter in New Zealand by air, where we met up with Guy Chester aboard his new trimaran.

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VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY (55) Laura Hampton and Noa Goovaerts (Laura and Noa, both 21, met at the University of St Andrews and both have been sailing since they were children, Noa on yachts and Laura in dinghies before working her way up to Tall Ships. Online research told them about the OCC’s Youth Sponsorship Programme, which provides sponsorship for young people hoping to become bluewater sailors. In their words: ‘After applying online, Fiona Jones called each of us individually to discuss sponsorship and our application. She was incredibly supportive and helpful, and we cannot thank her enough for everything she did to support us on this adventure and help us to become blue water sailors. We came into contact with John and Susan Simpson, owners of Discovery 55 Casamara, through Crewseekers, and completed interviews and a trial sail in the Solent plus some training in Las Palmas before the passage’.) Our adventure began on 8th November 2021 when we met up with our skipper and first mate, John and Susan Simpson. Las Palmas sped by in a blur of activity – boat maintenance, lectures organised by the ARC, more than a few trips to the chandleries and, of course, a few evenings at the Sailors Bar. We learnt an incredible amount, including how to wire up solar panels, an introduction to astro navigation (given by the famous Stokey Woodall) and weather routing for tradewind sailing. With a low pressure system developing in the north and fairly light winds predicted for the south there was plenty of discussion as to which route was best, differing greatly between the racers and cruisers. An ocean passage takes great preparation, particularly in last minute provisioning. It was interesting to note the different approaches. Some comical choices that come The Casamara crew in Las Palmas, with Susan and John Simpson behind and Noa Goovaerts and Laura Hampton in front 93

Laura and Noa aboard Casamara before departure

Provisioning madness!

Noa making our mark on the breakwater steps in Las Palmas

to mind include the huge Iberian ham attached on the stern just next to the outboard engine, enough oranges for 14 a day per person and 15kg of Nutella! One highlight was getting tours of other boats, which varied greatly in size, comfort, speed and sail configuration. The contrast between Telefonica Black, a Volvo Open 70, and Casamara, our cruising Discovery 55, reflects the different experiences possible offshore. Another highlight before we left was leaving our mark – the Casamara logo and our handprints! – on steps up to the Las Palmas marina breakwater. 94

Departure day – 21st November – brought an atmosphere of intense excitement on the pontoons. We left Las Palmas with our skipper playing Rod Stewart’s Sailing on the trumpet, much to the crowd’s excitement! The breakwater was lined with people waving the fleet on its way and it felt somewhat surreal to be setting off for our first ever Atlantic crossing. To be supported by the OCC, the ARC and the friends we had made in Las Palmas reflected the great sense of community that exists within the sailing world and we felt incredibly privileged to be part of it. There was a gentle southeasterly as we pulled away from the start line at Gran Canaria and we hoisted full mainsail and genoa for a very pleasant sail on calm seas. An hour later the wind fell too light to make progress under sail, so we rolled away the genoa and continued under engine. This light wind continued for another couple of days, and we ended up motoring for about 30 hours. The ARC start on 21st November The first hour brought a steep learning curve. We learnt (the hard way) the value of pre-departure preparation, notably to close all the ports in the hull – rookie error! Everything in our cabin – the port one forward of the saloon – was drenched, but the only unsalvageable loss was Noa’s laptop. For the next few days, both aft and foredecks were lined with drying clothes and sheets, and Casamara turned into a floating laundrette. Thankfully, we had light winds, calm seas and sunshine. The stress was heightened by the discovery of a cockroach, but luckily no more were found on subsequent days and we escaped without an infestation. By the end of the afternoon on Day 2 there was enough wind to put up ‘Big Bertha’, our bright red A4 gennaker*. We turned the engine off and enjoyed some great sailing as the seas were still calm and there was enough wind to give us 7–8 knots of boatspeed. We carried Big Bertha through the night, with the moon so bright that it was almost as light as day. We soon settled into our regular watch systems, plus galley * A running sail which will set at very deep angles, intended to be flown in 10–25 knots of wind. With a higher clew, flatter cut, less roach and reduced area it is more forgiving than a conventional asymmetric spinnaker. 95

Big Bertha, the bright red A4 gennaker, takes us towards the sunset and cleaning duties. There were only four of us aboard and we took solo three-hour watches at night and four hours during the day. We found this gave everyone enough rest, and it rotated the watches every 24 hours so we experienced different parts of the night. We continued under Big Bertha as we headed south towards the Cape Verdes. Days were punctuated by sail changes, the witty banter on the SSB net and following the progress of the fleet on AIS. We also entertained ourselves by fishing, in hopes

Noa and John trying (unsuccessfully) to catch a fish

of catching a mahi mahi. Many fruitless attempts and lost lures later, 15 days out we still had no catch! We also played guitar and sang, and exchanged stories of sailing adventures, to help pass the time. During the 17 days it took us to reach St Lucia we had a real combination of weather. At the skippers’ briefing before the start we were given two options for our route to the Caribbean. Ideally we needed a high pressure weather system to be sitting over the Azores creating northeast winds to carry us across, but unfortunately the forecast was for the opposite – a low pressure system was sitting over the Azores, creating southeasterlies around the Canaries and a long sausage-shaped hole stretching for hundreds of miles south with very little wind. The options were either to take a northerly route, with the potential for beating into gale-force winds and rough seas, or go south almost to the Cape Verde islands and motor for the best part of the first week until we reached wind. The southerly route would take longer but was the safer option, so that is what we did. The screenshot shows the routes taken by all of the boats crossing in the ARC. Most did the same as us, hugging the African coast to pick up what little wind there was until we were a few hundred miles from the Cape Verdes. A few of the racing division chose to go north (above the red rhumb line in the photo) and encountered some very rough conditions. Five days into the passage the trade winds filled in properly from the northeast at 20–25 knots, and we turned west and set a straight course for St Lucia. It felt like a real milestone moment, as every mile we travelled was now in the right direction, and after the end of the first week the compass heading stayed at 270° for the rest of the voyage. We sped along at 8–10 knots, with a poled-out genoa and small reefed main for stability as the rolling seas characteristic of Atlantic crossings became more evident. We spent some of our spare time during the days working on the celestial navigation we had learnt about back in Las Palmas. We all took sextant sights and got readings to within 6 miles. Night watches present one of the more daunting aspects of an ocean crossing. Once over the misconception that you are entirely alone in this huge expanse of sea, the peace and beauty of the Atlantic at night is captivating. The sky was filled with stars, helped by there being no light pollution other than our tricolour, and the sea was equally bright with bioluminescence. It was an incredible experience to be alone on deck, navigating the Atlantic amidst such incredible scenery. After a few experiments with different sail combinations we ran under poled-out genoa only, gradually reducing sail as the wind increased to force 5–6 on our starboard quarter. An entry in the log at 0800 on 28th November reads: BAD NIGHT!!! The 97

Running under mainsail and poled-out staysail seas were quite confused with swell coming astern from two different angles, probably because of gale-force winds further north clashing with the usual trade-wind swell. Casamara may weigh 33 tons but she rocked and rolled like a cork as the conflicting seas rose under her from astern. It was difficult to sleep, and the main saloon bunks were often occupied in preference to those in the sleeping cabins as the centre of the boat is always the most stable point. The log records that we were still ‘ROLLY ROLLY’ on 2nd December and this continued until we were about two-thirds of the way across. Eventually the wind eased and the sea became more settled – the swell was still around 3m from astern, but the gap between waves lengthened and the motion became much easier – and at noon on 3rd December we added a poled-out staysail to the poled-out genoa and reefed mainsail. We recorded the wind direction and speed in the logbook every hour for the

Noa and Laura leaning on the bimini to deal with some chaotic hair situations 98

Laura gazes at Pigeon island, St Lucia’s northwest outpost entire crossing, and it’s interesting to see just how consistent it was once we were in the trade winds. Once Casamara had settled into her stride she continued like a train on tracks with the wind blowing steadily from astern. We had some squally days as we got closer to the Caribbean, with gusts of wind to around 30 knots, but generally the wind blew at between 16–20 knots. We ran under the twin headsail plan until 5th December, when the wind moved more into the north. We gybed the mainsail over to port, setting up a preventer to stop the boom crashing back again with the rolling of the seas, and kept the staysail to starboard and the genoa to port, both poled out. We had only 500 miles left to go, and when this sail plan started to give us an average of 9 knots the excitement about arrival time began to build. It wasn’t to last though, as the weather turned squally again and we had a couple of nights of reefing and unreefing the sails as the squalls came through. It’s an odd feeling, sailing along quite happily in the dark, when the sea and sails suddenly start to react to an approaching squall. Looking astern, you can see the approaching cloud blanking out the starry night sky and have to judge how windy it will be a few minutes later based on how big and how dark the patch in the sky has become. Whoever was on watch kept an eye out for approaching squalls and adjusted course or sails accordingly. The last day of the passage dawned with less than 50 miles to go and the log still recording force 4 winds from northeast or east-northeast. We sighted St Lucia at 0940 and shifted our course to round Pigeon Island into Rodney Bay and the finishing line. In a blur we had crossed the line and were greeted on the pontoon by the wonderful ARC team, a bowl of fruit and, of course, rum punch! We were still in disbelief that we had crossed an ocean and the experience is certainly one we want to repeat. However, the one fatality in the fleet* certainly brought home for us the challenges of ocean sailing and the humbling power of the sea. * Sadly Max Delannoy, aboard French yacht Agecanonix in the racing division, was hit on the head by the boom and died from his injuries. 99

We learnt so much – about the value of preparation, sharing deck and galley duties and good company onboard – and so much about ourselves during the passage. We look forward to the next voyage in our sailing careers and would like to thank John and Susan for welcoming us aboard and teaching us so much, as well as the OCC for facilitating such a phenomenal experience and enabling us to be a part of the community of ocean sailors. Being able to make this crossing while both still at university has been incredible, and wouldn’t have been financially possible without the help of the OCC. We cannot recommend ocean sailing enough and would say to anyone thinking about taking on such an experience ... just do it!

Following their crossing Laura headed back to St Andrews University, keeping her hand in during the winter with weekend dinghy racing and hoping to join a yacht in April for another adventure. Noa was inspired to continue through Panama and into the Pacific and, while waiting for the Canal transit, wrote: ‘I will certainly never forget my time aboard Casamara and it gave me the opportunity to continue sailing, as from St Lucia I joined the Oyster World Rally aboard Juno, a Dutch-owned Oyster 575. We’ve sailed to Antigua, Bonaire, Santa Marta and the San Blas islands, and are now in a marina near Colón awaiting our Panama Canal transit. I’ve had a great time and the atmosphere is very similar to that on the ARC – meeting the same faces at each stop and exchanging stories of the passage, what boat-part needs repairing or replacing or – more fun – of dive adventures and beach parties! I’ve already made lifelong friends and am excited about the voyage towards the Galapagos. From there, unfortunately, I’ll undo all my westward progress and fly home to finish my university studies, but I hope to rejoin Juno in Australia to finish the rally in Antigua in 2023. In summary, doing the ARC started my journey and gave me a taste of ocean passages – I hope to do many more.’

Noa sitting happily beneath Juno’s Dutch ensign ... despite being Belgian!

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Oyster 575

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A SELECTION OF THE BERTHON BLUEWATER CRUISING FLEET

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LONDON BY SEA Fergus and Katherine Quinlan (Pylades, Fergus and Katherine’s home-built 12m steel cutter, is a regular in Flying Fish, as are Fergus and Katherine themselves – see 2013/2, 2017/1 and 2021/1. Those unfamiliar with southwest Ireland may find the chartlet on page 169 of Flying Fish 2021/1 helpful.) For many summers in the late sixties I worked in London. The city presented a wonderful mix of heady sexual, political and intellectual freedoms and I grew to love the town, its people and its great river, the Thames. Fifty years on, during the lockdown winter of 2020/1, Katherine and I hatched a plan to sail to the city from our home in Kinvara on the west coast of Ireland. 1st June: Having checked out the regulations concerning Covid, Brexit and entry to the UK, we were good to go. Sailing in fluky winds we reached Kilronan in the Aran Islands and spent a few days tramping the land of stone. Leaving the islands on the afternoon of the 5th we arrived at dawn for a magical passage through the Blasket Sound. As the wind faded we motored south through a delightfully easy sea, rich with air and seaborne life forms. The Dursey Sound was calm, but curiously covered in blown foam. Twenty-four hours from Kilronan we picked up a mooring in Crookhaven. 10th June: A morning of mist so thick that one is breathing water – without a plotter it’s unlikely we would have found our way through the north passage to Baltimore. The fog lifted a bit the next morning and by 0730 we were under full sail heading for the Isles of Scilly. The wind held steady, allowing us to hold over 5 knots for the passage. Brexit required that we fly a Q flag and contact ‘National Yachtline’, so we completed and mailed our C1331 form – this cannot be done online! Next morning at high water we crossed to Hugh Town on St Mary’s, the shallowest part giving us 0∙4m under the keel, and were surprised how empty the mooring field was. The following day’s sail around a calm Lizard Point was glorious in a moderate northwesterly and, with Pylades secured at Falmouth at 1800 we went on a ‘dry’ walkabout. On the rising tide next evening we motored to the head of Restronguet Creek to take a mooring, continuing further up the shallow creek in our inflatable. To our delight we were greeted by grandson Ben on a paddleboard, who guided us into the quay adjacent to my daughter’s house. We so enjoyed the company of Sarah, husband Rupert and their two children. 17th June: A great sail to Plymouth and tied up at Queen Anne’s Battery. Strolling the town we felt the isolation of the pandemic, reluctant to mix in a restaurant or bar and preferring instead the security of our own bubble. We ensured that the quality of wine, food, music and general ambience aboard was better than any bar or restaurant. The next day saw us in the race off Start Point. The wind had stiffened from the northeast against our favourable tide and we were paying the price – using engine and full mainsail we battered our way around the headland. Dartmouth looked charming, the high ground at the entrance well defended by ancient forts, the touristy steam train hooting its way along the bank. It was crowded, however, as we searched for 103

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a perch, until the harbour launch guided us to raft outside an immaculate white Swan. The owner was ultra-polite, but showed slight strain as he questioned God as to why he deserved to be chosen as the pontoon for this grey steel boat from the west. The imposed partnership did, however, inspire us to polish up our bling. Our stay, prolonged by easterly winds, was very enjoyable – wandering streets, visiting art galleries and photographing trains ... fascinating steam-belching monsters that dragged the skipper back to his childhood. 23rd June: We departed at 0530, hoisting full main at the river-mouth. Variable breezes came and went throughout the day, and lots of pleasure craft passed in all directions but disappeared by 1800 as we pushed on through the night, our speed 3∙8 against the tide and more than 8 knots with it. Maybe our plans to pass close to headlands with a following tide and be further out in the bay at contrary tides paid off, or we might have been kidding ourselves. A dangerous and scary incident developed off the southeast entrance to the Solent. Many ships had been passing back and forth all night, their navigation lights unambiguous, plus a very bright ball of light had been visible for a long time off the port bow. I assumed it to be some form of stationary platform and, due to the amount of shipping about, I could not pinpoint it satisfactorily on the AIS. We seemed to be taking a long time to close with it until I suddenly realised it was getting much larger, very quickly and on the bow. No navigation lights of any sort could be deciphered within the blaze of light. I kept turning to starboard and seconds later a wall of steel and thumping engines slid past 100m to port. At that distance I could see it to be a large coaster, completely floodlit in sodium lights. I was trembling with fear and rage. When the tide turned against us next day we entered East Sovereign Harbour and regained our land legs wandering Eastbourne. Away at dawn with a spring tide, the pilot suggested that with the sequence of tide turns along this coast we might reach Ramsgate on the one tide. The sea was more turbulent than conditions warranted but perhaps it was the fast tide, which was still running hard with us as we passed Dover. At 1700 we squeezed over the bar into Ramsgate. 26th June: Having the bit between the teeth and not wishing to squander the racing springs and the projected easterly winds, we were away early. The tides are complex from Ramsgate to North Foreland and for the first two hours a contrary tide had to be punched. Over cautious, we went out to the correct channels, but noted another yacht making better ground hugging the coast. Once abeam of North Foreland the tide gripped and we accelerated into the Thames Estuary. A bit nervous about crossing the Kentish Flats, our decision was to pass north of Margate Sand towards the Shivering Sands and then turn southwest to the Medway. The horizon was dotted with myriad buoys and marks of all descriptions. Large ships were butting their way along the various channels, forcing us to maintain a starboard course just outside the designated shipping routes ... but not too far outside. “Those seagulls are walking, not swimming,” Katherine remarked. The land from Margate to the Isle of Sheppey could only be glimpsed as a faint line, with no sight of anything to the north save the endless marks and marine traffic. The feeling of boundless flat space was somehow more pronounced than on the open ocean. The abandoned anti-aircraft gun forts of the Shivering Sands looked akin to giant, striding extraterrestrials from a 105

The Shivering Sands forts

war of the worlds, which to a large extent they were. With the tide turning against us, Pylades was secured to a mooring at Queenborough, where wine and food were relished. 27th June: By 0600 the light was penetrating the whirling mist, though visibility was poor and, exiting the Medway between Sheerness and the Isle of Grain, a battle against a fresh northeast wind and the tide commenced. With reefed main and the propeller at fine pitch, we tacked and punched a path towards the Middle Sand No 11. A smaller yacht ahead was doing the same, and as it rounded the buoy to gain fair wind and tide the woman on the tiller punched the air before disappearing north into the gloom. Pylades turned for London and the tide quickened. Katherine had bought Mudlarking, a quirky book about the history of the Thames, on our journey. It describes finding items in the mud, from cannon balls and medals to shards of pottery, all telling the fascinating story of the economic, political and

Arrival at Tower Bridge, as pictured by the author

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military forces that traversed these waters and made the UK. We also kept in mind our own Pirate Queen, Grace O’Malley, who in 1593 sailed from Westport to meet Queen Elizabeth I. She and her crew reached Greenwich without plotter, GPS or engine. Familiar names appeared as the tide pushed us west – Greenwich, the Dome and the Cutty Sark all whizzed by. Big ship traffic was replaced by myriad Thames Clipper buses travelling at 25 knots, tourist RIBs going twice as fast, and police launches, all churning the water to a frenzy. Katherine called her namesake’s dock and they St Katherine responded, “If the light is red, Docks stop, if green proceed”. We arrived, the lights were red, and swept on by tide and traffic Pylades hurtled towards Tower Bridge. We would not fit under, so in desperation new sailing regulations were invented and the skipper, frantically waving his left arm, caught the eye of a police launch and TC bus, turned hard to port downstream, and hard to port again. The lights now green we slid into the cut and secured – the skipper was visibly shaking! Within seconds the gate closed behind us and all was calm. Under the gaze of London tourism, we passed through opening bridges, missed hitting the Royal Barge and secured to our berth. 28th June: Before leaving home I had received two Covid jabs, but Katherine had only had her first. The plan had been to be home by the time her second jab was due, but the date had been advanced – what to do? We walked across Tower Bridge to Guy’s Hospital where they were running a pop-up jab centre. After much shaking of heads and beckoning of higher authorities, a young Indian man arrived. He heard the story, said, “follow me”, and the three of us marched off through the complex until he bade me wait. Then, as Katherine observed, he tumbled all the negatives and 20 minutes later she arrived back jabbed and clutching a card. 29th June: Normally we travel around London by Underground and bus but, being shy of pandemics, we hailed a cab. In the city centre we escaped into the National Gallery but my favourite painting, Turner’s Evening Star, was away on loan. 107

30th June: At 0530 we locked out onto a more sedate and almost traffic-free Thames, which swept us east on its ebb. Seven hours later we moored at Queenborough, but were away again at 0600 next morning for a day of light winds and sunshine to Dover. The forecast for the next week looked very poor, with stiff westerly winds and the odd gale – any thoughts of beating west put us in a philosophical frame of mind ... wait, and it will change. Trucks trading the wealth of the west dominated the town. In contrast, inflatable and semi-rigid boats were being broken up in the boatyard, the debris of the tragic trail of refugees risking all to cross the Channel. Overlooking the town is Dover Castle, built under an earlier migrant, the French-born King Henry II. It was well worth visiting. The museum includes a 3500-year-old sewn-plank boat found under the town, one of the most important prehistoric timber finds in Europe – humans’ desire to cross water does indeed stretch back a bit. The last time we had passed through Dover, on our way to Russia, we were astonished to be buzzed by a Spitfire, but now we saw it every day. Our browser told us that one can fly as passenger for £2750 for 35 minutes – it’s apparently booked out. Our last excursion in Dover was to the Battle of Britain Memorial, a short bus ride away, with full-size models of a Spitfire and a Hurricane. Its most poignant display was a tasteful portrayal of the short lives and terrible fear of pilots waiting to scramble. 10th July: Departure at 0330 saw us finally heading west to Shoreham, very interesting with its tight lock and empty berths, but after our enforced stay in Dover we were

Fergus at the Battle of Britain Memorial near Folkestone

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Locking in at Shoreham delighted to push on and enjoyed a fine day motor-sailing, making 8∙5 knots through the Looe Channel and Boulder Bank at the east end of the Solent. We paid for that tide, however, as entering Portsmouth to secure at Haslar Marina Pylades struggled to make 1∙9 knots. A pleasant sail weaving amongst the white yachts of the Solent brought us to Yarmouth, which looked very crowded. We followed a harbour RIB, easing through a tightening marina, until he pointed out an impossible slot and pushed us in sideways – we were most impressed. Next day we ran west through a busy Needles Channel basking in sunshine. Towards evening the wind went flukey and we anchored at Swanage, an open roadstead south of Poole harbour. The anchorage at New Grimsby in the Isles of Scilly 15th July: At 0400 it was choppy at St Albans Ledge, followed by many hours close-hauled on a fine summer’s day. Another fine day saw us pass Wolf Rock at 1300, later picking up a mooring at Hugh Town. Next day we found daughter Sarah and her family at anchor in New Grimsby Sound on their Archambault A31 French sailing machine. A few pleasurable days were spent exploring 109

The stone tunnel which leads to Glandore’s Christ Church the islands, dining out and connecting with grandchildren on Pylades. With parting tears and full sail, light winds carried us back to the Republic. 21st July: At 1200 we slid over the bar into never previously visited Courtmacsherry, with 0∙5m to spare under the keel. It’s a gem, but after a few days, with plenty of water over the bar, we sailed west to Glandore to chill. The skipper jumped overboard and chilled some more. 26th July: After a calm night anchored in Quincy and a walk

Barloge Creek, four miles east of the entrance to Baltimore

through the deserted village on Rabbit Island, we sailed to Castletownshend. The anchorage at Barloge Creek, again a first, had an echo of Scotland. After climbing the adjacent hills we took the dinghy into beautiful Lough Hyne and awaited the ebb to enjoy the rapids. Our next passage was through Baltimore Harbour and its north exit to anchor at Schull, then on to Crookhaven – renamed ‘RIB Alley’. A stream of RIBs, each with a pair of 200hp outboards, growled back and forth with copious wash. One jaw-dropping machine festooned in bling passed by, blasting pounding rock out of its external sound system. 110

Katherine and Pylades at Dunboy 3rd August: At 0700 we made our escape north around Mizen Head, all fairly calm and little wind, to anchor at Dunboy in very secure mud. After contemplating the horrific events of 1602* we retired. Following a brief visit to Castletownbere, its Walker Art Gallery and the excellent supermarket, we motored to Laurence Cove Marina. There a routine check revealed the engine compartment flooded – the rotating part of the Deep-Sea Seal had slid forward, but retightening and an additional jubilee clip on the shaft brought back dry bilges. 10th August: A beautiful, calm, summer’s day passing up Dursey Sound, but by Puffin Island we were reefed down, it was pouring rain with poor visibility, the sea was building and the navigation system went black. We secured at Valentia and, after listening to a strong gale warning, lots of dock string was applied. Examination of the navigation screen found a broken and melted fuse-holder – easily fixed but leaving the question why. 14th August: A cold, wild, wet sail to Dingle when the forecast southeast 15 knots turned into 33 knots from the northeast. We secured at the marina and stayed snug onboard, attempting to light the stove only to find the filter leaking – replacement was added to the winter work list. On going for drinks in Foxy John’s we found the bar was Covid-closed. Having made passage through the Blasket Sound our anchor bedded in * The siege of Dunboy Castle lasted from 5th to 18th June 1602, and was one of the last battles of the Nine Years’ War. An English army of up to 5000 men under George Carew besieged the castle, which was held by a Gaelic Irish force of 143 loyal to Donal Cam O’Sullivan Beare. The English took the castle after eleven days and most of the surviving defenders were hanged. 111

Smerwick Harbour under the ruin of Dún an Óir. As night fell, 600 headless spectres from November 1580 drifted silently around in the swirling mists*. 23rd August: Motoring close to the north cliffs of Brandon the theme of mysterious mists continued. The water had an oily swell, while patches of light came and went through the fog revealing sheer remote cliffs echoing with the calls of seabirds. Passing between the Magharees the sun appeared, illuminating the glory of the location against the backdrop of the Slieve Mish. Fenit Marina was quiet, very quiet – no answer on VHF or phone and no one in the office, and all fairly quiet in the village as well. It is fortuitous that we are content in quiet places. Loop Head passed slowly close to starboard, a wedge of rock washed in a gentle swell. Its tower, a slash of white against a cerulean blue backdrop, looked so innocuous on this fine summer day. Fast-breathing cetaceans and myriads of plunging gannets accompanied us north, but no other vessel was sighted on passage. Back in Kilronan we spun tales of our adventures since we left. 27th August: Back at base we picked up our tangled mooring at Parkmore. As always, we were in a paradox between satisfaction at having achieved our objective and sadness at leaving Pylades after our 1593 mile round-trip to London. * Another siege, this one during the Second Desmond Rebellion. A force of up to 700 freelance soldiers, mostly of Spanish and Italian origin, landed at Smerwick to support the Catholic rebels. They were forced to retreat to the nearby promontory fort of Dún an Óir, where they were besieged by the English and surrendered within a few days. The officers were spared, but the other ranks were executed on the orders of the English commander Arthur Grey, the Lord Deputy of Ireland. Pylades home and dry at Parkmore

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CHAPTER ONE OF THE REST OF MY LIFE Michael Gough This flight that I am on, San Francisco, Mexico City and then on to Paris, is something of a bridge between who I am and who I might be, from what I do towards what I might do. I made a plan some time ago and now I’m executing that plan. I am passing from the dream dreamt to the dream realised, or something like that. Over three years ago, and after a lot of research into the type of boat that might accommodate a serious adventure, I put a deposit down. I also added my name to those tens of thousands of armchair sailors who subscribe to YouTube sailing channels. I pored over specifications and equipment lists and the comments of dreamers that had come before. I built spreadsheets and compared features, and eventually one boat emerged as the best option, or at least the best option to my untrained eye. It was said to be seaworthy and accommodating and complete. To say I didn’t really know what I was doing would be an understatement – but here I am, on this plane headed to that boat and a long term commitment to the seabound version of the unknown. Sailing wasn’t in my blood, but I grew up close to a bay that was dominated by the white triangles of sails and I was transfixed by their play on the waters, their capricious motion. I developed a yearning for what they seemed to represent, something about freedom. I walked the docks and watched them sway in the winds and listened to the hypnotic sound of halyard on mast and wondered. They seemed so far away, so unattainable. As the years passed this dream lingered. Sailing over the horizon became the daydream of choice for those times when escape seemed like the most sensible way out of a given predicament. When my marriage was stretched so far beyond the breaking point that there was only one possible outcome, there the dream was, just begging to be made concrete. I adjusted finances and made plans to leave my job. I started regular conversations with the amazingly patient people at Chantiers Amel in France. I bought a boat. The people at Amel really are amazing. They invested the time and the energy needed Visiting Chantiers Amel 114

to help me understand how to deal with what, for me, is a beast of a boat. The systems on an Amel 50 are complicated and just the sheer amount of information they are sharing can overwhelm. We have a week together for the handover and more if needed – I might be a bit of a slow learner, but I actually feel like I’m getting the hang of things. I think that S/V essence and I might learn to love each other. Like the proverbial first date, we were both awkward and tentative, looking for common ground but not allowing ourselves to trust. But here we are, a week in, with almost daily sails, and I think I love her. She has her rough edges, like the unattractive curling leach of the furling sails, and I have mine, like my almost total inability to steer with the bow-thruster. Here

S/V essence in upwind mode

A brand spanking new boat

we are in 12 knots of warm breeze, flat seas and a cockpit table full of fresh French food. This relationship is going places. She sails well upwind, although the steering is devoid of feedback. I have always preferred a tiller, but that was racing and this is cruising. The unusual helm position of the Amel means that you feel more like you are driving a semi* than sailing, although a spacecraft with a steering wheel might be more apt given the overwhelming number of screens, buttons, levers and lights that surround you. It is a button-pusher’s dream come true. The normally arduous tasks of deploying, reefing * .A large tractor-trailer rig (what Brits would call an articulated lorry), not the semi-detached house which this abbreviation is commonly used for in UK English!

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A button-pusher’s dream and stowing sails are reduced to the pull of levers or push of buttons. You can also control the powered winches to trim the sails from this panel of gadgets. You will occasionally have to wander over to the winch to ease, but that’s easy labour. The boat’s interior makes for a thoroughly modern floating hotel. The well-placed switches selectively dim the main and accent lighting, with elegant strip lights at floor level and along the deckhead – extremely posh. The level of finish is superior to any hotel I’ve stayed in. The quality is similar to a high-end car, with hand-stitched leather wraps on the surfaces your hand might stray to for comfort when the boat rolls, or the lovely contrasting piping on seat cushions. The galley includes all the modern conveniences, including microwave, dishwasher, two-drawer refrigerator and induction hob, to which we added an espresso machine. She is already the centre of my waterborne universe. Today we had our first argument. She decided she no longer wanted to carry her beautiful 107m2 code zero*. We were sailing fairly deep in about 12 knots of breeze when the cover of the halyard parted at the clutch. The core held, but that made matters worse because the code zero was having a wild time aloft making the inevitable mess (picture a wrestling match with a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade-sized balloon at the top of the mast, twisting and turning, endeavouring to pull the mast ever closer to the water). We were able to furl it badly, secure it to the deck and return to our slip to drink heavily and celebrate how totally in control we were the whole time. Although I have always enjoyed solo sailing, I am not doing this alone. Matteo and Francesca are my young, Italian and attractive crew. They have sailed from Croatia to Cape Town and handled a vessel in more than 70 knots of wind, so youth, culture and looks aren’t their only qualifications. They seem both eager for adventure, yet ideally suited to what I have heard is the slow pace of the cruising life. Our first dinner conversation was neither tentative nor awkward – it feels like we are all here for the right reasons and ready to come together as a crew. Their best and most comforting stories are about a particular crew member who simply didn’t work out. It is a parable of what not to do. The story’s comfort lies in * A cross between a genoa and an asymmetric spinnaker, used for sailing close to the wind in light airs. 116

First day with my Italian crew how completely it represents every fear I’ve had about inviting people to join the adventure. All the insecurities, awkward interactions and need for dominance and control, all wrapped up in one person. For me it was the perfect way to explain that they were well aware of the personality of ‘bad’ crew. And because it suggests that we all share a common understanding of ‘bad’, I am confident we will all, at least, strive to be ‘good’. We try a first overnight trip and arrive at the new port having docked the boat less than a half dozen times. I don’t appear to be getting the hang of it. This time, with the support of a group of grey and wizened French sailors and two very kind marina attendants, I still fail to navigate my way between the finger of our assigned slip and an imposing-looking Beneteau. This is understating the facts ... I made a total mess of the Comfortably sailing wing-and-wing 117

attempt. Another clarification is in order ... I made a total mess of many attempts. I’m the sort who prefers to blame myself – it’s always good to look at the things you could have done differently, because you can actually do them differently. The problem with blaming others is you have so little control over the actions of people who aren’t you. I’m definitely not blaming the crew – they handled themselves admirably. They ran from one side of the boat to the other, gesticulating in that special way that Italians do, and moving fenders to places of potential contact. The wizened advice was – not surprisingly, given their substantial experience – appropriate and delivered earnestly. The marina attendants, for their part, threw their rigid inflatable boat between ours and the solid concrete pylon that would have, without any malice, done substantial damage to S/V essence’s elegant and vulnerable transom. Their advice is worth remembering: “Abandon the steering wheel and just steer with the bow-thruster. Come in high to compensate for the drift of the wind. A little slower. Engine forward. Wait, reverse engine.” There was a real breakthrough moment when my newly-formed set of advisors realised that I didn’t understand a word of French and switched to very well-enunciated English. In the end, and thankfully, there was a comfortable outcome. Those kind marina attendants determined that 5m of beam will not fit in 4m of space and graciously offered to house us overnight at the guest check-in berth. This was an easy manoeuvre with the breeze comfortably on our bow to gently ease us in. It did mean that we gathered a large crowd of onlookers but they, not knowing the shame of my previous efforts, were suitably impressed with our manoeuvres. Perhaps the best part of the whole experience was the realisation that we were now just steps away from bars and restaurants and very ready to enjoy them. Below the name on the transom, S/V essence proudly proclaims San Francisco as her home port. I can only imagine the conversation among the sailors after we aborted our docking attempt. “How did

Safely moored at the Port Olona guest berth 118

Matteo and Francesca enjoying this thoroughly modern floating hotel they get that boat from San Francisco to Port Olona when they can’t even dock?” I’m starting to figure out that boat life differs in fundamental ways from land life, or at least my life on land. For example, on land there is seldom if ever champagne at lunch. For some reason the fine people at Amel stocked the refrigerator on S/V essence with a good amount of champagne. Neighbours and friends have added to the supply and now we have champagne lunches. To be very clear about this, no one on board is complaining. It’s just an observation. I hadn’t worn shorts in years. Not sure why, but somehow shorts didn’t feel appropriate in downtown San Francisco. With white legs exposed I am now comfortable wearing shorts into town, to restaurants, bars and stores. Perhaps it’s similar to the way you end up wearing the strangest things when you travel. It’s as if your fashion sense escapes the second you self-identify as a tourist. Does this mean I am now a tourist? I can live with that ... and another glass of champagne. We are back in La Rochelle, sailing in 3 knots true which is barely enough to hold shape in the code zero. Yes, the code zero that I have now completely forgiven for its insolence a week or so ago. Four boats surrounded us as we tried to reach our way south, but it proved easy enough to sail under one and above the other. I did feel bad at stealing what little wind was available, but I got over it. There is a fine craft to leeward with a rakish racer look. She has a plumb bow, composite sails and all the lines on her point aggressively forward. She is definitely sailing lower and faster. We are out for a test sail on a boat purpose-built for bluewater cruising – we aren’t racing. As they creep closer abeam it is hard not to notice that there is a line of new wind forming. It’s building slowly out of the west and you can see the first hint of dark water. Further out might be the smallest of whitecaps, or just wishful thinking or a trick of the light. If we head up gradually perhaps we can get to that new wind first, square off a little and sail back down to their line with the new wind abeam and clearly ahead – but we aren’t racing. 4 knots and then 5 and 6. Easing sheets settling down to their line and yes, we are clearly ahead. I can’t quite wipe the smile from my face. 30 minutes later with the breeze still building they have crossed our transom, sailing higher and faster. I guess they aren’t racing either. S/V essence is such a subtle but demanding mistress. I don’t think I understood 119

Smiling but not racing the level of expectations that I had brought to this adventure. It may not surprise the objective observer, but if you are in the middle of it all you think there is an alignment of expectation and reality. This is likely the result of your own projection, by the need for it to be so. But reality can insinuate itself in little heartbreaks and complications and suddenly the gap between what you must have imagined and what is right in front of you is gaping. You revert to form and become sullen and withdrawn. This is a natural state in that life you left behind, and it is supported by a whole litany of external forces that are happy to accept the blame. But those external forces weren’t supposed to follow you across the country and an ocean. It must be the fault of the one thing that did follow you across – you. This is a preliminary diagnosis based on current symptoms. There is this little malaise and this creeping frustration. The giddiness of the new is still there, but it is not as acute as it was when every feature of the boat and the new lifestyle was, well, new. I wake a little less eager, with that elation at least partially replaced by trepidation. The practical explanation is that the faucet (tap) in the galley is leaking and the Iridium GO! has stubbornly refused to connect to our computers and tablets. There is also this totally predictable adjustment to living with crew, new and clearly well-meaning humans with their own interests and behaviours. Among these is a rather vexing idea of personal space that is at odds with my American sense of required distances and independence. I love that they are both Italian and, as a result, social by birthright. But as we like to say in the US, ‘I need my space’. A 50ft boat can feel quite small when the need for quiet reflection or concentration is foiled by a well-meaning desire to help or be involved. By way of example, in the middle of an exploration of the aforementioned galley leak, I withdrew my head from the cabinet only to collide, head to head, with Matteo. He was eager to either observe or participate. I was pretty sure I had just asked him to continue making dinner. This was an altogether wonderful couteaux*, a shellfish I was 120

not familiar with that was prepared with breadcrumbs and garlic. This was paired with a subtle white wine that together managed to ease the pain of my recently offended forehead. Anyway, it was a little like a classic comedy act, a pratfall of which I, at least at the time, failed to appreciate the humour. In two days we leave to cross the Bay of Biscay and I might just escape this malaise. There will be weather and waves and interrupted sleep to contend with, as well as 20–25 knots of breeze, 2–3m waves and three-hour watches. That rhythm will take hold and should be all the salve I need. My new friend and fellow Amel 50 owner Matt gave very sound advice, had I only listened. He said ‘wait, there would be better weather windows’. He mentioned seas piling up, crew discomfort, seasickness. Now we can pass the advice on to the next anxious sailor waiting in port for the Bay of Biscay crossing. Wait! We did wait, anxiously, first through Friday and then through Saturday. Once the front passed the wind was supposed to clock (veer) so that it wouldn’t be on the nose. We motored out of the harbour and across the Pertuis d’Antioche strait between Îles de Ré and Oléron and mainland France. The seas were short and steep and the hull slapped angrily as S/V essence came off the bigger waves. We knew it was dead upwind until we rounded Île de Oléron, so huddled together in the cockpit confident of a better wind angle once round. Francesca was turning green, bucket at the ready. Soon we were able to add sail, a partially-furled main and matching genoa. Each did their best to lift us up and over the waves as the sea continued to gain in height and the wind built. It * Razor clams

Morning mood on the Bay of Biscay

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was only in the mid-20s, or force 6, and the boat managed a desultory 3∙5 knots. Of course the tide was more than happy to contribute an additional knot against us. So at 2∙5 knots over the ground we gritted our teeth and dreamt of better seas ahead. Every sailor knows that point where you just have to try something different. Excessive helm suggested a headsail change for better balance, as though the winds were still only around 25 knots the seas were making hard work for the autopilot. I am learning that autopilots can be quite vexing – much like that particular friend who is clearly smarter than you but constantly manages to do the stupidest things. But I digress. Perhaps this wasn’t the ideal time to learn how to set running backstays, something better learned at the dock. The good news was we still had internet, so I grabbed my iPad and logged onto the Amel site before crawling about the boat drenched in spray and one boarding wave. Task accomplished we sailed on under staysail and reefed main, perhaps no faster but with decidedly less leeway. The first night was continued rough seas, fishing boat slaloms and the occasional squall. It was also our first experience with night watch blues for everyone except Matteo, who turned out to be enthusiastic both on watch and asleep, oversleeping for an hour on second watch. Honestly, I did not mind. I was deep into the puzzle of how to keep the boat moving, as the lightening breeze and confused seas were making the ideal set-up difficult to a c h i e v e . Occasionally the autopilot (which was set to follow the apparent wind angle) and I would wrestle

Reaching with the gennaker 122

for control. I was pushing its buttons, both literally and figuratively, but it would happily steer the boat off the wind by 90° or more, at which point we would lose steerage way because the sails were still tight as boards and just wallow about. Once I understood the game we were playing I would simply wrest control from her (ah, she’s a she) every time she sounded her wind divination alarm and steer to the shift myself. And yes, for those who know these things, I tried true wind direction as well. More sail would have been appropriate had it not been for the squalls. A particular 40+ knot one showed first as targets all over the radar so I was prepared, at least to sit back, watch, listen and learn as boat and autopilot did their thing. The wind roared, the rain pelted down, and the boat securely carved a path forward through the dark sea. I should have listened to Matt, but I would have missed that squall. I do hope to miss many squalls in the future but I am richer for experiencing this one. My watch over, I experimented with sleeping while being tossed and turned instead of tossing and turning unaided like I did back on land. Having made landfall at A Coruña, Michael, Francesca and Matteo continued down the coast of Spain and Portugal before heading for the Canaries for the archetypal Atlantic crossing. Leaving from Gran Canaria on 24th November 2021, they reached Tortola, BVI on 11th December – Michael’s qualifying passage for the OCC.

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ADDICTED TO MORE ADVENTURE – Rev Bob Shepton. Published in soft covers by the author and available from Amazon [amazon.co.uk / amazon.com] at £13.48 and $20.14. 265 228mm x 151mm pages with many b/w photos and maps. ISBN 979-8-5212-5693-8. Also available in (nearly) full colour direct from the author [bobshepton1@gmail.com] at £30 + £4 postage. ISBN 979-0-9815-1712-4 If the name Dodo’s Delight doesn’t bring a sense of excitement and adventure to your mind then you clearly aren’t familiar with legendary English sailor Bob Shepton (or a regular reader of Flying Fish). In 2014 he published his first book, Addicted to Adventure, which included the voyage of ‘The First School Group Across the Atlantic and Back’, and Addicted to More Adventure builds on this with more of Bob’s most memorable experiences from around the world. Both books include stories of climbing adventures, as Bob is joined by some of the world’s best climbers who discover and tackle new, unclimbed walls, some only accessible from the water. In his new book Bob breaks each area up into specific sections. After forewords by Jimmy Cornell and Lin Pardey, and a prologue from his days in the Royal Marines during which he completed a 50-mile desert yomp*, the first chapter is focused around Cape Horn. Bob modestly tells the story of ‘The First School Group to Sail Around the World’, sailing his 33ft Westerly Dodo’s Delight (the first of two boats carrying the name) east to west around the Horn. According to an old sailing saying, ‘below 40°S there is no law, below 50° there is no God’, but clearly the Reverend Bob believes differently. Useful maps and photos ensure one can accurately visualise where Bob is describing. Following on from Cape Horn are the Arctic Regions, with a fair number of climbing stories to please even the most dedicated climbers. Every chapter ending with photos, even if only in black and white, helps to bring the stories to life and makes some of the feats even more visually impressive. Bob subtitles the Mid-Latitudes ‘Europe can be Challenging Too’, which pretty much sums up what to expect. At last a faint glimmer of Bob’s human qualities surface when he exclaims, “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take” as he describes waves exploding like artillery against the hull off the Bristol Channel. Adventures continue around Europe and Scandinavia, including the northernmost Scottish isles and ‘St Kilda with Britain’s Top Climber’, before returning to the Antarctic regions of South Georgia with Steve Brown aboard Novara. As well as being a gifted climber, adventurer and sailor, Bob also has a great talent for storytelling. Like its predecessor, Addicted to More Adventure is written in a personal * A Royal Marines term for a long march over rough ground carrying full kit, popularised in the UK during coverage of the Falklands War in 1982. 125

journal-like style which allows the reader to share the situations in which Bob and his crew find themselves. Bob is now 85 years old and his accounts are written through such eyes. There is little mention of his appearance on Reel Rock and Redbull TV which, for a 21-year-old reviewer, was seriously impressive. Either Bob is very modest or maybe he doesn’t quite understand the importance of these feats? Addicted to More Adventure reads marvellously on its own – there’s no need to have read Bob’s previous book, Addicted to Adventure, though I’d recommend it. Both books have at their core incredible adventure stories with the likes of the Wild Bunch, one of them featuring on the front cover – Sean Villanueva O’Driscoll on the Spire*, a pinnacle in Gibbs Fjord, Baffin Island. Bob’s exploits with the Wild Bunch may be record breaking, but they don’t come without their challenges. During one such experience the Wild Bunch were left alone in the Arctic for 48 hours, unable to contact Bob for help and collection. Although it wasn’t anyone’s fault, throughout the book Bob selflessly blames himself and admits his mistakes. This results in a very truthful book which allows one to learn from Bob’s errors. It certainly helped me to learn more about what a highly experienced sailor considers in intense, challenging situations. This book could almost be described as Bob Shepton’s personal pilot guide as he describes and analyses places all over the world – a worthwhile investment if you are considering high latitude sailing since Bob will likely have contributed vast amounts to any of the necessary pilot guides to the colder regions. He also educates us on some of his opinions, like why he isn’t a fan of in-mast furling, his opinions of Bavarias and more. Bob has the knack of writing exactly what he thinks, providing real insight into both his opinions and his thinking process, the latter so often glossed over. If you want to read the adventures of a man who has travelled the world by boat several times over, endured polar bear encounters, near fatal icebergs, served his country, sailed wild seas and skippered world-class climbers to some of the most remote inhospitable regions of the planet, then this is your book. At times breathtaking, at others jawdropping, this book is a thrilling and tremendous read. It has given me new-found admiration for Bob and the inspiration to get out and adventure – it’s our turn to follow in the footsteps of this awe-inspiring man. Thank you, Bob, for a great book. MJRW * Later copies of Addicted to More Adventure have a redesigned cover, with this photo on the back and the iceberg arch previously on the back cover moved to the front.

ALL HANDS ON DECK – Lisette Vos. Published in paperback by Adlard Coles Nautical [www.bloomsbury.com] at £12.99. 96 170mm x 245mm pages, with diagrams and illustrations throughout. ISBN 978-1-4729-8747-1 (Flying Fish always aims for peer review, and as this book is intended for ‘young sailors aged between 6 and 12’ I was delighted when the two children of a sailing family I happened to know of were willing to read it and give their opinions, as did their mother from ‘the adult’s angle’.) 126

This book is aimed at children who are confident readers and interested in having fun in a sailing dinghy or yacht. It assumes little prior knowledge, although of course the likelihood is that any child that picks this up will be keen or curious to know more about boats – or the person giving it to them will be keen to encourage an enthusiasm! All Hands on Deck is a nice-looking book and the contents page immediately makes it all sound exciting and not intimidating. There are nine chapters, followed by some pages at the end where readers are able to issue themselves with diplomas as well as make notes in the logbook, write a few recipes or draw a flag. It proved fun to dip into as well as instructive when read cover to cover. The titles of the chapters range from ‘Sailing Rules’ – in which rights of way are explained – to an introduction to weather and understanding forecasts in ‘Through sunshine and storms’. Each chapter concludes with a page or two of related activities, all of which are really clearly set out, achievable and varied in scope. The accessible text works well as bedside reading but would be equally suited to helping children doing sailing courses to get a better understanding of the theory. The section on ‘Sports and Activities’ proved particularly popular. Daisy (aged 12) wrote: I liked the description of how to play water polo which they suggest doing with a dinghy. It would be a good family game on the beach or even in a swimming pool. There are lots of other good suggestions for activities. I am definitely going to have a go at doing a message in a bottle and see when and where the next person will pick it up. I also enjoyed learning about the different types of bridges and the signs on them – I will even look out for the signs when I am not in a boat. Arthur (aged 10) added: I especially enjoyed Chapter 2 which tells you all about ‘How Boats Work’. I also kept checking on how to tie some of the hitches and knots as I had forgotten some of them. The instructions are really easy to follow. I think the most helpful knot is the bowline, which I also need for den building and camping. I love the pictures in the book, they are mostly drawings, which are fun, but the diagrams are also really clear. The writing style is easy to understand and makes you want to have a go and join in. Daisy concluded: The quiz at the end was really fun, but I am not sure I would use the journal as it feels wrong to write in such a nice book. I would be really happy if someone gave me this book as a present and I think some of my friends would like me to give it to them. DL, AL & EW

SAIL THE WORLD WITH ME – Jimmy Cornell. Published in flexibound covers by Cornell Sailing Ltd [www.cornellsailing.com] at £29.95. 495 240mm x 195mm pages, with over 600 colour photos. ISBN 978-1-9160-9105-4 When we set off on our own voyages Jimmy Cornell’s most successful book, World Cruising Routes, was our bible. We relied on it heavily for passage planning, and even programmed his waypoints into our chartplotter. Since then we have followed his adventures on his series of Aventuras with admiration and perhaps a little jealousy. After all, he was ‘living the dream’ and making a living doing so. 127

Jimmy’s 18th and latest book, Sail the World With Me, is based on and supersedes his previous 200,000 Miles: A Life of Adventure (2017) and A Passion for the Sea (2007). As with the previous two titles, this is a book that is both enjoyable to read and to dip into now and again. It is part memoir, but interspersed with huge amounts of information via anecdotes about everything from boat selection to what to do and where to go. The book kicks off with the story of Aventura Zero, Cornell’s newest boat and fifth in the Aventura series. This is a project Jimmy came up with at the age of 80 – a voyage around the world in a fully electric boat! He needed speed to help with electricity generation and settled on a catamaran – the first multihulled Aventura. The sea trials of the purpose-built boat went well, but the first problems arose on the first leg of the journey when they sailed into a high with no wind for several days and Aventura Zero’s battery banks drained quite low. Again and again, Aventura Zero failed to generate sufficient power to cover consumption, even when carefully managed. On arriving in the Canaries Jimmy, never one to procrastinate over an urgent matter, reached the conclusion that the system was unsustainable for a long voyage. A return to France ended this adventure – perhaps only for now. My one criticism of the book is the small type size combined with a light serif font. Although Sail the World With Me is clearly targeted at the sailor ready to set out on an adventure it is also of great interest to experienced cruisers, and for those who might be slightly older such small type can be an issue. One thing I particularly like is the Technical Index at the back. While the book is chock-full of great advice, this is threaded into his stories and thus otherwise hard to find should the need arise. I also like the highlighted ‘Tips’ segments interspersed throughout. When flipping through the pages, these are easy to find and full of valuable insights. In all, I would recommend this book to ocean sailors as well as to armchair sailors and anyone planning to set off at some point in the future. As of May 2022 Sail The World With Me was not available for sale in the USA, but 200,000 Miles is still available from both North American distributors Paradise Cay and Amazon. AB

THE BOY, ME, AND THE CAT – Henry Plummer. Published in hard covers in 2001 by The Catboat Association [www.catboats.org/] at $19.95 + p&p. 196 185mm x 235mm pages, with many original drawings and photographs. ISBN 9780-9715-0415-8. And in soft covers in 2003 by The Narrative Press [narrativepress. com/] at £10.36. 156 140mm x 216mm pages, no illustrations. ISBN 978-1-58976226-8 While not quite as iconic as Erskine Childers’ Riddle of the Sands, this charming book enjoys a similarly loyal following among a tight-knit group of Northeast US sailing cognoscenti. Also written more than 100 years ago, it is a descriptive log of an eightmonth cruise in 1912/3 from New Bedford, on Massachusetts’ south coast, to Miami, Florida, and back, some 3000 nautical miles. 128

The crew consisted of the author, his teenage son Henry Junior and a cat, Scotty (who sadly failed to make the return passage, having expired at the end of the southward journey in a boatyard up the Miami River after a life of adventure). Their vessel, Mascot, a 24ft (7∙3m) ‘catboat’ with 3½ ft (1m) draught, was comfortable enough although spartan by today’s standards. She had no engine, but towed a 15ft (4∙6m) skiff with a 3hp inboard engine, which the crew used as both tender and a tug when Mascot couldn’t sail. In a semi-successful effort at self-sufficiency, the two men also brought along a gun, which they used for hunting waterfowl. Today’s Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway runs along most of the Eastern Seaboard and is made up of natural inlets, rivers, bays, sounds and man-made canals. It is plied by all manner of watercraft, including recreational sail and power as well as commercial tugs. A large contingent of ‘snowbird’ sailing boats and trawlers head down the ICW every fall for Florida and the Bahamas, returning to New England for the summer. Today’s risks include running aground in the ever-shoaling channels (for which insurance may be purchased from towing companies), transiting opening bridges, significant tidal ranges, occasional strong currents and heavy traffic – but not, under normal circumstances, loss of life, limb or vessel. Nonetheless, some of Mascot’s experiences resonate today. One of the authors of this review recently sailed down the ICW and found Plummer’s notes relevant in many places, including familiar echoes when transiting the Chesapeake and Albemarle Canal or negotiating the fierce currents of Hell Gate in New York City, finding a plethora of motor boats and a vibrant fishing fleet in Beaufort, North Carolina, anchoring in the open roadstead that is Charleston Harbor, admiring the grandeur of Henry Flagler’s St Augustine, America’s oldest city and, remarkably, visiting an enormous alligator farm in St Augustine, a tourist attraction then and now! Back in 1923 when Henry Plummer headed south the ICW as we know it today did not yet exist, and sailing down the US East Coast in a small vessel for the sheer adventure of it was unheard of. Pieces of what is now the ICW were in place, but parts of Mascot’s journey were on the ‘outside’ and she braved some hair-raising challenges in the process. Indeed, Plummer almost lost both boat and skiff in an attempt to enter an inlet on North Carolina’s Cape Fear rather than round the treacherous Frying Pan Shoals in a gale. That the two men didn’t lose their lives was nothing short of a miracle, yet with an unwavering sense of humour and remarkable gumption they persevered. Indeed, the book is charming due to the author’s self-deprecating and rich writing style, full of vivid imagery and fascinating observations. We suspect that when he describes ‘sport’, many readers will be able to relate: 129

‘The pursuit of pleasurable occupation which requires exposure to weather, exercise of all bodily muscles, judgement, skill of hand, foot and eye; never to be followed without a degree of personal risk. Under such classification I put Sailing of boats, Handling of horses, Hunting and Canoeing, Mountain climbing. I know of no other purely sporting proposition.’ [Chapter XXV, Flying Machines at Daytona Beach, Florida.] With respect to injury or illness: ‘Was giving a man some help on a capstan when a post pulled out of the ground and a big block and chain snapped in, catching me on the leg and putting me out of commission... Visions of weeks on my back with splintered leg bone were finally ended when, with a little sharp click, a misplaced tendon snapped back and I was soon hobbling about. Made a mental note never to try and help anyone again.’ [Chapter II, Provisioning the Mascot] And about the beauty of it all, which still resonates strongly along parts of the ICW: ‘Turned out at 5 to find all quiet, still and dark. ... So calm that each star was mirrored on the water. ... Out into a golden sunrise, the pride and beauty of the day. Here was a morning for sun worshippers to kneel. Sea and sky melted into one great glory in the east and behind us faded into soft pearly mists in which horizons were lost, and we seemed to be floating in air. ... Why can’t somebody come here and tell people of the beauties to be found?’ [Chapter XV, Visitor on Board at Stumpy Point, North Carolina] The late Tom Plummer, grandson of the author, was elected to the OCC in 1960 and was an active member for over 50 years. He commissioned a large flying fish riding sail which was passed down a succession of NE USA Regional Rear Commodores (does anyone know where it is now?). EG & ZG

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Since once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song, And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music. William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream 130

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TERN’S TRAVELS ~ FOR THE LOVE OF ROCK A cruise around Orkney and the Hebrides Manice Stabbins (All photos by the author unless otherwise credited.) Tern’s travels in 2021 were, of course, partly shaped by the constraints of Covid and Brexit, though we had had a cruise of the west of Scotland and Orkney in mind for a couple of years. Tern is a Pacific Seacraft 37 (also called a Crealock 37), a good, ocean-going cutter in which we have sailed about 30,000 miles since 2014 when we started preparing for retirement from paid work. I am a retired vet and Larry was a musician. Our base is Falmouth in Cornwall and our first long cruise was an Atlantic circuit, taking in many of the Atlantic islands. In 2017 we sailed to Norway, spending a good two months inside the Arctic Circle and reaching Tromsø at nearly 70°N. We visited both Shetland and Fair Isle on our way south but didn’t have time to explore Orkney or northwest Scotland, so that area had been on our list since then. In addition, our daughter and her partner had bought a traditional, gaff-rigged charter boat, Eda Frandsen, which sails in Cornish waters in spring and autumn and out of Mallaig in the summer, and we Tern anchored in the thought it would be Percuil River, good to rendezvous St Mawes, with them. The Cornwall interim years took us to France and Spain, and I needed a hip replacement whilst Larry needed eye surgery. But thanks to the NHS, by spring 2021 we were fit enough to go north once more! On 2nd April 2021 we relaunched and took a visitor’s mooring next to Eda Frandsen. Winter upgrades had included fitting 133

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The new Sig stove, ready for the north a new Sig diesel stove and finding that we could also fit two folding bikes in the quarter berth, an inflatable kayak on the coachroof, a set of diving kit and an accordion! We made trips to Fowey and Scilly between getting our Covid vaccinations and set off properly in mid-May, staging our passage north from Scilly. The islands were devoid of boats and tourists due to Covid and as beautiful as ever, but the weather window for sailing north was very small. We made a dash to Ardglass in Northern Ireland in lumpy seas with a reefed rig, making 78 miles in the first 12 hours before the wind started to die down. We spent three days in Ardglass Marina sheltering from a gale so weren’t able to do much sightseeing. After that it was still the wrong sort of wind (northerly), so we only ventured as far as Strangford Lough which was well worth the visit. It’s very hospitable with good anchorages and visitors’ moorings, great wildlife and fine scenery. We saw otters, seals and wonderful birdlife and thoroughly enjoyed the tidal challenges! PredictWind for 19th May. We made it to Ardglass, Northern Ireland, the previous day Our journey north took in visits to Gigha, Carsaig, Kilmelford and via Cuan Sound and Puilladobhrain to Oban. We walked around most of Gigha – it was warm, we swam and were spontaneously invited to join a birthday party at the Wee Dairy farm. We spotted minke whales in the Sound of Jura and noticed the bird population changing from southern to northern species – 135

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The Paps of Jura from Gigha more geese, gannets, eider ducks, guillemots and gulls, shearwaters, hooded crows and, our favourites, arctic terns. In addition to the Clyde Cruising Club pilots we had the digital Antares charts and thus a wealth of inspiration – so hard to choose ... how can we pass by ... maybe next time? Loch Melfort was a must as we wanted to visit a friend who keeps her horses at Kilmelford where there is a very convenient yacht club. Sue visited us on Tern and I was able to spend the rest of the day with her and her horses (which I love almost as much as boats). Meanwhile Larry managed to sort out our gas bottle situation (a complicated story). Puilladobhrain, the anchorage by Seil and the Bridge over the Atlantic, was also on our wish list and did not disappoint, though we refrained from drinking in the famous Inn as it was only tea time, tempting though it was. We s t o p p e d a t O b a n t o reprovision, refuel and catch up with a friend. Oban is tricky in that you can only refuel at the marina on Kerrera, and to do that you have to stay there and use their taxi to go to Oban. However, we do like the walking on Kerrera and met another Pacific Seacraft 37, Prospero – and there are only four in the UK! All topped up, we made our way towards the Outer Hebrides via the Sound of Mull, anchoring in the perfectly sheltered Loch Drumbuie off Loch Sunart, from The Bridge over the Atlantic, near Puilladobhrain, Seil 137

‘The Scottish Islands’, our guide and inspiration where it’s easy to gauge the tide past Ardnamurchan and out to Barra. The wind had been mainly light and variable since we had been in Scotland but we managed to sail, close-hauled, about half of the 57 mile passage to Barra and Vatersay, anchoring between the two islands in Cornaig Bay with its large resident seal colony. Now we could get out a pilot we had not used before – the Outer Hebrides1 – and we also had the indispensable The Scottish Islands 2 by Hamish Haswell-Smith, a comprehensive guide to every Scottish island. This book, written by an intrepid sailor, describes the islands’ geography, history, geology, wildlife and interesting places to visit, and lists all their anchorages and harbours with notes on their joys and shortcomings. Furthermore, it has the most exquisite illustrations – maps, drawings and paintings all created by Hamish H-S himself. To quote from the preface, ‘There are few parts of the world which possess such magic and mystery as the seas around Scotland. Some six thousand miles of contorted coastline (69% of the total United Kingdom coastline) create a wonderland of islands and mountains and rocks and stacks and secret inlets and remote, uninhabited places’. This was our inspiration and guide. We explored Vatersay on foot, and had our first experience of the perfect, whitesand beaches and west coast machair3. There were hundreds of lapwings and from the highest hill, Heishival Mor, we could see most of the islands of the south end of the chain – there was Mingulay! In summer Vatersay is busy with campervans and bikes, as tourists pile off the ferry at Castlebay on Barra and loop down to Vatersay before heading north to follow the island chain and catch the ferry back from Stornoway to Ullapool (or umpteen other options). We saw very few yachts during our month in the Outer Hebrides despite the main harbours having very good, often recently-updated, yacht facilities, but we were beginning to notice how wet and windy these islands could be! We braved it ashore one day and walked over Ben Tangaval, spotting golden plovers and, at the start of the Hebridean Way near the causeway between Vatersay and Barra, visited our first of 1. The CCC Sailing Directions and Anchorages – Outer Hebrides by Edward Mason, published by Imray Laurie Norie & Wilson Ltd. 2. Published by Canongate Books Ltd in several editions from 2001 onwards. 3. ‘Machair’, according to Wikipedia, is a fertile, low-lying grassy plain found in the Outer Hebrides and on parts of the northwest coastlines of Ireland and Scotland. 138

Vatersay Bay many Neolithic sites. Thus our passion for all things Neolithic was ignited! From Vatersay we moved over to Castlebay on Barra, and when the weather eventually improved deployed the bikes and did a circumnavigation of the island, stopping at the spectacular beach airfield at its northern end. The town was very interesting and bustling with a great feeling of community, a community shop and a great Co-op*. We spent all of June exploring the east coasts of the Outer Hebridean islands, stopping at Eriskay, Lochboisdale on South Uist, The Wizard Pool in Loch Skipport, Lochmaddy on North Uist, East Loch Tarbert on South Harris, Scalpay, through the Shiant Islands and up to Stornoway on Lewis. The weather was rather disappointing for the time of year – we sat out a gale at the substantial marina in Lochboisdale but explored on foot and by bus. These were excellent, and we found them the best way to see the islands as the terrain was rather too much for our folding bikes, though we did use them occasionally. Likewise our blow-up double * For the benefit of members unfamiliar with the UK, the Co-operative Group is a large and longestablished chain of grocery stores, which also handles banking and insurance. Our first encounter with a Neolithic village, near the start of the Hebridean Way on Barra 139

Biking on Barra with the airport beach runway in the background Sevylor kayak wasn’t up to major expeditions but was, nevertheless, fun in the right conditions and it works for our rather petite boat. We tend to use it to explore areas which you can’t see from the boat so, for example, it was perfect for Loch Skipport, timing our tour to go up with the tide, flask and picnic, and back down with the ebb – a grand day out. Having been climbers for most of our nearly forty years together we are keen to get up hills and mountains. Having had a hip replacement in 2019, my first chance to get up a proper mountain again came on South Harris, where we based ourselves in the marina at Tarbert. The bus to Stornoway conveniently stops at the bottom of Clisham, at 799m the highest mountain in the Outer Hebrides. We topped out in reasonable visibility with views of Skye but sadly, not St Kilda. Larry has vision problems so we were both thrilled just to get to the top of a mountain and down again in time for the bus home ... and more of the excellent seafood you get in the Hebrides. It seemed to either be blowing a gale or be glassy calm so we motored more than we would have liked, but we had a cracking sail through the Shiants, accompanied by spectacular birdlife and eerie mists. It would have been good to stop, but the sailing was good so we pressed on to Stornoway. It’s great to moor up in a town centre location and we made the most of it, strolling around the town and Lews Castle grounds. Stornoway is the largest and most cosmopolitan One of the ship’s bells from the German battlecruiser SMS Derfflinger, outside St Michael’s Roman Catholic Church on Eriskay 140

The author on the summit of Clisham, South Uist. Photo Larry Stabbins centre in the Hebrides so it’s a great place to explore. I particularly liked the Harris Tweed shops and bought a large bag of scraps to make into patchwork and other projects over the landlubbing winter. Again we found the buses to be a great way to visit attractions further afield, taking us to the west side of Lewis and the unmissable Callanish Stones. Looking at a map of the Outer Hebrides you would think the west sides of the islands were virtually uninhabitable, with uninterrupted Atlantic weather and seas and poor agricultural prospects. But when you visit these places, especially the areas with very long histories of habitation, they turn out to be beautiful and well sheltered, with abundant sources of seafood and game and good grazing for the right types of animals. Gradually the soils were improved and the machair established, and it’s quite easy to imagine thriving communities. The Callanish (or Calanais) Standing Stones are second only to Stonehenge in terms of prehistoric stone circles in the British Isles. They are some 4000 years old and the tallest stone stands 4∙5m (nearly 15ft) high. There are Stornoway from Lews Castle

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The Callanish Stones, Lewis other related circles nearby and an excellent visitor centre explains the history of the area. Indeed, the west coast is so steeped in history it deserved more exploration than we could give it on this occasion – we were developing a great taste for prehistory! Weather and tides were aligning for the passage to Orkney. The guiding factor is the tidal window into Hoy Sound, between Mainland and Hoy, which we wanted to enter at the start of the eastgoing stream in the morning. We left Stornoway at 1000 on 27th June, aiming to make the 105 mile passage in about 20 hrs, the tide becoming favourable for entrance at 0700. We had reasonable wind to sail as far as Cape Wrath, but it died overnight so we motored slowly as we had rather too favourable tide and were making swift progress. It hardly got dark and by dawn we were hovering around The Old Man of Hoy until it was time to ride the 8 knot tide through the Sound and into Stromness. Orkney is an archipelago of some 27 islands which make a wonderful cruising ground, albeit with challenging tides and weather. Yachts are well catered for and the Council maintains a useful website at www.orkneyharbours.com. There is also www. orkneymarinas.co.uk which is full of cruising information. In addition to the marinas at Stromness and Kirkwall on Mainland and Pierowall on Westray, there are handy visitor moorings in many bays and harbours and also plenty of good anchorages. We spent July exploring these wonderful islands which are so rich in history. We were surprised how different they are from Shetland and Fair Isle – Orkney has agriculturally rich soil due to its base on Old Red Sandstone rather than the mainly Precambrian rock of the northern islands which tends to yield poor soil. The old saying that ‘an Orcadian is a farmer with a boat, while a Shetlander is a fisherman with a croft’ still holds true today. As a retired vet I am fascinated by agriculture and Larry will testify to one of our cruising themes being a quest to study farming methods, so Orkney is a gem. The other great thing about Orkney is its rich history, particularly prehistoric history, which is always well presented and Pierowall Harbour, Westray, Orkney 142

easily accessible, especially by boat. The islands are well connected by ferry services but a yacht allows the most flexible island-hopping. Starting from Stromness, a A happy family, Orkney gorgeous town which reminded me of our Cornish coastal towns, we were able to cycle to the famous prehistoric and archaeological sites, soaking in the agriculture and nature as we went. Maes Howe, Britain’s largest chambered cairn, was closed due to Covid but there is a very good visitor centre and the Ring of Brodgar is always accessible. As luck would have it, the archaeological investigation at the Ness of Brodgar was just recommencing and we visited on the first day of digging. It was a glorious day (unusual) and we were able to talk with the archaeologists and even ‘sponsor’ a square metre of the dig. We felt we were beginning to learn a little about the life and times of the inhabitants of Orkney over the past 5000 years or so, and it was all fascinating. We also had a good cycle ride to Skara Brae, the prehistoric village which was buried in sand in about 2450 BC, preserving it until it was exposed by a storm in 1824. Skaill House is visited on the same ticket, a fine 17th century mansion which includes Captain Cook’s dinner service amongst its many fascinating exhibits. Orkney was central to maritime travel in the past – many ships would provision and water in Stromness before embarking on their voyages – and there are also many Viking remains on the islands. Ness of Brodgar: ‘our’ archaeologist at work on ‘our’ sponsored square of the dig

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Skara Brae prehistoric village, Orkney

We went west and north-about Orkney stopping in Pierowall on Westray and on the smaller Papa Westray. Westray has an archaeological site which rivals Brodgar but is much less well known, and Papa Westray has a tremendous chambered cairn which we went down into by its iron ladder (even though, strictly speaking, it was closed). We met RSPB staff who were surveying the storm petrel population and visited the enormous puffin colony on Westray. The fields were being cut and the aftermath was literally being grazed by flocks of oystercatchers and curlews. We were also lucky to be at the airport on Papa Westray when a plane landed. The route between Westray and Papa Westray is the shortest flight time in the world1, but many enthusiasts wait days to see or do it as the weather is frequently too poor! It’s difficult to choose which islands to visit as all have attractive features, but after Papa Westray we plumped for Eday, where the birdlife and prehistoric remains are fantastic, before heading into Kirkwall ahead of a spell of bad weather. Kirkwall is the capital of Orkney and has a wealth of interesting features, so we had no trouble spending a week in the marina while every type of weather passed overhead. We cycled when it was fine enough, but also explored the town, the museum, the cathedral, palaces, shops, the Churchill Barriers2 et al. Our final island to visit was Rousay, known as the ‘Egypt of the North’. We were very fortunate to have a recommendation to visit friends of a friend – Eric and Carol have been farming organically at Trumland Farm for 40 years and they also run the bike hire. They were extremely hospitable and it was great to be able to discuss the 1. Scottish airline Loganair provides the 1.7 mile (2.7km) flight, which spends only 90 seconds in the air. 2. Four causeways, with a total length of 1∙4 miles (2.3km), which link Mainland to South Ronaldsay via Burray and the two smaller islands of Lamb Holm and Glimps Holm. See en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Churchill_Barriers. 144

farming, economics and politics of life on Orkney with long-term residents. They lent us ‘proper’ bikes, so we were able to spend a day circumnavigating the island and visiting most of the historical sites as we went, and they enjoyed a visit to Tern. Then Eric got a phone call saying it was his turn to have his sheep sheared the next day. He had to agree to the slot, but he was short of a fleece roller. Luckily I have experience of this and spent a blissful day sheep shearing (great if you only have to do it one day a year!) and added some black Highland wool to the collection of wool samples which I had been gleaning from all the islands we visited. I also was able to use the washing machine, hanging the laundry out to dry between batches of sheep, and end the day with a shower. I even had a bottle of wine pressed upon me! By 1900 we weighed anchor and caught the west-going tide for the passage back around Cape Wrath and down the northwest coast to the island of Handa. Disappointingly light winds resulted in 18 hours of motoring but, looking on the bright side, we were able to get quite close inshore to see the spectacular cliffs and scenery once around Cape Wrath. The Northwest Highlands are a UNESCO Global Geopark of 2000 sq km and contain some of the oldest rocks in Europe, up to 3000 million years old. Being there made us realise that geology underpins almost everything on earth – the landscape, oceans, seas, rivers and lakes – and often influences the weather. In fact, sailing directly depends on geology. We spend as much of our sailing time focusing on geology, archaeology and history as we do on actually sailing – always so much to learn. We barely scratched the surface of northwest Scotland but were completely inspired by it. The cruise southwards focused on trying to get up mountains from anchorages. Often the logistics looked doable on paper, but the actual doing was more challenging – the mountains looked tantalisingly close but were daunting once you started walking. Often we had fantastic days in the mountains and glens without reaching any great heights, but we did reach the summit of Suilven on a magnificent day out from Lochinver. Its iconic shape loomed out of the cloud as we sailed in, making us determined to get up it. We celebrated with superb langoustine bought from our neighbouring fisherman for a very good price. Continuing south we visited the Summer Isles, Ullapool, Loch Ewe, the Gairloch area and Torridon. These places held happy memories of mountain holidays from our past and the grandiose beauty of the area The iconic 731m Suilven, with 846m Canisp to the left 145

Tern in Loch na Cuilce, Loch Scavaig, Skye

never ceases to leave us in awe. Eventually we reached Mallaig, where we were able to rendezvous with Eda Frandsen and we also met the venerable Ian Nicholson. After a great couple of weeks exploring the Small Isles and visiting Skye we headed south via the west side of Mull. The weather was gentle, and from Sanna on the Ardnamurchan peninsula we visited Coll, then Erraid southeast of Iona, Oronsay south of Colonsay and down the Sound of Islay to Port Ellen where we paused to refresh. Onwards south, stopping at Sanda off the Mull of Kintyre, our last island in The Scottish Islands book, where deer came down to the beach in the evening. We had long wanted to visit the Isle of Man, so tried to enter at Peel on the northwest coast but could only stay the night in the outer harbour due to Covid restrictions. Once in the marina in Douglas, however, we had a great time. We had friends to visit and they even lent us a car, though we also did some bus touring. The museum is excellent and pointed us to some fascinating prehistoric and more modern sites. Stopping in Fishguard Bay on the way home, we then caught the tidal gates around Pembrook and across the Bristol Channel, around Land’s End, the Lizard and back to Falmouth. The western approach to the Irish Sea is a tricky bit of water and what should have been a lovely beam reach turned out to be wet, windy and lumpy, whereas the wonderful downwind sail across Mount’s Bay under the cruising chute that we’d anticipated turned into a long motor in flat calm. But altogether a wonderful summer’s cruise! 146

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THE ZORA SAGA, Part 3 Rhys Walters This latest instalment of the Zora saga sees the crew set sail for sunny Spain and beyond for their first proper sailing season – the crew being me and my fiancée Niamh, and Zora being the steel 38-footer which we found as a bare, neglected and burnt-out hull in a boatyard in Baltimore, Ireland and gradually brought back to life. Zora made her Flying Fish debut in 2019/1 and reappeared a year later in 2020/1, and in both editions we detailed the huge level of work it took to get us this far. With an almost two-year hiatus from writing, it’s safe to say that a lot has changed. From the burnt-out shell we found in the back of a boatyard, to a voyaging boat capable of going anywhere, this is the story of a mad couple who wouldn’t give up. I remember the moment I decided enough was enough and that we had to set a deadline and get sailing before one or both of us either burnt out or lost interest. It was the end of 2020 and it had already been nearly three full years since we had started working on Zora. I had been living on board since before she had even been insulated, and by September 2020 she had an almost complete interior that just needed one big final push to make ready for sailing. The question was, were we able to give it that last push? I called Niamh (we only saw each other once every few weeks, as she was living at home so we could keep saving for the project) and told her that we would give it until March 2021, and if we weren’t ready to go by then we should consider cutting our losses and doing something else. I picked April for departure, because any later and there wouldn’t be much of the season left to enjoy anyway. We were both so completely exhausted that beyond that it wasn’t going to be fun anymore. Fast forward to 31st March 2021 and my friend Jim was helping with the interior and half the galley was still out on the pontoon in Kinsale. All my tools and nearly all my belongings were spread out on the pontoon as well, while I decided what to keep and Zora after nearly four years of work...

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... though she still needed more, just days before we left what to get rid of. There was a nice weather window forecast for the following day and I was absolutely adamant that we were leaving. Niamh was on the way down from Wicklow, and the plan was to sail back to Greystones just south of Dublin as our sea trial, then head over to Wales for the new mast and sails that were waiting for us in Pwllheli. I was frantically trying to finish jobs when she arrived and I honestly don’t know why she didn’t get back in the car and leave ... but somehow we managed to put the new galley countertops in, finish some woodwork, stow all our stuff and finally, on 1st April 2021, we left Kinsale. It was the decision to leave that day that showed me just how inexperienced I really was. We made our way out of the harbour and were met by quite steep 2–3m waves and over 20 knots of easterly breeze, right in our faces. Had I looked at the more recent forecast in my rush to leave I’d have seen that the weather was forecast to be much better a few days later. It’s a lesson I’m glad I learned early – that there’s no shame in waiting for better weather. I quickly decided that we would either have to go back into Kinsale or motor through the swell and get a few miles around the corner to Oysterhaven, where I had the use of a mooring, or failing that it’s a lovely protected anchorage with good holding. We decided to push on, because the weather wasn’t horrendous and Zora was punching through it really well. I noted that she wasn’t slamming at all and felt really comfortable and safe. We had a small bit of our genoa out close-hauled, but in order to make Oysterhaven needed to use the engine, which promptly air-locked shortly after I started it. After about 20 minutes of bleeding the 149

A still fairly bare-bones boat on the way to Greystones raw water side, vomiting because of the motion while I hunched over the engine and generally just having a bad time, we were motoring again and all was well. We arrived into a flat calm Oysterhaven, and in our attempts to hook the mooring the boat hook broke and found its way to my face, resulting in a black eye and a headache. Not a great first day! Next morning we decided this trip should be done as slowly as possible – we were still very new to commanding our own vessel and trying to rush was guaranteed to take all of the fun out it. So we left and slowly made our way to Crosshaven, only a few miles further east, to wait for nicer weather. In a couple of days the weather settled, so we left Crosshaven at 0500 on 4th April and made our way to Kilmore Quay, an uneventful passage with a light breeze and calm sea. It was good to be covering some miles and we both felt that we were really on our way now. Zora was working well, with no issues aside from a slight leak in the forward hatch. There were strong northerlies forecast for the next few days and because neither of us had 150

Black eye, courtesy of the boat hook

been to Kilmore Quay before, we stayed and enjoyed the area. Kilmore Quay has a huge fishing fleet, and it was fun to watch them coming in and out at all hours of the day and night. Some of the larger outrigger designs are very pretty boats. After a few days of enjoying our first real new port, we picked our tides and made our way towards Greystones. Carnsore Point, just east of Kilmore Quay, has a reputation and is not an area that you want to get wrong, but just as we were about to arrive with a very favourable tide we managed to catch a fishing pot around our propeller. It was an old float that wasn’t attached to anything on the seabed, with about 5m of old rope and a smaller pick-up float on the other end. The sea state was pretty good and there wasn’t a lot of wind, but it still wasn’t a great situation to be in especially with how strong the tides can get. So I lowered myself over the side and managed to cut most of the rope off, and thankfully the rest came off by itself. We were able to get most of it on board to keep it out of the next person’s propeller, and made our way towards Greystones. The rest of the day was very calm and we motored on with a good tide for the next

Singlehanding the last stretch, black eye and all 60 or so miles before Niamh called my attention to a rattling sound from the engine. I opened the front cover of the engine box and saw that the water pump pulley was wobbling badly. The water pump was very much on its last legs and if it failed totally would leave us no choice but to call a tow, something I was very keen to avoid. I brought the revs way down and we headed for Arklow, only a few miles away. The harbour master 151

was very kind to us and refused to take payment. He organised for me to be taken to a motor factor where I could get coolant and supplies and I changed the water pump that night so we could finish our passage next day. Without the people who helped us it would have been a far more stressful situation. Niamh had to go to work next day, so I took Zora the final stretch by myself and had a good sail past Wicklow Head with a very strong tide. At one point we were doing almost 10 knots over ground with a nice westerly breeze pushing us along. The Monitor windvane that we had fitted before we left was doing the steering and as Greystones came into view I started to feel quite proud of myself. A lot of hard work had brought us this far and, while there was still a lot of work to be done, we had completed our first trip. Our plan from here was to do a little more organising on board while we were in Niamh’s home area, then head over to Wales for what we anticipated would be about a month. We left County Wicklow a couple of weeks after we arrived and, completing our first passage to another country on Zora, landed in Wales well before the sun set. We were both really happy with how well the boat had performed – she was proving to be very comfortable and able to cover some respectable distances each day. I had expected her to be very slow considering her weight but, as we would find later in the year, she was able to keep up with most other boats her size and in some cases leave them behind. Upwind was a different story, but who wants to do that anyway? We arrived in to Pwllheli to a warm welcome from the gang at The Boatshed Sailmakers who we’d lined up to fit our new rig, sails and sprayhood and to deck out the saloon with new cushions. (Full disclosure: the team at The Boatshed gave us massive support in the way of sponsorship and without them there would be no trip.) The day after arriving we unwrapped our brand new mast, boom and vang from their plastic packaging – it was like Christmas had come early. Our old rig had come from a much larger boat as Zora’s original rig was destroyed in the fire, but it was far too big for

We were delighted when our new engine finally arrived Beta engines are normally red, but I asked for a white one 152

Zora having her new sprayhood measured up her, resulting in a big reduction in stability. We hauled the boat and the old mast was lifted off – luckily a buyer was found for it without too much trouble – but after this the delays started, due to a combination of Brexit and Covid-19. For weeks and weeks it was impossible to get new rigging terminals so we couldn’t step the new mast, but we used this time to do a lot of other jobs that had been put on the back burner after we decided to leave Ireland. The water tank was in serious need of attention and we took turns climbing into it to chisel off old paint and treat any corrosion we discovered. Luckily we didn’t discover much, and none of it serious, so after three or four hard days with various tools we were ready to paint it. We used a potable-water paint that needed a lot of coats with a long curing inverval, and had very specific humidity and temperature requirements while it cured. This was achieved by lowering a dehumidifier into the tank and luckily the temperatures were very warm. Even so, it still took almost two weeks until the tank was

Niamh learning to use the giant sewing machines

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The crew ready to depart for Spain fully painted, and was a really horrid job that neither of us ever want to suffer through again. We also did a plethora of other jobs, like painting the entire outside of the boat, redoing the non-skid paint, replacing the winches with new Lewmar self-tailers, welding a new mast step on deck and hundreds of other smaller jobs. An unexpected expense was a new engine, which sounds like a luxury but we had lost faith in our old engine on the trip from Kinsale – it was very old, and the ancillaries were starting to fail one after the other. We got a very good deal on a new BETA 50, so I welded in new bearers etc and, before we knew it, Zora had a new engine. After about six weeks the rigging fittings arrived and the team wasted no time in getting the mast up. We decided to hold off fitting a forestay until she was in the water so we could make sure the mast was straight so, after the prop was serviced, the bottom painted and new anodes bolted on, we relaunched. The difference in how she sat in the water was immediately obvious, and we knew straight away that the new rig was the right decision. Once the mast was set straight the rigging team fitted a new furler and tuned the rigging while Steve the sailmaker took measurements for Zora’s new sail wardrobe. We soon had a new mainsail, genoa, working jib and asymmetric spinnaker, which we were very excited to try out. By now it was nearing the end of August and if we wanted to have a reasonable weather window to cross Biscay then we would need to leave pretty soon. So after a couple of short weekend sea trials and trips around Caernarfon Bay, we headed back across the channel to Greystones where we were picking up Nick to crew on the crossing. We had a fairly short time-frame to be across Biscay to Spain, due to our crew’s work and family commitments, so we took the next weather window which promised decent winds and nothing nasty – we were acutely aware of Biscay’s reputation – and left Wicklow in early September. Biscay was an unpleasant passage as we had very little wind for almost the entire 154

crossing. We kept the main up for most of it, but had to motor most of the way. On the good days we managed to fly the asymmetric with a spinnaker pole and those days were fantastic, but most of the time there was torrential rain and absolutely no wind. We didn’t want to hang around so the new engine got well and truly broken in, but it was very rolly and uncomfortable and, because we don’t have an autopilot, we had to hand-steer almost the entire way. While under sail Zora was very comfortable, and the Monitor did a great job of keeping us on course. We had left Greystones on the afternoon of 11th September and by

Zora under sail

A happy skipper enjoying his boat noon on the 16th were closing La Coruña. The previous night had been hard work, because again there was no wind and we’d had to cross the shipping lanes in the pitch dark. We were very happy to have made it, but our last little challenge arrived just as we were approaching La Coruña when we saw two orcas making their way over. Luckily they decided our rudder wasn’t appetising enough and left us alone. Just after that the wind picked up so we hoisted the spinnaker ... and the top shackle promptly broke dumping the whole lot in the water. A fine welcome to Spain! Next day we left La Coruña for Bayona, which took about 24 hours. 155

Zora under sail on a hazy day. Photo © Sebastien Wirtz

There were some big swells and a light breeze so it was an uncomfortable night, but shortly after lunch we were passing Islas Cíes at the mouth of the Ría de Vigo with Bayona in the near distance. Once tied up in the Monte Real Club de Yates de Bayona marina we headed straight to the bar for pints and gambas al ajillo (garlic shrimp), feeling quite proud of ourselves for having made it so far, considering what the boat had been like just a few years before. Nick left shortly after, but we loved Bayona so much we decided to stay nearby for almost two weeks. We took a short trip up the ría and spent a couple of nights at anchor, before making our way back down to Bayona

Can you spot Niamh?

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to wait for a weather window to get further south. There was a strong gale on the last night we were in Bayona and the Mini Transat fleet had to stop over while it passed. It was very cool to see the boats in person and to meet some of the skippers I had been following for a while, including Hugo Picard on Team SVB. On 3rd October we decided we really had to get further south before the winter closed in on us, so we headed off towards Portugal. Viana do Castelo hadn’t been on our plan, but I made the mistake of having chocolate for breakfast that morning resulting in awful seasickness. Anyone who has been to the marina there will know how strong the tide is in the river that runs across the entrance and that there is a bridge that you need to have lifted in advance. We tried for almost an hour to get the office to let us know if there was space, but being a Sunday there was no one around. Fortunately the bridge was open when we arrived, but I almost got it very wrong when I underestimated the tide, which swept us downstream and nearly into the bank. Thankfully the new engine had plenty of power to get me out of trouble and, with help from Renato who had seen us coming on AIS on his day off and came down to help us out, we berthed in the last free spot in the marina. We spent the next two months cruising south down the coast of Portugal, stopping as often as we could and taking our time – I plan to cover the rest of our fairly eventful passage south in my next article. We hope to cross the pond and beyond in the coming year.

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CAPE HORN THE HARD WAY Rev Bob Shepton (After 37 years of ‘ordinary’ membership, Bob was elected to Honorary Membership at the 2022 AGM. This is one of the Club’s greatest honours and is limited to no more than 20 at any one time. It may be awarded to a member who has given exceptional service to the Club, a member or non-member who has completed a number of exceptional exploits in the world of ocean cruising, or a distinguished and respected person who has given significant service to offshore cruising. Bob ticks all those boxes!) The Editor has pointed out that not all members will have been following the blowby-blow accounts of my exploits, and disasters, over the years, not least because they’ve been appearing in Flying Fish since the 1980s! So I will start by talking about myself and I begin then with an apology though, as one of my daughters used to say, ‘It weren’t me’ that has caused this! I came to sailing quite late in life. After a spell in the Royal Marines, where I did the Cliff Leader Course, I continued to be a fanatical rock-climber for 25 years or so, putting up new routes on the south coast of England and on the Ormes in North Wales. We bought Dodo’s Delight, a Westerly 33ft sloop, as a family thing to do together, but gradually the kids found other interests and my wife found she got very seasick, so I began to use it for the lads at the school where I was, by then, Chaplain. After A cheerful Bob in 2011 ... our apprenticeship – there were no sailing courses in those days, you read the books and learnt as you went along – we gradually pushed out the frontiers. Our first ocean passage, in 1984, was ‘Azores or Bust’, though my first astro sight put us 60 miles inside Spain! Then in 1986, to celebrate the school’s centenary, we undertook ‘The First School across the Atlantic and Back’ – Portland, UK to Portland, Maine, complete with gales on the way back. Again all the navigation was by astro. ‘In the wake of the Vikings’ – to the Faroes, Iceland, Greenland, Newfoundland and back across the Atlantic – followed in 1988. So what next? Well, when I retired it became ‘First School Group to Sail Round the World via Antarctica and Cape Horn’. It took from 1993 to 1995, and it’s from that trip that I am submitting this article. It had taken me ages to realise (being ex-Royal Marines) that not everybody who sailed was secretly, like me, longing and training for the challenge of sailing round 159

... and looking a trifle haggard... Cape Horn. Originally I had envisaged sailing round the Horn and then north up the west coast of South America and back via the Panama Canal, but my wife said, ‘If you’ve gone that far you might as well carry on’. Marvellous woman, even though it turned out later she was half joking! After we got back from the circumnavigation, what then? I must have been reading Bill Tilman’s books as I suddenly realised I could sail to Greenland, make the first ascent of some mountains and get back, all in the same summer. So began the Greenland and Baffin expeditions, increased in scope and quality by the marvellous Wild Bunch and their incredible climbs. Then of course the Northwest Passage is a rite of passage for any Arctic sailor and we were fortunate enough to be able to put in two transits in successive years – east-west in 2012 and west-east in 2013, even though we only just got out in 2013! I hope you’ll forgive me if I say that I’m quite pleased to have been able to make 15 Atlantic crossings, 13 visits to the Arctic (including two through the Northwest Passage), three to Antarctica, and one circumnavigation. I also hope you won’t mind me adding that there’s a great verse in Psalm 21, David talking to God, ‘Through the victories you gave, his glory is great’. I don’t know about that last bit, but I am so grateful to Him for a wonderful life and His continual prospering and protection. So you see, folks, all you have to do is live a long life – and remember please, I was asked to write all this.

Cape Horn the Hard Way This is me being awkward. It may seem I am splitting hairs but I feel that in this particular case the terms we use are quite important. What am I on about? To quote from my own Addicted to More Adventure, recently published (and reviewed on page 125 of this issue): ‘It always amuses me, or perhaps annoys me a little to be honest, when people sail out of Puerto Williams or Ushuaia, 160

Cape Horn can be rough

sail round Cape Horn island, go back again and say they have rounded the Horn. They have not, not in the true sense of the word’. Rounding the Horn involves sailing from 50°S on one side of South America to 50°S on the other side, which is a very different ball game. They may have sailed around Cape Horn island, which is noteworthy because it can be stormy, but they have not ‘Rounded the Horn’. But why is it important? Well, for a start it devalues the achievement of those who have rounded the Horn properly, which requires a great deal more effort. But more than that, to my mind it could be disrespectful to those sailors of yesteryear who rounded the Horn fully, 50°S to 50°S, in square-rigged ships, in huge raging seas, in mighty winds, some east to west against the prevailing winds. To go to windward in those ships was an undertaking in itself, and for people to pop out from the Beagle Channel, sail around

Cold, hard work

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Jerome Poncet’s Damien Deux in Port Stanley, with a smaller yacht alongside Brash ice in Antarctica the island, go back and say they have rounded the Horn could be seen as an insult to them. Our ‘ship’, some years ago now, may have been a good deal smaller at 33ft, but at least we had a fore-and-aft rig and could make some progress to windward. In fact, in those strong winds, we could even make progress on a close reach to windward with just a No 3 jib or even a storm sail – just. But even our rounding of the Horn was not without fault to the purist, because we went down to Antarctica on the way round. Twice in fact, because the mast fell down the first time – we managed to jury rig and sail back to the Falklands with half a mast, but that’s another story. From there we continued on to Easter Island, Rounding the Horn as we went, because we had passed through 50°S on the east side previously. 162

It was hard work, long tacks back and forth according to the wind direction, against strong wind and gales. But we had been given some sage advice and encouragement. After our debacle with the mast on the first visit to Antarctica, we had met Jerome Poncet, the Antarctic guru of those times, in his famous Damien Deux and asked him about returning to Antarctica and continuing on round Cape Horn, as it was getting quite late in the year for this. Or perhaps should we go through the Beagle Channel, or even just round the Horn itself? ‘Le Cap Horn?’ he said, ‘Avril? Oui. More gales, less severe’, and he was proved completely correct. It was not the severity of the gales so much as their frequency that sticks in the mind – a night and day of gales or strong wind, a night of lesser wind, a day and night of gale, intermission, gale ... continuously through the 50s, 40s and even into the 30s of latitude.

Rounding the Horn We tried using the trysail as a storm mainsail but it didn’t work very well. I was taking the clew right back to an aft cleat, as was the approved method in those days – I have since found that attaching it to the end of the boom works better as it allows more tuning of the sail via the boom, though it is more elaborate to set up. We passed Cape Horn and 50°S at 1800 on 13th April 1994 and had Rounded the Horn, having previously sailed through 500S on the other side of South America on our way south. We struggled on, gradually making progress northwards until, again gradually, we began to slant westwards towards Easter Island. When I look back on it those lads did very well, seeing that until recently they had been schoolboys at the school where I was Chaplain. This was part of the First School Group to sail Round the World ... ‘School Group’ because they had 163

Our daily positions between the Antarctic and Easter Island

Temperate latitudes at last!

to have left the school rather than being current pupils taking months off! People would probably hold them in high regard today, but at the time we just considered it the obvious next thing to do in the adventures we had been undertaking. Indeed Henchy – they all had nicknames by then – proved practically indispensable. He had been briefly in the Royal Engineers on leaving school (he was the only one being paid on the trip) and was able to fix the engine when we needed it later on in the 164

First sight of Easter Island

calmer latitudes. Somehow, somewhere it was sucking air into the fuel pipe, and the engine kept cutting out until he fixed it. Dude was always highly competent and is now skipper of a vast charter yacht somewhere in the world. Pebs, though more laid back, was more skilled and savvier than he wanted you to know! Ashore, and desperate for coconuts. Dodo’s Delight is just visible at anchor

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Moais on Easter Island We enjoyed the contrast between the ice and cold of Antarctica and the heat and calm waters of the tropics, all on the same passage. In fact, Henchy went so far as to hang the solar shower we had on board up in the rigging, and to take a shower as we sailed gently along in balmy breezes. There were entries in the log like, ‘I could eat a horse’, a play on the fact we were in the horse latitudes where mariners of old sometimes ate their horses if becalmed. Somewhere there we entered the Summer Zone too, whereupon I wrote, ‘We are now in the Summer Zone, you may take your thermals off’. They must also have jumped into the sea for a swim, as there were dire threats in the log against using the engine and spoiling their fun. The countdown to the end of the leg started 900 miles out – it was a long passage, 3788 miles taking 34 days – but eventually, we were approaching Isla de Pascua, Easter Island. But we were still not home yet, even after coming all that way. It was a stormy night as we got close and the lights of Hanga Roa obscured the anchorage on the west coast of the island. We had to heave to until daylight, and next day as we were making our way back towards Hanga Roa a ship radioed us, ‘It is too rough and dangerous in the harbour, follow us’. We followed them round to the southeast of the island to get shelter from the wind and put our anchor down in Vinapu Bay, happy to enjoy a rest at last. We checked in later. So, we had rounded the Horn and it had not been an easy thing to do. No quick fix!

If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. King James Bible, Psalm 139, verses 9 & 10 166

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FROM THE ARCHIVES Taki-Au-Tahi to New Zealand in 1957 Rick Mohun (The following account of crossing the Pacific in a 21-footer 65 years ago is reprinted from Flying Fish 1996/1. Rick, a US citizen, was 23 at the time of the voyage while Bill Mangan, a New Zealander, was 33 and had worked in England for several years before the story starts.) Taki-Au-Tahi was a 21ft sloop built by Bill Mangan in Poole in 1951. He then sailed her from Poole to St Thomas, partly by himself, partly in company with another chap. I joined Bill in St Thomas in 1956 and we sailed and worked in the Windward Islands for nearly a year before leaving for New Zealand. Getting stores organised and stowed and leaving any port is difficult but leaving one’s home port is nearly impossible. Every time we started on our preparations somebody would invite us out – or themselves on board. After several days of this we finally gave up, threw everything on board in a chaotic pile, and motored out to Buck Island, about a mile off the Charlotte Amalie harbour entrance. There, in peace, we were able to sort everything out and from there we left for Panama on 30 June 1957. We had received our twin staysails from the sailmaker just a few days before leaving and had never had a chance to do any more than run them up and check for fit. So as soon as we had beat well south of Vieques naval firing range (the Navy does not always make much of an effort to distinguish between yachts and targets) we were ready to try them out. After some experimentation we had them up with the sheets led through blocks on the tiller and made fast to the after samson posts. Taki responded well to this arrangement and maintained a course, but a course that promised Cuba rather than Panama. To correct this we slacked one sheet and tied off some old inner tube between the tiller and a samson post. By adjusting the tension on this we could adjust our course. This took care of our course but did nothing for our speed, which couldn’t have been more than 2 or 3 knots. Casting around for a way to add a few knots to this dismal performance we finally hit on the expedient of running the small genoa up the headstay with the main topping lift and sheeting it aft through a snatch block on the end of the boomkin*. This arrangement looked rather bizarre but it served us so well that we used it all the way to New Zealand. On the fourth day out a choppy and confused sea rose on the top of a big ground swell. A fitful and squally wind wavered back and forth between the south and the east before settling down that night to a steady blow from the southeast. The next morning there was a very heavy sea running before a force 6 plus wind. Under the twins alone Taki boiled along but rolled unmercifully. The next day we were able to get a sight which put us far to the north of our course and the luxury of auto steering had to end. We managed to get the twins down and the staysail and full-reefed main up. Then we began to try for our southing with the * Often spelt bumkin, this is a short spar projecting aft on a sailing vessel, broadly the opposite of a bowsprit. 168

wind and the sea nearly abeam. At that time we couldn’t see anywhere but directly ahead of us from inside the cockpit and spray shield and it was a strange sensation to hear a huge roller approaching and not be able to see it until it had broken over the deck, leaving the mast protruding from a welter of foam. We shifted a few stores around in an effort to keep the self-draining cockpit draining, which it was reluctant to do when there were too many stores aft, but otherwise Taki took it all without any help from us other than steering. After two days the heavy seas went down as fast as they had come up and the closer that we approached to Panama the less wind and the more rain that we had. When it came time that we should have made a landfall the visibility was, at best, a half a mile, it was raining, and we had seen numerous waterspouts in whose company neither of us felt very comfortable. Finally the coast broke through and I can remember thinking that it looked just like Iceland, where I had lived as a boy. We were soon in the harbour and anchored out in the flats for the night after having been chased out of the yacht club where, in our ignorance (and our desire for a shower) we had first gone. Customs and immigration cleared us in the morning and we were free to sample the wonderful hospitality of the yacht club. There were many cruising sailors in, including two that we had known in St Thomas – Peter Hamilton and his wife on Salmo and Walter Westborg who, in the motorboat Dana Rescuer, was on his way round the world. Using the yacht club workshops we were able to make some repairs to Taki, including replacing, with plywood, the canvas spray shields which had carried away five days out of St Thomas. Peter Hamilton acted as our crew going through the canal and we had an uneventful trip. At least it was as uneventful a trip as four men and 20 cases of stores can have in a 21ft boat! In the first lock the water came in much too fast and slammed us up against the wall. The pilot had them slow the water down but we were soon slammed against the wall again when the merchant ship that was in the lock with us gave a short ‘full ahead’ to help the lock engines and nearly swamped us. On the next few locks things slowed down a bit for us and at Pedro Miguel we sat, by ourselves, in a 1000 foot lock for 4½ hours while we waited for our turn. We finally got away from Panama loaded with stores to the point that we had to crawl over them to get into our bunks. There were only 24 inches of cabin floor space. Every other bit of space was crammed with supplies. The first few nights out from Panama the weather was, with the exception of some very brilliant lightning displays, very nice, but it soon degenerated into rain, mist and bad lightning storms. One flash of lightning hit so close astern of us that we could hear and smell it, which is an experience that I wouldn’t care to repeat. From Panama to the Equator was a slog. We couldn’t carry enough gasoline to do us any good and the wind and current were dead on the nose most of the time. It took us 33 days to cross the Equator and it rained for 28 of them. Taki was never very good to windward and when she was overladen the currents and choppy sea brought her to a standstill. At one point we considered putting into Esmeraldas, Ecuador for a respite, but after beating south-southeast for three days we ended up northwest of our starting point! Finally we gave up any hope of visiting the Galapagos and turned west. On the 30th day at sea we sighted Darwin Island, northernmost of the Galapagos and nothing more than a guano-covered rock. The island turned the current so that it swept us rapidly past and in less than half an hour this desolate outpost was out of sight. 169

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Paradoxically the temperature kept dropping as we approached the Equator and by the time we crossed it we were wearing heavy wool sweaters and foulweather gear. Then all of a sudden one morning, lo and behold! we were in the trade winds. After a month of rain, cold, head winds and bad currents, the sun shone, the water was blue and, best of all, the wind was nearly astern. The transformation was magical and the relief was great. We drove south for two more days and then put up the twins and our ‘spinnaker’. This was the last time that we laid hand on a halyard for a month. The wind was very light and we were able to keep the forward hatch open all the way to Nuka Hiva. We just ghosted along day after day. We read, went dunking, watched the pilot fish and talked about boats, New Zealand, and what we expected to find in the Islands. We ate well considering the circumstances. Our main staple was tinned bully beef (also known as corned beef) which we fixed in a thousand different ways and which still tasted just like bully beef in all thousand recipes! I shouldn’t malign it though. It served us in good stead and, funnily enough, I still like it. We pieced out the bully with fresh potatoes and onions, done in a pressure cooker, and tinned vegetables. Every few days we had a can of grapefruit juice and every other day some tinned milk. Before leaving Panama we had decided, by way of experiment, to see how little water we needed. In 67 days we used less than 30 gallons from our tanks. Of course we supplemented this with rain, water from tinned vegetables, tinned milk and fruit juice. After we crossed the line and the rain stopped we were constantly thirsty but not badly enough to affect our health. After we had gotten within 500 miles of the Marquesas we upped our ration to a magnificent quart a day which, for the first day or so, literally sloshed around in our unaccustomed stomachs. We were disappointed not to see more fish. We were only a few degrees north of Kon Tiki’s course and saw virtually none of the vast quantities of fish that they had seen. We did catch a few dorado (dolphin fish) which were very tasty, and one turtle which presented a messy cleaning job, but if we had been dependant on fish we would have been a sorry lot. We sighted Ua Huka and Hiva Oa at 0745 on our 65th day at sea. We came abeam of Ua Huka at 2200, the wind dropped, and there we sat for a day, five miles from land and 30 miles from Nuku Hiva. Next day we were able to get into Nuku Hiva where we found the 65ft American schooner Utopia who were kind enough to give us some fresh fruit before customs came around and later to let us have a shower aboard. The people of Nuku Hiva, at least to first impression, are not as friendly as most Polynesians, but the local trader, Bob Mckittrick, treated us very well. We had two or three meals with him and his wife Tapu. He told us many interesting tales of his forty years in the islands and gave us a lot of helpful hints. He had very few tinned foods in his store and those that he did have were very expensive so, in order to conserve our tinned goods for sailing, we ate fish, rice and papayas. Nuku Hiva would have been an interesting spot to have spent some time but we felt it would have to wait, and after three days we left for Ua Pou. On this short sail we averaged over 7 knots which for Taki was phenomenal. We anchored in Vaieo Bay under some cliffs and went skin-diving. It wasn’t long before we found that we were sharing the bay with a school of manta rays. After recovering from the initial shock it was interesting to watch the mantas flap their way through the water like big birds, a ton or more of grace and beauty. 171

We left Ua Pou for Tepoto, in the Disappointment Islands*, late in the afternoon and after one night of squally weather were treated to tropical sailing at its very best. The moon was full, the sea was slight and the wind so balmy as to seem a liquid rather than mere air. The memory of a few nights like that are enough to make it impossible for a man to give up the idea of returning to the South Pacific. We arrived at Tepoto one afternoon and, as it is the ultimate in open roads, anchored very close to shore with no protection. The natives came out and asked us to go ashore, but luckily we refused as early in the evening there were a series of bumps and we were adrift, down a foot by the bow. Our only good anchor was fouled in something and we were adrift with the ‘something’ hanging on the end of 10 fathoms of chain. No combination of winches and manpower would bring it up and we couldn’t get it back on the bottom because the bottom sloped steeply away from the shore. We couldn’t afford to lose our anchor and chain so powered and drifted up and down in the lee of the island all night. It was a bad night. In the morning about ten natives swarmed on board and we hauled up a tremendous chunk of coral completely encircled by the chain. We cleared it, thanked the natives and sailed for about three hours before we hove-to for eight hours’ sleep. A few days later we ran the pass at Raroia into a large lagoon. We anchored behind a natural seawall in about 10 feet of water over a white sand bottom, and settled down for a stay in what appeared to be, from a sailor’s standpoint anyway, a paradise on earth. I can’t do justice to Raroia – suffice it to say that the people were friendly and hospitable, the swimming and diving were beyond description, and exploring the windward reefs was an experience not quickly forgotten. We helped to collect copra, we fished and we attended a large dinner in our honour. It was a pleasant interlude which was difficult to leave but Tahiti beckoned. We left Raroia with an unpremeditated flourish. The pass looked perfectly harmless as we headed into it and we were not prepared as we were swept into a maelstrom. Bill was standing on the foredeck lashing down the hook when the deck dropped out from under him. From my vantage point in the cockpit he and the anchor seemed to float off the deck and then come crashing down. As we came down the boat tried hard to turn at right angles to the cut. I jammed the tiller hard over with my feet, which didn’t prevent Taki from making a 360° turn while bucking like a thing possessed. In 30 seconds we were out and, except for a few bruises on Bill, sailing along as if nothing had happened. That night we raised the atolls of Makemo and Taenga in the moonlight and from these we laid our course south to get clear of all the Tuamotus before turning west for Tahiti. Then the weather changed. The sea built up into a short steep chop and we were hit by squall after squall of an hour’s or more duration. These squalls hit so hard and with so much rain as to take one’s breath away, but we kept up as much canvas as we could in order to clear the atoll of Motutunga. It is very unpleasant sailing in that particular stretch of water in that sort of weather and we were much relieved the next day when, as suddenly as it had left, the balmy weather returned and we were able to square away for Tahiti. Four days later we picked up the mandatory pilot outside the reef and sailed into * A sub-group of the Tuamotu archipelago which lies northeast of the main islands. 172

Papeete, the mecca of the South Pacific. We quickly cleared the pleasant immigration people, found our niche against the wall and settled down for a while. The traditional pleasures of Tahiti are well enough known not to need comment. Beyond these it was pleasant to meet the Hamiltons again and to have a delightful luncheon with the captain of the large trading schooner Oiseau des Isles. We motorbiked around the island a number of times and generally had a good time. We left Tahiti for Moorea just before Christmas even though we were suffering from Asian flu. We anchored in one of Moorea’s many bays over a gravel bottom which we dragged off one night in a squall, but we were able to power off without any damage. As soon as we had shaken off the flu bug we had a pleasant and uneventful sail to Bora Bora. It was very calm and for a time we sailed in close to the island’s outer reef. This was a bit tricky (and maybe a bit foolish) but our efforts were rewarded by a view of an ever changing kaleidoscope of multicoloured coral and blue water. Bora Bora has a magnificent harbour, but one which has a major disadvantage for yachts – the shore drops straight off into 20–25 fathoms (120–150ft) which makes it difficult to anchor a small boat. We came alongside a derelict landing stage which was quite satisfactory as long as there was no surge. One day we walked around the island, and after the rigours of Tahiti and no exercise for quite a while it very nearly did us in. Taking our departure rather reluctantly from Bora Bora we had an uneventful passage to Rarotonga but on arriving one look was enough to put us back to sea. A large ground swell was breaking on the reef and rendering both of Rarotonga’s harbours, only a few hundred yards apart and really only holes in the reef, absolutely inaccessible. The better one was blocked by a derelict and the other was, and is, only a few hundred yards straight in from the open sea. Later we learned that a dory which had lain alongside the pier had, on the night we were hove-to, been tossed up on the town’s main street. The contrast between the NZ and the French islands was incredible. Stores were readily available at (for an island) reasonable prices and a large butcher’s shop seemed to have an unlimited supply of fresh and frozen meat. The whole island was clean and quiet. There was a good hospital and a good dentist (I was badly in need of the latter after an unfortunate experience with a Tahitian dentist). One Sunday afternoon a group of teenage girls came down to the dock in their Sunday frocks, but they didn’t stop at the end of the dock. With a nonchalance and gaiety that was not studied they all went swimming, frocks and all, much to their parents’ amusement. It was beginning to get quite late in the season now and we tore ourselves away from Rarotonga in hopes of getting to New Zealand before it became too cold for two tropic birds, or three tropic birds counting our parakeet Whiskey. When we were finally able to tear ourselves away from Rarotonga we managed to sail right out into a northerly blow. An hour out of harbour we were reduced to a storm staysail, which was all we could manage for three days. Despite this we made 160 miles to the good in those three days which, I suppose, one would find amazing only if familiar with the microscopic size of Taki’s storm canvas. After the blow the easterlies held all the way to the Kermadec Islands and we were able to sail all the way up to Raoul Island under our twins. Unable to land at the meteorological station (the only habitation in the Kermadecs), we rounded the island and anchored off a black sand beach at Denham Bay. There was not a soul to be seen and we spent the day fishing and exploring. It was amusing to throw the large blocks 173

of pumice that lay on the beach into the water and watch them float. Strange place! On the second day a chap came down from the met station and, after a number of abortive attempts, we finally beat our way round to a good anchorage in Boat Cove. From there we were able to visit the met station whose seven residents couldn’t have been more hospitable. Raoul was a wildly beautiful and, in its own way, peaceful place and I am sorry to report that it suffered a number of earthquakes and lava flows in early 1965 which caused the destruction of at least one of the beautiful green crater lakes and necessitated the evacuation of the met station. The final leg of the trip was different, if nothing else. We had planned to have a look at Curtis Island (in the Kermadecs) which was actively volcanic at the time but, shame upon shame, one of us applied a variation correction the wrong way and we never even sighted it. Since leaving Panama we had been using the American HO 214 sight reduction tables. These are arranged in volumes, 10° of latitude per volume, and we ran out of them about 200 miles north of New Zealand. Coincident with this the weather deteriorated and we were forced to run for New Zealand on dead reckoning since we could never seem to see the sun at noon. When the water began to change colour quite noticeably one afternoon we hoveto for the night and early the next morning we were treated to the sight of the Poor Knights Islands, 8 or 10 miles south. This put us too far south to reach Russell without a long beat so we ran for the small harbour of Tutukaka. We had reached New Zealand, glad to be there but sorry that the trip was over.

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GREECE, AUTUMN 2021 ~ Southern Dodecanese, Covid, Brexit et al Mike and Helen Norris (Continuing the chronicle of Mike, Helen and their 37ft Countess cutter-rigged ketch Island Drifter (ID). See Flying Fish 2017/2, 2018/2, 2019/1 and 2019/2 – all available online at oceancruisingclub.org/Flying-Fish-Archive – for the back story.) We never imagined when we flew back to the UK from Greece at the end of November 2019, after two months cruising the east coast of the Peloponnese ‘island’ southwest of Athens, that it would be nearly two years before we next saw our boat ... but then we’d never heard of Covid-19 and had no idea what would actually happen following Brexit! Covid-19 Over Christmas 2019 Mike was totally incapacitated by a virus for over a week, during which time he in effect self-isolated by staying in bed. Indeed, he didn’t fully recover from it for over six weeks. His GP subsequently accepted that it had almost certainly been Covid-19, even though the first UK case was not officially confirmed until 29th January 2020. Having booked flights back to Greece for 18th March, we had to cancel them at the last minute as our insurance would have been invalid after the Foreign Office formally advised against non-essential travel on, would you believe, 17th March! Fortunately, we were insured for ‘Travel Disruption’. Thereafter Covid chaos reigned – lockdowns, lockouts, shutdowns, traffic lights, contradictory advice, conflicting instructions, media hysteria, masks, essential and non-essential travel, pre-flight tests, post-flight tests, LFTs and PCRs1, social distancing, regional restrictions, self-isolation, mandatory isolation, quarantine hotels, anti-vaxxers, booster jabs, PLFs2 etc, etc. A whole new vocabulary has evolved. 1. Lateral Flow Tests and Polymerase Chain Reaction tests 2. Passenger Locator Forms Leros airstrip next to Moor & Dock’s (M&D) Boatyard at the north end of Leros, where Island Drifter awaited us ashore

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We periodically looked for ways through this maze of ever-changing regulations and advice in both the UK and Greece, but without success. Hence we spent two summers at our beach chalet in Calshot, Hampshire, two winters in our home in Yorkshire, and began to learn to live with Covid. We were not unduly concerned about Island Drifter herself, since we had winterised her properly, including putting the sails, running rigging and all removable deck fittings down below after servicing them. We had also covered the fixed deck fittings (winches, clutches, mast fittings, etc). As soon as quarantine, self-isolation and testing regulations in the UK and Greece eased in mid September 2021 we booked flights to Leros. Apart from having to complete a simple online Greek Passenger Locator Form (PLF), going through the non-EU channel in Athens airport, and having our passports stamped, our journey was uneventful. Our principal objectives in returning to Greece were to service ID and determine the practicalities or otherwise of continuing cruising in the EU, Mediterranean and indeed Greek waters. We accepted that any sailing on this visit was unlikely. Brexit Before leaving the UK we’d tried our best to ascertain the sailing implications of Brexit. The mass of contradictory information about the regulations, political manoeuvring between the EU hierarchy and UK Government, the plethora of different experiences reported and the variety of opinions expressed by fellow cruisers and ‘experts’, combined with different interpretations of the rules by Greek officials in each island – and indeed within islands – simply increased our difficulty in knowing what to expect. In the circumstances, we concluded that our worst case scenario would be to fall foul of the Schengen regulations, from which we had previously been exempt, in that:  The boat could only remain in European waters (of any EU country) for a total of 18 months, after which EU VAT would become payable on it (again).  We, as individuals, could only visit EU countries for a total of 90 days in any rolling 180-day period. HMRC (Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs) could not resist the temptation to complicate matters by announcing that UK-flagged boats abroad on 31st December 2020 would be liable for UK VAT (yet again) if they were returned to the UK after 30th June 2022 (though see update below). Leros On arrival at the boatyard in Leros it became apparent that ID’s exterior, masts, booms, standing rigging and uncovered mast fittings were caked with two years’ worth of solidified Saharan red dust. Down below – apart from hardly being able to move due to all the stored gear – it was fine. Since our flight touched down on the landing strip adjacent to the boatyard at 0800, we had time that day to unload all the non-essential items and stack them nearby on pallets (which we covered with canvas), reorganise below decks to make the boat habitable, hire a car and shop for provisions, before going out for lunch at the local taverna. We decided that the first thing we needed to do next day was to remove the 177

A great view (for a boatyard) from our cockpit Saharan dust as best we could by pressure washing. We also accepted that we’d need to launch ID in order to clean the masts and standing rigging before being able to put on the running rigging and sails – Saharan dust stains everything. Over the following week we cleaned and serviced everything on board, paying particular attention to vulnerable parts such as the port and hatch seals, seacocks, deck fittings, engine hoses and filters, water tanks and pipes. Then we antifouled with the excellent Greek product used by the local fishermen. Eventually, after paying Greek cruising tax (Tepai*) online, we were able to launch and motor the ten miles south xxxxx * Island Drifter being just under 12m overall, the cruising tax was €33 per calendar month or part thereof. Boats over 12m pay €8 per metre per month – eg. €120 per month for a 15m vessel.

ID in the travel lift about to be taken to the launch dock. In the foreground is an hydraulic sledge, which allows boats to be parked in spaces too narrow for the travel lift 178

Helen cleaning the main mast and standing rigging to M&D’s quayside marina in Lakki. There it took us four days to clean the masts and standing rigging, run up the halyards, bend on the sails and refit the deck gear. During our time in the boatyard and on the marina quay in Lakki we got to grips with Greek post-Brexit regulations and came to realise the benefits of obtaining an Unlimited Transit Log (UTL) for the boat and temporary Greek Residency for ourselves. Both take precedence over the Schengen Rules while in Greece, and indeed are of benefit when out of Greece since time in Greece is not included in Schengen calculations.  Before launching we had applied to the Leros Customs office for a UTL to allow the boat to remain in Greek waters for an unlimited time. It also evidenced to other Greek officials this fact as well as the boat’s formal exemption from Greek VAT. To obtain it, we had to prove that the boat was in Greece on the Brexit transition date (contracts plus confirmation from the boatyard) and that VAT had previously been paid while the UK was in the EU (certificate from UK Customs and Excise).  To obtain temporary Five Year Greek Residency we paid €16 each to apply and subsequently had to attend and prove to the Regional Immigration Office in Kos that we owned the boat (passports and registration document), that the boat had been in Greece for five years (boatyard contracts), that we had visited Greece for significant periods of time during those years, and that we were each solvent to the tune of €4000 and had a regular income (bank statements). Kos We enjoyed a cracking 35-mile broad reach in force 6 from Leros down the east coast of Kalymnos to Kos Marina in time for our pre-arranged Residency Interview. The marina is considered by many people to be one of the best in Greece and is the base for several quality charter fleets. We’d avoided Kos in 2017 when making our way from Crete to Leros, both because we were short of time and because of its reputation for the worst kind of tourism. Out of season, however, it is a delightful island. Since we had made excellent progress sorting out the boat and resolving UTL and Residency issues, combined with the fact that the weather forecast looked so good, we decided to cruise the southern Dodecanese islands that we had bypassed when we first arrived in Greece – namely Tilos, Karpathos, Kassos, Kastellorizo and Astipalia. 179

Kos marina, with the Old City and Harbour in the background Tilos We split the 100-mile passage to Karpathos into two day sails by pulling into Tilos, a quiet, attractive island with 500 permanent residents but some 10,000 annual tourists. It is a location that appeals to discerning visitors seeking an authentic Greek atmosphere and, from a sailing point of view, the harbour and anchorage at Livadia, the island’s tiny port, are well sheltered from the prevailing northerly winds. Tilos is the first island in the Mediterranean to become selfsufficient in terms of renewable energy, being the first part of the EU-financed ‘Horizon 2020’ 180

ID alongside the inside of the breakwater/ferry quay at Livadia on Tilos programme. A hybrid power station produces power from wind and solar farms in the centre of the island, storing it in batteries with any excess sold to the national grid. Karpathos (west coast) We left Tilos in good time next morning for the remaining 45 miles to Karpathos. This island lies mid way between Crete and Rhodes and is the third largest island in the Dodecanese. We arrived in the late afternoon and made our way through the narrow southern entrance into Tristoma Bay on the island’s northwest corner to anchor at the head of the bay. The location is accessible only by boat or along a very narrow, long, rough track. After a peaceful night at anchor we exited the bay and headed south some 25 miles towards the small hamlet and port of Finiki. As we entered Finiki harbour, our prop and rudder caught on an abandoned (and submerged) buoy and float line. Helen swam ashore and, with the help of Dimitri, The narrow exit from Tristoma Bay

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Supper at Captain Gianni’s, Finiki a loquacious elderly GreekAmerican returnee and ex-seaman, got his nephew, a diver, to clear the buoy and line. The small hamlet of Finiki still remains recognisable as the fishing village it used to be. Its blue and white houses front a small shingle beach and sleepy fishingoriented harbour with half a dozen tavernas. The back streets contain some renovated buildings offering a limited number of rooms to rent. That evening we treated ourselves to supper at Captain Gianni’s, the only taverna still open that late in the year. The other customers were half a dozen local ‘old boys’ enjoying drinks and a non-stop conversation. Kassos Since the weather remained favourable and the wind was forecast to be in the right direction, we decided to risk sailing to Kassos, some 70 miles northeast of Crete and the southernmost Dodecanese island. Often battered by severe winds and regularly cut off by violent seas, Kassos looks like the Greece that time has forgotten. Port Fry’s pretty white houses with traditional blue shutters and doors face an incongruously massive, EU-funded concrete slab of a dock inside an equally enormous, long, rocky outer breakwater. The town has an active fishing fleet and we were able to purchase fish direct from one of the boats. ID alongside Port Fry’s inner quay. The harbour’s outer breakwater can be seen in the background

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In 1820 the island, then under Turkish rule, had 11,000 inhabitants and a large mercantile fleet. Four years later an Egyptian fleet landed in Kassos and slaughtered over 7000 islanders, taking the rest into slavery. The island has never recovered and the massacre is commemorated annually – Kassiopes return from around the world to participate. Karpathos (east coast) We made an overnight passage around the southern tip of Karpathos, then sailed north up the east coast to Pigadia, the capital. We were the only visiting boat. It is not as photogenic as many other Greek ports – indeed, it is something of a concrete jungle with every narrow street seemingly one way. The place does, however, grow on you and is undoubtedly Greek. It caters for some Scandinavian and German package holidaymakers, who stay in either the capital or one of the small southern beach resorts, and hikers are also beginning to visit to take advantage of the island’s historic trails.

A typical section of EU-funded, cloud-capped mountain road on Karpathos

The island’s usually cloud-capped mountain spine, which rises to 1200m, divides it into two distinct sections – the low-lying south with its pretty bays and beaches and the exceptionally rugged north where traditional, pastel-coloured villages perch on mountain tops (historically to avoid pirate attacks). In the village of Olympos the inhabitants still wear traditional Greek costume and speak their own dialect, thought to be based on Dorian Greek. Deep ravines, particularly on the east coast, drop to tiny coves accessible only by boat or by 4x4 down tortuously steep, winding, narrow gravel tracks. We, in a hired Fiat Panda, chickened out! 183

For most of the way from Karpathos to Kastellorizo the Hydrovane steered ID steadily east in 10 knots of wind Kastellorizo The weather remained benign so we decided to continue our Autumn Cruise by sailing to Kastellorizo, the easternmost Greek island. It is part of a small, remote archipelago of Greek islets located 70 miles east of Rhodes (the nearest Greek island) and barely a nautical mile off Kas on the Turkish mainland. It is the only inhabited island in the group. While en route, we made the mistake of stirring up sludge by topping up our starboard day tank from our main port tank – normally a standard procedure. Within 30 seconds of re-starting the engine, however, it stuttered and faded. On changing and inspecting the fuel filters (yet again), we confirmed what we had long feared – namely a diesel-bug problem since the fuel had remained in the tanks for almost two years. Fortunately, the engine restarted.

ID stern-to on the very low quay at Kastellorizo

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Kastellorizo is said to be one of the best harbours on the Mediterranean coast between Beirut and Fethiye in Turkey. In terms of architecture it resembles Symi, northwest of Rhodes, in that the town’s two-storey buildings fringe the harbour and are painted in a variety of pastel colours with red roofs. However unlike Symi, a tourist trap, it has few visitors. The harbour has a small colony of breeding loggerhead turtles. Despite signs to the contrary, people throw bread into the water to attract shoals of tiny fish which the turtles then hoover up. The permanent population, concentrated around the port, has dwindled from around 10,000 a century ago to some 300 today, and the island and its communities receive hefty subsidies from the Greek government intended to prevent it reverting to Turkish rule. Rhodes We decided to make our way from Kastellorizo back to Leros via Rhodes, where we were confident that quality yacht services would be available to help fix our fuel problem. Soon after our arrival in the old harbour of Mandraki we were joined by Sabri Ibrahim, an experienced, self-employed Sudanese marine engineer who has lived and worked in Greece for 22 years. After a brief discussion and inspection of our filters, Sabri agreed that we did indeed have a diesel-bug problem! Its subsequent resolution involved emptying and steam-cleaning the tanks and using compressed air to clear the hoses. Then we decanted the fuel between the tanks with a diesel fuel separator pump which ran for six hours to filter and clean the fuel. After Sabri replaced the filters (again) and bled the fuel system, the engine started first time and ran sweetly. Rhodes, or Rodos as it is called in Greek, is by far the largest island in the Dodecanese, the islands Sabri Ibrahim with his fuel separator pump 185

ID on the taverna quay at Vathi, with the bay and mountains behind

closest to the Turkish mainland* which only joined the modern Greek state (founded in 1832) in 1947. Rhodes, like Kos, is a fertile giant though traditional agriculture, while still important, has been displaced in terms of its percentage contribution to the island’s economy by a tourist industry focused on beaches and night life. While overcrowded in the summer it is, out of season, a magnificent island. The fortified enclave known as the Old City was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1988 and is one of the best-preserved Old Cities in the world. Astipalia We left Rhodes at dawn to catch a favourable 24-hour weather window for a broad-reach passage to Astipalia. The island, shaped like a butterfly, lies 100 miles northwest of Rhodes in a relatively empty part of the Aegean Sea. Although it has some reasonably good beaches in spectacular locations, its relative isolation, lack of nightlife, limited ferry services and inter-island-only airstrip have to date conspired to deter foreign tourists, which probably accounts for its popularity with Greek holidaymakers. Even so, Astipalia offers opportunities for walkers, campers and history buffs – and, of course, cruising yachtsmen. Although included in the Dodecanese group of islands, architecturally, geographically and historically Astipalia belongs in the Cyclades. Through a quirk of history – and an out-of-date map used to draw up the new boundaries – it was included in the then Turkish Dodecanese Island group at the 1832 Peace Conference following the Greek War of Independence. While for convenience we pulled in overnight at the island’s main port at Skala, next morning we promptly made our way round to Vathi Bay on the northeastern wing of the butterfly. To enter the bay, which has excellent all-round shelter and holding, we had to negotiate its narrow, shallow entrance before pulling alongside the small quay at Vathi itself. This tiny fishing hamlet can only be reached by sea or along a long, rutted, dirt track. It is home to three or four self-sufficient elderly families, one of which runs a fish taverna open throughout the year where we had two excellent lunches. * Although ‘Dodecanese’ means ‘The Twelve Islands’, today the group comprises 15 major islands – Agathonisi, Astipalaia, Chalki, Kalymnos, Karpathos, Kassos, Kastellorizo, Kos, Lipsi, Leros, Nisyros, Patmos, Rhodes, Symi, and Tilos – and 93 smaller islets. 186

Kos (again) After confirming that our application for residency had been formally approved in Athens, we headed back to Kos in a force 6+ on the beam to collect our cards. While we were in transit the unhelpful, grumpy marina receptionist (male) told us there was no room for us to berth that night. Since the nearby anchorage was untenable in the conditions we ignored his instructions and found ourselves a berth, prepared if challenged to plead ‘Stress of Weather’. No one bothered us. (We did, however, report to the office and pay!) Leros As soon as the wind changed to the southwest we left Kos and headed north up the east coast of Kalymnos back to Lakki harbour on Leros. We were the only visitor so we berthed alongside the quay, this being more convenient than mooring bows-to for decommissioning ID before having her lifted out at the boatyard at the north end of the island. Once ashore we completed those jobs best done on land before catching our flight back to the UK via Athens. Return to the UK By the time we left Leros in mid December the UK had changed its entry requirements and we each had to take a pre-flight lateral flow test (€8 each in a Greek pharmacy) and subsequently a PCR test within two days of arrival in the UK. Both proved negative. More challenging was the completion of the UK’s lengthy Passenger Locator Form, which is unlikely to win any design awards. While waiting in Athens airport for our connecting flight we received, to our total surprise and delight, a notification advising that Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs had, after representations from the RYA, the OCC and the CA as well as from individual cruisers including ourselves, withdrawn their previously-announced intention to charge VAT (again) on UK-flagged boats that failed to return to the UK by the end of June 2022. Great news, and a perfect end to our Autumn Cruise.

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ID on the inside of Kos Marina’s breakwater quay

OCEAN PASSAGES AND LANDFALLS: Cruising Routes of the World – Rod Heikell and Andy O’Grady, 3rd edition. Published in hard covers by Imray Laurie Norie & Wilson [www.imray.com] at £37.50. 384 A4 pages in full colour throughout. ISBN 978-1-7867-9302-7 Ocean Passages and Landfalls presents a wealth of information focused on facilitating successful planning for safe and enjoyable cruising across the world’s oceans. The text is supported by stunning photography, clear chartlets and invaluable harbour guides in the usual high-quality Imray house style. A top-down structure begins with the major cruising highways around the globe followed by classic ocean circuits. We are then treated to a more in-depth description of each oceanic region, starting in the North Atlantic and logically progressing westerly. Weather and sea conditions are followed by detailed descriptions of the principal routes around selected areas. Key within the latter are specific warnings of particularly tricky sections – I recognised the warning concerning the fearsome seas between Rio Grande and Rio de la Plata that my pilot had failed to mention. Having initially painted in fairly broad brush strokes, Ocean Passages and Landfalls then gets down to individual country and key port data, including the inevitable entry regulations. Current Covid pandemic restrictions render the latter almost impossible to predict and, as recognised by the authors, not all are likely to be rescinded. For UK nationals, Brexit has undoubtedly made regulations more uncertain and the resulting increased visa requirements should be factored into any plans. Interweaved amongst this plethora of information are addenda giving greater detail about a particular subject, be it a country, region or passage guide. Irritatingly, these additional pages are frequently inserted in the middle of existing text, splitting up a port description or leaving a sentence hanging incomplete for the reader to search for further on. There is a comprehensive introduction to cruising around Patagonia, essential reading for anyone considering a traditional circumnavigation under sail, avoiding man-made waterways. A further excellent supplement describes a circumnavigation of New Zealand, but no such treatment is afforded the UK – in fact Scotland and its magnificent West Coast receives no mention, in common with many other delightful cruising grounds. These omissions in coverage are apparent throughout the book, substantiating the authors’ admission that it very much reflects their own cruising experience, extensive as that obviously is. This is the third edition, the last being in 2009 and the first in 2005. The intervening 13 years have been a period of significant change with climate, technology, politics and currently the Covid pandemic all impinging hugely upon the sailing world. The 188

change in weather patterns and increased frequency of severe storms has altered many of the conventional timings for ocean passages. For example, rallies that traditionally departed NZ on 1st May now wait until late in the month or early June, due to the extended cyclone season in the tropics. Technology has enabled far greater numbers of sailors to take to the oceans in craft crammed with complex equipment upon which they depend, and the burgeoning number of cruisers has led to overcrowding in the most popular areas and increasing levels of bureaucracy and restrictions in response to much inappropriate behaviour. In some respects this guide has not kept fully abreast of all developments and addressed current requirements. For example, the marina at V&A Waterfront in Cape Town is a far more convenient, safe and salubrious environment than the yacht club. Trincomalee is a very safe and friendly place from which to enjoy the delights of Sri Lanka. More particularly, we found current standard biodiesel in Thailand and Malaysia caused significant damage to marine diesel engines and one needed to tank up with the lower bio-content, high grade (and costlier) fuel. Finally, the numerous references to weather systems dating from 2004 and before give a rather dated feel to the text. However, given the vast resources available via the internet, it is reasonable to question whether it really matters if all the information in the book is current. Surely anyone embarking upon a voyage would check out all the current data on their intended route and final destination. I enjoyed reading Ocean Passages and Landfalls and reliving many happy memories. I had a chuckle when reading of the frustration felt when taking three days to check into Brazil – in 2004 it took us a week! What this book sets out to do is to inspire people to go voyaging and give them a taste of what delights may befall them. It describes clear and well-trodden paths for people to follow, with enough additional information to allow them to incorporate flexibility and exploration into their plans. In this it succeeds admirably, and as a bonus it is a brilliant read conjuring up enviable images for those who simply sit and dream. I thoroughly recommend it. GMJ

IN THE WAKE OF THE GODS – Sam Jefferson. Published in soft covers by Adlard Coles, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing [www.bloomsbury.com], at £20. 224 246mm × 189mm pages with many chartlets and photographs, in full colour throughout. ISBN 978-1-4729-7536-2; also available for Kindle. This excellent and unique book can best be described as an entertaining and informative travel guide for sailors in Greek waters. Sam Jefferson is a freelance journalist and author of a number of well-researched books on seafaring subjects also published by Adlard Coles. He spent two years as deputy editor of Sailing Today, to which he still contributes articles. He has also worked as part of the RYA’s PR team. This book began as a short article mapping out mythical Ithaca in relation to Odysseus and his many misadventures. However, Sam soon realised that the whole of the Ionian and the Saronic Gulf, cruising areas he knows well, are full of mythological landmarks. The short article therefore grew into a guide for sailors that allows them to cruise the 189

Greek islands while also placing landmarks, ports, bays and headlands within the context of mythical tales. Sam believes the Greek mythical world is far more tangible than one might think and that there is a clear correlation between real and mythical sites. The book, in his own description, is not a scholarly tome earnestly analysing the veracity of where and when mythical events may or may not have occurred. Instead his retelling of the myths is done in an irreverent and highly amusing style – something he admits was a gruelling exercise as the ancient Greek gods were fundamentally capricious, vindictive and sadistic, not only with their fellow Olympians but also with mere mortals for whom their machinations often bore gruesome results. While illustrated with chartlets and stunning photographs, In the Wake of the Gods does not pretend to rival in-depth pilot books such as those produced by Rod and Lucinda Heikell, although it does contain plenty of practical advice on Med-mooring techniques, anchoring and typical weather patterns. Having followed the author’s advice as to where to anchor or moor one’s boat safely before hiking off inland, there are also detailed and practical notes on how to reach some of the landmarks. My only minor quibble with this book is that, while excellently produced in all other respects, there are numerous, irritating typos throughout. Fortunately for most people these will not detract significantly from their enjoyment of this informative, amusing and beautifully illustrated guide to one of the Mediterranean’s most attractive cruising grounds. HCN

WORLD CRUISING ROUTES – Jimmy Cornell, 9th edition. Published in flexiback covers by Adlard Coles, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing [www. bloomsbury.com], at £60. 616 236mm x 187mm pages in full colour throughout. ISBN 978-1-4729-9309-0 and WORLD CRUISING DESTINATIONS – Jimmy Cornell, 3rd edition. Published in flexiback covers by Adlard Coles, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing at £50. 448 236mm x 187mm pages in full colour throughout. ISBN 978-1-4729-9102-7 There are plenty of ways to plan a successful voyage, especially with the incredible amount of information available online and the ability to communicate instantly with other cruisers all over the world. As a relative newcomer to cruising I try to assemble as much information as possible before starting a passage – from books, from talking to people who have made a similar trip and from the internet. I’ve found that the best place to start usually is with a book, working my way to the internet and then finally diluting everything I’ve heard with an experienced account from a friend or OCC member. Jimmy Cornell’s World Cruising Routes, first published in 1987 and now in its 9th edition, looks at over 1000 routes across all the oceans of the world. World Cruising Destinations, first published in 2010 and now in its 3rd edition, gives an overview of more than 180 countries with invaluable details on each one including formalities, climate and some historical background. Neither book can be considered small. Routes is a 616-page beast and Destinations isn’t far behind at 448, and both with good 190

reason. Other books I have used over the last couple of years try to cram too much information into a smaller number of pages, which means I need to fill in the blanks myself – fine when you have a good internet connection and time to sift through websites, otherwise more difficult. They work very well together as a set, especially when planning extended cruising. We spent last season making our way from Ireland to the south coast of Portugal and I spent a lot of time online and with a pilot book trying to plan the trip. While it worked out well in the end, as I plan our next stage – to the Caribbean and beyond – I’ve found myself using these two books a lot as I sit at my desk waiting to get back to the boat. I can only give an opinion on the accuracy of the locations and routes that we have sailed personally – so far Ireland, the UK, Northern Spain and Portugal. The author nails it when he describes Ireland as ‘One of the finest cruising grounds in the world’ and I definitely agree that the weather is the only downside. His description of the west and south coasts and of formalities are also correct. Moving further south to Spain, there are warnings for Costa da Morte (which includes Cape Finisterre) which should not be ignored, and it’s in areas like this that both books really add value, highlighting where to be particularly careful and what local effects should be anticipated. Something to be very careful of on the Atlantic coast of Iberia is swell and the effect it has on harbour entrances. This is where Routes becomes indispensable, as Jimmy Cornell gives detailed guidance as to which ports to go for and, more importantly, which not to go for. Route AN15 from northern Europe to Portugal is a good example, as large or even moderate swells can make some port entrances impassable, dangerous or very difficult, and it is important to heed his warnings. One of the few problems we faced in both Spain and Portugal was completing formalities. Books always make it seems so straightforward, but in reality it can be quite painful. I have a UK passport and Brexit has forced holders of it into non-EU formalities such as 90-day Schengen visas and entry/exit stamps. The reality is lots of walking to various police stations where the police will have no idea what you mean or want, until you eventually find the right office. World Cruising Destinations includes a ‘formalities’ section for each country covered, but there isn’t much about the post-Brexit situation while Covid has created further changes, if mostly just temporary. Looking forward to our next season, this is where I can review World Cruising Routes and Destinations from the perspective of the armchair sailor or the skipper planning a voyage across unfamiliar waters. Both books are easy to navigate, with well laid-out pages and well-presented information. For example, in Destinations each Caribbean island has a brief history, a list of cruising guides and websites where you can find more local information, a bit on the climate and the essential formalities. Routes is equally easy to work through, broken out into the oceans of the world, and then into various cruising routes. Most start from the larger ports and popular wintering places and then give helpful details as to what to expect on each passage from there. With the obvious changes we are seeing in our climate, one can only hope that aspect stays accurate until the next revision. At £110 the pair they are not cheap and, while in my opinion Routes would definitely be worth buying and carrying aboard an active cruising boat, Destinations would probably be more of a luxury which I’m not sure would justify a place in the limited space on my bookshelf. It would be nice to sit and dream while reading it, and it’s a very nice book overall, but I’m not sure I’d consider it an essential. Routes will definitely be a 191

big help to us as we cruise further afield and I’d probably recommend it to anyone still at the planning stage. RW

CREATIVE ROPECRAFT – Stuart Grainger, 5th edition. Published in soft covers by Adlard Coles, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing [www.bloomsbury.com], at £16.99. 144 203mm x 254mm pages illustrated by the author’s very clear b/w drawings and some colour photographs. ISBN 978-1-4729-8565-1 It’s surprising that previous editions of Creative Ropecraft have not been reviewed in Flying Fish as it’s of obvious interest to ocean cruisers ... what boat doesn’t have odd bits of line tucked away at the backs of lockers just waiting to be made into something useful, plus for many an offshore passage offers free time on a scale rarely available ashore. The late Stuart Grainger was a Master Mariner and a member of the International Guild of Knot Tyers and clearly knows his subject inside out. Starting with the characteristics of different types of rope – natural and synthetic, as well as laid and braided – Creative Ropecraft continues with a run-down of all the familiar knots, with illustrated instructions for tying them and a sentence or two about their uses, advantages and, in some cases, disadvantages. A couple of pages are also devoted to tools such as fids and palms – again something all cruising yachts are likely to have aboard. Next the author describes those useful knots which we may only use occasionally, such as constrictor knots, crown knots and stopper knots, including the king of them all, the Double Matthew Walker Knot. Laid rope splices occupy the next seven pages, as clearly illustrated as I’ve ever seen them, but with no mention of how to splice plaited or sheathed ropes, or the invaluable plaited rope-to-chain splice for use on anchor rodes. Chapter 3 covers ‘Single Strand Fancy Knots’, including such items as nautical doormats and those small circular mats placed around deck blocks on classic yachts and used as drinks coasters by the rest of us. The Monkey’s Fist also comes in this chapter, though I’d question the author’s instruction to put ‘a small heavy object’ in the middle unless you want to risk taking someone’s eye out. Chapter 4 is devoted to ‘Plaits and Sennits of up to Six Strands’. It’s often hard to know where the former becomes the latter, particularly when the old rhyme that ‘a plait lies flat, a sennit has depth to it’ clearly doesn’t apply. From there onwards it’s mostly a case of combining various knots for different purposes, such as improving grip on a tiller (yacht or outboard), covering bottles and jars, making nets and hammocks, and finally ‘Practical Projects’ such as lanyards, rope-edged trays, door knockers and even cuff links! The book concludes with a useful bibliography and index. Despite it being rare for an entirely new knot, or combination of knots, to be introduced, books about them, their tying and their uses, appear to be a perennial favourite with many publishers. Whether this is the ideal beginner’s book is debatable, handsome though it is, but for anyone interested in the subject and keen to take their knowledge and abilities further it is highly recommended. AOMH 192

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A YEAR AND A HALF TO CROSS THE PACIFIC Nicole Burns (Nicole did not grow up sailing and, being the sort of person who could be ill on a cross-Channel ferry, going offshore in a small boat was certainly not top of her ‘must try’ list. Then she met Jeremy. Sailing was his passion, having spent his childhood on small family sailing boats on the River Orwell and subsequently skippering various yachts for their employer’s sailing club as an adult. For him, he either had to give up his passion or persuade Nicole that she loved it too. Twenty years later they decided to take early retirement when, in 2018, they were invited to cross the South Atlantic with friends. Their intention is to buy their own yacht one day, but in the meantime they crew for others to gain bluewater experience. Part of Nicole and Jeremy’s voyage is shown in olive green on the chartlet on page 170.) It had never been our intention to take more than 18 months to sail across the Pacific. In fact, that was well over a year longer than our original plan. Having left Panama in February 2020 we should have reached Australia by the beginning of August but, as with most people’s plans that year, ours were well and truly scuppered. Jeremy and I do not have our own boat – yet – but we have sailed extensively for many years and for the past four have been lucky enough to crew on several yachts undertaking bluewater voyages. The dream had always been to sail around the world, so we were extremely excited in 2018 when we met Chris, the owner of a Bavaria 46, who had signed up for the World ARC and was looking for crew for the entire circumnavigation. After several meetings and a number of passages along the south coast of the UK, we were thrilled to sign on for the two-year adventure. In July 2019 we Ready to start the world tour. joined Next Step in L to r: Nicole, Jeremy, Lymington and, with four Chris and James aboard, set off to see the 194

Giant lock gates on the Panama Canal world. We crossed a very flat Biscay, played lobster-pot dodging down the west coast of Spain and Portugal, left our mark on the wall in Funchal Harbour, Madeira, had a fast Atlantic crossing to St Lucia, endured a rather hairy and at times terrifyingly fast sail to Colombia and had a unique experience transiting the Panama Canal. I vividly remember the final giant lock gates opening and our excitement about entering the new and (for us) unexplored Pacific. That was what we’d all been looking forward to the most ... the jewel in the circumnavigation’s crown. After a few days exploring Panama and a week’s stop in the beautiful Las Perlas islands, we set off to cross the world’s largest ocean. En route to the Galápagos we crossed the Equator, a huge milestone for many sailors. Jeremy and I were already ‘shellbacks’, having crossed it in 2018 on passage from Fernando de Noronha, Brazil to the Caribbean, so we were put in charge of preparations for the traditional Line-Crossing Ceremony. Dressed as Neptune and his trusty assistant, we prepared for Chris and Bromley (who had taken over from James) to be read their list of offences and show deference to Neptune by offering food, drink and the odd Colombian Fun crossing the Equator coin overboard. Bromley bravely jumped in for a very quick swim! We actually crossed the Equator five times, having heaved-to for the ceremony and drifted backwards and forwards with the variable winds and current. 195

King of the Galápagos We spent two weeks being thrilled by the amazing wildlife of the Galápagos – swimming with turtles, penguins and sharks, dodging the noisy sealions and watching the prehistoric-looking marine iguanas. By 4th March 2020 it was time to leave. Everything in the world was normal and we were excited about the next five months which would see us crossing the Pacific, visiting French Polynesia, Tonga, the Cook Islands, Fiji and Vanuatu, and reaching Australia in August. We’re not sure why, but the last thing Jeremy did before losing wifi contact was to take a screenshot of the BBC News page. Main heading – 34 cases of coronavirus in the UK. Little did we suspect how much this would disrupt our plans and lives in the coming months or, as we now know, years. We weighed anchor and, down to only three aboard, set off on our longest passage to date. We had expected a fairly slow start to the passage with a fair bit of motoring and, indeed, that is what we got ... at least for the first 48 hours. We headed south to find the westward current and, as a bonus, also found the perfect wind for a great sail, goose-winging with a poled-out genoa. Next Step loves this point of sail and we made great progress without touching the sheets for days on end. While on passage we deliberately did not seek out news of what was happening in the world. There is something wonderful about being (temporarily) cut off. Nothing ever really changes ... or does it? We were sailing in company and had twice-daily radio calls with the fleet. We gradually began to get snippets of information. First, the UK was running short of toilet paper – how ridiculous! Then the US had closed its borders. Something serious was going on. We were two days short of the Marquesas Islands, due to drop anchor in Hiva Oa, when we were told to go straight to Nuku Hiva instead. The next day that changed again and we were instructed to continue directly to Tahiti without stopping. We were gutted. We had been at sea for 18 days and could almost smell land but, disappointed as we were, we altered course and sailed a further 1000 miles to Papeete. We were lucky – unlike some in our fleet we had plenty of food, water and fuel. At this point we experienced some of the worst weather we had seen so far, with lightning storms which persisted for over a week. They always say that night-time is when the bad things happen and that was true for us. One night there was an ominous crash. Jeremy was on watch and Chris and I had been asleep, but we were up on deck very quickly. Our spinnaker pole had come loose and its end was in the water – this 196

had to be sorted immediately, despite the weather. Chris went forward to retrieve the pole, with Jeremy and me helming and handling multiple lines from the cockpit. Thunder and lightning were all around us and suddenly we saw a bolt of lightning hit the water ... we literally saw it fizz. Shocked, Jeremy and I looked at Chris, half expecting to see a Tom-and-Jerry-type back-lit skeleton on the foredeck – he was, after all, manhandling an aluminium pole whilst hanging onto a steel shroud. But someone or something was looking after us that night ... perhaps our gifts to Neptune had done the trick? The pole was retrieved, the storm blew through and we did what every Brit knows is the only thing to do in such a situation – we went down below, stripped off our wet clothes and had a good old cup of tea. Twenty-six days after leaving the Galápagos we arrived in Tahiti and were directed to the Papeete town marina. Another disappointment, as friends arriving during the previous couple of days had all gone to Taina Marina, five miles along the coast. To say we were shocked by what awaited us is an understatement. All the shops were shuttered, with no people on the street and no cars to be seen. There was practically tumbleweed rolling down the road. We had to find someone to bring us up to date. Over the following days other members of the rally arrived and as it turned out we couldn’t have asked for a better place to be during confinement. Cruisers in other parts of French Polynesia faced much greater restrictions than us. Those who had anchored in or needed to divert to Nuku Hiva were literally stuck on their yachts. Only one person per week was permitted to go ashore (usually the skipper), no swimming was allowed and it was forbidden to approach another yacht by dinghy. Some people didn’t leave their yachts at all for seven weeks. That must be hard enough when there are just two of you on board – heaven knows how larger crew coped. Flying out was almost impossible. We heard of one American who chartered a private plane to get him to Tahiti so he could return home, but most didn’t have that luxury. Goose-winging across the Pacific

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April 2020 and a very empty Papeete marina It is not, perhaps, surprising that the islands took such stringent steps, when you consider that less than 200 years ago westerners brought in smallpox, wiping out huge swathes of the local population. Of course they were going to be worried for their safety. Tahiti, however, is relatively used to foreigners, not least because there are so many French nationals there in the police, government administration, teaching, hospitals etc. So we had a lot more freedom – one hour a day for shopping and another for exercise. We had neighbours so could chat to other boats, and indeed made many good friends during that period whom we would probably not have got to know so well had we been sailing around. We were locked down in Papeete Marina for seven weeks, but then French Polynesia began to open up again. No new visitors were permitted to enter, but those already there were free to sail and explore the islands. We didn’t need to be told twice. Together with several other yachts we headed off to the beautiful island of Mo’orea for a few days, before backtracking to the Tuamotu Archipelago, a series of atolls just tover 200 miles northeast of Tahiti. Our first stop was Fakarava, and we were lucky not to arrive sooner than we did. Yachts that had been there a day earlier were hit by a vicious squall which instantly

Beautiful Mo’orea 198

Fakarava in calm times

reversed the wind by 180°. Two yachts dragged onto the reef and a number of others had to abandon their anchors when the chains became wrapped around bommies (coral heads or outcrops standing higher than the surrounding reef), creating dangerous snatching in the waves. Fakarava is well worth a visit, particularly if you enjoy diving. The Wall of Sharks in the south pass is said to be one of the best diving sites in the world. It is certainly one of the most amazing that I have dived. I have never seen so many sharks together in one place, though I’m not sure I’m as brave as some others who ventured to do a night dive there. Toau was our favourite atoll. We passed a week there waiting for a weather window to sail back to the Society Islands, and spent a few hours each day helping Gaston and Valentine on their coconut plantation. In return they fed us on one of their pigs and freshly-caught parrot fish from the reef. It was so interesting to experience their everyday life – from meeting Mou Mou the tame frigate bird and watching their dog Rocky literally jump on sharks to scare them off, to hearing their thoughts on religion and an isolated life and learning about self-sufficiency. Helping out on the coconut plantation 199

Our final visit was to beautiful Huahine in the Society Islands, another of our favourite places. We felt very lucky to be visiting these islands with so few other tourists around. We visited stingray feeding stations in groups of twelve rather than a hundred, and dived or snorkelled in groups of six or seven, seeing no one else in the water. How many other people are going to be able to experience these places like we did? Part of me feels guilty that we enjoyed the summer of 2020 so much when life in the UK and elsewhere was miserable for so many. We certainly were very restrained about what we put on Next Step in Toau social media. As time went on it became more and more obvious that things were not going to get better any time soon. Some of our friends had left to sail back to their home ports in New Zealand and Australia, some had headed off to Hawaii, others had secured pits* in Fiji (the yachts are still there as of January 2022), and some yachts were left in marinas or yards in French Polynesia, many of which are also still awaiting the return of their owners. By mid July, the decision was made to leave Next Step in Tahiti and for the three of us to fly home. Notwithstanding that Fiji was open via the Blue Lanes arrangement, the lack of any guarantees that we could go further west convinced Chris that Tahiti would be a better option. We were fairly certain that other owners would be coming to similar conclusions and knew that space in the marinas was limited, so headed back to Papeete from Huahine as soon as the weather allowed. A week * Similar to the keel trenches dug in part of the Caribbean for boats summering ashore. 200

later we were on a flight home, armed with the requisite five masks per person for the journey. We were convinced that we would soon be returning to continue our circumnavigation. How wrong we were! We hadn’t been home for long before we received news from Chris that he had decided to ship Next Step back to the UK and sell her. This must have been an extremely difficult decision for him after spending so many years dreaming of circumnavigating and preparing a yacht to do just that. Happily, he has now found himself a smaller yacht to scratch that sailing itch, even if it won’t be to such distant climes. Our journey continued. Roving Rear Commodore Simon Phillips had also been participating in the World ARC and had also left his Discovery 67, Sapphire II of London, in Tahiti. When he heard that we were ‘available’ he and his wife Helen invited us to join them to sail on to New Zealand. We jumped at the chance and, after a few Covid-induced delays, flew back out to Tahiti in October 2021. Fortunately Sapphire had weathered the previous year well, partly due to having had someone living aboard for most of the time, and after a couple of weeks to sort out a few issues, reprovision, pre-cook meals and arrange PCR tests we were ready to set off. There were five of us aboard and it was going to take us around 14 days to get to New Zealand – we were going to make sure of that, even if it meant heaving-to at some point. Anything less than 12 days and we would have been whisked off to an isolation hotel as soon as we arrived. A year later – ready to leave Tahiti

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Celebrating our arrival in New Zealand with watermelon champagne. Left to right: Jeremy, Nicole, Helen, Simon and Ian. Photo Ian Jarred We waved goodbye to Tahiti and soon settled into our new watch rota – a four-hour rolling system with two people on together, but staggered so that the first half of your watch was with the off-going, back-up watchkeeper, while the second half was with your replacement, when you then became the back-up crew and could doze in the cockpit under a very cosy blanket. This was particularly welcome as the temperature dropped one degree per day on average as we headed south. For much of the time the wind was on the beam. The male members of the crew all claimed it was ‘champagne sailing’, but it’s funny how recollections can vary. I, personally, was quite unwell. I often suffer from seasickness but it usually lasts only three days before I gain my sea legs. This time it took seven. No wonder I lost weight (but soon regained it, and more, once we arrived in New Zealand). I think it probably had something to do with lack of sleep due to being constantly thrown off my bunk into the air every time we went over a wave (we were in the forward cabin). The second week was wonderful – until, that is, we were hit by a gale north of New Zealand which we were unable to avoid. There was no way I was setting foot in that forward cabin ... when not on watch I lay down on the day bunk in the saloon. I’m just grateful it was our last day at sea. Give me the trade winds and downwind sailing any day! This passage was very unlike any we had experienced before. We were totally alone and did not see one other yacht, ship or fishing boat, not even on AIS or radar. We didn’t see a single plane in the sky. We tried ‘all ships’ calls on VHF a couple of times but didn’t receive so much as a crackle in response. The only light we saw was on Rarotonga, but even they didn’t respond to the VHF. It was eerie. Probably best not to think too hard about it. 202

The passage included crossing the international date line. This was a first for all of us, and to mark the occasion we had planned a celebration dinner of steak washed down with watermelon champagne (real champagne is far too expensive in Tahiti). Unfortunately it took place in the middle of the night with an approaching gale, so no one had any inclination to get up, let alone to celebrate. The only people to witness this momentous occasion were those on watch at the time and the watermelon champagne had to wait for our arrival. On day 15 we arrived in New Zealand’s Bay of Islands, where we were met by very friendly immigration personnel and given an escort into Opua marina. We were directed to the quarantine dock and instructed to put up a sign warning people off as we were in isolation. In the friendliest of ways, they left us in no doubt that we should not step off the boat nor have contact with any other person unless we wanted to restart our 14 days’ quarantine. Naturally we did as we were told and, three days later, after receiving negative PCR tests from the Health Authorities and the all clear from the customs dog, we were set free to explore the beautiful Bay of Islands. So, we did it. We crossed The Pacific, the world’s largest ocean. Purists may say that we need to get to Australia to complete the trip, but with borders still closed and having logged over 8000 miles since Panama, I’m comfortable with our claim. Maybe 2022 will see us doing that extra hop. Sapphire II of London at the quarantine dock in Opua, New Zealand

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DENMARK AND BACK IN THE PANDEMIC Erik Vischer (Erik, a Past Vice Commodore, is Dutch-born but was brought up in South Africa where he learned to sail dinghies in Durban Harbour. He has crossed the Atlantic twice, including in the 1986 Two-Handed Transatlantic Race from Plymouth to Newport, RI. Cheeky Monkey, his third yacht of that name, is a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 45 built in 2006. At various stages of the voyage his son Steven (43) crewed and skippered Cheeky Monkey together with his two daughters, Becky (23) and Hannah (18), both of whom are accomplished dinghy sailors. Past Commodore John Franklin and his wife Jenny also crewed on the early part of the voyage. Photos are by the author unless otherwise credited.) A plan was hatched to visit the Baltic in the summer of 2019. I would sail to Denmark with the help of John and Jenny Franklin and my two daughters, Becky and Hannah. My wife Vivienne had to work a few more days in Paris, but would meet up with us in Ijmuiden. On the morning of 23rd July 2019 we left Haslar Marina, Gosport to catch the flood tide east towards the Dover Strait where we stopped, briefly, early on Wednesday morning to max-up on diesel before crossing over to the European coast. From there it was a case of dodging the wind farms on the Belgian coast all the way to Ijmuiden, Netherlands where we arrived on Friday the 26th. There was time in Ijmuiden to catch up with my Dutch cousins and, of course, to pick up Vivienne who flew into Schiphol on the Saturday, after which we all went out to celebrate Amsterdam Pride in the Vondel Park which was very exciting for the girls! We then left for Borkum, one of the German Waddenzee Islands, where we had to drop off Becky. (From Cheeky Monkey in Poole in 2019, with her battle flag flying 205

The crew in Gosport just before departure there she had an interesting journey to go and do some charity work with migrants on Cyprus – ferry from Borkum to Emden, train to Hamburg, tram to Hamburg airport, flight to Athens, flight to Nicosia and then bus to her final destination!) From Borkum we headed out towards Cuxhaven on the River Elbe, encountering a terrific thunderstorm on the way with 45 knots of quartering wind from the southwest. Water was pouring out of the gooseneck – we had a seriously reefed mainsail – like a torrent. We eventually arrived in Cuxhaven on 2nd August, but entering the marina was quite tricky. With the stream flowing at about 9 knots and a narrow entrance to negotiate, timing was everything and a lot of astern propulsion was needed to avoid crashing into the concrete breakwaters on either side. Here we had to say goodbye to John and Jenny, who had other commitments back at base, so now we were three! After a few days in Cuxhaven, at the appropriate tidal time the remaining crew set sail upriver towards Brunsbüttel and the entrance to the Kiel Canal (or Nord-Ostsee Kanal as the Germans call it). Holding station awaiting the lock gates required some judgement, but we made it in and then to the peace and comfort of the motor up the canal on a rather grey day. All those large ships powering by with little or no wash – it’s amazing. After emerging the other side at Holtenau, we decided to spend a night in Kiel on our way north to the River Schlei where we had arranged to visit Claus Jaeckel, Port Officer for the West Baltic, and his wife Gerlinde. All was going well up the river with me following the boats ahead, until I missed a turn to port whilst following the boats into a marina at Arnis and suddenly noticed the depth sounder reading zero! Unfortunately the channel was so narrow that turning round was impossible, so we were stuck in a non-tidal trap. We quickly flagged down a motor boat and asked them to pull us astern off the mud, which was successful. We had received very precise instructions from Claus about anchoring off his home, but after the shock on the way in it all seemed rather nerve-racking. We managed it, however, and were soon joined by Claus and Gerlinde who arrived in a neighbour’s motor boat to take us ashore. After a very pleasant evening we were returned to Cheeky Monkey, and left next morning with many a wave from the shore bound for Sønderborg on the Danish island of Als. We were having a cracking sail when we noticed a German patrol boat tracking us from astern. After some time holding station they approached much closer and requested that we hand over our passports. This we did by placing them in a pouch at 206

Anchored out in The Schlei

the end of a boathook, and continued sailing while they studied the passports for about thirty minutes after which they politely returned them over the starboard quarter. Once at Sønderborg we moored alongside the town quay, which is very convenient for visiting the lovely town with its beautiful castle at the entrance to the bay. After a day spent taking in our first impressions of a Danish harbour we decided to pass under the road bridge, which opened every hour to let yachts through, and continue up the Alssund and thence to Aabenraa through the narrow Als Fjord. The town was unimpressive, so after staying overnight we headed east towards Faaborg on the island of Funen, a day sail away (nearly all destinations in Denmark are a day sail away, or even less!). We moored bows-to in a box mooring in a dreadful wind, and had to place warps at strange angles to keep the bows to the jetty as the wind and weather deteriorated steadily. During our four days in Faaborg we visited the small island of Lyø by ferry and spent the day cycling around the island – bicycles are left at the ferry dock for people to use free of charge! By then our time was up and on 14th August we returned to the UK via Copenhagen airport, which turned out to be quite straightforward with a bus to Odense and then a train directly into Copenhagen airport. We left Cheeky Monkey in Faaborg for my son, his wife and crew to move to the winter storage yard at Skodsbøl on the Flensborger Fjord. A map of Lyø displayed on the ferry pier 207

I don’t have to tell you what happened next!

It wasn’t until July 2021 that I started worrying about bringing the boat to the UK, as I had heard that the UK government was intending to charge VAT – again! – on yachts returning from the EU after the end of December 2021, later extended to June 2022*. This concentrated my mind, as there were lockdowns and entry/return restrictions in both the UK and Denmark. Then Denmark suddenly removed the ‘worthy reason’ clause from their entry restrictions, so I requested the yard to prepare Cheeky Monkey for departure whilst I organised my crew, flight and pre- and post-departure PCR tests. At this point Covid cases started to rise again and I got cold feet – should I take the risk of postponing the return to spring 2022, even though if cases worsened in early 2022 and I couldn’t get her back in time it would cost me 20 percent of her current value? I decided to take that risk and cancel the current plans, but when I called the yard they said she was already in the water with the mast up and, in any case, they had already refilled my place in their heated hall! Well there it was, I felt I had no choice, but I was worried. I was also worried about my three crew who were travelling separately – would they be allowed into Denmark? I wrote an ‘official’ letter for each of them, but it was nerve-racking with so many unknowns. In addition, I had only allowed two days to prepare the boat for the passage across the North Sea and on to Gosport, which I estimated would take six days. The other problem I was unaware of, as my son had delivered the boat to winter storage, was how remote the yard was from civilisation. The nearest village was 15 minutes’ drive away, there were no other shops nearby and, certainly, no chandlery. After taking a PCR test in St Albans I set off with a huge amount of trepidation, and on arrival at Copenhagen had to have a lateral flow test and wait thirty minutes for the result before I was allowed into the country. I had planned my trip precisely (which you can do using public transport in Denmark), told the yard when I would arrive at the nearest railway station, and asked them for taxi details and whether I would be able to get to the boat on arrival. They had not responded to any of my requests, however, and when I finally reached the town I discovered that it was so small there was no local taxi. The garage opposite the station were able to call a taxi from a distant town, but when I was dropped off at the yard at 8 pm I was faced with huge steel gates firmly locked and nobody in sight. So out with the phone and, after trying three of the numbers I had for the yard without success, the fourth was answered by a lady who said she couldn’t get to the yard herself but would send someone to let me in. On finally getting aboard I discovered that the through-hull fittings had corroded badly, which gave me even more cause for concern. I set to work preparing the boat for sea and next morning asked the yard owner to look at the valves. His verdict was that he thought they would last until the UK but, of course, he could not be sure. After that I took a taxi to the nearest supermarket and asked him to wait while I bought half the victuals, leaving the other half for the next day. He charged me something like €500 for the one-hour trip, which left me with very little change and certainly not enough to repeat the exercise. He spoke no English and my Danish is non-existent, so I just paid. * In December 2021 the UK Government decided to rescind its decision to charge VAT on private yachts returning from the EU. 208

Cheeky Monkey ready to sail home

During my preparations a German boat arrived and moored up astern, so I got talking to the skipper who said he was based at the yard and was back to change crews before setting off again. He had a car at the yard, and after I told him of my taxi experience he offered to take me to the supermarket next day. He seemed a nice guy and world-travelled, so I suggested that he might like to drive us somewhere for dinner that night, to which he agreed. So off we went in search of a meal ashore and ended up at an Indian restaurant in Sønderborg.

Next morning the yard owner came to me and said he wanted to apologise profusely on behalf of the taxi driver who had seriously miscalculated the translation of Danish kroner to euros. So, much to my relief, I was able to use the taxi as arranged to collect the rest of my victuals and get some money back afterwards! I also discovered that he spoke perfect German so we were, finally, able to communicate properly. I was also able to arrange for him to meet my crew at 1130 Finally on our way home, and a cracking start! Photo Janos Stajer 209

In the lock at Holtenau. Photo Janos Stajer that night at the same, remote station where I had arrived, and just after midnight on Sunday 8th August was joined by my son Steven, Janos Stajer and Robert Wittams. Sunday morning and off we went, making our way across a huge expanse of very shallow water with only one marker buoy right in the middle, rather nervously as Steven had run aground there two years earlier on the way in. A cracking sail followed once we were out in the open sea and heading towards the Kiel Canal some 45 miles away. We arrived in time to enter the locks together with some ‘larger’ vessels. Keeping going as fast as possible between the hold-ups... Photo Janos Stajer

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Now the motoring began. It was another grey day with some drizzle, and waiting several times for vessels going in the opposite direction to pass made for slow progress. This was a problem, as my crew now consisted of three full-time workers who had each taken a week off work as I had told them it would take no longer than six or seven days to cover the 650 miles back to Gosport. The pressure was on, as yachts are not allowed to move in the canal after 2200 and there are only a few places where they can moor overnight. We reckoned we could make Rendsburg, where I had stopped on the way out in 2019, and managed to leave the canal into the small side bay where the yacht club is situated at exactly 2200!

The packed lock at Brunsbüttel The only free berth was on the fuel dock, where we secured at 2230. After wandering around checking the facilities the harbour master arrived and, as I had chatted to her on the way out and we planned to leave early next morning, she allowed us to stay where we were for the night. I was amazed that she was still up and about at that time of a Sunday evening collecting every last penny for her club – some dedication! In fact we didn’t need to rise very early, as we checked the tides at Brunsbüttel and realised there was no point in reaching the lock too early as we’d simply have longer to wait. We did arrive in good time, however, and were able to go ashore and top up the victuals as the crew had noticed some shortages – these guys could eat, wow! The lock was a bit of a scrum as everyone else had also checked the tide table and wanted to catch the ebb out of the Elbe. 211

The plotter showing AIS tracks of shipping off Rotterdam. Photo Steven Vischerv Down the Elbe just past Cuxhaven the heavens opened up, the clouds descended and we found ourselves in a whiteout with torrential rain and thunder at the narrowest part of the channel – very nerve racking. By now the domestic battery wasn’t holding much charge so we ended up hand-steering and using paper charts* plus GPS positions from our smart phones ... okay if you’re not sharing a narrow channel with large vessels and shallows on each side in the pouring rain! We did touch bottom at one point when we got confused by some buoys, which gave us a bit of a shock. The night was not good, as the sea was rough with wind against tide in quite shallow water which resulted in the crew going down sick one after the other. In the end it was just me left standing, so I continued as long as I could as I knew there was no point getting them out of their bunks until they felt better, which they all did as the morning went on. * Lent to me, together with various harbour guides, by fellow OCC member Gus Wilson.

The area was teeming with ships. Photo Janos Stajer

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Our last evening at sea – guess whose son that is? Photo Janos Stajer

With a southwest wind it was tacking all the way down the outside of the Waddenzee Islands. The fan belt was making a terrible screeching noise and, as I didn’t know whether it was just the belt or the alternator bearings, we just pushed on as best we could without the engine to help us. Off the Dutch island of Terschelling we got a foul tide and after some hours of tacking were back where we had been six hours earlier. This encouraged the crew to go onto the internet to find out if there was a method of determining if the noise was due to the bearings or the belt. There was, by pouring water on the belt and seeing if the noise went away. This determined that it was just the belt, so after that we used the engine when necessary. After passing Rotterdam we decided to head out across the North Sea to avoid the wind-farms along the coast, as well as the traffic separation schemes and shipping roundabouts, so started doing longer tacks. Three days and nights after leaving the Kiel Canal we arrived at Dover at 0030 on Friday 15th August. It had only taken 4¾ days to cover the 550 miles from Denmark to Dover! After calling Customs to report our arrival from a foreign country (Form C1331) and being cleared to leave the boat, with the crew well settled into their bunks I was about to switch off my light when I heard some people arrive and start mumbling on the pontoon just by the bow. I opened the hatch above my bunk and asked, jokingly, whether I could help them, only to discover it was five Border Force officers who said they’d like to see our passports. This meant waking the crew and getting them to show their faces next to their passports, after which the officers kept the passports for another hour or so. At 0220 they returned the passports to me and I was, finally, able to get my head down. I decided to leave Cheeky Monkey there for a few days and get some R&R at home before completing the voyage to Gosport. 213

Hannah, Tom and Silke, my crew for the passage from Dover to Gosport via Eastbourne After five nights at home I assembled another crew consisting of my daughter Hannah, Tom D a v e y, a n 80-year-old OCC friend, and his new wife Silke Zimmerman, his crew for the past 20 years. We set off on Thursday morning in more grey, drizzly weather and southwest winds for a low-key motor-sail back to Gosport with an overnight stop in Eastbourne for a shower and a good dinner. We arrived on Friday evening the 20th August in time for another good dinner ashore ... two years and a month since Cheeky Monkey had left Gosport for Denmark!

FROM THE GALLEY OF ... Marcia Laranson, aboard UJAM’n WARM CHEESY DIP Ingredients • cream cheese • tomato salsa* • mozzarella cheese Spread a ½ inch (1 cm) layer of cream cheese on a fairly flat baking tray, add a layer of tomato salsa and top with grated mozzarella cheese. Warm in the oven until the cheese has melted. Serve with corn chips and watch it disappear! * A spicy tomato sauce, often including onions and hot peppers, typical of Mexico and the Spanish-speaking Caribbean.

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OBITUARIES & APPRECIATIONS Alfredo Lagos, Honorary Member Alfredo Lagos was once memorably described as being a Port Officer of our club since before it was founded. This warm tribute was on account of the close friendship between the Lagos family and Humphrey Barton prior to his founding the OCC in 1954. Hum frequently called into the famous yard when passing Bayona on delivery trips and also placed his Laurent Giles-designed Rose of York in their care for a while. The family yard always specialised, and still does, in the building and care of wooden yachts. It is difficult to picture now how far back Alfredo’s connections go. Born in 1926, just eleven years after the opening of the family boatyard, the port of Vigo was a city of just 60,000 persons with ox carts drawing building stones through cobbled streets. Alfredo was fortunate to be sent to the German School in Vigo, which he described as giving him a mix of wonderful memories, and then on to Madrid to study engineering before returning to join the family business. This was a time of civil disorder in Spain and war in the remainder of Europe and, with his rebellious nature, it was a while before Alfredo could settle down. The beautiful Islas Cíes, known so well to OCC members, was a wild place then but a refuge from Vigo. Octopus and rabbit were the only foods available and gave him a lifelong distaste of both. As times improved, the boatyard business in Bouzas thrived, winning contracts with the Spanish Navy for officer training sailing yachts, port authority motor boats and a wide variety of sailing dinghies and larger yachts. Alfredo was especially proud of building a sea angling boat for Generalissimo Francisco Franco, which can still be seen around the Rías Baixas, and more recently advising King Juan Carlos on the purchase of a racing yacht.

Alfredo sailing to Lisbon aboard Eleuthera with Gustav Coven in 1977 217

Alfredo in his office at the boatyard in 2010 Alfredo in his beloved boatyard in 2011, with Acacia, a 6 Metre, in the background

As international recreational sailing developed, the family yard became a calling point for transatlantic and Medbound sailors, and Alfredo developed close relationships with the Cruising Club of America, the Royal Cruising Club and many others. The year 1985 saw a major CCA rally, led by their Commodore Bill Blunt White, from the USA to the Azores and Northern Spain. Of course Alfredo was well prepared, and arranged to follow up with the first of his annual ten-day Bayona to Finisterre rallies with a fleet including eight nationalities. The high point was a garden party at the beautiful Lagos family home high in the hills overlooking the Ría de Vigo. Barbecued dinner outdoors, gracious hospitality, music and wine preceded the traditional brewing of the quemaida*, the latter closely supervised by Alfredo. These rallies continued for many years, attracting an eclectic collection of yachts from many countries and, with his encouragement, now sail in the same format under the burgee of the Irish Cruising Club. I first met Alfredo at an OCC/Royal Cornwall YC rally from Falmouth via Bayona to the Azores. I had to arrange a luncheon at Monte Real Yacht Club, and of course as an honorary OCC member he was first on the invitation list. We got to know each other well over the following years, not least because my own boat Papageno came a few years later to winter in his yard. A custom developed of us having a quiet day away together by car up into the mountains for luncheon, a walk and a long chat. His * See page 37 of Flying Fish 2010/1 for more about this notable Galician tradition. 218

Alfredo in Alfredo Jr and Alberto’s office in 2011 wide experience of life, his family history and, above all, his direct opinions of people and events were always most entertaining. In 1959 Alfredo married Margarita Abarzuza from Cádiz, the beautiful daughter of an admiral in the Spanish Navy. Of their five talented children, two sons, Alfredo Jr and Alberto, now continue the family business, the latter taking over from his father as our Port Officer Representative for Ría de Vigo. They sail Onceta, a Beneteau 393. Peter Haden

Edward J ‘Ted’ Robbins Edward Johnson Coles ‘Ted’ Robbins – an OCC member for more than 63 years – passed away on 15th October 2021 at the age of 83. He is survived by his First Mate and wife of 61 years Linda (Baily) Robbins, three children and three grandchildren. After graduating from Phillips Exeter Academy in 1955, Princeton University in 1959 and University of Pennsylvania-Wharton School of Business in 1961, Ted and Linda moved to the Worcester area where Ted worked at Norton Company and New England Research, finally retiring from Washington Mills Abrasive Company as President in 2000. Ted and his two sisters Posey and Molly grew up in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania and spent many summers in Southwest Harbor, Maine. It was while attending Camp Viking on Cape Cod that Ted developed a deep passion for the ocean and acquired superlative skills as a sailor. In 1957 he crewed on the 42ft Alphard from Newport, Rhode Island t o S a n t a n d e r, Spain, a 3000 mile voyage which became his qualifying passage for the Passage planning 219

Ted at the helm OCC. Later that year he crewed aboard Myth of Malham in the 1957 Fastnet Race. They came in second, thankful to have made it through safely. Ted also sailed with Sir Francis Chichester and his wife Sheila aboard the American yacht Figaro from Plymouth, England round to London. Ted joined the OCC in 1958 and valued the membership above all others. Since his first Atlantic crossing in Alphard he had been determined to cross again on his own boat, but it was nearly 40 years before he bought Maine Lady, a 55ft centreboard ketch built by Lyman Morse in 1998. After a few shakedown cruises Ted, Linda and a crew of four sailed her from Newport, RI to Alesund, Norway in June 2000. The 3000 mile voyage took 27 days. From 2000 until 2005 they spent the summer months sailing the Baltic Sea, Caledonian Canal, Bay of Biscay and the Mediterranean, where they became skilled at the dreaded Mediterranean moor! In addition to guests joining them from time to time, they met wonderful people in all the ports they visited while OCC Port Officers and members were an invaluable resource for advice and repair options, often leading to long-term friendships. Maine Lady, Ted Robbins’s lovely 55ft ketch

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In November 2005 Ted, Linda and two others returned across the Atlantic, this time from the Canary Islands to St Lucia, arriving after 22 days at sea. Highlights included avoiding a hurricane and designating a spatula for flipping flying fish back into the ocean. The following year they worked their way south to Trinidad and, in 2007, sailed north to Southport, Maine. For the next few summers, they cruised much of the coast of Maine. In 2011 Ted and Linda joined a group of OCC members to sail to Newfoundland and St Pierre. While there were some trials, Ted and Linda thoroughly enjoyed renewing old friendships, making new ones and experiencing Newfoundland traditions along the way. Maine Lady was Ted and Linda’s home away from home for many sunsets and glasses of wine on the deck. Ted was always happiest out on the water with the wind in his sails. Virginia Robbins

Mike Butterfield Mike died peacefully at home on 13th May 2021 at the age of 89. He joined the OCC in 1958 following a passage from Dartmouth, UK to Gibraltar aboard the 45ft Lowena made three years previously, and served on the Committee for several years from 1974. He was an entertaining, popular and charismatic character – in addition to the OCC he was a member of the Royal Ocean Racing Club, Royal Lymington Yacht Club, Cambridge University CC, Crouch YC, Island SC and Bar YC – with the ability to attract a wide variety of sailing companions, occasionally despite their better judgement. A barrister by profession, Mike was enthusiastic about everything he did and seemed to have boundless energy. He was involved in the early days of offshore multihull development in the Solent, sailing a 21ft catamaran with ballast keels named Golden Miller. This led him to commission the 30ft Misty Miller in which he competed in the 1964 Observer Singlehanded Transatlantic Race. A keel broke off in mid Atlantic, leaving holes in the hull where the keel bolts had torn out, but he made it to the finish despite having to pump for 30 minutes every two hours. When MOCRA (the Multihull Offshore Cruising and Racing Association) was founded in April 1969 Mike was appointed its Honorary Secretary, later serving on its committee before becoming Commodore and eventually President. In addition to MOCRA events he competed in numerous two-handed Round Britain and Ireland (RB&I) and Fastnet Races, the last in 2015 at the age of 83. For the 1970 season Mike ordered a new 40ft catamaran Apache Sundancer, coming second in her first race. Her second race, the inaugural RB&I, was less successful. On the final leg from Lowestoft to Plymouth the fleet were beating along the south coast into a gale when Apache Sundancer capsized off Selsey Bill. Mike and his crew were rescued but the upturned catamaran was deemed a danger to shipping and sunk. His next catamaran, Advocat, was home-built in timber by Mike and his friends in the late 1970s. In 1977 he helped organise an OCC rally to the Azores, but was unable to take part as Advocat was still unfinished. She was entered for the 1982 RB&I with Bill Howell – a fellow OCC member and 1964 OSTAR competitor – crewing, but 221

Mike Butterfield

proved slower than anticipated and they retired after the first leg. As a replacement for Advocat Mike purchased Super Rose, another Apache catamaran, initially keeping her in the Mediterranean. The 1990s saw him racing trimarans, buying Demoiselle, a 20ft Dragonfly 800, in 1994. He soon upgraded to the 33ft version, calling her Dragonflyer and competing successfully around the UK including in the 1997 Fastnet. By 1998 he had Super Rose back in UK waters and entered for the 1998 RB&I, finally completing it successfully. In 2000 he commissioned Dazzler, a 50ft Dazcat, launching her on 1st July and winning the RORC’s fully-crewed non-stop Round Britain Race the following month. Her career was to be short, however. Having missed the 1977 OCC Azores Rally, Mike was determined to attend the 2001 event and made a fast outward passage. Always keen to share his enjoyment of sailing and encourage others to join him, he offered berths on the return passage to several members who would otherwise have flown home, including then Club Secretary Anthea Cornell. Some 400 miles out Dazzler capsized while under spinnaker and, though her crew were rescued after ten-hours on her upturned hulls, Dazzler had to be abandoned – together, it was said, with the proposal forms for a number of prospective members signed up during the rally. Following Dazzler’s loss Mike ordered a 40ft Dazcat which he named Dazzle. She was completed just in time for the 2002 RB&I. While the boat finished the race, Mike himself pulled out halfway through and handed over to a new skipper. It was to be his last RB&I, though in both 2003 and 2005 Dazzle achieved 2nd in class in the Fastnet. In 2010 Dazzle was replaced by Dazzla, a 46ft Dazcat which Mike raced in the 2011, 2013 and 2015 Fastnets. Meanwhile Super Rose was kept in the Caribbean where Mike competed in the 2012 Caribbean 600 Race. A few years later Dazzla joined her in the Caribbean, taking part in several RORC-organised Caribbean Races before returning to the UK in 2019 for one final competitive season. Never one to say ‘enough!’, Mike still owned her at the time of his death. A familiar face on the multihull and long-distance racing circuit for more than 45 years, Mike will be missed as a pioneer in the development of fast multihulls and for inspiring many to take up the sport. 222

Peter Flutter Peter was born in Wimbledon in 1946 and grew up near the Thames, on which his parents had a motor boat. His father was keen that he should take up a sport and he chose rowing. He joined the Leander Club at Henley-on-Thames while studying dentistry at University College London and became a member of their First Eight. Having beaten all comers that year the crew was destined for the 1968 Olympics, but Peter’s hopes were dashed when he suffered a back injury during training. Instead he turned to sailing, with Frances Storm Clark becoming his regular crew and later his wife. After graduating in 1970 he and Fran moved to Fareham, Hampshire where they soon bought Kirsty, a Loch Fyne ketch. A gaff-rigged double-ender of heavy wooden construction, she measured 38ft LWL, or 48ft LOA including the bowsprit. They lived aboard at Moody’s boatyard on the Hamble River and owned a classic 1930s Bentley 4∙5 litre open tourer for fun ashore. Fran had crossed the Atlantic with her parents as a child (see Flying Fish 2014/1) and hankered to go again, so in 1979 they crossed from La Palma, Canaries to Barbados, joining the OCC two years later. Kirsty carried a square-sail for use downwind, a rarity among OCC yachts even then. From the Caribbean they headed north, travelling up the East Coast of the USA via the Intracoastal Waterway before returning to the UK. In the early 1980s they moved to Cornwall, where Peter joined a dental practice in Truro. Kirsty was berthed in Falmouth Yacht Marina where they continued to live aboard. A few years later they bought a semi-derelict cottage in Falmouth, initially as a place to store boat gear before turning it into a very attractive home, although they still preferred to live afloat. Summer cruises included visits to Ireland, Scotland and Norway and attendance at Old Gaffers Association events. In 1989 they bought and restored Yola, a wooden Dragon built in 1932 which they raced on Falmouth’s Carrick Roads, but while Peter remained committed to his dental work Fran longed to go ocean sailing again and they drifted apart. Fran bought her own boat and won the 1999 Barton Cup for her singlehanded circumnavigation. Having sold both Kirsty and Yola in the early 1990s, Peter bought a modern Dragon named Quicksilver and commissioned Tyrian of Truro, a handsome 45ft steel doubleended ketch, from Alan Pape. She was built locally in Penryn and launched in 1998. Over the next Tyrian at the start of the 2007 Azores and Back Race 223

Peter and Sue aboard the SS Great Britain, shortly before he was presented with the Port Officer Rally Award for 2017 at the 2018 Annual Dinner few years Peter and Tyrian visited Ireland, Brittany and Spain, as well as being in high demand at events run by Falmouth’s Royal Cornwall Yacht Club. Retirement in 2007 allowed him the time to sail in that year’s Azores and Back Race, though over the next five years he kept up his professional skills by standing in for his successor in the dental practice when she required time off. Like so many of the people with whom Peter came in contact, she became a good friend. He also had many friends at the RCYC, where his willingness to put his practical skills to good use was highly valued – whether skippering a rescue boat for Friday evening racing or helping lower, paint and reinstate the flagpole, Peter was almost certain to be involved. In 2011 he became Port Officer for Falmouth, staying in post until 2020. In addition to providing advice and assistance to visiting members, the role involved responsibility for the annual West Country Meet, which Peter ran with great panache and for which he was awarded the 2017 Port Officer Rally Award (now the OCC Events and Rallies Award). In 2018 he sailed Tyrian in the Azores Pursuit Rally, protesting ruefully on arrival that Going native in China in April 2014. Photo Sue Kendall

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the lengthy calms had cost him a fortune in diesel! In addition to the late Peter Morgan (OCC) as primary crew, he offered berths in both directions to Youth Sponsorship lads. The following year saw the two Peters complete a second Azores and Back Race. When not sailing Peter volunteered his dental skills with the Gurkha Welfare Trust at Nepalese Medical Camps (his father had served with the Gurkhas during the Second World War). He and long-term partner Sue Kendall added adventure to these trips when they could, going trekking, white-water rafting and paragliding. Peter became close friends with their guide’s family, paying for their daughter’s education so she could fulfil her ambition to become a nurse.

Sue and Peter aboard Sundowner in 2021. Photo Ted O’Connell

Sue Kendall adds: Peter and I enjoyed some amazing adventures over the ten years we were together. As well as the trips to Nepal and sailing to Brittany each summer, we explored Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia, Peru, India, China, Costa Rica, Morocco and Sri Lanka. We chartered a yacht with friends in the British Virgin Islands, and relaxed on a cruise in the Leeward Islands and another in the Canary Islands in November 2019. Sadly, recent years involved frequent treatment sessions for his recurring cancer. He always faced these times with courage and stoicism and put on a brave face, even when clearly feeling tired and washed out with the chemotherapy. After Tyrian became too demanding we enjoyed sailing together aboard Sundowner, the Westerly Tiger 25 he’d inherited from Fran. His sense of humour never left him and he always remained optimistic and upbeat, seeking out trials to help himself and future sufferers. He was brave in fighting it right up until the end. Peter had a gift for friendship, with people he had known at all the stages of his life attending his 70th birthday party in September 2016. We will all miss him greatly. Sue Kendall and Peter’s many friends 225

William ‘Bill’ Caldwell It is not clear whether Bill Caldwell was happier being at sea or using his imaginative mechanical engineering skills to improve his many boats, but the two passions intersected perfectly while he cruised on his own sailboats – first a Mercer 44 sloop he named Spirit and later Skylark, a Bermuda 40 yawl. Bill loved the ocean, loved his boats and, ever intrepid, loved exploring new areas Bill en route to Corner Brook, Newfoundland – especially with his family sailing aboard Bill White’s White Mist II with him. Few things were more satisfying for him than finishing a passage, setting anchor, enjoying his Mount Gay and coke with his wife Alice, and facing west in hopes of a perfect green flash at sunset. From his earliest years boating and sailing with his father on Long Island Sound until his last days, leafing through sailing photos shortly before he passed away on 2nd March 2022, his 100th birthday, nothing held his interest like boats and water. When not kayaking or Bill racing Spirit on canoeing, as a young the Rappahannock boy Bill crewed for his River, Virginia father racing the family’s Sound Interclub. After obtaining his degree in engineering from the Stevens Institute of Technology, Bill enlisted in the US Navy and was sent to officer training school at Cornell. He served as a naval officer on the Decatur, an old four-stacker destroyer responsible for escorting merchant ships safely across the North Atlantic and to the Caribbean during World War Two. These assignments fostered a lifelong love affair with the tropics and a distaste for cold, 226

Bill and Alice at the Maritime Museum in Auckland, New Zealand damp North Atlantic weather. Upon discharge from the US Navy in 1946, Bill and Alice raised their three daughters, built their home in Laurel Hollow, New York and Bill embarked on his career with Consolidated Edison, one of the world’s largest utilities. He was Senior Vice President at the time of his retirement in 1980. On weekends, Bill passed his love of the water on to his daughters Anne, Jeanne and Kim while teaching them to sail on the family’s wooden Sailfish. By 1972 family and work were such that Bill could focus on his dream of getting back to blue water. Nobody undertook due diligence like Bill and, after an exhaustive search, he and Alice purchased Spirit, sailing her up from Miami to Long Island. Always seeing a way to improve the function of something and anything, Bill redesigned the galley and rebuilt the bulkheads and counter, adding refrigeration with a freezer. Nevertheless, cooking remained his least favourite activity on board, be it in the beautiful new galley or on ‘the invention of the devil’ as he called the barbecue off the stern rail. Bill and Alice sailed their beloved Spirit for 25 years, with multiple trips to the Caribbean, a voyage through the Panama Canal to Tahiti and then up to Puget and Desolation Sounds by way of Hawaii, and latterly, coastal trips from their home in Virginia to Maine for cruises with their grandchildren. It is not certain precisely how Bill and Alice first learned of the OCC, but after Bill joined in 1988 the Club quickly became a centre of the couple’s life. A core feature of their new home on the Piankatank River in Virginia was its welcoming dock, with Bill’s unique Y-shaped, multi-level design. The pier quickly became the front door to the house with scores of OCC members arriving by boat every year. Traffic on the river became especially busy in October as the reputation of the annual fall OCC party hosted by Bill and Alice grew. Members planned their fall cruising calendar around the party with the understanding that the names of those who fell in the drink on the return trip to their boat after the party would be quickly forgotten. From the first party in 1988, the Caldwells continued to host the Piankatank fall gathering for fifteen years with many sailors returning every year. Bill and Alice embraced the OCC for what it is at its core – a warm, welcoming, supportive community with a shared passion for sailing the oceans – but their embrace was not limited to the special OCC camaraderie in evidence while hosting cruisers or at the annual party. They worked to grow the membership in the US southeast and were 227

also quick to fly the burgee at gatherings along the East Coast to help other regions grow the Club. Many trips were made to Maine for OCC summer rallies, initially by boat and later by car, to see friends and welcome sailors new to the Club. In 1995 these actions were recognised by the OCC when Bill was invited to London to be named the Club’s first Regional Rear Commodore USA South East. He enthusiastically said yes. Later Bill was awarded the 2001 OCC Award ‘for his tireless efforts since becoming Rear Commodore USA South East in 1995, which have created a thriving and very active centre of OCC activity in the Chesapeake area and a consequent increase in local membership’. None of the awards Bill received over his long life brought him more joy and pride than this recognition from the OCC. With time the boats were sold and Bill and Alice’s bluewater needs were fulfilled through cruising on small passenger ships, often with grandchildren – but not always. Bill and Alice strongly preferred long ocean passages versus the coastal trips the younger generation favoured. When the cruises came to an end, Bill took great pleasure in perusing his ships’ logs, sailing photos and Flying Fish. His enduring love of the sea and fascination with mechanical problems will live on through those who survive him: Alice, daughters Anne, Jeanne and Kim, and grandchildren Lee, Elizabeth, Bill, David, Emily, Deirdre and Julia. In a letter of sympathy to the family Eve Bonham Cozens wrote: ‘Both Michael and I think of Bill as an extraordinary man of admirable character – a man of principle and honesty, of generosity and kindness, and someone with a huge spirit of adventure’. Fair winds Bill: loving husband, father, grandfather and loyal friend. Kim and Jeanne Caldwell

Michael ‘Mike’ Thoyts As a boy in the 1930s Mike learned to sail dinghies in Portland Harbour. A friend of his father’s, who lived on the Solent just east of Lymington, had a cruising boat and would take them out sailing when they came to visit. Young Michael dreamed of sailing distant waters. Mike’s first career was in the Colonial Police Service, serving for ten years in Nigeria where he met and married Joan. He then resigned and took a four-year course in Dentistry at Edinburgh University – he Mike with Joan, his first wife, and their dogs in the 1960s 228

Mike and Maggie explained that in both professions you were about 20 trying to help people but they didn’t always years ago appreciate it at the time. After qualifying he took a post with the School Dental Service at Hythe, some 10 miles northeast of Lymington, moving to the latter with Joan and their three children. Shortly afterwards he bought a small house in the middle of the town, put up his plate and went into practice ... always taking Wednesday afternoons off to go racing in the X class. He became a highly competent sailor and an active member of the Royal Lymington Yacht Club, serving on various committees over the years. Joan was content – she never liked sailing and pursued her own activities. Then in 1988, two years before Mike was due to retire, Joan was diagnosed with cancer and died within four months. Retirement now needed a new focus. In 1991 he crossed the Atlantic from Gran Canaria to St Lucia with Lymington neighbour Howard Letty aboard the latter’s Tandem 38 Fondue, a 2700 mile passage which became his qualifying voyage for the OCC. Then, having sold his successful practice, he bought Rustler 36 No 50 and named her Kinsa after a childhood friend. She was gradually fitted out for comfortable living – and long-distance sailing. He rented out his house and at last was ready for life afloat. An old friend, Pam Reynell, offered to crew. They spent three years cruising France, Spain, the Mediterranean, the Caribbean, the Bahamas and the East Coast of the USA. They were in Bequia when news from home necessitated a quick trip back to the UK. Getting a flight proved impossible so Mike decided to sail back. Pam stayed in Bequia – for good. That first solo crossing went well so, business in England settled, The bar’s open! Mike in Kinsa’s companionway 229

Mike and Maggie with Mike’s grandson Harry in about 2001 Mike decided to set out singlehanded for New Zealand. In October 1995 Kinsa left Falmouth towards Bayona, thence to Porto Santo and the Canaries and across to Bequia, after which he made his way to the Panama Canal. He recalled the drama of seeing those great gates close behind him – no going back now! Emerging into the Pacific he made his longest passage to date, the 4485 miles to the Marquesas, choosing not to stop in the Galapagos having heard about the environmental damage being done to those pristine islands by inconsiderate anchoring and tourism. On going ashore in Nuku Hiva he met a lady selling luscious grapefruit, which he craved after the long passage. He asked her to keep some for him, whereupon she gave him six! On then to Tahiti, where six weeks in Papeete’s civilised French surroundings restored morale and stores, then on to Bora Bora, Tonga, Fiji and at last Whangarei, New Zealand and a flight home for his first grandson’s christening. This became a pattern for the next few years – some months of (mostly) leisurely ocean cruising, a flight home for a visit, back to the boat – a pattern familiar to many members. On one such occasion Mike appeared in the Royal Lymington Yacht Club as usual. “Hello Mike, where’s the boat?” “Brazil! I need another watch-keeper for the next leg, 2000 miles up the coast to Tobago, as there are lots of small, unlit fishing boats”. I volunteered, my husband having died some months earlier. All went well – Kinsa’s circumnavigation was completed as we watched the satnav count down to the point where we crossed her outward passage, and a libation was drunk. The crewing arrangement also went well and we were married the following May. For the next six years Kinsa was laid up for the summer months in Trinidad or Grenada and we would fly out there just after family Christmas (two families now) to spend three months or so cruising the islands, then fly home to spend the summer cruising the Channel and attending the meets of our various clubs in my Westerly Fulmar, Pushpa. Then in 2006 we decided it was time to swallow the anchor. Pushpa was sold and in March we flew out to Trinidad where Kinsa was laid up. We island-hopped to St Lucia and from there set out on our final ocean crossing to the Azores, Falmouth and Lymington. Mike decided to put Kinsa in the hands of the Rustler brokerage so we sailed her back to Falmouth – in 25 hours, a splendid swansong. After a while Mike’s health began to deteriorate and on 22nd September 2021, at the age of 91 and after typically careful preparation, he took his departure. A life well lived. Maggie Thoyts 230

James Wharram James died at his home in Cornwall on 14th December 2021, and after 93 years on this earth his spirit set out on a voyage to sail the oceans of heaven. James was a trailblazer, a fighter with great determination and vision. From a young age he followed his passions – to roam the hills – for fair politics – for intelligent women – to sail the seas – to prove the Polynesian double canoe an ocean-worthy craft – to become a Man of the Sea. These passions made him into a pioneer of catamaran sailing and a world-renowned designer of the unique double-canoe catamarans that bear his name. He designed for people who wanted to break out of mundane lives, giving them boats they could build at an affordable cost and the opportunity to become People of the Sea like him. James with Jutta and Ruth in 1955 His chosen life was never easy. He would always fight convention and conventional thinking head on. His passionate and multifaceted personality was very attractive to the strong, independent women who helped him in his pursuits, starting with the steadfast Ruth without whom he would never have reached his goals. Young Jutta joined them on their pioneering ocean voyages and was the mother of his first son. Sadly she died young from mental illness as a result of her traumatic childhood experiences in Germany during the Second World War. James lived his entire life openly with more than one woman at the same time – as many as five in his prime in the 1970s – with whom he built and sailed his boats. Alongside Ruth, who died in 2013 at the age of 92, I was his other life partner and soul mate. I first met James when he was in the full flow of designing his range of Classic Designs in the 1960s, which led to him becoming a cult figure in the alternative society of the 1970s. In time I became his design partner and together with Ruth we were an unbreakable unit. I gave birth to his second son and together we gave birth to many new double-canoe designs. James achieved everything he set out to do in this lifetime, but only received public recognition from the Working on Tehini’s sail in 1969 231

establishment in more recent years. His final project was his autobiography, published a year ago as People of the Sea*, on which he worked for many years as he was very critical of his own writing. We worked together to complete it and to get it published. People would refer to James as the great James James and Hanneke aboard Spirit of Gaia in 2019 Wharram, the Living Legend, but he didn’t see himself in that way. He was aware that it was his large following of builders and sailors, their beautiful boats and great voyages, that created the famous Wharram World. He saw them as the real heroes. Sadly in the last few years James’s brain, which he always talked about as a separate entity, started to fail him due to Alzheimer’s. He was very distressed by losing his mental abilities and struggled with his diminished existence. He could not face the prospect of further disintegration and made the very hard call to end it himself. It was with great courage that he lived his life and with great courage he decided it was the time to finish. Despite this great loss we should all remember the good and glorious times of a life fulfilled. This is not the end – I, we, all the Wharram World will keep his work alive. Hanneke Boon

James’s 91st birthday in May 2019

* Reviewed to acclaim in Flying Fish 2021/1. 232

David Heath World sailor John David Heath, known to everyone as Dave, died on 26th December 2021 in Seattle, Washington. He had been fighting leukemia for several years. Dave’s sailing career started in 1974 when he and two friends, Michael Cross and Janet Erken, started the completion of a 38ft sailing boat in Everett, Washington using a fibreglass Atkin Ingrid hull built by Blue Water Boats. It took them 2½ years and Alegría, as she was christened, was launched in 1976. The following summer they did a six-week shakedown cruise, mostly in Canadian waters, with two more crew members, Olga Horkoff and Michael’s son Brad. In September they left for the South Pacific. The adventure lasted 22 months and took them to San Francisco, La Paz and Acapulco before heading west. This took them across the Equator to the Marquesas and then on to the Society Islands – Tahiti, Moorea, Bora Bora and others. Then they backtracked a little to Rarotonga and the Tuamotus to get a better slant across the trade winds and headed for Hawaii. They visited all the major Hawaiian islands before heading for home, stopping at Hot Springs Cove on Vancouver Island on the way, covering about 15,000 miles in total. Two years later Dave and Janet embarked on another adventure that was to last 30 years. They left Everett in 1981 and harbourhopped down the west coast to the Sea of Cortez, where they spent several years. Eventually going south again, they passed through the Panama Canal and headed for Texas. By that time Alegría was 13 years old and needed some work. Dave’s parents had a ranch near Freeport so they built a cradle and had Alegría hauled to the ranch. They thought they would be there a year, but living at the ranch was so easy that the job expanded to 8½ years. They finally relaunched at Freeport in 1999. Dave and Janet in April 2008 Dave and Janet travelled east in the Intracoastal Waterway, around Florida and up the east coast, arriving in Baltimore in 2001. They weren’t planning to stay long but their parents started getting sick so there was a lot of flying home to help out. Janet’s mother had died in 1995 and both their fathers passed away in 2003. They finally left Baltimore in 2005, headed across the Atlantic and made landfall at Lisbon, Portugal. From Lisbon they harbour-hopped down the Portuguese and Spanish coasts and through the Straits of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean. They had some great cruising heading east and ended up in Turkey in 2008. They were still in Turkey in 2010 when Dave’s mother needed help. After several trips to Houston they put Alegría 233

in dry storage, got Dave’s mother into assisted living, dealt with her stuff and sold her house. Sadly she continued to decline and died the following year. Unfortunately Janet was not feeling quite right and, after months of tests, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Chemo worked pretty well at first, but at her six-month checkup the cancer was back. They tried various treatments but Janet died in early 2013. Dave flew back to Turkey and got to work on maintenance for Alegría. Meanwhile, a sailing lady named Robn Diekow was also without a partner. Between 1969 and 1975 she had completed most of a circumnavigation with her parents and two of her brothers. She met Gerhard in Papeete and, after doing some sailing together, they married in Germany before settling in Sequim, Washington State. The sea was still calling, however, and they left Sequim in 2001 aboard Heidi for another Dave and Robn in 2015 circumnavigation. When Gerhard died in South Africa in December 2010 from surgical complications, Robn’s brother helped her sail to Trinidad, from which she sailed the Windward Islands for the next three years. In early 2014 a friend of a friend sent Dave one of Robn’s journal entries. They corresponded by e-mail and Skype for a few months until Robn flew to Finike in November to meet Dave and Alegría. They hit it off immediately and split their time between Alegría in Finike, southwest Turkey and Heidi in Trinidad, plus visits stateside and stops en route. Things went well until October of 2019 when Dave was diagnosed with T-ALL leukemia (T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukemia, an aggressive malignant neoplasm of the bone marrow). This is usually a childhood disease and is rare in adults, for whom the prognosis is very poor, but Dave managed to outlive the predictions. Dave was known for giving thorough, detailed, technical responses to questions regarding sailing, outfitting and maintaining sailing boats, and he was quick to don SCUBA gear in unpleasant conditions to help someone free a stuck anchor. He particularly hated to see anything discarded if it could be repaired. Often he would find boat parts and other items left outside for garbage pick-up, or sometimes in dumpsters (skips), take them back to Alegria, repair them and then sell them on eBay. Reportedly one cruiser in Baltimore was startled to hear a cry when he threw a bag of rubbish into the dumpster. It had landed on Dave retrieving some discarded treasure. 234

Alegría, Dave’s homecompleted 38-footer

He is survived by Robn, as well as countless friends and cousins scattered over the globe and dating back to high school or earlier. He had no siblings or children. Alegría will be available for purchase later in the year – if interested contact svalegria@ hotmail.com. Michael Cross and Robn Diekow

Murray Basingthwaighte Murray was fond of saying, “There are seven days in the week and none of them are ‘someday’ or ‘one day’”. When we finally decided to live permanently aboard in 2011, ‘one day’ and ‘someday’ suddenly became, delightfully, ‘everyday’. Murray was born in Doncaster in 1957 but grew up in NE Lincolnshire, where he learned to sail in nearby Grimsby. Tacking dinghies to and fro in the gloom of the fish docks, he swore that the fear of capsizing into a stinking scum of fish heads taught him more about sailing than any sunny Mediterranean sailing holiday ever would! Originally trained as an industrial chemist Murray gained an honours degree in pure chemistry, but after nine years in the oil and fine organics industries and 12 years on various oil rigs in the northern North Sea he decided enough was enough and in 1996 left the rigs and spent the next two summers as a flotilla skipper in the Mediterranean. When we met at the London Boat Show in 1997 we instantly recognised in each other the perfect life partner. Looking back, Murray always said that living together on a 32ft boat when we’d only just met was a great shakedown cruise for a life together. He wasn’t wrong. After an eventful season flotilla skippering in Greece, a short stint as publicans of the Village Swan pub in Ivinghoe Aston, Buckinghamshire and six months in a ‘two-man tent’ walking all 2164 miles of the Appalachian Trail, we deemed ourselves ready for a real commitment. We got married, moved to New Zealand and started an alpaca farm. Soon Murray, who had never done things by half, was Vice President of the New Zealand Alpaca Association and Chair of the committee looking at an accelerated breeding program 235

Murray’s favourite sailing destination, Greece 2017 for alpacas. Not content to rest on his laurels, he retrained as an electrician and, after excelling in his final exams, became local tutor for the other apprentices. He also became Junior Vice President of the Local Agricultural and Pastoral Show and a dedicated local volunteer firefighter. Despite all these achievements, Murray retained the dream of living on and sailing his own yacht, so in 2008 we bought Key West, an Elan 34, and spent three wonderful summers in the Mediterranean before committing to full time sailing. Our next yacht, Coolchange, a Bavaria Ocean 40, was found hidden in the docks of Preston but soon the UK was in our wake and France and the Mediterranean beckoned. Five years of fun in the Med followed – six countries and all the bays in between. Murray was in his element. Goal-oriented and the consummate logistics man, he revelled in seeking out the latest gear and planning the months ahead. Always keen to see what was around the next headland, ours was a voyage of small and large discoveries and many miles per year. In 2017 we finally shot the gap at Gibraltar and swayed and bobbed our way across to Morocco, the Canaries, the Cape Verdes and the Caribbean. Having discovered and joined the OCC along the way, we drifted our way north from Barbados to the BVIs. The flying fish burgee fluttering in the rigging was always a drawcard in a bay, the promise of a social beer or two and an enthusiastic exchange of information. In May 2018 One of Murray’s favourite sayings was ‘sailing = boat maintenance in exotic places’ 236

We made it! Murray aboard Coolchange in New York in 2018 we turned north toward Bermuda and the US East Coast. It was an adrenaline-packed sail, which Murray swore was our best yet, and as we wiped the salt spray from our eyes, singing lustily to keep our spirits up, he had a smile on his face as wide as the Atlantic itself. In the US we headed north to Maine. Twenty years earlier it had been the finishing point of the Appalachian Trail and was every bit as beautiful as we remembered. Murray delighted in the abundance of nature and loved to take time off the boat to appreciate it. He also appreciated a pint of real ale, and the perfect hike would inevitably end at some obscure brewery or out-of-the-way pub. Glass in hand, Murray would relax into his life and philosophise about the meaning of it. Throughout our Caribbean and American sojourns OCC members really added to our journey – sage advice, moorings, docks, barbecues and beers, all offered with a smile and a story. This was one of the happiest times of our lives. Sadly though, as in most epic tales, the hero finally faces his greatest challenge and for Murray that came in South Carolina with the diagnosis of a fatal brain tumour. It was a terrible time, but once again OCC members stepped up to make what could have been a chaotic catastrophe more manageable. Special thanks to Allan and Cathy Rae of Beaufort – without your selfless support and hospitality we really would have struggled. Murray embarked on his final voyage with all the courage and humour that he had exhibited throughout his life. For 2½ years he rode the waves that are living with cancer, never expecting to change the direction of the wind, merely adjusting his sails to compensate. When he finally crossed the bar it was surrounded by friends and family and certain in the knowledge that he had achieved his life’s dreams – to live in the moment, to make the most of each day, to sail his own boat across a mighty ocean and to incorporate ‘one day’ and ‘someday’ into everyday. Cate Basingthwaighte 237

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! Nearly all digital formats are 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. If you can’t meet the deadline, do get in touch as I can often give an extension. 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 238

ADVERTISERS IN FLYING FISH Adlard Coles Nautical (nautical almanacs, books and guides) ............................. 193 Admiral Marine (flexible yacht & boat insurance for offshore cruising) ............. 167 Alcaidesa Marina (full service marina & boatyard at the gateway to the Med) .... OBC Astilleros Lagos (full service boatyard in NW Spain) ........................................... 216 Berthon International (international yacht brokers) ............................................ 101 Bruntons Propellers (feathering propellers for sailing yachts) ................................ 46 Edward William (yacht insurance specialists) ....................................................... 215 Epifanes Yacht Coatings (manufacturer of yacht paints & varnishes) ......................... IFC Fox’s Marina (boatyard (refit and repair) and marina in Suffolk, UK) ................... 55 Hydrovane Self Steering (wind vane self-steering systems) .................................. 147 Konpira Consulting (supports cruisers & organises yacht charters in Japan) .......... 131 Mactra Marine Equipment (watermakers, Superwind turbines and solar panels) .... 167 MailASail (e-mail and satellite communications) .................................................... 4 Marion to Bermuda Race (an ocean race exclusively for cruising yachts) ........... 158 Mid Atlantic Yacht Services (services & chandlery for yachts in the Azores) ..... 157 OCC Trust (promoting ocean sailing & conservation of the marine environment) .... 92 PredictWind (detailed worldwide forecasts, weather routeing & GRIBs) ............ 113 RCN Portosín (yacht club and marina in Galicia, Spain) .................................... 123 Royal Newfoundland Yacht Club (50 ton lift, clubhouse, gasoline, dockage etc) ..... 131 Sailors for the Sea (ocean conservation organisation) ............................................ 69 Sanders Sails (sailmakers, upholstery and covers) ............................................... 132 Scanmar International (wind vane self-steering systems & anchor trip device) ..... 102 Sevenstar Yacht Transport (yacht transport by sea) ............................................ IBC SHIP Insurance International (yacht insurance specialists) ................................... 33 Sillette Sonic (marine propulsion specialists, custom engineering) ...................... 124 St Katharine Docks Marina (moorings in central London) .................................... 80 Varadoiro do Xufre (marina & dry dock to haul out, winterise, repair or refit) ... 175 YSATT (yacht services in Trinidad and Tobago) ................................................ 174 We appreciate our advertisers and encourage you to give consideration to their products or services. Please mention the OCC and Flying Fish when replying to advertisements. Note, however, that the printing of an advertisement in Flying Fish does not imply endorsement by the Club. Also that while our membership is global, some companies may only be licensed to operate in certain jurisdictions and/or offer limited products or services. Details of advertising rates and deadlines will be found overleaf. 239

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 October 2022 for Flying Fish 2022/2 14 March 2023 for Flying Fish 2023/1 though new artwork may be accepted after these dates

ENQUIRIES AND ORDERS e-mail: advertising@oceancruisingclub.org

Printed by Hobbs the Printers Ltd Totton, Hants SO40 3WX, UK. www.hobbs.uk.com

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