OCC Flying Fish 2024

— DAN LEE DAN LEE BOATBUILDING

officials

COMMODORE Fiona Jones

VICE COMMODORE Phil Heaton

REAR COMMODORES Reg Barker

Derrick Thorrington

TREASURER Charles Griffiths

REGIONAL REAR COMMODORES

GREAT BRITAIN Carol Dutton

IRELAND Alan Leonard

NW EUROPE Hans Hansell

NE USA & E CANADA Janet Garnier & Henry DiPietro

SE USA Doug Selden

BRAZIL Silvio Ramos

W CANADA & NW USA Liza Copeland

CALIFORNIA, MEXICO & HAWAII Jonathan Ganz

SE AUSTRALIA Scot Wheelhouse

NEW ZEALAND & SW PACIFIC Viki Moore

SOUTH AFRICA John Franklin

ROVING REAR COMMODORES Steve Brown, Guy Chester, Thierry Courvoisier, Andrew Curtain, Michael & Anne Hartshorn, Bill Heaton & Grace Arnison, Lars & Susanne Hellman, Jurriaan Kloek & Camila de Conto, Stuart & Anne Letton, Pamela MacBrayne & Denis Moonan, Simon Phillips, Sarah & Phil Tadd

PAST COMMODORES

1954-1960 Humphrey Barton 1998-2002 Mike Pocock 1960-1968 Tim Heywood 2002-2006 Alan Taylor 1968-1975 Brian Stewart 2006-2009 Martin Thomas 1975-1982 Peter Carter-Ruck 2009-2012 Bill McLaren

1982-1988 John Foot 2012-2016 John Franklin

1988-1994 Mary Barton 2016-2019 Anne Hammick 1994-1998 Tony Vasey 2019-2024 Simon Currin ..

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 360

OCC WEBSITE www.oceancruisingclub.org

CONTENTS PAGE

Introdution 3

The 2023 Awards 5

46,000 Miles and 57 People 28 Laura Hampton

Big Life Changes Ahead 38 Adrienne Palmer

Cruising Labrador, 2023 44 Martin Fuller

From Geopark to Geopark 58 David Calder

Storms and Geriatric Folly 63 Tom & Vicky Jackson

From the Archives:

Rounding Cape Horn Singlehanded in 1965 74 Bill Nance

Letters 76 Roger Robinson; John Maddox

Not what Tam O’Shanter Expected 80 Neil Hegartyh

Cruising the Marquesas and Gambier Islands 88 Neil McCubbin

A Pocket-Sized Cruise 100 Rev Bob Shepton

Book Reviews 105 Vertue XXXV, CCA Cruising Guide to Nova Scotia, My Way Around the World, Skip Novak on Sailing, Reeds First Aid Handbook, Wavewalker

Fishing Under Sail 112 Charles Delaney

South America via the Beagle Channel 120 Thierry J-L Courvoisier

It’s Always Something! 133 Anne Kolker

A Very Tight Crew 140 Reija Treacy Wolnik, Leszek Wolnik & Marija Skunca

A Tale of Three Men (and a Pigeon)... in a Boat 152 John Sweeney Strange, Weird, Wonderful Palmerston Atoll 158 Irene & Peter Whitby

Britain Through Dutch Eyes 166 Willie Ambergen

From the Archives:...

22 Days Out from Floreana 176 Roger Jameson

Winter Sailing in the Med 184 Gian Luca Fiori

What I Am Talking About...? 199 Mike Keizer

Bengt in Chile 206 Elisabeth & Wim van Blaricum

Book Reviews 218 The Boat Data Book, The Pacific Crossing Guide, When I Put Out to Sea, The Lives of Seaweeds, Amazing Sailing Stories

Energy Management:...

Comfort without a Generator 223 Dietmar Segner

Aboard Sea Jester, Bound for the Azores 235 Max Gordon

A Family Cruise from Preveza to Athens 242 Mike & Helen Norris

Tuamotu 2024 251 Simon Currin

Sending Submissions to Flying Fish 260

Navigating the World ~ and Beyond 262 Cynthia Robinson

Sailing the Seas Less Travelled 270 Curtis Jazwiecki

Book Reviews 277 Bosun’s Bag, CCA Cruising Guide to Newfoundland, Maurice and Maralyn, The Half Bird, Ultimate Sailing Adventures, Adrift

Sailing the Seas of Friendship 284 JoAnne & Bill Harris

Exploring Sumatra and Java 290 Dave & Sherry McCampbell

Expedition to Greenland 302 Luke Franklin

The Other San Blas 310 Meredith Green

An American in European Waters 316 Jerry Brecher

The Marshall Islands 324 Carla Gregory & Alex Helbig

Obituaries and Appreciations 338

Advertisers in Flying Fish 359

Advertising Opportunities 360

Flying Fish

Flying Fish

Sending Submissions to Flying Fish

We always value feedback from OCC members, and I would very much like to hear from you if you have an opinion to share on this new format and the change from a bi-annual to an annual edition. You can contact me at commodore@oceancruisingclub.org

On pages 112, 215 and 312 it mentions that a related recipe ‘can be found on the website’, mainly because the issue itself had run out of space. At the bottom of the list of Flying Fish 2024 articles at https://www.oceancruisingclub.org/Flying-Fish-Archive there should be an additional ‘article’ entitled ‘2024 Recipes’.

Cover photo: Icebergs off Greenland – see Expedition to Greenland, page 302. Photo Rhys Walters

Flying Fish

THE 2023 AWARDS

The 2024 Annual Dinner and presentation of the 2023 Awards took place on Saturday 20th April at the Leonardo Hotel, Liverpool. Vice Commodore Phil Heaton was Master of Ceremonies for the evening, which followed a slightly different format to previous years with one of those present asked to introduce the Award, and either the recipient/s or someone nominated by them stepping forward to receive it. Photographs taken during the presentation ceremony are reproduced courtesy of John van-S, except where otherwise credited.

Commodore Phil Heaton, MC for the evening, with Commodore Fi Jones

Grateful thanks are also due to Eoin Robson, who is stepping down after five years as Chair of the Awards Sub-committee, to his panel of hard-working and very discreet judges, to Press Officer Karen Soule – a role which includes announcing the Award results to the international press – and not least to Club Secretary Rachelle Turk for her faultless organisation of the entire event.

The history and nomination criteria for all the awards, together with information about how to submit a nomination online, will be found at https://www.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 of the Flying Fish Editorial Sub-committee.

Although the David Wallis Trophy is awarded for the ‘most outstanding, valuable or enjoyable contribution’ to a single year’s issues, there’s little doubt that when the Editorial Subcommittee cast their votes for 2023 they were thinking not only of Trevor Robertson’s Atlantic Circuit in Iron Bark, Part 2: Icebergs and Chimpanzees, in Flying Fish 2023/2, but also his North Atlantic Wanderings, which appeared in 2022.

Vice

John van-S at work.

Photo Anne Hammick

When they send in their choices they’re asked to give a little background regarding their top rankings, and among their comments were: ‘Trevor Robertson’s article falls neatly into all three categories – outstanding, valuable and enjoyable. I love the way this lone sailor casually tramps around the globe, taking his time where he needs to, fixing everything as he goes along, understating all his adventures’. Another said: ‘An interesting, fun and informative read with enough detail for interest but not so much that the story doesn’t keep moving (as Iron Bark did). Some seriously interesting places visited or attempted, all whilst singlehanded. Proof of how much ground can be covered in a season, while still spending time exploring at many of the anchorages’. Trevor’s excellent photographs add to the enjoyment.

Trevor also received the Jester Award for 2023 – see page 18 – and at the end of his acceptance speech, read out at the Annual Dinner, he added:

‘I am very pleased to have been awarded the David Wallis Trophy. To be selected for this award by the Flying Fish team is a real honour. Few yachting publications, including the commercial yachting magazines, are as well produced as Flying Fish. The editing, proof-reading and map production of Flying Fish are superb. It is a real privilege to be singled out by the team that produces such a remarkable work.’

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.

For many people, an Atlantic crossing from the Canaries to Guadeloupe via the Cape Verdes might not be particularly ‘ambitious or arduous’, but as Reija Treacy Wolnik says in her article A Very Tight Crew, which appears in this issue, ‘doing something like this at 14 was such an achievement’. Irish by birth but now living in New Zealand, Reija is the youngest person to have received funding under the OCC Youth Sponsorship Programme. The YSP and General Committees decided to waive the usual minimum age rule in view of Reija’s enthusiasm and because she would be sailing with her grandfather, OCC member Leszek Wolnik, an experienced singlehander.

Leszek took preparations for the passage seriously. Before leaving Lanzarote he ensurered that Reija

Reija holding a flying fish that landed on Máirín’s deck between the Canaries and the Cape Verdes

Iron Bark III in Bantry Bay, Ireland

and third crew member Marija were familiar with Máirín , his Vancouver 32, teaching them basic navigation as well as safety and emergency procedures. There were a few hiccups en route, as there are on nearly all passages, but it is clear that all three of them – and particularly Reija – were thrilled to complete the voyage.

Writing to thank the OCC for her Award, Reija said:

‘I have loved sailing from a young age but only gotten into it properly in the past couple of years. I have always strongly loved the outdoors – surfing, hiking, skiing and horse riding. I am hoping in the future to cross the Pacific Ocean and compete in the solo Tasman Race 2030.

Sailing through a giant patch of sargassum weed during the Atlantic crossing

I’m super grateful to my wonderful and supportive family, especially my Grandad. I know none of this would have been possible without them. Thank you also to the OCC and the people who have been so kind and supportive in their nomination of me, it feels so good to have that encouragement.’

Turn to page 140 to read Reija’s own account of the adventure, and visit https://www. oceancruisingclub.org/Youth-Sponsorship to learn more about the OCC Youth Sponsorship Programme, including how to apply.

THE PORT OFFICER SERVICE AWARD

Introduced in 2008, this 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 frequently in the past, two Port Officer Service Awards were made for 2023, one to Bill and JoAnne Harris, POs for Roatán, Honduras and the Bay Islands, and the other to Allan and Cathy Rae, POs for Beaufort, South Carolina.

Bill and JoAnne’s nominators were full of praise for their indepth knowledge of their area (which includes the Río Dulce, the favourite hurricane hole for Honduran Bay Islands sailors) much of it gained first-hand aboard their trimaran Ultra , as well as for their excellent contacts with local officials. These friendly links allow them

Bill and JoAnne sailing Ultra, their 53ft home-built custom trimaran, in their home waters of Honduras

to address issues affecting sailors, such as persuading the local authorities to dredge a blocked channel on Roatán island which allowed free-flowing tidal water to turn a filthy anchorage into a clean one.

Bill and JoAnne have helped to resolve disputes between local vendors and cruisers, such as persuading a local business to make their dinghy-dock available to visiting sailors. Then, following a disastrous fire on the neighbouring island of Guanaja a few years ago, they organised cruisers to go and help the locals – a great way to foster good relations between the two. They are also very involved with local charities, from raising funds for new school facilities to dog walking for the local animal shelter.

Finally, they run the local cruiser net, organise social events and get-togethers and have created a list of local amenities and contact details which is available on social media. And somehow JoAnne still finds the time to hold thrice-weekly yoga classes for all comers! Read Sailing the Seas of Friendship ~ A Voyage of Adventure and Connection which starts on page 284 of this issue to learn more about this remarkable couple.

Bill and JoAnne Harris with their Port Officer Service Award plaque

Fellow Port Officer Service Award winners Allan and Cathy Rae have been welcoming members to their dock on the Intracoastal Waterway ever since being appointed Port Officers for Beaufort, South Carolina in 2008. Their nominator stated that they never turn anyone away if it’s possible to find space for them, will lend their car for shopping trips, and even have a cart in which to haul groceries down to the dock, where electricity and water are laid on for visiting yachts. They are always willing to share local knowledge and information, assist with problems and welcome visitors into their home for happy hours and dinners.

Allan Rae surrounded by mementos of their lives as liveaboards

Allan and Cathy bought their first boat together as newlyweds in 1977 and moved aboard their next boat, a 48-footer, ten years later. Their son Will was born in Fort Lauderdale in 1988 while they were en route to the Bahamas. After many years of cruising the US East Coast from Maine to the Bahamas they moved ashore in South Carolina, ‘making sure to buy near the Intracoastal Waterway with a deep-water dock so that we could welcome cruising friends and soon-to-be friends’.

On learning of the Award they responded:

‘The Ocean Cruising Club’s worldwide Port Officer network does a great job in providing support to cruisers and we are honoured to be Port Officers for Beaufort, South Carolina. Our very first OCC visitors, in November 2008, were Ken and Judith from the UK aboard Badger Sett, and since then we have had visitors from many countries. We love to look out of

the window and see flags from the UK, Canada, New Zealand, Australia, the Netherlands, Sweden and of course our regular migratory friends from the US. The guest log is filling up after 17 years and the stack of boat cards is toppling over!

It is always exciting for us to have a boat arrive with old or new friends aboard and we are honoured by those who are far from home and have spent Christmas or Easter with our family. We often have packages of mail arrive (fortunately our mail lady is very understanding), with two of the most memorable being a case of wonderfulsmelling coffee and on another occasion a paddleboard!

We are grateful to the Ocean Cruising Club for giving us the opportunity to have this special experience, and overwhelmed to be recognised by the Club for something that enhances our lives and that we love to do.’

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. It was not awarded for 2022.

All who attended the April 2023 AGM weekend at the RNLI College in Poole agreed that it was a great event from start to finish. For the most fortunate it began on Friday evening at the Poole Yacht Club and ran until Sunday lunchtime, again at the Poole Yacht Club. While Club Secretary Rachelle Turk was organising Saturday’s AGM and Annual Dinner, the two very sociable meals at the PYC were the brainchild of Dick Morris, Port Officer for Poole since 2019 and an OCC member since 1973.

The highlight of Friday evening’s dinner was undoubtedly the speech made by Founder Member Ian Nicolson, who started as an apprentice yacht designer in Poole in 1945. As soon as Dick learned of Ian’s connection with the harbour he worked hard, and successfully, to entice this busy man down from Scotland. Although lunch on Sunday had not been mentioned previously, sometime during the weekend Dick mentioned that the Poole Yacht Club had an excellent Sunday carvery and suggested that those who didn’t have to get on the road (or train) until the afternoon might like to put their names down. A great suggestion and a fine way to round off the weekend!

Cathy and Allan Rae with their son Will aboard Evening Star

Dick’s response to the Award was typically modest:

‘I am not sure that I deserve this award ... in my mind I was just doing what a Port Officer should be doing. As Port Officer you know that some involvement is likely when other OCC members arrive in your home port. Last year’s AGM happened to be in my home port, and thus I welcomed perhaps more than usual at one time. But that is exactly what had happened on two previous occasions when I was Port Officer for The Virgin Islands. The work done by the restaurant staff at Poole Yacht Club for the dinner and lunch was up to their usual high standards, and the dinner was enhanced by the presence of Founder Member Ian Nicolson who shared some amusing anecdotes of his early life in Poole.

OCC members enjoying dinner at Poole Yacht Club on the Friday preceding the 2023 Annual Dinner. Only one of the events organised by Dick

Welcoming OCC members to my home port is never work, just a chance for some pleasant socialising with people who have had similar life experiences. So thank you to the Ocean Cruising Club, to Hum Barton who first made me a Port Officer back in 1973, and to all the members who travelled to Poole last year.’

THE OCC ENVIRONMENT AWARD

Presented for the first time in 2022, 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 OCC Environment Award for 2023 went to Howard Dryden and Diane Duncan, who together set up the GOES Foundation (Global Oceanic Environmental Survey) a citizen science project in which many long distance cruisers, including OCC members, have participated.

Dr Howard Dryden is a marine biologist based in Scotland whose life has been devoted to copepods, a type of zooplankton that forms the basis of the food chain now mixing with microplastics in

Howard Dryden aboard his new research vessel at Bocas del Toro, Panama

the ocean. Diane Duncan is a sustainable development activist working to promote clean, safe water. For six years they sailed Copepod, their Hallberg Rassy 43, studying the world’s oceans. The most important part of the ocean is the top 2m, where insoluble chemicals end up, along with microplastics and partially-combusted carbon particles from the burning of fossil fuels. The microplastic and carbon particles absorb and concentrate the toxic chemicals many thousands of times, becoming a food source for plankton.

Howard and Diane have now sold Copepod to finance their next project, Seahorse Point, a marine research and educational centre on remote Bocas del Toro island in Panama where they plan to study the relationship between the rainforest, seagrass, mangroves, coral reefs and oceans. Visit www.SeahorsePoint.org to learn more. It will be the new home of GOES, allowing Howard and Diane to expand their research on climate change, in which bio-climatic factors including marine pollution play a significant role.

Howard and Diane were unable to attend the Annual Dinner to receive their Award, so asked their close friend Michael Causer to accept it on their behalf. Michael has worked with them on environmental projects, including actively supporting and participating in the GOES Project, and told us:

‘I have known Howard for more than 30 years and have learned more from working with him than from anyone else in my career. His perspective on climate change may be different, but my own scientific knowledge and my respect for Howard’s knowledge and intellect confirms that, with our collective support, we can make a difference.

This award is not only for Howard and Diane but also for all those cruisers who have participated by persevering with plankton sampling during already challenging Atlantic, Pacific and Arctic Ocean passages. I invite you all to join Howard and Diane on www.GoesFoundation.com. I know that you will learn a lot and can only benefit from our collective efforts to help eliminate pollution, regenerate biodiversity and, potentially, to stop climate change.’

THE OCC WATER MUSIC TROPHY

Presented by Past Commodore John Foot and named after his succession of yachts all called Water Music, this set of meteorological instruments set into a wooden cube was first awarded in 1986. It recognises a significant contribution to the Club in terms of providing cruising, navigation or pilotage information and is open to members only.

Although not ‘cruising, navigation or pilotage information’ in the usual sense of the words, there is little doubt that the methods described by Dave and Sherry McCampbell on their website at https://www.svsoggypaws.com/ and in their article Using Satellite Imagery With OpenCPN in Flying Fish 2023/2 represent a major step forward in assisting OCC members and others to navigate in poorly charted and/or coral waters.

Dave is a retired US Naval Diving and Salvage officer with many years cruising and eight yachts’ worth of maintenance experience. Sherry is a retired computer programmer/project manager who also has vast cruising experience. They left Florida in 2007 aboard their 44ft CSY monohull Soggy Paws to sail around the world westabout, and in 2015, while in the Philippines,

Sherry and Dave McCampbell

upgraded their cruising home to a St Francis 44 catamaran, also called Soggy Paws (they sail with their two Siamese cats).

In the 17 years that Dave and Sherry have been cruising they have shared practical information as well as advice on equipment and navigation, via ‘how to’ presentations. Their detailed and wide-ranging blog includes a library of PDFs of their presentations. Some are about particular places which they have enjoyed, but more significant, and more relevant to this award, are a number of presentations about using OpenCPN, a free, open source navigation program.

These presentations make clear the safety benefits of using satellite-imagery-derived charts over those from commercial sources and talk new users through making their own satellite-imagery-derived charts. In addition, the charts which they have prepared in this way are available to be downloaded. Sherry and Dave have made a very significant contribution to the Ocean Cruising Club and to the cruising community at large.

Dave and Sherry were unable to attend the Annual Dinner so sent a short ‘thank you’ video which can be viewed at https://1drv.ms/ v/s!As8pAf7qQVjMljYF6KzzDWmxvRCR. In it they mention cruising in Sumatra –read more about that starting on page 290 of this issue.

THE AUSTRALIAN TROPHY

First awarded in 1990, the Australian Trophy was donated by Sid Jaffe, twice Rear Commodore Australia and is 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 selected by past and present Australian Regional Rear Commodores following nomination by the Australian membership.

The Australian Trophy for 2023 was awarded to Kayo Mae Ozaki for her singlehanded westabout voyage from Australia to Nuku Hiva aboard her Vancouver 34 cutter Nausikaa. After crossing the Indian and Atlantic Oceans Kayo transited the Panama Canal into the Pacific, and since the Trophy was awarded has completed her solo circumnavigation.

Soggy Paws sailing in Thailand this year

Kayo with Kirk Patterson at the Japan Boat Festival

Nausikaa, Kayo’s Vancouver 34

Kayo is an architect who studied in Adelaide. She migrated to Australia as a young adult and raised a family before setting out on her solo sailing adventures. She learnt to sail on Pittwater, Sydney as an adult and has been a keen sailor for many years. She had already sailed Nausikaa from Australia to Japan and back before departing Australia on her solo circumnavigation.

After leaving Brisbane on 2nd June 2022, Kayo coast-hopped to Darwin, then crossed the Indian Ocean making landfall in Richards Bay, South Africa. She rounded the Cape of Good Hope during the southern hemisphere summer stopping at East London, Knysna, Hout Bay and Cape Town. Kayo then crossed the Atlantic via St Helena, made landfall in Grenada on 21st February 2023, and continued to Panama with just one stop in Aruba.

Kayo reached Hiva Oa, Marquesas on 9th June, 48 days out from Panama. She then crossed the South Pacific via Fatu Hiva, Tahiti, Moorea, Huahine, Fiji and New Caledonia before reaching Bundaberg on 8th November 2023.

Nausikaa is a very well-found Vancouver 34C long-keel cutter built in Canada in 2009, which Kayo usually steers via a wind vane. Unusually, Nausikaa’s standing rigging is made of Dyneema©.

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 (see page 105), it was created in 2014 to commemorate the Club’s 60th anniversary. Awardees are selected by North American Regional Rear Commodores.

The Vertue Award is normally presented in August and reported in the following year’s Flying Fish, but due to the move to annual publication it was requested that both 2023 and 2024 Awards be included in this issue.

Ted Laurentius and Doug Bruce with the Vertue Award plaque

The Canadian Province of Newfoundland is known worldwide for having the most welcoming, generous and helpful inhabitants and Ted Laurentius, who received the Vertue Award for 2023, is an outstanding example of how they have earned such an exceptional reputation. Port Officer for St John’s since 1995, Ted is always ready, willing and able to welcome visiting cruisers with friendly and accurate guidance, and over the years hundreds of OCC members and other cruisers have benefitted from his knowledge and advice. Additionally, between 2017 and 2023 Ted served the OCC in increasingly important managerial positions, first as a member of the General Committee and then as Co-ordinator for the Americas, overseeing the club’s highly-regarded Port Officer Network.

Ted joined the OCC in 1995 following Atlantic passages from St John’s to the UK in 1982 and again in 1992, but this is barely the tip of the iceberg so far as Ted’s sailing experience is concerned. This includes instructing for the Canadian Yachting Association from 1996 onwards, sailing as skipper or watch leader on numerous passages to the Bahamas, Caribbean, Mediterranean and Canadian Maritimes over the years and extensive Newfoundland cruising aboard his C&C 38, Panache. He also has considerable racing experience. In 1984 Ted was elected Commodore of the Newfoundland Cruising Club, he served as Commodore of the Royal Newfoundland Yacht Club from 1990 to 1991 and was Vice President of the Canadian Yachting Association from 2004 until 2007. The OCC looks forward to many more years of his thoughtful contributions and friendships with cruisers worldwide.

The Vertue Award for 2024 went to Pam MacBrayne and Denis Moonan. In this, the OCC’s 70th anniversary year, the Club has been celebrating with rallies and events in many parts of the world. Few are held annually with histories going back decades but the Maine Rally and Cruise is one of them. Running such a large and successful event takes considerable organisation, to which Pam and Denis have been central on many occasions, notably while serving as Regional Rear Commodores for North East USA from 2015 until 2017.

Pam MacBrayne and Denis Moonan in August 2024, with both the ongoing Vertue Award plaque and their own ‘keeper’ plaque

Pam and Denis joined the OCC in 2011 after an 11-day passage from Isla Mujeres, Mexico to Beaufort, North Carolina aboard their Sceptre 43, Glide. Since then they have made further ocean voyages including crossing the Pacific in 2018 from the Panama Canal to the Galapagos, the Marquesas and eventually to Fiji, where they were ‘grounded’ due to the COVID pandemic. They were appointed Roving Rear Commodores during this voyage. Having returned home to Camden, Maine, in 2023 they ‘came out of retirement’ at short notice to help organise another successful Maine Rally. Their passion for the OCC is infectious and has led many cruisers to join the club. Pam and Denis are natural leaders and organisers wherever they wind up – on land or at sea – and are greatly respected in the many communities touched by their welcoming and caring attitude.

THE OCC AWARD (MEMBER)

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. It was decided in 2018 that the OCC Award should be split into two categories, one going to a member, normally for service to the OCC; the other, open to both members and non-members, for service to the ocean cruising community as a whole.

John Maddox (centre) with his OCC Award plaque. On either side of him are Scot Wheelhouse and Charles Davis with the Australian Trophy won by Kayo Ozaki and her ‘keeper’ plaque (see page 13)

Sometimes an Award is made for two quite separate reasons, and such is the case with Australian member John Maddox who turned 82 earlier this year. He joined our club in 1969 and has remained actively involved ever since, including contributing to Flying Fish at least 22 times between 1974 and the current issue (see below). Not quite a record in terms of numbers – see page 100 – but certainly one in terms of years. He has also written several articles for the Newsletter, most recently in December 2023.

In 1993 John was appointed Rear Commodore Australia, remaining in post until 1999, and he continues to play a very active part in the administration of the Australian Trophy. In 1993 he was also appointed Port Officer for Sydney, a post he still holds today maintaining that it is ‘interesting and enjoyable being able to assist members who are visiting or planning a trip here’. See page 77 for just one of the incidents he has been involved in. Before the days of e-mail, let alone Zoom, it was difficult for members outside the UK to contribute to the central management of the OCC as otherwise it seems very likely that John would have been persuaded to stand for election to the General Committee or beyond.

Writing to thank the OCC for this prestigious award, John said:

John with the crew of Holger Danske following their circumnavigation of Tasmania in 2011

‘I started sailing in my teens when my father bought me a small two-person sailing dinghy to race with a friend. I also had some big boat experience in a 45ft classic, on which I learned skills like splicing and tying knots. I did the first of my ten Sydney Hobart Races in 1962, the last being in 1994.

Having heard that there was good sailing in the Greek Islands, I travelled there in May 1967 and joined Anjaro, a 62ft S&S yawl, which was due to cross the Atlantic from the Canary Islands to Antigua that November. I was navigator for the passage – all by sextant, of course. The following year I sailed from New York direct to the Hamble aboard Ramrod, a 45ft cutter. There was lots of fog when we left New York to cross the Grand Banks – we’d have benefited from AIS had it been available then! (This was the passage that John chose to cite when joining the OCC – see Pioneers and Trailblazers in Flying Fish 2004/2.)

Sailing really was very different back in the 1960s, with none of the electronic equipment that we now take for granted. Just a Walker log trailing astern which you hoped a shark would not bite the rotor off. There were no HF or VHF radios, and certainly no panic buttons – you were completely on your own if anything went seriously wrong. There were also very few yachts out there – no others left Tenerife for the West Indies when we did, or New York for the UK.

In 1993 I was privileged to be appointed Rear Commodore Australia, a post I held for six years, and as Port Officer for Sydney for the past 31 years I’ve enjoyed assisting members who are visiting or planning to do so. In addition to local sailing, working as a lawyer and helping raise our two children, I was able to make some longer passages, including several 1000+ mile coastal passages, a circumnavigation of Tasmania and crossing the Tasman Sea to New Zealand in 2000 to watch the America’s Cup.

I have enjoyed my 55 years of OCC membership greatly.’

What John didn’t mention – probably because he was unaware of it – is the second reason for his having been nominated to receive the OCC Award.

When Past Commodore Bill McLaren handed on the Club Archives five years ago they contained an impressive collection of paper records –– Committee and AGM minutes, important correspondence, etc – but not even partially complete sets of either Flying Fish or the Newsletter. A call went out in the hope that there were some ‘squirrels’ amongst our members who might have some or all of these old copies on their shelves and be willing to donate them.

One of the few to respond was John, who has remained both supportive and generous ever since. Among other things he has gifted the archives 14 early Flying Fish, several of which were unique, 28 Newsletters, of which nine were unique, plus eight early Members Lists and Handbooks. That our Club Archives now contain complete sets of all our printed publications is very largely thanks to John’s generosity.

THE OCC AWARD (OPEN)

This award, which can go to either a member or a non-member, recognises valuable service to the ocean cruising community as a whole.

Peter Mott, a retired internet entrepreneur and radio engineer based in Christchurch, New Zealand, has for the past nine years run a service called Passage Guardian, available free of charge to recreational sailors anywhere in the world. During the 2022/3 Golden Globe Race Peter went to huge effort and expense to provide GMDSS weather forecasts and traffic relay to shore teams and family via his HF/SSB Maritime Radio Station, Passage Guardian Radio, a service which was greatly appreciated by the race participants.

An ocean sailor himself aboard his own vessels and the holder of several NZ sailing qualifications, above all else Peter is a details guy who is passionate about safety at sea. He assists cruising sailors and OCC members all over the world by keeping careful watch on their progress with his Passage Guardian Service, and in the South Pacific works with the organisers of both the Down Under Rally and the Island Cruising Rally. Visit http://passageguardian.nz to learn more.

Thanking the OCC for the Award, Peter wrote:

‘It is with much gratitude that I accept the 2023 OCC Award for service to the ocean cruising community. Thank you to Regional Rear Commodore, New Zealand and Pacific SW Viki Moore for nominating me, and special thanks to Golden Globe Race participant Commander Abhilash Tomy for his strong endorsement.

The inspiration behind setting up Passage Guardian was the 1994 Queen’s Birthday Weekend Storm tragedy in the South Pacific in which three people and eight yachts were lost, and the disappearance of the American schooner Niña in the Tasman Sea in June 2014 claiming the lives of all seven crew members.

Over the past nine years I have combined passage monitoring with a New Zealand-based maritime coast radio station to offer a global freeof-charge service to recreational sailors. What I’ve observed over that time – tracking hundreds of vessels over many thousands of miles – is that the majority of ocean passages are entirely uneventful. Serious mishaps are mostly caused by poor preparation, trying to sail to a schedule, or approaching a coastline ahead of foul weather. It is very rare for a vessel to sink from under you – unless you are a Golden Globe Race sailor and have a social media audience to entertain!

Peter at his Passage Guardian work-station

Peter Mott in Lyttelton, New Zealand

Injuries are uncommon but dehydration and fatigue are not. Since I have a captive audience, today’s friendly advice is always to deploy a boom preventer. They save lives. Plus a hint for cruisers who have Starlink. In addition to your autopilot, fit windvane self-steering if you don’t already have it. You are going to need it when the Starlink terminal discharges your batteries and there is no energy to power the auto-pilot ram.

At the end of the day, my mission is simple and one I hope we all share – keeping sailors safe at sea.

Once again thank you for the OCC Award. I look forward to many more years of service to circumnavigators, OCC members and sailors wherever they are.’

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 (9∙1m) 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 being one of the most extraordinary sailors of our times, having covered well over 400,000 miles, much of it singlehanded, Trevor Robertson remains relatively unknown even in the sailing world. In 1975, at the age of 26, he set off singlehanded from Western Australia in his 34ft wooden sloop, crossing the Indian Ocean to East Africa and continuing around the Cape of Good Hope to the West Indies. There he worked in the charter business and later on oil rigs to earn enough money to build a more robust vessel. Returning to Queensland, he built Iron Bark II, a 35ft steel Wylo II cutter, launching her in 1997. For 22 years he cruised all over the world, wintering alone and unsupported in the ice of both Antarctica and Greenland. He has also crossed the Pacific six times, the Indian Ocean three times and has lost count of his Atlantic passages. In 2009 he was awarded the CCA’s Blue Water Medal and he has also received the RCC’s Seamanship Medal.

In 2019 and approaching 70 he decided to replace Iron Bark II with a GRP yacht which would require less maintenance. He decided on an Alajuela 38, a long-keel double-ender, and found a 1977-built example in Florida which he sailed down to Carriacou to prepare for serious passagemaking. For Trevor this meant a crossing from the Caribbean direct to Ireland, including lying to a drogue in a force 10 gale east of Bermuda – see North Atlantic Wanderings in Flying Fish 2022/2 for the full story. Since then he has sailed her from Scotland to New Zealand, with diversions into iceberg territory off Greenland and up an African river to hippopotamus

Iron Bark II wintering in Antarctica. Photo Trevor Robertson

Trevor with his plaques for the Jester Award and the David Wallis Trophy.

Photo David Berg

country – see An Atlantic Circuit in Iron Bark, Part 2, in Flying Fish 2023/2. He states that he intends to continue wandering under sail as long as he has a seaworthy vessel and the strength to sail it.

In 2011 Trevor began writing a blog at https://iron-bark.blogspot.com/. This has become a goldmine for those who, like Trevor, carry out nearly all their own maintenance and repairs (‘strong and functional if a bit agricultural’), are looking for knowledgeable advice – eg. he used his Jordan series drogue a total of 11 times between 2015 and 2018, all in the Southern Ocean, before writing his ‘Notes on the use of a Jordan drogue’ – or are simply seeking inspiration and encouragement.

Writing to thank the OCC for both the Jester Award and the David Wallis Trophy (see page 5), Trevor gave an insight into his influences and ethos:

‘I am sorry not to be able to attend the Annual Dinner, but Iron Bark and I are in New Zealand and the distance to Liverpool is too great to fly with a clear conscience. When I first started voyaging in the mid-1970s my inspiration was people like Blondie Hasler in Jester and Robin Knox-Johnston in Suhaili, people who made voyages in small, simple, robust vessels, expecting no outside help, and for nearly 50 years I have tried to follow their example.

I can understand the attraction of going to sea in a yacht with all the systems of a suburban house, the comms of a space station and multiple ways of calling for help, but I find sailing that way misses the sense of achievement of a voyage made in a simpler vessel relying entirely on one’s own skills and efforts. Many of the attractions of small vessels are obvious – low cost being the most obvious one. Less obvious is that a small, self-reliant vessel can undertake long voyages to remote places that would be difficult in a larger, more complex vessel. A small, simple vessel can carry everything needed to make such a long voyage. Making the same voyage in a larger vessel with many systems that need a regular infusion of supplies, fuel and services to keep them running is much more difficult.

Other than the large, commercial expedition-type vessels that make short forays into the higher latitudes, the few vessels one meets in these remote areas almost all adhere to a Jester-like austerity. Their crews, like me, regard sacrificing some luxuries to be a small price to pay for the freedom to roam the odd corners of the world. And there is a real sense of accomplishment in making a challenging voyage in a small boat.

The vessels I sail are necessarily larger than Jester as I have no base ashore. My boat has to carry sufficient tools and spares to be independent of shore-side support for years at a time and, on occasion, fuel and provisions to last a year or more without re-supply, such as when wintering in the polar ice. This would be impossible in a vessel the size of Jester. However, the ethos of Jester and Iron Bark is identical – everything necessary for self-sufficiency and nothing more. Unlike

Hasler, I have not thrown out my barometer as it has a thermometer in it that is useful for telling how quickly epoxy will set, but I hope Blondie would forgive me and feel at home on Iron Bark. Like Jester, Iron Bark has no fridge, no water maker, and no comms other than the now compulsory VHF. I do have a GPS as well as a sextant, but even Mike Richey succumbed to that piece of technology when it became available. Thank you.’

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.

Martin Fuller and Stephanie Connor have just completed a five-year Atlantic circuit aboard Sandpiper, Martin’s Sadler Starlight 39. Not a standard Canaries-Caribbean-Azores circuit, however, being routed via the Cape Verde islands, the East Coast of North America from Florida to the northern tip of Labrador, across the Davis Strait to the west coast of Greenland between Sisimiut and Prins Christianssund, around the west and north coasts of Iceland and finally back to Scotland via the Faroe Islands, Shetland and Orkney. The earlier parts of their cruise can be followed in Left Or Right At Bardsey Island? in Flying Fish 2019/2 and One Step Ahead Of Covid in Flying Fish 2021/1, with Cruising Labrador, 2023 starting on page 44 of this issue.

The Vasey Vase was awarded for the later part of this cruise, as described in their webinar Cruising Newfoundland, Labrador and Greenland, available on the OCC website at https:// www.oceancruisingclub.org/Webinars. To quote their nomination: ‘Very few boats cruise the north Labrador coast as far as the Torngat National Park, but Sandpiper persevered despite ice and fog. After many polar bear encounters they crossed the Davis Strait from Cape Chidley to west Greenland at Sisimiut. They then cruised south via Prins Christianssund and were in the middle of the Denmark Strait en route to Iceland when severe weather forced a change of plan and they took refuge in the fjords of east Greenland, where they encountered yet more extreme conditions. They finally reached Iceland in time to haul out at the end of the high latitude season. Throughout their entire cruise Martin has meticulously documented their anchorages and shared that data to the OCC’s Cruising Information website where it is freely available to those who follow in their wake.’

Martin and Stephanie’s achievement is particularly remarkable because Martin only started sailing in 2016, after a 24-year career in the British Army followed by employment in the Middle East and Africa. He bought Sandpiper the following year, met Stephanie shortly afterwards and retired in May 2018 to go sailing.

Stephanie’s love of the

Stephanie, Martin and Sandpiper at Knights Island, Nova Scotia in June 2023. Photo Raelene and Terry White

Stephanie and Martin with the Vasey Vase

sea was inspired by her father, and after retiring in 2011 she moved to North Wales where she was mentored by the late Denise Evans (see page 342). In 2013 she crewed for the Rev Bob Shepton on his west-to-east Northwest Passage (see Flying Fish 2014/1), and made her first ocean passage in 2017 as part of an allfemale crew.

On learning of their award Martin responded: ‘We are honoured to have been awarded the Vasey Vase and delightfully surprised by the award. We have just changed our plans for returning to Sandpiper to allow us to attend the Annual Dinner in Liverpool, and look forward to the event very much.’ To which Stephanie added: ‘What a wonderful message to receive on awakening this morning – a complete surprise! How I wish Denise was still with us to learn that Sandpiper has received this prestigious award. Thank you!’

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 nonmembers.

The OCC Seamanship Award has often been presented for the rescue of fellow sailors. On this occasion that has been reversed, with it going to German members Martin and Astrid Grube for the exemplary seamanship and considerable courage they displayed when faced with potentially catastrophic rigging failure during their first Atlantic passage. Without their prompt and effective action they would very probably have required rescue themselves.

Martin and Astrid, a computer scientist and a meteorologist respectively, started sailing together in 2003. They bought Pincoya, their Jutlandic 37 DS, in 2010 and started to prepare her for cruising, sailing in summer and working as much as possible in winter to allow them to quit work as soon as possible. In 2018 they cruised in the Baltic and from 2019 sailed south, gaining experience as their passages took them further offshore. Covid delayed them, as it did everyone, but by January 2023 they were ready to leave the Cape Verde islands for Martinique.

Seven days and 765 miles out, and with nearly 1400 miles still to go, they spotted that Pincoya’s port intermediate shroud had started to strand at the upper crosstrees. Clearly something had to be done or, if/when the shroud parted, the mast was almost certain to come down. Many crews would have called for help at this stage, but with great self-reliance Martin and Astrid decided to re-purpose their running backstays as stand-in shrouds. Turn to

Atlantic Crossing ~ It Could Have Been Easier in Flying Fish 2023/1 to read how they dealt with this, as well as for dramatic pictures of Martin ‘clinging to the mast like a little monkey’ as it swung through an arc of more than 15ft (5m). A week later the shroud parted completely, necessitating a second trip aloft. Their article, with its detailed description and excellent photographs, would be invaluable to other sailors unlucky enough to find themselves in a similar situation.

We were all delighted when Astrid and Martin decided to come to Liverpool from their home in Germany to accept their award in person at the Annual Dinner. Taking it in turns to speak, they told us:

‘Martin and I would like to thank you and the OCC for the great honour to receive this extraordinary award and be invited to this dinner. We are still overwhelmed and right now a bit nervous to find the right words.

Martin and I have been sailing together for more than 20 years now. It is, so to speak, our personal love story. It started with our first sailing trip in 2003. Three years later we bought our first own boat, then we moved in together and finally we married. You see, our priorities were set from the beginning! We gained most of our sailing experience in the Baltic. We started step by step, but over time the idea arose whether it might be possible one day to be so free that we could just sail. So we set up a plan, bought Pincoya and started to prepare her for long-term cruising. We saved every cent we could and finally quit work in 2020. Because of Covid, 2020 was not the best year to start long-term cruising, but we managed to sail along the coast of Spain and Portugal. Then, to get more familiar with offshore sailing, we cruised to Madeira, the Canaries, the Azores and back to Portugal. When we started our Atlantic crossing in January last year we were confident and felt well prepared – not only for sailing offshore, but also because we always do all the maintenance work on our boat ourselves so we know every technical detail. That really helped us get the problem with the broken shroud under control.

Martin and Astrid speak at the Annual Dinner

We know that we can trust each other blindly and together we are strong. That was the reason why we were confident from the beginning of the disaster that we could handle it. Nevertheless, we know that we have also been very lucky. After all, there were still more than 1300 miles to go to the Caribbean from the first breaking and the first temporary stabilisation of the mast. It also could have ended very badly and we were well aware of that. Climbing the mast in a 3m swell was definitely at the upper limit of what was possible, at least for us. But there was never a single moment when we thought about giving up.

The year continued just as exciting for us. After repairing the shrouds in Martinique we received sad news from home and decided to sail back to Europe via the Azores. We flew home from Ireland, before returning to Pincoya for the very windy and wet remainder of the season. Winter took us by surprise at the end of October, by which time we’d reached Norway, but it wasn’t until the end of November that we arrived back in Germany after sailing almost 9000 miles that year.

I want to say a word here about my family, especially my Dad. Without my Dad we wouldn’t be here. He started sailing with me on a small lake in northern Germany when I was a small child, and that was the beginning of my sailing enthusiasm. When we visited my Dad in his care home and told him about getting this extraordinary award he was very touched and said that he never thought that his little daughter would ever win such an award and do such incredible things. Yes, Daddy, it all started with you. Thank you.

Finally we would like to thank you, the OCC and all the Port Officers and the many members we have met since joining the OCC. We have never experienced such a community, so helpful, interested and optimistic and as well funny. And we would especially like to thank Fiona and lain of Ruffian of Amble, who are currently facing a very similar problem with breaking shrouds in the middle of the Pacific* and who were our mentors when we joined the OCC in 2020.

We are happy and proud to be part of this community. Thank you very much!’

* As of mid-October, Fiona, lain and Ruffian of Amble had reached Vaka Eitu in the Tonga group.

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 significant achievements in the ocean cruising world.

Sheltering from the rain aboard Pincoya

Such is the Rev Bob Shepton’s status in the sailing world, and in the OCC in particular, that one of his nominators for the Lifetime Award admitted to having checked twice to convince herself he’d not won it previously!

Bob, who turned 89 this year, joined the OCC in 1985 following a passage from the Azores to Falmouth the previous year in his 33ft Westerly Discus Dodo’s Delight. In 1986 he made a double Atlantic crossing crewed by boys from Kingham Hill School, writing about it in Flying Fish 1987/1 – the first of his three dozen contributions to our pages. Prior to becoming hooked on ocean sailing, usually in high latitudes, Bob was a Royal Marines Officer, a full-time youth leader in London’s East End and Chaplain to two schools.

Leaving Falmouth in 1993, the First School Group to Sail Around the World. L to R: Ian Savage, Pebs Atkinson, Barnaby Athay and Stephen Moon, all ex-pupils of Kingham Hill School

His voyages and achievements include a 1993 to 1995 circumnavigation via Antarctica, Cape Horn, the Torres Strait and the Cape of Good Hope crewed by relays of school-leavers, during which they were dismasted in Antarctica, plus 15 Atlantic crossings, visiting Greenland and Arctic Canada 13 times, mainly sailing and climbing from the boat in Tilman style but also as Arctic Adviser/watch keeper on superyachts. In 2012 and 2013 he made a double-transit of the Northwest Passage in his largely unmodified 33-footer, the only GRP yacht to have done so. Later in 2013 he was voted YJA Yachtsman of the Year. He reckons to have sailed some 150,000 ocean miles over the past 40 years.

Among the many awards that Bob has received are the CCA’s Blue Water Medal in 1995, the RCC’s Tilman Medal (twice) as well as the Goldsmith Medal for Exploration, and the OCC’s Barton Cup twice (in 1995 for the circumnavigation mentioned above and in 2014 for his NW Passage transits) as well as the Vasey Vase three times, in 1988, 2004 and 2012. He was elected an Honorary Member of the OCC in 2022.

Bob is also a highly experienced climber, often combining cruising with serious climbing expeditions. Greenland, Horizontal and Vertical in Flying Fish 2011/1 describes one such cruise, during which Dodo’s Delight became ‘base camp’ at the foot of sheer cliffs to allow the climbing team (aka The Wild Bunch) to make their ascent from sea level. For this, he and his team of big wall climbers were awarded one of three Piolets d’Or for 2011. (The award’s name translates as ‘Golden Ice Axe’.) In addition to his many Flying Fish articles, Bob has written three books: Addicted to Adventure, Addicted to More Adventure and, with Jon Amtrup, High Latitude

Dodo’s Delight serving as base camp for Bob’s ‘big wall climbers’ to start an ascent of Seagulls’ Garden on Red Wall in Greenland’s Sortehul fjord

Bob Shepton sailing in Torsukattak Fjord, Greenland with Nicolas Favresse of The Wild Bunch

Sailing . Despite claiming to be completely non-techie, he also shares his experiences and expertise as an Arctic advisor, consultant and lecturer via bobshepton.co.uk.

We knew we were in for a treat when, following the Annual Dinner, Bob rose to accept the Lifetime Award. And so we were, as he reminisced about the events outlined below:

‘Thank you so much. Of course my first reaction on receiving it was that it just shows how old I am! But no, it’s such an honour... 150,000 miles of sailing. I’m sure some of you have sailed much more than that, but they were quite eventful miles. Going down memory lane you can’t help coming up against all those near misses where Heaven must have preserved me:

• Knocked down off Cape Farewell, the Cape Horn of the Arctic, and covering the girl opposite with custard, head, hair the lot

• The lads catching a blue marlin between Cape Town and St Helena and gybing the boom, whack, onto my head when filming. I was in my bunk for four days after that!

• Losing the mast in Antarctica ... that was a bit serious though it did lead to a touch of adventure, sailing jury-rigged back to the Falklands. I was sure we were going to get clobbered that time

But in spite of all this and more, so many happy adventures –

• Sailing round the world – Antarctica, Cape Horn, the Torres Strait and Kap Agulhas – with lads who had been at the school where I had been Chaplain

• The incredible big wall climbs of The Wild Bunch in Greenland and Baffin, on one occasion stepping straight off the boat onto the wall to start the climb

• Repeating Bill Tilman’s 70km traverse across Bylot Island in ten days, making eight first ascents of peaks on the way. But on skis, Tilman never used skis...

• Those South Africans climbing an iceberg in Disko Bay, in the nude, with only one ice axe each, to plant the South African flag on the top. Why? Someone please tell me...

• The two transits of the Northwest Passage of course, and only just getting out through the ice before the winter set in on the second one

• And getting further south in Antarctica than my friend and mentor Willy Ker. ‘Where did you get to, Bob?’ ‘200 yards further south than you, Willy!’

Thank you so much. But one last thing – hopefully I haven’t actually quite finished yet...’ *

* No, he hasn’t! Bob’s account of his ‘pocket-sized’ 2024 cruise starts on page 100 of this issue.

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 Barton Cup recognises ‘an exceptional or challenging voyage or series of voyages’, and few voyages could be more challenging than Rob Barton’s 4470-mile, 86-day solo row across the Indian Ocean, as recounted in Flying Fish 2023/2 as well as in his daily blog on his Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/people/Robs-Row/100085457294871/, which also features videos of his voyage.

Despite, or possibly because of, coming from a family of ocean sailors – his grandfather founded our Club, while his father (whose obituary appears on page 344 of this issue) and his aunt both circumnavigated – Rob had made no previous ocean passages. After many years in senior management roles working for an international bank in Jersey and Singapore, he moved to Australia and started his own mortgage planning business. Seeking a little more adventure he joined his local surf club, and while paddling his surfski on the Indian Ocean started to imagine what it would be like to just keep going ... so, at the age of 59 and after careful preparation, he did, despite having no ocean rowing experience (he taught himself from the internet) and having to source a secondhand boat from the UK.

Two years earlier he’d come close to losing one of his four daughters to suicide, so decided to use his row to raise awareness of the mental health struggles faced by many of Australia’s young people. He chose to support Western Australia-based youth mental health charity Zero2Hero, which empowers thousands of young people a year to support and maintain their mental health and prevent suicide in their communities. As well as drawing attention to the issue he raised nearly AU $150,000 for the charity. To add to this impressive amount go to https://www.mycause.com.au/p/292935/robs-row.

To row solo and unassisted across the Indian Ocean from Carnarvon, WA to Tanga, Tanzania is an incredible achievement, far more so than the east-towest rows across the Atlantic, many of which take place every year. The southern Indian Ocean is the harshest of the long passages on the trade-wind circumnavigation route, with long southwesterly swells running at Framed by a rainbow south of Île Raphael, two-thirds of the way across

Just off the coast of Tanzania and the last day of rowing

Rob’s route across the Indian Ocean

right-angles to the southeast trades. Rob reported 10m (33ft) swells at one point – unpleasant even in a large yacht, but quite an ordeal in a 21ft (6∙4m) rowing boat! It is unsurprising that no one had attempted the passage before.

To quote one of his nominators, having departed Carnarvon in April 2023, ‘After several days of severe seasickness, constant waves coming into the cockpit and both cabins, he was at a very low point and turned back, but only for a few hours. His determination to raise funds for Zero2Hero convinced him to head on towards Africa. He suffered capsizes which flung him into the water. There were broaches, saltwater sores and the constant uncomfortable sea conditions. In spite of this he kept a blog and was in daily contact with his shore crew to receive weather conditions and suggested routing. Towards the end of the voyage he had to contend with winds from the wrong direction and strong ocean currents, which forced him to change his intended port of arrival from Dar es Salaam to Tanga, both in Tanzania. Rob rowed the 4470 miles in 86 days, considerably less than the predicted six months. To complete such a voyage required sheer guts and determination and to do this unassisted took it to a whole new level. Hum Barton would have been very proud of his grandson.’

Read – or re-read – Row, Row, Row your Boat ~ Australia to Africa in Flying Fish 2023/2 for Rob’s own account of his voyage and far more photos than can be included here.

A final note: while the requirements for joining the OCC as a Full Member are very specific as to the vessel’s maximum length, no mention is made regarding propulsion. As readers of The First Fifty Years may recall, two of the founder members were signed up by Rob’s grandfather after crossing the Atlantic in an army-surplus amphibious jeep!

Rob Barton receiving his Barton Cup plaque from Nina Kiff. Photo Tony Kiff

46,000 MILES AND 57 PEOPLE Laura Hampton

(When Laura submitted her article about Preparing for the 2023 Clipper Round the World Yacht Race for last December’s Flying Fish she promised a follow-up when the Race was over. It was definitely worth waiting for!)

The goal to cross every line of longitude on Planet Earth has been deep-seated in my mind since I began sailing, but having grown up in rural Northern Ireland I never imagined it could be my career. Even so, for the past 16 months I have been working as a first mate aboard a yacht in the Clipper Round the World Yacht Race and, alongside my skipper, formed the professional team of two people managing a 70ft ocean racing yacht as she sailed around the world.

In this article I hope to share some of the realities of what we experienced, from phenomenal sailing reaching surfing speeds of 26 knots (our yacht weighed 31 tonnes!) to monotonous wind holes and the challenge of ‘racing’ in 2 knots of wind, as well as how to manage a crew of up to 24 people with two heads, no shower and no cabins. The fascinating part of this race is that everyone on board must work as a team to run everything above and below deck. These boats are not made easy – there are no furling sails, no spinnaker socks, no hydraulic winches and no autopilot. A stark contrast to the beautiful 55ft cruiser with four people aboard on which I made my first Atlantic crossing, thanks to the OCC’s Youth Sponsorship Scheme, in 2021.

In an attempt to cover the most interesting parts, I have structured this article into the following topics: the Clipper Race structure and how I became involved, the crew training phase, running the boat both on deck and below, and finally two very different days at either extreme of sailing.

The Clipper Race structure and how I became involved

The Clipper Round the World Race, founded by Sir Robin Knox-Johnston CBE and William Ward OBE in 1996, is the only ocean race which anyone can take part in if they wish. There are currently 11 Clipper 70s, each one with a professional team of skipper and first mate/AQP (Additionally Qualified Person). The skipper and AQP are chosen through a rigorous application, trialling and selection process which sees several hundred applicants each race cycle. I was incredibly fortunate to be chosen as a first mate, meaning that I started my contract in April 2023 (coincidentally, the exact same day as my university dissertation deadline!).

The role begins with a six-month training programme based in Gosport, Hampshire where we become accustomed to the company’s values and standards and receive training from race partners Spinlock, TimeZero, Medical Support Offshore, Grahame Robb Associates: Leadership and team development

The send-off from Portsmouth at the beginning of the circumnavigation.

Photo courtesy clipper roundtheworld.com

The fleet leaves Puerto Sherry at Cadiz, Spain, the second stop during the circumnavigation. Photo courtesy clipperroundtheworld.com

and Hyde Sails. These sessions cover everything from inserting a cannula to how to work a sewing machine! We undergo psychometric testing and leadership training sessions, in order for our personalities to be profiled and paired with the ‘other half’ with whom we will be running the boat for the year. Within the team we often joked that it’s an arranged marriage, where we are personality and skills matched before taking on a ‘family’ of 60 to 70 people to race around the world with. A bizarre concept!

Crew members, on the other hand, apply, pay a fee and undergo a four-week training programme at Clipper HQ in Gosport. This programme focuses primarily on safety as well as teaching people the basics of the skills they will need to be part of the team. They do not need to have to have any sailing experience prior to the training and 40% of crew members have never sailed before. The Clipper team works to balance all 11 race crews evenly in terms of skills (particularly specialist skills such as medical professional, engineers or previous sailors), with the goal being that all 11 teams are evenly matched. On this race Clipper successfully gave more than 700 people their chance to make their first ocean crossing, an incredible achievement as a company and a testament to the ambition of Sir Robin to make sailing oceans more accessible to the everyday adventurer.

The crew training phase

After our land-based programme and pairings we begin preparing for crew allocation. This is when we (skipper and AQP) meet the team that we will be taking around the world. On average, ten of these people will be round-the-worlders doing the entire circumnavigation while the other 55 are leggers, joining for one or more legs of the race. Although there can be 24 people on the boat at any one time, the most we ever had was 22 including Dan

Spinnakers on the race start from Fremantle, Australia with UNICEF nearest the camera. Photo courtesy clipperroundtheworld.com

and me. In total there are 15 races, with stops in 11 countries across six continents, spanning over 45,000 nautical miles.

After meeting the team we begin offshore training races, during which we sail with each of our crew members for a week. These training weeks involve safety and race training, as well as weekly offshore races across the English Channel, and are intense, with a full programme to fulfil and a sometimes nervous and rather green crew. For me it was a great opportunity to get to know the boat and how she handled under different spinnakers, and to learn from my race skipper how we would be planning routes and using meteorological and TIMEZERO software to decide routing.

My skipper, Dan Bodey, had already completed one circumnavigation on a Clipper 70 so knew the boat well and became a great coach for me to get up to speed on best practice. As part of this phase we competed in the Round the Island Race with a fully corporate crew from JP Morgan. We were delighted to win the JP Morgan Cup and get a small taste of how exciting it is to take a group of people on an adventure racing experience they never imagined they could do ... and succeed. A taste that became the driving force of every sail change, tactical decision and an almost all-consuming obsession with boat speed and performance, for the next 11 months.

Running the boat – on deck

Each boat has a lot that comes down to the prerogative of the skipper in terms of how it is run. Aboard UNICEF Dan and I ran continual six-six watches so that one of us was always awake and in charge of the boat while the other slept. The crew ran a six-six system during the day and a four-four system overnight, meaning their nights would alternate between four and eight hours on deck. I loved this system and we got in a good groove. Even while sleeping we were always on call, and for any manoeuvres both of us were on deck. This meant that we were both up for gybes, spinnaker hoists and drops, or at any other time we deemed it necessary to have a second set of experienced eyes on deck.

Laura and a crew member on the pedestal grinder

At first this was immensely challenging. We were training our crew and there was still a lot to be learnt on the oceans, so we were both awake a lot and often on deck for 14 to 16 hours a day. As the race went on and we developed the skills of our team and particularly of the round-the-worlders, we woke each other up less often. This is the difficult play-off of running an ocean racing yacht with a beginner crew. The beginning was tough and the learning curve very steep, but people quickly learned from mistakes and progress began. In this period I saw sides of myself, and many others, that on land I’m not sure would ever emerge. The combination of racing pressure, responsibility, lack of sleep and almost constant hard physical exercise is incredibly draining and an individual is stripped back to a combination of willpower and endurance to keep going. This was particularly the case on our second leg, from Spain to Uruguay, which took 25 days.

As time went on and our team developed I got better at sleeping on a watch system and while sheets flogged or winches were ground above my head, but it is safe to say that an

Reattaching a spinnaker sheet at sunset northeast of Tasmania

ocean-going sailor never fully switches off, particularly if they’re in a position of responsibility. My skipper or I could often be found waking if the boat felt overpowered or wasn’t moving in the correct groove, or if the spinnaker had flogged one too many times. The great part of being an AQP was that I had the ability to be in a leadership role, making decisions and choosing routeing and sail plan, but always had my very experienced skipper on call should I need a more experienced opinion. This was immensely comforting, yet my skipper gave me the space to learn and grow under his leadership so that I became much more independent as time went on.

Running the boat – down below

With the Race taking nearly a year between its start on 3rd September 2023 and the last finish on 27th July 2024 a lot of special occasions fell during our sea time – my 23rd birthday, celebrated in the doldrums, Christmas at 44°S, New Year’s Day rounding Tasmania and many other birthdays and occasions. At times it felt crazy to be on this 70ft boat for all these moments, but it was special and a unique year of events. Christmas, following the Christmas Eve spinnaker drama (see next page) was particularly memorable, with a full Christmas lunch and Secret Santa and, thankfully, winds below 30 knots so we could celebrate on deck without it feeling too extreme.

Daily life on board ran by the watch system, but cooking ran on a separate system whereby each crew member spent one full day in the galley, cooking all three meals. This was done in pairs, with one person coming from each watch and dropping out of the watch system for that day to prepare the meals. During the day the watches ate their meals separately and at different times, and between the two sittings we had a ‘happy hour’ meeting to discuss race performance, tactics and any other points of admin. This was also a nice time for the crew, all being on deck together each day.

Cooking 60 meals in a tiny galley, normally heeling up to 45°, was no mean feat. Most of the crew dreaded this day but put in phenomenal

Laura leading a happy hour meeting on the approach to Vietnam – in second place and pushing for first

effort to make food to keep us going. Our menu and victualling were all organised by our team victualler, a crew member who had volunteered to manage this aspect throughout the race. We had a seven-day rotating menu and each day had its own ‘day bag’, a 100 litre Lomo Dry Bag containing the ingredients for the three meals. Each day bag was labelled and stored in the bilge. With only a small domestic fridge/freezer, a lot of our protein came from slightly more creative ideas, including more tins of beans than I ever wish to see again! All in all, the team did a fantastic job of planning, organising and producing 60 meals a day for each leg, the longest of which was 28 days from Qingdao, China to Seattle, USA. As you can imagine, I was beyond excited to see a supermarket on arrival!

Two days at the extremes – Christmas Eve

To run through an individual day, I have chosen a rather exciting one – Christmas Eve 2023. We were southwest of Australia, pitch black, spinnaker up, cruising along close to 45°S. The sea state was growing and the helming becoming particularly challenging, with the swell surfing us into what became a very deep angle as soon as we came off the wave and our apparent wind rapidly shifted aft. This required focused and quick helming, with a great understanding of how the Clipper 70 responds. I was on shift and we had one of our strongest helms on the wheel. It finally reached a point where I thought there was enough time for me to nip down to our navigation station and check our progress. As I made my way aft to the station I felt us roll particularly deep on a wave and immediately turned to make it back on deck. By the time I came up the companionway steps it was already too late. I watched the stern of our boat shift a little too close to windward and that was us, gybed.

On a Clipper 70 we always have two foreguys connected, pinning the boom forwards to prevent it swinging over and causing a crash gybe. So at that moment we had a backed mainsail, loaded foreguys and a spinnaker inflated on the opposite

Laura and Dan deploying a weather buoy south of Tasmania

Laura

heading up the rig on Christmas Eve to attempt to untangle the spinnaker

gybe without a new active sheet. The only appropriate description of such a scenario is a ‘right palava’ (or maybe a slightly less politically correct term, depending on your audience!). In that instant both the skipper, who woke immediately, and I were racing back to the helm. When both of us were on deck we tended to split the roles. Skipper Dan took the helm and overall command,

while I managed the foredeck and cockpit to try to get things under control. In this instance we managed to gybe the mainsail over and unwrap the kite on the foredeck, after which all we needed was the new active sheet to be taken up and we would have been off. Unfortunately in the darkness and high winds the cockpit team didn’t get the sheet and soon enough we had a large kite wrap, around both the outer and inner forestays. We were now in for a mammoth effort to get the kite down while surfing along at average speeds of 12 to 14 knots.

After assessment on the foredeck, we realised the kite was so tightly wrapped on itself, from the top down and around the forestays, that it was not going to come free without someone going up the mast. This meant it was time for me to get my harness, helmet and two halyards attached ready to go up and find a solution. As I went up, a quickdraw* holding me on as the pendulum force along with the boat speed and the swell did its best to make my journey rather unpleasant, I ran through the best approaches. Dan and I were able to speak to each other via our SENA headsets (I can’t recommend these enough, particularly for work aloft) and once I got up there I could see the problem. While we had been easing our halyards they had become so tightly wrapped around the forestay that the friction was not allowing any movement.

* Quickdraws were developed for rock climbing and consist of two carabiners connected by a short length of semi-rigid material. Laura added that ‘one carabiner was attached to my harness and one to a halyard to prevent swinging off the rig. We also had a line running from me to the deck through an eye, which a crew member paid out as I ascended to give another stability point’.

Deck scramble to get the spinnaker under control

I began the long and physically demanding task of trying to undo the turns. At the beginning this happened fairly easily, but then it became apparent that I did not have the strength to lift

The spinnaker coming down the hatch

any more sail. I brainstormed with Dan and we decided that if I could get the halyard to the deck we might be able to undo the turns on the foredeck. This involved a complex process, but eventually we got the halyard and the head of the sail down to the team on the foredeck while the belly remained tightly spun around the forestay. Then it became a 14-person team effort of pulling and lassoing any parts of the sail we could free to stop them from inflating again – basically a big game of rustle and tussle on the foredeck. Eventually we got the rest of it down and our sail repair team got to work on some of the pinholes that had developed from the sail cinching itself so tightly on the wire.

Being 90ft above the deck at nearly 45°S, in a boat travelling at 13 knots down a decent-sized swell, was an experience I will never forget. In those moments I functioned purely on adrenaline and worked hard with Dan and the team to problem-solve on our feet. It was a Christmas Eve that will always remain with me, and is certainly one for the books!

Two days at the extremes – Approaching Fremantle

In contrast, several days earlier as we were approaching Fremantle after crossing the Southern Ocean, we were in quite the opposite situation. With a large area of high pressure blocking our approach we sat becalmed for what felt an eternity. An excerpt from my (rather satirical) blog from that day alludes to some of the feeling when our personal best performance was one six-hour session in which we sailed 6 ∙ 575 miles.

‘Pretty stealthy of us to average just one mile an hour ! That’s the equivalent to your Saturday morning 5km Park Run taking nearly 2½ hours to complete. We hope the fleet are intimidated by our stealthy prowess of speed. Would love to say there is a great grand plan and that we are just postponing our arrival in Fremantle so we can spend

The sail repair team hard at work

Struggling to fill our wind seeker in a wind hole

more time together, but unfortunately our speed has been determined by the wind hole sitting above us’.

At this point, we had been at sea for 22 days, with the wind blowing north straight off Antarctica onto us. We had battled sickness, tiredness and extreme cold, only to be becalmed some 500 miles from Fremantle. In most scenarios you would pop the engine on, motor at 6 knots until you found some wind, and continue. When racing, however, while one gets the euphoric highs of surfing and problem-solving, as we did on Christmas Eve, those moments are balanced in equal measure with the lows and difficulties of managing painfully slow sailing. We pushed hard in these moments, looking for small bursts of wind, changing sail plans and using anything we could to make forward momentum. However it is very challenging mentally to continue to push the boat and motivate the team, particularly after 22 days crossing the Southern Ocean.

Spinnakers!

It is hard to compress 11 months of racing around the world into a single article. This journey has been phenomenal, I have learnt so much and been stretched in so many directions. I would not have had the inspiration to even start this adventure, at the age of 22, if I hadn’t previously made an ocean crossing supported by the OCC Youth Sponsorship Programme, for which I am eternally grateful. It has been a journey I could never have predicted and, as I write this in September 2023, I am working out what comes next. I’m about to head to St Tropez to race in Les Voiles, but my longer-term steps are still to be determined. Whatever they turn out to be, I’m sure they will entail adventure and adrenaline in some form!

PS: If you would like to know more about my crossing or are interested in having me to speak at an event, please do not hesitate to e-mail me at laurajane.hampton@gmail.com or phone me on +44 7542 682509.

Reefed

in and heading upwind

BIG LIFE CHANGES AHEAD

Adrienne Palmer

(Adrienne Palmer and Peter Petrik have been part-time liveaboard sailors on Amazing Grace, their 37ft Southerly 115, for the past five years, spending more than 500 nights aboard and sailing over 6000 miles. In 2023 they spent eight months cruising the Pacific Northwest, including all of British Columbia and Southeast Alaska – see www.sailingamazinggrace.com

On their return they decided to sell their beloved yacht, their home ashore and nearly all their belongings and commission a larger yacht. Their plan is to move aboard full-time and travel the world aboard Grace, an AMEL 50, hull No.100, currently in build at Chantiers AMEL in La Rochelle, France.)

We’ve decided. We are going to sell everything, move aboard full-time and sail around the world. It’s time to commit and be all in. Over the next few months we will sell, give away, donate, or trash most of what we own. The thought of having just one world for which to be responsible and in which to be fully present is ... freeing, unburdened, untethered, liberating. But first we have some work to do – deconstructing the lives we have spent decades building.

Four Months Later...

We are embarking on our new adventure. With suitcases loaded into our friend’s truck we are ready to head to the airport. Standing in my (soon to be sold) home, starkly devoid of any personal belongings, I feel my eyes welling up with tears. What am I doing? This is the place I created to call my own. My space. My favourite home in which I have ever lived, where every room was intentional and meaningful. It was decorated with feng shui principles in mind, using personal keepsakes and treasures gathered from past chapters of my life and from world travels that enriched my experience. It was designed to be perfectly comfortable and serene,

The house, the cars ... we let it all go

and luxurious in its own way. “What am I doing?”, I ask myself again. I gave it all away. But the tears made way for the excitement and liberation that was sharing space with the sadness. I have new adventures ahead. New chapters to be written and new versions of me that are waiting to express themselves.

Four months ago, standing on the rocks of Botany Bay on Vancouver Island, I’d said the words: “I think we should sell the Dallas house”. I am quite certain that when I said those words I knew that I wanted to be ALL IN and fully present in our future life. I was not aware of how hard the process would be to divest ourselves of all that we owned. Deconstructing a life is hard. For 33 years I lived in the same city, building a career, a community and an identity. I created a company that lives on. I gathered with other entrepreneurs and business leaders to make the community better. I was recognised for business achievements and served on non-profit boards. Many of those with whom I created that life became lifelong friends. Dallas will always be a special place to me. A place where I learned so much about life, and myself.

Until my late 30s I had never lived anywhere for any meaningful amount of time. I moved 22 times before graduating from high school (long story). I moved to Texas at age 18 for university, continued to move a lot and didn’t establish very deep roots. Once I started finding success in business I began to embrace the relationships and communities that were a part of my new world. I became a sentimental girl, with pieces of furniture representing people and periods of my life. My home décor was gathered from decades of global travel to 50+ countries. I intentionally kept the overall style and tone of spiritual energy consistent in my selections. It felt good. I learned to nest. I learned to appreciate the value of making a house my home. And for the past nine years I made that home on this Dallas street with Peter, my husband and partner in this journey of life.

Now, introduce the idea of moving aboard a sailboat full time, travelling freely around the world and living nomadically, letting go of efforts to straddle two parallel lives:

 A life of firm roots on land ... meetings, speaking at conferences, mentoring groups, events. Colleagues wanting to brainstorm about business ideas or just vent and commiserate about challenges being faced. Over the past few years I’ve become exhausted with giving the answer, “Sorry, I can’t attend”, because we were away more than half the time. I started to wonder if my communities were slipping away – the communities I had worked so hard to build and in which I found my belonging and support.

 A life of fluidity and flexibility. Exploring the world, and myself. Challenging myself in new ways. Sailing as a means of travel and exploration is very different from sailing locally, as many people do. Every day brings new challenges, anchorages, passages that teach you new skills, new marinas to navigate, constant boat maintenance, figuring out how to do more with less. There wasn’t much time for connecting with colleagues, even virtually, and my brain was in a very different state from those of friends back in Dallas, living that other life. Finding connection and understanding was hard.

In the context of these two colliding worlds, releasing the responsibility of a house often left behind thousands of miles away felt like liberation, freedom. But it also drummed up a lot of abandonment fears.

As we started to deconstruct, Peter and I talked a lot about the end goal. It wasn’t that we couldn’t keep anything, but that every individual item we kept needed to earn its place in the suitcase. We were limited on what we could carry due to airline baggage limitations. We have a few friends willing to carry a few extra bags for us on their next European visit, but those are all filled with boat supplies and will be brought over later this summer or fall. Even so, we are moving into a 50ft x 15ft (15m x 4 6m) space where all furniture is built-in and the majority of our storage space will be filled with supplies, boat parts, tools and safety equipment. So it’s not just what fits in the bags, it’s what will fit in our lives.

The first round of deconstruction was easy. Clear out closets of clothes that hadn’t been worn in years. Donate to charity. Clear out kitchen cabinets and linen closets of duplicate items and things that are simply unnecessary. Clear out the garage of ... lots. We filled up a couple of box trucks* of donation items and never missed a thing.

Then progress started to slow down. The evaluation and decision-making process took longer. The things left were full of human-created meaning. Every piece of home décor, every sentimental treasure. Far too nice to donate with no ability to ensure proper appreciation or valuing, but in no way possible to bring along for our future cruising life. I took hundreds of photos of things that represent something or someone, and one day soon I will need to sort through those photos to keep an archive of memories. Digital photos take up far less space than the objects they depict, yet the photos still stir up emotional attachment for those objects that were let go in their physical form.

I invited close friends over to choose things that called to them, things that would bring them joy and perhaps remind them of me from time to time. I hand-selected a few things that reminded me of friends and personally handed them on, explaining why I chose that item specifically for them. Some friends had adult children looking to set up their first home and I had the pleasure of contributing plenty of household goods to get them off to a solid start.

Other things that were worth the time and energy to photograph, list, co-ordinate and sell on Facebook Marketplace found new homes that way. Letting go of my bicycle was hard, but hearing the joy and gratitude of the woman that bought it made it a little easier. She had always wanted a nice bike but could not afford a new one. I was taking the treasures I had been blessed to acquire in life and paying them forward.

The wall hanging I left in the home we sold in the life we left behind

Artwork is personal. A few of my unique pieces will be hanging on friends’ walls until some unknown future date when I ask for them back. If ever.

My car ... that one was tough. I have never enjoyed a car more than this one, which I owned for more than eight years. I was thrilled to have a close friend who chose to buy it so I can watch her have her own fun

* A ‘box truck’ is the American term for a chassis cab truck with a separate, enclosed cargo area usually accessed via a roll-up rear door. They typically measure between 10ft and 26ft (3m and 8m) overall.

Five suitcases, one duffle bag, two carry-ons and one backpack...

and share in the joy from afar. Peter sold his car on the same day, about two hours later. Funny how the universe does that, just to make sure we are fully internalising the scale of the life change we have chosen. Both cars drove away three days before our flight. We were empty nesters.

As the house was becoming emptier and emptier, Peter and I were experiencing decision fatigue. The thought of deciding how many scarves to save, how many shirts or how many tubes of toothpaste – it just had to stop. We had to remind ourselves frequently that, if we trim too deeply, they sell clothes in France, and toothpaste too. And they sell things in all (or at least

Ready for airport check-in, with everything we own

Carry on bags and ready to board! Let’s go!

most) of the other places to which we plan to travel. And if they do not, we know that we have learned to get by with less. It will be okay. The decision fatigue was paralysing at times, and we left some things sitting on the dining room table for weeks, unable to consider the best action plan.

After months of deconstruction, we were ready two days early. We enjoyed a final Dallas weekend of nice dinners, walks through Glencoe and Klyde Warren Park, a few hugs and fare-thee-well wishes with close friends. By then we were down to five suitcases, one duffle bag, two carry-ons and one backpack. After nearly four months of the deconstruction process we felt complete.

On the way to the airport, taking with us everything we owned, I looked at the photo of the wall hanging that I had left in the front room for the new homeowner. My eyes filled with tears of release, knowing we were doing what was right for us:

In the end what matters most is how well did you live, how well did you love, and how well did you learn to let go

As we went through the airport check-in and security process, the feeling of freedom and untethered possibility pushed through the fear and uncertainty of letting go. We have our entire lives ahead and adventures await. I did all that I set out to do in Dallas 30+ years ago, and we can go visit anytime. It’s been an amazing ride and I am grateful. I will forever treasure all of the amazing friendships that I will carry with me through the rest of my life. Now the next chapter, and the next version of me, is ready to unfold. I am curious what that next version of me will bring forth.

Patiently (or not) awaiting the completion of our new home while we live in an Airbnb nearby

Postscript

After seven nomadic months ... moving aboard Since leaving the USA in February we have been living in Airbnbs and doing our best to retain our sanity while awaiting the completion of our new floating home – numerous visits to the factory allowed us to watch and document the progress. It’s been a long journey, a lot of planning, waiting, co-ordinating and anticipating. Overlooking the marina, sipping our morning coffee, looking at our future home, on the last morning of our last Airbnb stay in Hyères, France, Grace is ready to receive us. Moving aboard starts this morning!

Sunrise from our balcony, overlooking the Hyères marina, the day we move aboard SY Grace

Grace at anchor for the first time,

Baie du Langoustier, Porquerolles

And ten days later…

The last ten days have been full of activity. We moved aboard and unpacked all of our belongings, many of which we hadn’t seen since leaving the USA in February. We spent five full days with the knowledgeable AMEL team undergoing a deep, detailed handover process that included training on every system and function on the boat, practical experience with rigging and sail set-ups, preventative maintenance schedules and boat handling practice. We spent the next three days overseeing expansion of the solar panel installation. Finally, we got a Saturday alone. We were eager to get Grace out of the marina for a day sail and our first night at anchor – the first of many, we hope.

Now we are free to explore the world. We have a general plan in mind, to sail in the Med for a couple of years, then head north to the British Isles and Baltic Sea and after that cross the Atlantic. We know that plans are written in sand at low tide, however. The destinations might change dramatically based on weather, or a whim to stay a bit longer if we find a place we love! Neither of us has a bucket list item to be checked off that demands a circumnavigation though, knowing our passion for travel and cultures, we will probably connect the dots to make a circle around the world. We expect to be at this for at least a decade, maybe more.

We look forward to the journeys we will take, the connections we will make, and the amazing memories we will create and cherish in the years to come. We also hope to have the opportunity to meet up with some of you along our adventures in the coming years.

Buying a boat is the best investment in the world. You are always gambling with your money, whatever you do. Stock markets go up and down, real estate markets crash, cars lose value fast. The only money that is yours is the money you have already spent. I invested in something I love, so I was thinking it was a safe investment. Buying a boat was really the only smart thing I could have done with my money.

My Way Around the World, Saša Fegić (reviewed on page 107 of this issue)

CRUISING LABRADOR, 2023

Martin Fuller

(Stephanie Connor – who had previously sailed in the Arctic with the Rev Bob Shepton – joined Martin on the River Exe in Devon on a fine spring day in 2017 when his Sadler Starlight 39 Sandpiper was newly launched. That was just to help move her to her first mooring at Port Solent in Portsmouth, but they have been sailing together short-handed ever since. After leaving the UK in 2019 to cross the Atlantic via the Cape Verde islands they gradually worked their way north – see Left Or Right At Bardsey Island? and One Step Ahead Of Covid in Flying Fish 2019/2 and 2021/1 respectively –leaving Sandpiper in Lewisporte, Newfoundland for the winter of 2021/2.

On returning to Sandpiper in May 2022 they circumnavigated ‘The Rock’ before over-wintering her in Lewisporte again, having sailed more than 21,000 miles around the North Atlantic in the previous four years. Throughout all their cruising Martin has documented their anchorages in detail, making the information available to all via the OCC’s Cruising Information website.

This is the first part of the cruise for which the 2023 Vasey Vase was awarded – see page 20.)

We returned to Lewisporte on Newfoundland’s north coast in May 2023 to prepare Sandpiper for her next cruise. Our plan was to cruise to Cape Chidley at the northern tip of Labrador, before crossing to Greenland and then Iceland as part of our circumnavigation of the North Atlantic. I only learnt to sail in 2016 and, in my mind, after 25,000 miles and six years this cruise would complete my sailing apprenticeship. I have been blessed to have had Stephanie alongside me throughout my sailing as she has many more miles underway than I have and her company and constant companionship in the close confines of Sandpiper for extended periods has made all our sailing a real pleasure. Sandpiper had survived the Newfoundland winter with only the normal minor over-wintering problems, except for a bewildering issue getting the binnacle plotter to talk to the main plotter at the chart table. Given

Lewisporte Newfoundland

Stephanie at the helm

that absolutely nothing had changed with the plotters or wiring since leaving her, neither I nor several fellow sailors in the yard could work out the problem. Eventually we collectively decided it must be the connecting cable and succumbed to buying a new one, which then took ten days to arrive from Halifax, Nova Scotia. At least we could then ‘splash’ on 30th May and begin our voyage.

The ice was particularly severe in 2023, with icebergs cluttering up Notre Dame Bay and La Scie, and the Great Northern Arm was still iced in. This gave us a good opportunity to explore the many islands and isolated anchorages as we moved slowly north allowing the ice to clear ahead of us, with the aim of crossing Belle Isle Strait to Labrador in mid June. With light winds and calm seas we were soon threading our way through the beautiful islands in Exploits and Notre Dame Bays, with a first stop at Knights Island. Eating fresh fish and seafood on board is always a treat, so our first stop at Knights Island gave us an opportunity to collect mussels along the rocky shore and enjoy a cook-out over an open fire with friends from Packet Inn. This meeting with another yacht was to be the first of only three such encounters before reaching Greenland.

Continuing north, we enjoyed calling in at several of the ‘re-located’ settlements from which the inhabitants had been forcibly relocated in the 1960s, ’70s and ’80s as part of a government plan to centralise its scattered coastal population. While empty over the winter, the majority

Mussel cook-out at Knights Island

Exploits Island and Harbour

Growlers in La Scie harbour

of the settlements are occupied in the summer by the original residents, who maintain their old houses as summer cabins having been allowed to rent them back from the government for $1 a year. Looking back, visits to Exploits Island, Little Bay Island, La Scie harbour (even with its growlers!) and Triton in particular stick in our minds for the friendliness of the reception we had come to expect from Newfoundlanders, whether an invitation to supper or offer of a lift for provisions. The locals were unfailingly welcoming and we never left a settlement’s anchorage without a gift of freshly-caught cod or lobster.

Maiden’s Arm

Elsewhere we enjoyed the beauty of isolated anchorages where we were alone with nature and the wildlife with not another yacht in sight. We revisited several old haunts, including Souflett’s Arm in Great Harbour Deep and Maiden’s Arm south of St Anthony, reminding us just why we had fallen in love with the cruising grounds of Newfoundland – secure anchorages, stunning scenery and solitude.

Probably because of the late break-up of the ice, after leaving Exploits Bay we saw no other yachts until we reached Battle Harbour, Labrador on 27th June, where we were the first yacht of the season to arrive. This wonderful heritage site had only been open for a week but was already in full swing, with early-season tourists arriving from Mary Harbour for two or three-day trips. We enjoyed two shore days there, giving us a chance to meet two other crews who arrived the day after us in aluminium boats. They were waiting for a weather window to cross to Greenland before attempting the Northwest Passage, which both subsequently completed without incident. One of the crews, a young American family, had a six-year-old son, Dean. He had only ever known boat

Battle Harbour, Labrador

life and kept everyone amused with his energy and ceaseless questions. What a tremendous start to life.

Stephanie and I have quite different preferences when it comes to weather as I, in general, don’t like the cold whereas Stephanie does. This crosses over to cabin temperature as

Square Harbour, Labrador

well as the number of togs the duvet should have! I tend to be wearing several layers of thermals while Stephanie is still lightly dressed, but we have made it work from the Caribbean to the Arctic with flexibility – a well-used term! The weather was mostly kind, with a mixture of sunshine and cloud and temperatures ranging from 8°C to 25°C. Unusually, this year Canada

Labrador – Runs, Rattles, Tickles ... and ice

was suffering a heatwave causing wildfires across the country and Labrador was no exception. It was strange to be sailing north in a T-shirt while passing icebergs ... well, Stephanie was in a T-shirt sometimes, but I still preferred my thermals and foulies! The wildfires caused us a few problems, notably when we were 50 miles south of Nain. We thought we were heading for another dense fog bank but as we closed with it we were overcome by an overwhelming smell of smoke, blown across from Quebec several hundred miles away. This phenomenon was repeated several times when Labrador wildfires added to the smoke as we moved north. We treated it as fog and sailed accordingly.

We prefer to sail, but the winds were unusually light for this time of year and consequently we had several days when we had to burn diesel to continue our progress north. The Labrador coast is stunning and we were able to take the inner passage for most of the route along the coast, often in sunshine, with icebergs and birds for company but sadly few whales. We were very lucky to see several black bears and a few polar bears surprisingly close-up, especially when we almost ran over a polar bear when leaving the fjord at Makkovik. At first we thought it was a loose white buoy until it started moving away from us. As we slowed right down we heard it panting heavily in its desperate attempt to paddle away from us. We stayed well clear and wondered how the bear was going to survive so far south with no ice to hunt prey, but were later reassured that it was quite usual for the bears to island-hop several hundred miles in search of food.

Once north of Battle Harbour we again chose an inshore route, meandering through the islands and visiting isolated anchorages, not solely to collect pilotage information and avoid the icebergs offshore but also for the sheer pleasure of cruising through the stunning scenery of Occasional Harbour, Square Islands, Eagle Cove and Curlew Harbour, not to mention the many tickles, rattles and runs* we passed through and wildlife we saw along the way.

We enjoyed short day cruises, never feeling the need to make an overnight passage to eat up some sea miles, and relished being alone, miles from civilisation and any other boats! All the time as we moved north we were very aware of the lingering ice pack off the northern Labrador coast and as we approached Cartwright we saw it as a logical location to pause, restock and

* Tickles, rattles and runs are the local name for the channels that run through the island chains. They are frequently several miles long but can also pass through very small, narrow gaps. The longer and usually wider channels are runs with tickles being at the other extreme – narrow and often shallow, short channels which can ‘tickle’ the boat if you get it wrong! Rattles are somewhere in between.

One of the many black bears that we saw along the Labrador coast

move on when conditions allowed. As we turned the corner at Black Tickle and headed west to Cartwright it became obvious that the ice was still stubbornly hanging on to the point formed by Cape Harrison and denying access to the north.

Fortunately Cartwright proved an interesting and useful replenishment stop-over, with an excellent supermarket, reasonably-priced fuel and filtered water available from the Town Hall. We were able to enjoy the company of several of the very friendly and helpful locals who generously plied us with gifts, including home-baked muffins, smoked char, frozen snow partridge and frozen shrimp straight off the boat, as well as helping out with showers, laundry and transport to refill fuel and water jugs. However, our schedule to get to Greenland meant that we couldn’t stay too long and therefore when, after four days relaxing in Cartwright, the ice broke free of Cape Harrison and the rest of the Labrador coast quickly opened up to sea traffic, on 7th July we were on our way north.

North of Cartwright the Labrador coast is remote. VHF communications are poor to non-existent and we relied on satellite communications for weather and emergency communications if needed. We saw no other vessels as we cruised north, spending three to four days between settlements. The few coastal towns that exist have no road connection to the outside world and rely on the

A not untypical plotter offset on the Labrador coast!

Pack-ice breaking free from Cape Harrison, Labrador

supply ship when the ice allows and aircraft for emergency evacuation at other times. We had identified several ‘must visit’ locations during our planning, including the Moravian Mission sites at Makkovik, Hopedale, Nain and Hebron plus Saglek Fjord, which is the base camp for Torngat Mountains National Park. We knew that the Moravian Missionaries had had a marked impact on this area from the 1700s to the early 1900s through their efforts to educate the indigenous population, and we wanted to learn more about their activities and influence. All the historic outposts still had evidence of their presence, usually in the form of settlement ruins and museums. In their northernmost settlement at Hebron, efforts are ongoing to restore the original mission building which is attracting regular tourists including the visit of a cruise ship in 2023. The small staff of three welcomed us with open arms and the bear-guard gave us a three-gunshot salute as we left the anchorage.

Our passage often took us through poorly-charted waters, and where possible we tended to follow the course taken by the coastal supply vessel where a line of soundings provides some reassurance of depth. Even so, we still managed to find a few unmarked shallows and saw many unmarked rocks awash at low water. The surrounding waters were often devoid of any soundings and perhaps given a shallower draft and more time we might have been tempted to explore these uncharted waters – but not this time.

Great cruising grounds but few soundings!

The Moravian Mission at Hebron

Where I tried to get a drone shot through the arch...

In Makkovik the resident Mountie took us under his wing, providing us with a tour of his very small but extremely friendly settlement. It was here that we saw the polar bear mentioned earlier. It was not long after this that I had an unfortunate drone misadventure. We came across a beautiful iceberg with a majestic arch that was just begging to feature in a photograph with Sandpiper framed within it, and I wanted to capture this with my drone. We positioned the boat upwind of the berg and I launched my drone. Unfortunately I had forgotten that the drone locates itself by GPS to a position on the earth and not to the boat, and although we were hardly moving it became clear just after take-off that we were moving too much for the drone, which flew out of control past Stephanie’s head, hit the backstay and tumbled into the sea. I never did get my pretty picture!

A lovely day among the icebergs!

Our next stop was Hopedale, a town in decline, and we only visited long enough to top up supplies before moving on. By now the scenery was becoming increasingly mountainous and, although we kept encountering fog banks as we wound our way through the runs, rattles and tickles, we had periods of dry and relatively warm sunshine on most days when we could enjoy the peace and solitude of cruising these remote waters. Although we had not seen any ships or yachts for several weeks, one day south of Nain we had a strange encounter when we saw what turned out to be a jet-ski heading for us at high speed. It had come from Nain with two passengers who were returning to their home village further south – travelling at about 40mph across the flat waters! In their enthusiasm they cheerfully tossed beer cans to us (with one bouncing rather too close to the plotter). In exchange we gave them a Welsh pennant before waving farewell as they shot away south. Thirty-six hours later, while walking to the supermarket in Nain, we met them again, this time in a large 4x4 with the Welsh pennant flying proudly from its aerial!

On our second day in Nain we planned to visit their new and beautiful Illusiak museum but sadly, just minutes before we went to attend a presentation at the shoreside museum, it suffered a catastrophic fire suppression system

Nain,

capital of North Labrador

Our jet-ski visitors near Nain

failure which sent clouds of acrid smoke throughout the building and into the surrounding sky. We suspected that the centre, with its excellent display of indigenous history and art, might be closed for some time.

North of Nain our days were filled with easy day sails, often sheltered by offshore islands, visiting stunning anchorages such as Challenger Cove, Perry Gulch, Amity (Moss) Harbour and Takkatat Bay. Each has its own character and most are surrounded by steep, rocky hills with vertical cliffs rising up from sea level, displaying fascinating geological rock formations. Not unexpectedly, we encountered days of dense fog which forced us to move very cautiously due to the real risk of meeting icebergs or, worse, growlers and bergy bits that did not show up on the radar. For the same reason we sailed only in daylight. Fog became a particularly serious issue when we reached the Torngat Mountains, not just for its impact on safe sailing but because it totally obscured the spectacular mountains we had come to see!

The DEW Line Radar Station on the approach to Saglek Base Camp in Saglek Fjord

Remnants of previous local and international activity in the area kept popping up, such as the now-abandoned US DEW Line* radar stations high on headlands. With a steady southwesterly breeze and good visibility we cruised under the high cliffs and old radar station into Saglek

* The Distant Early Warning Line, also known as the DEW Line or Early Warning Line, was a system of radar stations in the far northern Arctic region of Canada, Alaska, the Faroe Islands, Greenland, and Iceland. It was set up to detect incoming Soviet bombers during the Cold War and provide early warning for a land based invasion. Thank you Wikipedia!

Anchored off Saglek Base Camp

Fjord. Since the CCA’s Cruising Guide to Newfoundland was published (see also page 278) the Saglek base camp has been managed by the indigenous people who are doing an excellent job expanding its infrastructure and attracting visitors. We enjoyed their generous hospitality and friendship for three days while at anchor. In return we gave a presentation about our Atlantic crossing which was well received by a mixed audience of camp staff, paying guests and visiting indigenous youth groups. The camp, which is only open during the summer, provides not only a high standard of accommodation in tents and cabins within a secure bear fence, but also excellent meals and access to fuel at similar prices to elsewhere in Labrador. We anchored close to the shore in good holding to avoid the ‘foul’ bottom further out and to the sides of the fjord, where a significant amount of material (including vehicles) was dumped by the USA DEW Line

Labrador...

...and on arrival in Nuuk, Greenland. Photo Adam Kjeldsen, Two Ravens www.woravens.gl

personnel when evacuating the base in the 1980s. They apparently dumped their garbage onto the sea-ice, allowing it to float offshore and sink to the seabed come the thaw!

Sadly, the forecast was for two weeks of fog banks along the north coast and we could not afford to delay that long. So on 24th July we left Saglek in fog, hoping we would find some clear air as we went north. On the first day we crept slowly through the islands, with visibility seldom more than a few hundred metres and often less. Our radar was a great help for navigation and occasionally picked up a large iceberg, but it failed to pick up several large growlers that loomed out of the fog causing a quick alteration of course. Despite this we did have tantalising breaks in the fog and glimpses of stunning mountain scenery, such as in Ramah Bay, the site of an early mission settlement.

Unfortunately, the fog never did lift and our approach to Seaplane Cove was particularly tense as we not only came quite close to several large growlers but also to several unmarked rocks, that thankfully we spotted because of the breaking water around them. It was therefore with some relief that we entered the safety of the cove, named due to its use as a Second World War seaplane base, and dropped the hook in thick fog. The following morning gave us some respite from the fog, albeit we still had fog banks and a very low cloud base to contend with. We were able to sail more freely in a freshening breeze towards Eclipse Channel, 40 miles from the northern tip of Labrador. As we entered the fjord we picked up our first AIS vessel sighting in several weeks, the MV Polar Prince, leaving the fjord with a party of thirty indigenous children on board who were enjoying an educational cruise along the coast.

We enjoyed the company of a mother polar bear and her cub at our anchorage, but the updated weather forecast was not promising. The persistent fog was due to hug the coast for several days to come and did not encourage us to linger, so it was with some sadness that we looked for a weather window to cross to Greenland and continue our adventure there. On 27th July we left Labrador in low cloud, occasional heavy fog and a fresh northwesterly wind, with a desire to return to explore further and see even more of this magical cruising ground. Our onward journey took us across to Nuuk and then north into the Arctic Circle, before heading south to cross to Iceland in mid-September, where we over-wintered Sandpiper ready for the final leg back to the UK in 2024 – but that’s another story.

Hallberg Rassy 352 Jeanneau SO 54 Wauquiez PS 40

Winner Jean-Luc Van Den Heede, Rustler 36

FROM GEOPARK TO GEOPARK* ~ A Voyage from Newfoundland to the Azores

David Calder

(David, who is a student at Bristol University, was a successful applicant for OCC Youth Sponsorship to enable him to make his first ocean passage. He already had impressive sailing experience, having raced singlehanded dinghies at international level, attended the RYA British Keelboat Academy and crewed on coastal races and charter boat holidays in Greece and the UK.

Further training with the RORC Griffin Youth Programme culminated in the Cowes – Dinard – St Malo race, followed by the 2023 Fastnet Race aboard a RNSA yacht and a series of Junior Offshore Group races. Earlier this year he skippered cruising weekends for the Bristol University Sailing Club and the University Royal Navy Unit, and helmed their entry in the British Universities Yachting Championships. Among David’s ambitions is to complete a circumnavigation under sail.

Learn more about the OCC’s Youth Sponsorship Programme at https://www.oceancruisingclub. org/Youth-Sponsorship.)

This summer, through the support of the OCC, I was incredibly lucky to have the chance to crew aboard Swaraj, a 45ft wooden sloop and occasional cutter, alongside owners Angus and Bridget Handasyde Dick, Jennifer Russell (a friend from university who drew my attention to this opportunity) and Bill Barlow. We sailed a total of 1600 miles and completed the 1360 mile crossing from St Pierre, Newfoundland to Horta, Faial, in a surprisingly quick nine days.

After an enlightening road trip around Newfoundland taking in all the geological wonders (especially interesting for me as I am studying geology) and military history, we joined Swaraj in the aptly-named town of Fortune on 28th June, a classically British drizzly day. We had been going to join at Arnold’s Cove for a longer sail in order to get accustomed to the boat, but the weather forecast dictated otherwise. Fortune was our last stop in mainland Canada as we sailed on the morning of 29th to France, albeit only a 40-mile passage to the outlying island of St Pierre! A drastic downsizing of cars was noticeable on this small island, but it had certainly inherited Newfoundland’s weather and was equally wet and foggy.

We spent the following day tending to jobs on board including refuelling, attaching a new lifebuoy light that Jennifer and I had acquired in St John’s, tightening up the rigging and preparing the storm sails for quick hoisting should the need arise. A couple of other boats in the marina were also heading for the Azores, so a joint weather meeting was held to discuss the upcoming weather window. The two likely scenarios that emerged were the options of wind, rain and fog or clear but very light winds. Having concluded that

* A geopark is a protected area containing sites of particular geological importance in which sustainable development is sought. This may include tourism, conservation, education and/or research.

Angus and Jennifer enjoying the sail to St Pierre

Bridget wishing the rain would stop

we were all going to do our own thing, the meeting was adjourned and we went for a brisk walk up the hill to a viewpoint looking over the town.

Monday 1st July heralded our departure and, having restocked at the supermarket and refuelled, we headed out into the fog. We completed man overboard drills in the bay with everyone taking a turn on the helm and, with that completed, sailed out from St Pierre passing a single fishing boat –our last encounter with another boat for days. The fog was dense, limiting visibility to less than 50m and requiring that vigilance was maintained when on watch. We ran the engine for the first three hours in order to use the watermaker, after which it remained silent until the Azores. Pushing into the evening with warm cottage pie in our stomachs, we made good progress eastwards with a consistent south-southwest wind of 10–15 knots. The following morning it built to around 30 knots, necessitating a third reef in the mainsail and the staysail instead of the jib.

There were brief patches on the evening of the 2nd when the sun poked through, but the fog and the lumpy sea largely continued for the rest of our crossing of the Grand Banks. We knew, however, that remaining in the fog was our best chance of keeping up with the back of a low pressure system and making quick progress eastwards. I learnt that the region’s dense fog is due to the cold Labrador current from the north meeting the warm Gulf Stream from the south, and that the Grand Banks are actually the foggiest place in the world! The night of 2nd/3rd July remained foggy with a 20–25 knot south-westerly wind. The sun’s appearances became increasingly common on the 3rd and my sea legs started working, which thankfully stopped the brief visits to the leeward side. The main excitement came when the burgee halyard snapped, tangling the burgee itself round the lazy jacks and leeward runner – the first and only breakage of the voyage. Angus took a quick trip up the mast to cut it free.

Overnight on the 3rd–4th the southwest wind continued steady, with cloud and the occasional torrential downpour punctuating the peace. We also had our first proper glimpse of the stars, a teaser for the following nights. The temperature increased drastically compared with the preceding nights and we no longer needed foulies on deck. The wind gradually reduced throughout Thursday the 4th, whilst remaining from the southwest, and at about 1400 the decision was made to hoist the cruising chute

Angus making the most of the blue skies

for the first time in years! I also started learning celestial navigation with the help of Angus, aiming to become competent by the end of the voyage. Much of the day was spent with my head in the books, taking sun sights and doing the maths with only limited success. I practised over the next few days and also got to grips with plotting positions.

With the cruising chute hoisted we started hand steering again and had a glorious evening with the colourful kite pulling us along nicely while we enjoyed asparagus risotto courtesy of Bridget, whose cooking skills are unmatched. As we headed into the night, the cruising chute was dropped and Trenchard the windvane self-steering put into action. With most of my sailing experience being coastal cruising or fully-crewed racing, it was my first experience with a servo-pendulum self-steering system, very necessary for the 2-on-8-off watch system we were using whereby only one person was on watch at a time.

I remember the 0400–0600 watch on the morning of 5th July vividly, as the whole Milky Way was visible at the start of my watch, with bioluminescence in the water and phenomenal stars. It was a very warm morning and as the sun rose the sky became a stunning watercolour painting, changing from red and orange through the deepening shades of blue as you looked upwards to the still starry night above. Birds flocked around the stern and, to top it off, a dolphin appeared right next to the cockpit. This was one of the defining moments of the trip for me, confirming my enjoyment of ocean sailing. Overnight we had felt as though we were on a magic carpet, with our GPS speed consistently 2–2 ∙ 5 knots more than our log reading as the Gulf Stream propelled us along.

I continued my celestial navigation practice with Angus the next day, getting morning, noon and afternoon sights for a position fix. The conditions favoured this as it was clear and sunny and the 15 knot breeze, coupled with the fact that we were now off the Grand Banks and in the deep ocean, produced consistent rolling waves much more conducive to taking a good

... and taking in the sunrise

David taking a sun sight ...

sight than the previous lumpy, confused sea. Working out and plotting the sights produced a very gratifying result just 3 miles from our GPS position at the time of the final sight. As the wind dropped we hoisted the cruising chute again, dropping it just before nightfall.

The next four days included much celestial navigation practice, gaining consistently accurate positions to within 5 miles when compared to the GPS. This started as a very slow process working through the maths, almanac and sight reduction tables, but sped up increasingly throughout the days and, along with reading and learning the harmonica, kept me busy. We continued to enjoy the wildlife, encountering a sperm whale, and had a sighting of a tanker (the only ship we saw on the crossing). At times there were some quite large following seas and we enjoyed surfing down the waves. We had a brief stint on port tack when the wind veered but quickly returned to starboard as the wind changed its mind again, after which a largely consistent west-southwesterly varying from force 3 to force 6 carried us on starboard all the way to Horta, which we reached on the evening of Tuesday 9th July.

Swaraj berthed alongside Nostromo in Horta

We had a quick sail around Nostromo, a 100ft superyacht skippered by Angus and Bridget’s son Ed, before dropping the hook in the harbour. The following morning Nostromo moved alongside and we moored outside her in a prime position. We spent the next day doing boat maintenance, before hiring a car on the 11th and exploring the island, as well as painting Swaraj’s logo on the dock and visiting the famous Peter Café Sport for dinner.

Having said goodbye to Bill, we left early on the 12th to catch the wind down to Santa Maria. We were rewarded en route with some enormous pods of dolphins jumping out of the waves all around the boat for long periods. The 196 mile passage took 36 hours and we arrived on the evening of the 13th.

Swaraj’s logo on the dock in Horta

The basalt landscape created in 1957/8 by the eruption of Faial’s Capelinhos volcano

We spent the next few days exploring, before saying a very sad farewell to Angus and Bridget as they set off to sail back to Horta where they were picking up new crew. Jennifer and I were then fortunate enough to sail up to São Miguel aboard Brown Bear, owned by Hugh Clay, who was preparing to sail to St John’s, the reverse of the passage we had just made. It was a mostly windless passage punctuated by brief spells of wind on the nose, but we were lucky enough to have a fast hour’s sailing into Ponta Delgada, escorted by dolphins right up to the breakwater, which completed our Azores sailing in style. We spent a few days exploring São Miguel before flying home, which gave us a chance to look out of the window and really see the expanse of the Atlantic and how small a little sailing boat looks out on that big pond.

I would like to say an enormous thank you to the OCC for helping me financially so I could take up this opportunity and for the support given to me beforehand. I would also like to say a massive thank you to Angus and Bridget, who taught me so much during this trip, both technically and in regard to looking after oneself on an ocean passage. Bill and Jennifer were also fantastic companions on board. This voyage was one of the most memorable things I have ever done and I look forward to making more long passages in the future. Jennifer taking us into Santa Maria at sunset

STORMS AND GERIATRIC FOLLY

Cruising and Racing around New Zealand’s North Island Tom and Vicky Jackson

(After many years and more than 200,000 ocean miles with their immaculate S&S 40 Sunstone, in 2019 Tom and Vicky downsized to Zest, a Craddock 36 – see Remembering Sunstone, Sailing Zest in Flying Fish 2021/2. Visit https://oceancruisingclub.org/Flying-Fish-Archive to read that and their other 16 articles published in Flying Fish over the past 22 years. All the photos were taken by Vicky, except where credited.)

Having returned to Nelson from a January/February 2022 cruise to Stewart Island, we were flushed with the illusion of our and Zest’s full fitness for offshore sailing in New Zealand waters. We celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary in December 2022 and decided in a fit of geriatric folly that an appropriate celebration would be to compete in the 2023 Two-Handed Round North Island Race (RNI). We had done the RNI in 2008 and the Round New Zealand Two-Handed, the RNZ, in 2012. After the tough RNZ we had vowed to retire from offshore racing, but it only took ten years for the vow to be ftttotten. This time, after 52 years of racing and cruising together, it really would be our offshore racing swan song. We imagined that our combined ages of 146 years would be two or three times that of most of the other crews.

Zest beating up Hauraki Gulf

Preparation, preparation, preparation. Though well equipped, Zest had never been brought up to Category 1 or 2. We were familiar with the requirements from our experience with Sunstone , but with the recent tightening of the regulations there was still plenty of checking to do and some significant extra paperwork. We had no illusions that we would be able to match the sail wardrobes of most other boats and decided in the end to order only one new sail, a Code 0*, which we

* A large, light sail, sometimes described as a cross between a genoa and an asymmetrical spinnaker, with up to 165% overlap.

would also be able to use for cruising. Otherwise we were limited to our normal cruising set of main, genoa, battened blade jib (aka No 4), storm jib and single asymmetric spinnaker. We have a short removable ‘prod’ which serves both the spinnaker and the Code 0.

During the winter we worked our way through the jobs, which included the unrelated matters of installing a new engine, a new autopilot (the Otto in the photo above) and a new chartplotter. We were busy! Unlike most other entries we wanted to be ready well ahead of time so that we could also go cruising for January and most of February before the race itself.

Since our initial cruising was intended to be in Northland, we planned to follow our usual approach of looking for a good weather pattern to go up the west coast, aiming for Whangaroa Harbour as a first stop to recover from the passage. Through the Christmas period and up to New Year it became clear that the weather pattern was set against a west coast passage, so on 3rd January 2023 we headed eastwards into the Marlborough Sounds to wait for a suitable window to hop up the Wairarapa coast to Napier, where we

Urupukapuka, in the Bay of Islands

Otto at work north of the Mercury Islands

arrived on 8th January for our first taste of cyclone weather. The dose of very heavy rain lifted the Club dock nearly off its piles and so soaked the east coast that it was even more vulnerable to the drenching and floods which were to follow with Cyclone Gabrielle.

Another two-day passage round East Cape to Great Mercury Island, followed by quick stops at Red Cliff Bay, Great Barrier Island and Urquhart’s Bay, Whangarei Harbour, saw us on our way to the Bay of Islands, scudding along over big swells reaching 3–4 m generated by yet another deep low to the east. The swells were daunting enough that we chose to go around Piercy Island rather than through the gap between it and Cape Brett, arriving in Oke Bay on 18th January. There followed five whole days of proper summer revisiting our favourite anchorages in the Bay of Islands, including walking around Urupukapuka Island as well as visiting beautiful Whangamumu. With an eye to the next threatening depression we sailed back to Port Fitzroy on Great Barrier Island, sped along by a brisk northeasterly. A five-day drenching at anchor in Kiwiriki Bay turned the bay a muddy brown and brought floods and major landslips to Auckland. A brief spell of clement weather got us to North Cove, Kawau Island, to catch up with Lin Pardey and partner David.

Filling the water tank with rain in Kiwiriki Bay

There followed another few days of summer at anchorages on the east side of Waiheke Island until the arrival of Cyclone Gabrielle on 11th February. Fortunately we were loaned a mooring in Matiatia Bay on the west side of the island as, despite being rather close to other vessels and one of the fairway buoys, this gave excellent protection in the 40+ knot easterlies of the first days. We had prepared carefully, deflating the dinghy, clearing the decks as much as possible and securing the mooring pennant to the mast rather than to the windlass or cleats. We also lashed the mooring pennant into the bow roller to limit its movement and chafe. The initial prediction for the inevitable shift of the wind to the southwest was for a significant easing, but

Lin Pardey and her partner David Haigh

by noon of the 14th this was clearly too optimistic. We were leaping around on the mooring in short heavy wave action and coming far too close to a nearby boat.

Having tested the engine to ensure that we could make way against the 35–40 knots blowing into the narrow bay, we slipped the mooring and motored out, tacking our way across the seas. Fortunately we had been able to contact our friend Tim by phone. From his deck overlooking Oneroa Bay he was able Cyclone Gabrielle over North Island

Preparations for Cyclone Gabrielle

The calm before the storm ... Zest in Hooks Bay, Waiheke

to assure us that there was no swell coming into the Bay, which was protected from the worst of the southwesterlies. We motored slowly round the point and then bore away, scudding under bare poles to anchor in the relative peace of Oneroa with three other yachts until Gabrielle blew itself out. It was the strongest and wettest cyclone to hit New Zealand for three decades.

On 16th February we headed to Westhaven Marina in Auckland Harbour for our final preparations for the Round North Island Race. As we had been cruising these included removing our dinghy and other purely cruising items, which we gratefully deposited in the store of our friend Charles Bradfield. We made a final check of our compliance for Cat 2 and the other Notice of Race requirements. A few tweaks were made to our Code 0 and spinnaker by North Sails and we were ready for inspection and the addition of a Yellow Brick tracker to our pushpit.

We consider the event organisers, the Short-Handed Sailing Association of New Zealand (SSANZ), to be one of the world’s outstanding yachting organisations. This wonderful club is staffed entirely by volunteers who run some of the most popular and prestigious racing events in New Zealand. SSANZ were running two-handed offshore events decades before the RORC, CCA and CYCA introduced them to the Fastnet, Bermuda and Sydney-Hobart races. Race management of their events is professional in standard in every respect.

Changing harbour during Cyclone Gabrielle

The start of the 2023 Two-Handed Round North Island Race at Auckland

Race day, 25th February, brought conditions to our, but not everyone’s, taste – a fresh northerly with the likelihood of light and flukey conditions by midnight. Even before the start there was drama among the 36 entrants. Two large and irresponsibly-handled powerboats dawdled on the start line even when asked repeatedly to move, and in avoiding one of them Playbuoy collided with Start Me Up with a resounding ‘Bang!’. The former damaged her mast so badly that she immediately retired from the race, having had no chance even to start.

We had an excellent start. As the lowest rating boat in the fleet we were inevitably shadowed by larger, faster boats, but we found a gap in which we could set ourselves up for the long beat north. With the availability of the tracker on our phones we kept a close check on our progress relative to the competition. It was soon clear that the Townson 34 Shimmer was our closest rival and we traded the corrected time divisional lead with her all the way to the finish of Leg 1 in Mangonui.

By midnight most of the fleet except a handful of the larger, leading yachts were in the grip of the Bream Bay black hole. The next twelve hours were a frustrating period of wringing small advances from very light and fickle, mostly southerly breezes. By early afternoon we were off Cape Brett with the spinnaker drawing in a slowly strengthening easterly – and the tracker gave our unlikely position as 1st in Division 4 and 2nd Overall, but Shimmer was drawing away, able to run deeper with a symmetrical spinnaker. By late afternoon heavy

Tom preparing the spinnaker, Leg 1

Vicky steering during Leg 1.

Photo Tom Jackson

cloud brought rain showers and a beautiful rainbow, but it wasn’t until nearly 2300 that we rounded Berghan Head, where the wind fortunately allowed a fetch for the short distance to the finish off Mangonui without a tack, completing the 154 miles of Leg 1.

It’s good to have sailing friends around the country, in this case Rod who lent us his mooring and saved us the need to anchor in Mangonui. The tracker gave us the Leg 1 result, 2nd in Div 4 and 3rd Overall – a pleasant surprise given the number of boats which had passed us on the final hours of the spinnaker run.

After a good sleep to make up for the Leg 1 deprivations and a hospitable day in Mangonui, the 476 mile Leg 2 started on the morning of 28th February in light but freshening southwesterlies which gave an increasingly fast reach toward North Cape. Once again we were side by side

Cape Reinga, Leg 2

with Shimmer, but the Farr 1020 Distraction, also in our division, reached away from us both. On Leg 1 she had been tricked, along with many others, into sailing too far off the rhumb line by a PredictWind forecast of incoming northeasterlies which never came. Leg 2 would be different. It was also a lesson in being careful what you wish for, as we had hoped for a race witvh little spinnaker work and wind mostly forward of the beam. We got our wish in spades!

Tom steering down North Island’s west coast, Leg 2

Right and below: Beating down

Cook Strait on Leg 2

The whole fleet made it round the surf of Columbia Bank and Cape Reinga before sunset and set off on a beat down the west coast towards Cape Egmont, 300 miles south. The wind lightened steadily overnight and by dawn we were struggling to keep going. We knew that only tactical guile would keep us in touch with our lightweight competition so headed right inshore in the hope of picking up some early day breeze. Sometimes these bets pay and this one did. By dusk we were still 2nd in Division.

The light beat continued through 2nd and 3rd March. Though we played the shifts we also tried to stay west of our competition, determined not to be lured into the Taranaki Bight where we might be trapped by a predicted southwesterly. This proved a good move as 4th March saw

Tom napping on the cabin sole during Leg 2

us lifted onto a close fetch to lay Cape Egmont, while Shimmer and others in the Division were hard on the wind in the Bight.

However, with a 25–30 knot southeasterly predicted in the approaches to Cook Strait it was clear that the rich would get richer and Distraction reached well ahead. During the night of 4th/5th March we took our medicine, beating with two slabs and the No 4 jib and slamming off big short seas. We took turns steering and dozed alternately in a corner of the cockpit, wakened by occasional dollops of spray. By morning we assumed that we were well behind – until, as we beat toward the finish beyond Cape Jackson in Queen Charlotte Sound, we sighted everyone in our Division except for Distraction behind us. We crossed the line at 1635, exhausted but delighted to come 2nd in Division for Leg 2 and tied for 1st with Shimmer for combined Legs 1 + 2.

Tom and Vicky just after finishing Leg 2

Our delight was short-lived. While still in Auckland a decision had been made that it would not be possible to stop in Napier after the devastation there from Cyclone Gabrielle, so there would be no stop on the way back to Auckland. It also became clear that debris in east coast waters made it unsafe to sail back that way. The RNI had become a west coast both ways race. Originally it had been hoped that the effect of the changes in losing a stop going north could be eased for the slower boats by giving a longer stop than usual at the end of Leg 2 in Waikawa Marina, near Picton. Unfortunately the weather forecast precluded this and meant that the slow pokes, including us, would have only one full day of rest.

The long, slow leg south culminating in a demanding heavy beat had taken its toll on our aged frames. We were exhausted and were now faced with a 600 mile upwind leg. We decided that without more rest it was neither sensible nor safe to continue. We hate retiring from anything we set out to do but occasionally good sense prevails and on 7th March we waved good-bye to the fleet as they set off.

The next day we headed away to cruise the 90 miles to our home in Nelson. The gentle sail back gave us time to contemplate the 1932 miles of our cruising and racing summer. Both had had their challenges. An unusually volatile weather pattern had threatened to upset our cruising plans. Similarly Cyclone Gabrielle’s damage to the North Island’s east coast had completely changed the nature of the Race for which we had signed up. Despite the disappointment of retiring, we were satisfied that we could still handle the deprivations of short-handed racing with its snatched short naps, dozing on the saloon floor, and cold meals over several days. Though we hadn’t finished, at least we had quit while we were ahead. Our stormy summer was done.

Sailing is a good sport. You don’t have to beat up the other guy like you do in boxing and football; you just try to outsmart him, and then you go out and have a beer with him.

John Kolius

Tom and Vicky back at their home berth in Nelson. Photo Sandy F

© Fintan Walton

FROM THE ARCHIVES

Rounding Cape Horn singlehanded in 1965

Bill Nance

In Flying Fish 1965 (there was only one Fish that year), editor David Wallis wrote: “We have received an account of a voyage round the Horn from our newest Australian member, singlehander Bill Nance, who bought Cardinal Vertue from David Lewis. As is now well known, he took Cardinal Vertue singlehanded to Australia, arriving in Perth with only part of his mainmast left.

Nance’s story is interesting. Obsessed with the idea of a circumnavigation, he found himself in Southern Rhodesia opal mining in order to acquire capital. Eventually finding himself in Britain, he teamed up with Bob Roberts, skipper of Cambria, the last surviving trading Thames Barge, as mate, to gain experience under sail. After some six months of this life he bought Cardinal Vertue from David Lewis, and after a lengthy refit at Reg Prior’s yard in Burnham-on-Crouch, Essex, took off for Australia.

The following account of his passage through the Roaring Forties round the Horn was received by Laurent Giles* on 12th February 1965.”

Arrived in Buenos Aires on 22nd January, 53 days out from Auckland, after a fairly uneventful trip. Lady Luck smiled for a change.

My departure from Auckland was delayed when at the beginning of November I planed the tips off my fingers on a machine. Of six fingers I cut both index fingers and had to have skin grafts. I sailed on December 1st and had a good fresh breeze in the SW which gave me a fine start. While working to the SE an intense anti-cyclone to the east of New Zealand gave a prolonged period of fine weather. By the 18th I was in latitude 47°S and 2000 miles were astern. Thereafter the wind set in from the westerly quarter and was usually quite strong. Sailing mostly with the working staysail and mainsail (more often than not well reefed down) I had some really great sailing covering the next 2000 miles in 13 days. It was a little wild in the rough sea as day after day Cardinal Vertue surfed along with the windvane doing the steering. I remember occasions, as she surfed on a crest, when it was not possible to see over the top of the bow wave. On deck it was always wet with water frequently filling the cockpit and of course the rain squalls which seem to be never ending in the south kept sending water down from above. Actually I had expected colder weather than I met with.

Cardinal Vertue courtesy VertueYachts.com

Stowage had been arranged so that there was practically nothing stowed in the ends. It meant it was a little cramped in the cabin, but I think it was well worth it. I am a great believer in following racing practice as far as stowage below and windage on deck go.

December 30th saw a severe gale which was to be the worst blow I met. As I was then almost 51°S it was very fortunate that it was of short duration. The sea was bigger than I had seen

* Laurent Giles Naval Architects Ltd was established in 1927 and in 1935 designed the 25ft Vertue class of which some 200 were built, initially in timber and later in GRP.

before and was quite frightening. During the heaviest of the squalls it was almost impossible to see for rain and spray. Running under bare poles I had to dismantle the wind vane which was breaking up under the buffeting of the wind. I streamed 30 fathoms of warp, with a rubber tyre attached, astern. A crest which tumbled over the stern caused the tiller to break off at the rudder head so I then lay a-hull. I had Tzu Hang very much in mind as I was in the same general area as she when she did her flip*. I have no great faith in lying a-hull and probably I only survived because the weather soon began to ease. Next day I was able to repair the vane and fit the spare tiller. Another gale followed on New Year’s Eve but was not nearly so bad.

My confidence suffered as I progressed to the south and daily runs became shorter as a result. The barometer dropped to 28∙73in (973mb) as I approached the land but nothing came of it. Cloud cover as usual was heavy but I was almost always able to get sights.

On January 7th I made landfall on Diego Ramirez Islands and later the same day ran close by the Horn just 38½ days from Auckland, a distance of almost 5000 miles. A fresh wind and rain squalls at the Horn, which was good weather for that part of the world. I was relieved to have the crossing over and though there were still 1600 miles ahead felt I was almost there.

Calm weather made it a battle to make the tide in Le Maire Strait. I kept well offshore in the Atlantic hoping to benefit from the Falklands Current. Light head winds and fog made it a slow trip and to make matters worse the luff wire in my genoa parted. Saw no ice and made my landfall right in the River Plate on the low southern side. The following morning I was moored in the harbour at Buenos Aires. Cardinal Vertue is amongst some fine yachts here (Ondine and co) but she has earned her place, I think.

Gear failures were few: the mainsheet fitting on the boom broken and the loss of the main halyard which jammed alongside the sheave. Could have been much worse for 6500 miles of hard sailing. The average daily run was slightly over 121 miles per day measured from the noon to noon positions on the chart.

I hope to crew in the Buenos Aires–Rio ocean race starting 14th February and then, after cruising the Uruguayan coast, leave for the West Indies at the end of March. Another 5000 mile voyage but this time it should be in pleasant weather. Somewhere in the north I have to earn a living again, possibly in the Bahamas.

* Tzu Hang, a 46ft ketch sailed by Miles and Beryl Smeeton, pitchpoled while approaching Cape Horn from the west in 1956. Though dismasted and badly damaged, the Smeetons and crew John Guzzwell sailed her to Chile for repairs. Miles and Beryl set off again the following year but were again dismasted in approximately the same position. See Once is Enough by Miles Smeeton for the full story.

Postscript: The introduction to this remarkably low-key account leaves out several important facts, probably because David Wallis was unaware of them.

The first is that Bill Nance was only the fourth person to sail solo around Cape Horn, following Alfon Hansen in 1936, Vito Dumas in 1943 and Marcel Bardiaux in 1952. (Contrary to popular belief, Joshua Slocum did not round the Horn during his famous circumnavigation aboard Spray but passed through the Strait of Magellan.)

The second is that, at 25ft LOA and 21ft LWL, Cardinal Vertue was considerably smaller than Hansen’s Mary Jane (36ft), Dumas’s Lehg II (31ft) and Bardiaux’s Les 4 Vents (30ft), and the third is that Bill Nance was only 24 at the time, with relatively limited sailing experience. He went on to circumnavigate via the Three Great Capes, believed to be only the second person to do so singlehanded. Sadly he never wrote for Flying Fish again.

I am indebted to Nicholas Gray’s fascinating Astronauts Of Cape Horn, subtitled ‘by the time twelve men went to the moon, only eleven extraordinary sailors had rounded Cape Horn alone’ for these additional facts. It was reviewed in Flying Fish 2018/2 and is highly recommended.

Veteran member Roger Robinson kindly provided the drawing of Cardinal Vertue which appears on page 74 as well as featuring on VertueYachts.com, so I asked him to tell us more about the latter:

This modest website follows on from various incarnations of the Vertue Owners Association that originated with David Jackson-Smith in the early 1970s. It faded with time but was reinvigorated by Matthew Power in the mid-1990s and later by Mike Woodhouse. By 2010 Mike was looking to pass it on and I began to get involved, with some early notes being published online in 2014. I was still working flat out as a Conservation Architect but hoped to be able to do justice to the class by learning how to create a central hub of online communication for Vertue owners around the world. So I named it simply VertueYachts.com.

Several of the diminutive, 25ft Vertue class were closely linked to the early days of the OCC. Indeed, its genesis followed our founder’s astounding passage to windward across the North Atlantic in 1950 with Kevin O’Riordan aboard Vertue XXXV in 1950*. In partnership with Vertue designer Jack Laurent Giles, Humphrey Barton carried out numerous yacht surveys and undoubtedly influenced some design aspects of many boats. His book about that transatlantic passage is illustrated with drawings of Vertue XXXV, but tellingly shows detailed drawings of a ‘Proposed Vertue for extended Ocean Cruising’.

The first of these to be built was Speedwell of Hong Kong, whose owner Peter Hamilton sailed her back to England. He later went on to sail another Vertue, Salmo, from Scotland to the west coast of the USA with his new wife Jill. Salmo is still sailing out of San Diego, while Speedwell has become the floating home of Shirley Carter who has lived aboard continuously for over 20 years, cruising the Atlantic, Pacific and now Indonesia.

Another early OCC member, David Lewis, entered Cardinal Vertue in the first OSTAR in 1960. By then the Club was growing fast, but following his wife Jessie’s sudden death ‘Hum’ was stepping back, spending more time cruising aboard his Giles-designed Rose Rambler, a larger development of the Vertue marque. David Lewis also moved on to larger boats, but he sold Cardinal Vertue to a shy young Australian called Bill Nance, who promptly sailed the boat, singlehanded, out to his homeland and then back to Florida via Cape Horn – see previous pages. Bill now lives near Vancouver and recently asked me to publish his own account of that voyage for VertueYachts. It was written up by his very close friend Paul Zeusche and appeared in the website’s June and October Newsletters.

Having spent hundreds of hours tracking down and recording the details of around 150 wooden Vertues, plus 30 of the possible 42 GRP boats, there is now a searchable database of all of these boats on VertueYachts.com. Just type in a name. It is still a work in progress and needs constant

* See Vertue XXXV by Humphrey Barton for the full story, reviewed on tt 105 of this issue to mark our Club’s 70 anniversary. Despite having been published in 1955, hard cover copies are usually available from Amazon and elsewhere. ISBN 978-0-2466-3792-5

updating, but I’m now able to ‘publish’ quarterly Newsletters whilst trying to persuade anyone with an interest in Vertues to contribute. So I’m gradually working towards making the website more of a group activity and hope to re-ignite the idea of an Owners Association as a result. Who knows, we might even be able to organise another Vertue Rally like those described by Matthew Power in Flying Fish 1994/2 and 1996/2!

Finally, could I ask any OCC members with memories or information about any Vertues to get in touch at speedwelltwo@gmail.com. Also, there are still many boats unaccounted for and I would like to ask all OCC port officers if they could keep an eye open for any Vertues in their patches. Would you believe, for instance, that not a single boat has emerged from anywhere near Sydney, Australia other than Fialar, which sadly sank at her moorings off Dangar Island many years ago.

John Maddox, Port Officer for Sydney, Australia since 1993 and winner of the OCC Award for 2023 – see page 15 – wrote to share one of the more memorable events during his 31 years as a Port Officer.

It was late February 2017 and I had been corresponding with Irish OCC member Nick Dwyer regarding a mooring or marina berth in Sydney for his 12m Bruce Roberts-designed steel ketch Val. He and Barbara, who had joined him in Tonga, were on passage from Opua, New Zealand, part of the circumnavigation Nick had begun in 2008. I thought they must be getting close, even though the weather in the Tasman Sea was not good, then in early March I received a phone call from Nick to say that he and Barbara were in Sydney but that Val had been lost.

Nick explained that they had been running before a very strong northeaster, keeping stern-on to the waves, and were some 300 miles east of Sydney when Val ’s keel-hung rudder became detached. They adjusted her sails so that she sailed slowly upwind and retreated below, where it was quite comfortable. The following night she was rolled at least 180° and, though both masts stayed in place, the sails were in shreds. They deployed a sea anchor off the bow, but suffered two knockdowns of between 90° and 180° over the next two days.

Val just prior to leaving New Zealand

On the fourth day they asked the Australian Maritime Safety Authority (AMSA) for assistance, and the Sydney Water Police boat Nemesis was sent out to them. Nick had time to grab his bag of passports, credit cards and ship’s papers but they did not have time to collect dry clothes – the police boat could not wait around as it had used half its fuel to reach Val and needed the other half to return to Sydney! On arrival they were given overnight accommodation in the police station, spending their second night as guests of OCC member Roger Jones aboard Reboot.

A few days later a friend and I met them for dinner in downtown Sydney.

The AMSA notified shipping that Val was floating and could pose a danger, but nothing was heard of her for some weeks until Nick got a call to say that Val had been sighted by a Japanese container ship, which had sent a boat over to confirm that there was nobody on board. The ship reported that both masts were still standing and there was a small storm staysail set, and gave her position as about 30 miles south of Gabo Island, itself some 265 miles south of Sydney. (The masts may have remained in place because all the standing rigging other than the forestay and the inner forestay were of oversized galvanised wire with a breaking strength greater than the weight of the boat herself!)

Val as seen from the Japanese container ship

Following the sighting Nick rented a small plane to confirm Val’s position and was all set to hire a boat to tow her in, but as the New South Wales Water Police had a vessel in the area they offered to use that and treat it as an SAR training exercise. They advised Nick not to mention to anyone that Val had been found in case someone got there first and claimed salvage.

Val was towed to Eden, about 235 miles south of Sydney, where she was slipped for the rudder to be repaired and the other damage made good. A local man donated a complete set of unused sails, as he had sold his previous boat without using them and bad health had prevented him replacing her.

Several months later, with the repairs complete, Nick and Barbara sailed up to Sydney for a long awaited beer by the Opera House. They anchored in Blackwattle Bay, where they invited me on board for afternoon tea – their very first guest in Sydney. Barbara had even baked a cake for me!

Arriving in Sydney, summer 2017

The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.

William Arthur Ward

NOT WHAT TAM O’SHANTER EXPECTED

Neil Hegarty

(Tam O’Shanter, a Chance 37, was built by Wauquiez in France in 1972 for Mungo Park. She was a member of the 1973 Irish Admirals Cup Team and was the first winner of the Gull Salver, presented by the Irish Cruising Club to the first-placed Irish yacht in the Fastnet Race. She passed to Jimmy Butler of Great Island, Cork Harbour and then to the Kenny family in 1987. In 2010 Anne Kenny converted her to cutter rig. Since then Tam O’Shanter has been cruised from St Petersburg in the east to the Azores in the west, while also spending six very enjoyable years in the Baltic.)

Following a successful charter in the Canaries last year – see Cruising the Canary Islands, Off-Season in Flying Fish 2023/1 – Anne and I considered a charter again to attend the Irish Cruising Club’s Saoirse Rally in Madeira. I tried charterers in the Canaries, the Azores, the Portuguese mainland and Spain but none would allow us to sail so far from their base. We also considered applying for berths on the Ilen to attend the rally. Then, over dinner in October 2022, Anne’s son Ian informed his mother that he planned to leave Tam O’Shanter in the Azores for the near future and that she might like to use the family’s yacht to attend the Saoirse Rally. I emailed Séamus O’Connor informing him that we had a boat and entered Tam O’Shanter. We invited Traleebased friends Mary O’Sullivan and John Carlin, both of whom are experienced yacht owners, to spend four weeks aboard with us to attend the rally and they agreed.

I asked my daughter Patricia, who lives in Paris, to help Anne with provisioning. She first experienced doing this as a young teenager preparing our Impala OOD 28 Beagle for its first voyage from Crosshaven to Castlehaven to join the ICC’s 50th Anniversary Cruise in 1979. We still remember the wonderfully organised sunflower raft in Adrigole and the difficulty of getting fuel during the oil crisis. Patricia had left her rain gear, often needed in the Azores, in Baltimore. I went to collect it on 26th May and also attended the launch by Pat Lawless of Kevin O’Farrell’s book on the building of Fred Kinmouth’s replica Saoirse at Hegarty’s boatyard. Pat was Ireland’s only entrant in the 2022 Golden Globe Race and he answered questions from the floor about his adventures. It was good to see the new Saoirse afloat at the pier and Ilen at anchor off it for the Baltimore Wooden Boat Festival.

Anne and I took a bus from Cork to Dublin Airport at 2300 on 17th June and then an early

Neil manoeuvring out of the marina at Angra do Heroísmo, Terceira

flight next day to Lisbon, where we met Patricia who had flown in from Paris. On arrival in Terceira we picked up a hired car. Tam O’Shanter was afloat in the Angra do Heroísmo marina and Ian was aboard to hand over the keys. It was Patricia’s birthday, so we celebrated in our favourite Angra restaurant, Tasca Das Tias. Ian returned home to the Channel Islands early the next morning. Over the next five days we went through our list of essential and TLC tasks for Tam O’Shanter. Anne made friends with two young men who were running a glass-bottomed boat for tourists from a nearby berth. She persuaded them to do our heavy lifting and they put the liferaft, dinghy and outboard into position. The bunk cushion covers went to a laundrette for cleaning and I arranged to have the engine oil and the filters checked by the owner’s son at NáuticAzores. Wednesday was a very wet day so my trip to Baltimore had not been in vain. Thursday and Friday were shopping days. It was a good shop and essentials such as bottled water, UHT milk and fresh butter just lasted the four weeks of our cruise.

On Saturday 24th June Patricia left to return the car at Lajes Airport and fly home to Paris via Lisbon. She was going out on the plane on which Mary and John flew in. Next day we filled with fuel, put on the dodgers and were able to hoist and check the sails in the marina berth as there was absolutely no wind. I started a discussion with John Leahy on the Cruising Weather WhatsApp for advice on our passage to Madeira. The Azores high was not in its normal position and strong easterlies were developing. Our original plan had been to overnight in Santa Maria and reduce the length of the final passage to Madeira, but in the prevailing conditions that would have resulted in a passage of 450 miles on the wind.

Instead I decided that we would leave from Ponta Delgada on São Miguel so, on Monday the 26th, after a good dinner, we left our marina berth at 2100 and in the excitement I omitted to check out. John, who was on watch at 0400 was careful to avoid the Banco Dom João de Castro as Tam O’Shanter motor-sailed close-hauled on port. Later we saw a ship going south on a collision course. It showed no intention of altering course, probably because of the nearby bank, so we altered course north to allow it to pass us ahead – I always recommend that crew not interfere with shipping as they are trying to make a living. All the while the wind was getting up and up from the east. John Leahy informed me that he expected the coming Friday would be the windiest day and that it would be windy right down to Funchal.

On Tuesday Tam O’Shanter arrived at the entrance to the Ponta Delgada fuel berth and ‘check in’, but we had to wait outside because a ferry and a large French yacht were ahead of us in the queue. Eventually I got alongside with difficulty. Because of the big scend and my January knee replacement I was not able to get ashore, so Mary made the jump and checked in for me. We also topped up with fuel because, despite the forecast, we still hoped to make it to the Saoirse Rally. Tam O’Shanter’s violent movements in the scend caused two lines to be damaged. On going round to the marina it was very full and the berth we were given was exceedingly difficult

Anne enjoying life on the ocean wave

of the skeg, which involved sanding fibreglass to get to the bolts connecting it to the hull. Time went by quickly, however, as it was a ten-minute walk to the toilets and showers and another ten minutes back. Great exercise for all of us and especially for my new knee! On Friday 30th, the windy day, we explored the centre of Ponta Delgada and by the time we returned José had the skeg off. Mary and John had researched public transport, so we were up early next day for a long walk to the bus terminus to take a bus to Ribeira Grande on the north coast of São Miguel. It was a beautiful drive through the countryside, ending

* Atlantic Islands, 7th edition (2020), by Linda Lane Thornton, Hilary Keatinge and Anne Hammick. Published by Imray Laurie Norie & Wilson and the RCC Pilotage Foundation at £49.50.

Safe access for living aboard in Ponta Delgada

to approach in the squalls. As I turned Tam O’Shanter the trailing edge of her rudder touched bottom. This shallow rocky area is shown in Atlantic Islands* but there is no warning of its location by, say, a small series of red floating buoys, as is normal in other places. After berthing I went to the marina office and found that I was far from the first to get into trouble in that area. They recommended José Viegas, a repair person who is also a diver, and arranged for a tow to the marina repair area at 0800 next morning for lifting out. When Tam O’Shanter was out of the water we could see that part of the skeg was missing, and though José went off to search for the missing piece in the shallow area he found nothing. We decided to live aboard during the repair, so José put up a timber stair for us with handrails on both sides. On Thursday he wanted us off the boat for the day while he removed the remains

José retrieves the broken skeg

at a city first settled 500 years ago with a historic core around a large square and well worth visiting. On the way back we were able to get off the bus near the marina, avoiding a long walk back from the terminus, and discovered a small supermarket where Anne and Mary did some food shopping. I texted José, who informed me that he had done another dive and found the rest of the skeg after two hours of searching between our marina berth and the repair area. We were all delighted because Tam O’Shanter would be back in the water by the end of the following week, fibreglass taking at least four days to harden. Mary cooked a great pasta following which Anne and I retired while John and Mary went to the nearby casino, where Mary lost 20€ and John won 139€.

On Sunday we again took the long walk to the bus terminus to catch the 1230 to Vila Franca do Campo and see if we could get out to the small island, Ilhéu de Vila Franca, where there is a caldera that opens to the sea.

Vila Franco do Campo was my final port of call on Shelduck’s return to Portugal after the 2009 Azores Rally and my crew and I had enjoyed a swim on the island the day before departure for Cascais. I remember it as a wonderful experience, like swimming in a Roman amphitheatre. Sadly, one had to buy tickets by 0930 on the day of departure so we planned a return later in the week. Monday and Tuesday were days of rest and swimming in the nearby public pool. On Wednesday we left early by taxi for Vila Franca do Campo and took the boat out to Ilhéu de Vila, but it was not a beautiful day so Mary was the only one to swim. On Thursday we hired a taxi for five hours, which was excellent value for four, and did all the touristy things on the eastern half of São Miguel.

On Friday 7th Tam O’Shanter was relaunched and berthed on a nearby pontoon without going back into the main marina. All ideas of going on to Madeira were long gone so I phoned the marina at Vila do Porto in Santa Maria and secured a berth for the following day. It is one of the few islands in the North Atlantic that Anne and I have never had the pleasure of sailing into, separately or together.

As we prepared to leave the pontoon at 0630 next morning I noticed another unmarked rohck just ahead to starboard, so used the bow-thruster to avoid it. As Tam O’Shanter headed south we met a large sperm whale heading north remarkably close by, but it passed us so quickly that we did not get a photograph. We berthed at Vila do Porto marina at 1445. The Shelduck/Yoshi artwork of 2009 on the marina wall was still in fair condition and the night was wonderfully quiet, the first since we’d arrived in the Azores 20 days previously. In Angra loud dance music went on near the marina until 0500 or 0600 and until nearly as late in Ponta Delgada. (It is, however, worth all the noise to be in the Azores during the June/July festival season.) During the afternoon we took a four-hour taxi tour of the island with a lovely driver who spoke little English, which did not diminish our enjoyment. That evening we dined in Clube Naval de Santa

Maria where Anne and I had met in 2009 after lunching on the deck. This time we dined inside.

On Monday 10th the alarm went off at 0600 and by 0625 Tam O’Shanter was away for the 200-mile passage to Horta, Faial. As we rounded Ilhéu da Vila we set the full main, but by midday the wind had gone noticeably light so I started the engine to motor-sail. At 1900 the engine stopped. John and Mary topped up the fuel to no effect. At 0330 on Tuesday morning I decided to alter course back to Angra. It was dull and cloudy with the wind dropping throughout the day and we arrived back in Angra at 1900, having to paddle with the dinghy oars to get to the reception berth. It was 36½ hours since we’d left Vila do Porto. When I went to reception to check in the smiling official said that there was no need to check in as I had not checked out! He also gave Tam O’Shanter permission to stay on the reception pontoon for the night to allow a visit from marine engineers NáuticAzores which I had arranged for 0830 the following morning.

The engineer reported that there was dirt in the fuel tank and arranged a lift-out for 0915 the next day. After the engineer reported we moved Tam O’Shanter to a berth in the marina as the wind strengthened. That evening a bull was due to be let loose in the streets, but only John and Mary made the long uphill walk. Anne and I had seen it before so we relaxed and enjoyed a drink in the main square in a very gusty wind. Suddenly I was out of my chair and on the ground when a strong gust flattened a large umbrella and me. It was my first fall since getting the new right knee in January but I was not damaged.

On Thursday Tam O’Shanter was craned ashore on what turned out to be a very warm day. During the morning we used the marina laundrette and then enjoyed brunch at a beautiful and efficient café. Anne and I stayed in the cathedral avoiding the heat for about two hours, while Mary and John went separately for massages. I returned to the

Being lifted out in Angra do Heroísmo to clean the fuel tank

Mary on the helm

engineer’s workshop to find that launching was scheduled for 1530. The engineer had added 80 litres of clean diesel to the tank and we topped it up from the cans we had filled for the passage to Madeira. I planned to leave for Horta at 1930 to make the passage between Pico and São Jorge in darkness. I had made this passage five years earlier in Tam O’Shanter and it was incredibly beautiful as the stars competed with the twinkling of lights on the islands. I hoped my present crew would experience that. Anne and John came on watch at midnight with the wind increasing to 18 knots as Tam O’Shanter rounded the east end of São Jorge, but sadly we saw few stars as there was heavy cloud cover.

On arrival near the reception area I headed for the end of the pier where Tam O’Shanter had berthed when we arrived in June 2018 on the OCC Pursuit Rally, and found a space around the end on the south side. When I went to register I was told that Tam O’Shanter could not stay where she was as the berth was too large and anyway, there were many yachts at anchor on a waiting list for berths. As out passports were being checked I threw in a comment about the new knee and we were kindly offered a nearby pontoon berth. The kind gentleman at reception was José Lobao whom I heard later had been the first employee when the marina opened for business 37 years previously. During the afternoon we hired a taxi to drive along the south coast of Faial and spent a couple of hours in the excellent underground Interpretation Centre at Ponta dos Capelinhos, built on the site of a major volcanic eruption which began in mid-September 1957. Anne and I had been there before but we both enjoyed the visit, as did Mary and John.

Next day, Saturday the 15th, we took the ferry across to Pico. On arrival at the Porto da Madelina, as John and I were sitting waiting for Anne and Mary, we were approached by a taxi driver offering to show us the many wonderful sights of the island in his comfortable-looking SUV. As it was just 1130 we booked four hours. We stopped for lunch at Lajes do Pico and I saw how small the harbour is and how difficult it would be to anchor or get a berth in the marina, though I had planned to try on the aborted Vila do Porto to Horta passage. At the conclusion of the tour of so many interesting sites, the taxi waited for us to shop at a supermarket before taking us back to the ferry for Horta. The inhabitants of Pico are particularly proud of their island and have voted to restrict new development there. It has a reputation for producing the best white wine in the Azores and is well worth a visit. That evening, after dinner aboard, Mary and John went to Peter Café Sport where they reported a wonderful evening’s music.

On Sunday I checked us out of Horta and at 0915 we left for the short passage to Velas, São Jorge. We set sail outside the harbour in a brisk wind on the nose, but were only able to sail until 1045 when the wind died with 15 miles to go. I called marina manager Mary and John studying the menu at Peter Café Sport in Horta. Note the welltravelled OCC

burgee at top right!

Tam O’Shanter alongside the quay at Vila da Praia, Graciosa

and OCC Port Officer José Dias, and when we arrived at reception at 1400 he said the name Tam O’Shanter was familiar to him. I asked if we could use Coromandel’s berth which owner Linda Lane Thornton had told me was vacant, but as it happened Agustin Martin’s Beneteau Oceanis Caballito de Mar IX was in the berth though José told me Agustin was happy to have someone outside. Tam O’Shanter berthed at 1430 and was welcomed alongside by Agustin’s wife Sonja Schroyens and guests Peter and Wendy Whatley. I discovered that Peter had taken part in the ICC/RCC Azores Rally in 2009 and with Sonja we remembered a party Anne and I had attended at her home at Puerto de Pasito Blanco in 2019. Later we met Agustin at the marina entrance. Sadly we were unable to meet friends Linda Lane Thornton and her husband Andy who live on São Jorge because Linda was ill with a summer flu.

Tam O’Shanter left Velas at 0640 on Monday the 17th bound for Vila da Praia, Graciosa, another island we had not visited before. It was a pleasant passage and on arrival at the harbour entrance I decided to enter to see if we could berth, but instead tied alongside a yacht on the quay with help from the owners, a Swedish couple. Mary and John went off to explore the town and the Swedish couple went hill walking. At 1445 Anne and I had a visit from a maritime policeman, with excellent English, to tell us that the law had been changed by politicians in Horta five days previously and yachts were no longer allowed to use the port which was reserved for fishing boats only. He said that we should leave at once and anchor off. I pleaded the crew’s age and my knee replacement and he allowed us to stay until first light the following morning. We were out of our bunks at 0530 to leave as promised, by which time many of the fishing boats had gone to sea in a flat calm. We motored the 55 miles to Praia da Vitoria on Terceira and took a marina berth for the night, another town for Mary and John to explore after dark. Next morning Tam O’Shanter made the short passage back to her berth at Angra do Heroísmo and we prepared to return to Ireland.

We had enjoyed our cruise very much, logged 515 miles and visited seven of the nine Azorean islands. There was, of course, disappointment that Tam O’Shanter did not make it to the Saoirse Rally but Anne recalled her father advising, ‘Remember, Anne, when you think something is bad, in one way or another it will work out for the best in the long term’. I took the title from a remark made by Mary Curtin, who sailed with Anne and me in the Canary Islands last year. When asked about the cruise by a friend, she replied, “It was not what I expected”.

CRUISING THE MARQUESAS AND GAMBIER ISLANDS

Neil McCubbin

(Milvina is a Passoa 47, an aluminium centreboard cutter first launched exactly 20 years ago. Her hull and all aluminium work was by Garcia in France and she was finished by Neil and his wife Helen in Quebec. Her crew varied while in the islands, at different times including Helen, Heather Tyler, her brothers Peter and Michael, and Lars Mohr, an old friend from Quebec, with between two and four on board at any one time.)

We left the Galapagos in March 2023, heading for French Polynesia as virtually all cruisers do*. The forecast was for light easterly winds and that is exactly what we got, sailing slowly most of the time. We followed the standard advice, along with the forecasts from PredictWind, and headed well south of the rhumb line in search of better winds. We had hoped for decent winds at 3°S but had to go down to 6°S to get enough breeze to turn straight downwind and set the course we wanted. Boats leaving before us had to go down to 10°S to find favourable winds.

The passage was easy and, with Heather, Lars and me on board, we had lots of time to sleep and to watch the numerous dolphins, the occasional whale and a red-footed booby that perched on the bow for hours. We changed sails about once a day, using our asymmetrical spinnaker, poled-out genoa and standard spinnaker to catch whatever wind there was. We had no squalls during the 21-day voyage, which was a dramatic improvement on our experiences in the tropics on the Atlantic/Caribbean side of the Americas.

I had often wondered how dolphins could cruise along under our bow at 6–8 knots with no apparent effort. Lars answered the question when he held his GoPro camera in the water off the bow while a few dozen dolphins were playing with us. His video shows their tails and fins moving up and down vigorously, which is not at all evident when looking down at them in the bow wave. It’s available on the OCC YouTube channel at https://youtu.be/CZz_hw-ZGUY.

Perhaps my biggest surprise on the voyage was when we were 15 days out and Heather announced that there was a sail ahead. We were rapidly overhauling a catamaran sailing under only a small jib and could well have hit her had we not changed course. When asked if anything was wrong, the skipper replied, “We are sailing conservatively”. His tone of voice suggested that he was not pleased about it. He had two crew, so we guessed that the other two had pressured him into sailing slowly, since this was just a couple of weeks after Raindancer had sunk in the same area after hitting a whale. Raindancer’s crew were rescued from their life raft within hours by Rolling Stones,

* See Exploring the Galapagos in Flying Fish 2023/2.

Dolphins below our bow. Photo Lars Mohr

as described at https:// www.yachtingworld. com/cruising/sunkby-a-whale-in-themiddle-of-the-pacificocean-145985. Their rapid rescue was due to so many cruising boats being on Facebook via Starlink, showing that these modern ‘toys’ are useful safety aids.

We decided to make landfall on Fatu Hiva, the easternmost Marquesan island. It is not a port of entry, but the French Polynesian authorities tolerate short stops there before formal check-in. It is very rugged with multiple steep-sided valleys running down to the sea. In pre-colonial times each major valley was home to a largely independent community, periodically at war with its neighbours. The east coast has no possible landing spots for yachts, though the pre-colonial residents managed gymnastic landings through the surf in their canoes, so we sailed round to Hanavave Bay on the west coast. Also known as the Bay of Virgins, this is the most popular cruisers’ anchorage. The holding is not wonderful but is adequate in normal winds for up to a dozen boats. It has a reputation for severe gusts, but we had no trouble on our two visits. There is a good, small dinghy dock, which is calm by Marquesan standards.

On Easter Sunday we attended the local church. The service was conducted mostly in Marquesan, with some French. Another cruiser who had been there 15 years previously told us that in those days the service was conducted totally in French. The Marquesans are very friendly. There are no restaurants or bars but several people serve meals in their homes. The menu is whatever they decide, with generous quantities and a good variety. The best way to arrange such a meal is to ask around and book the day before, and normally it’s BYOB*. We usually asked a few sailors from other boats to join us.

* Bring your own bottle/beer/booze/beverage.

We did not find any hiking trails in the rugged jungle, but the only road is fine for walking, with a vehicle passing once every couple of hours, good views and serious aerobic exercise. There are lots of fruit trees and flowers growing naturally. Giant

Hanavave Bay from high in the hills

Neil arriving Hanavave Bay

Attending church at Easter

grapefruit are often free for the taking, as are mangoes, but always ask permission before taking fruit. We were warned that mangoes on the ground are dangerous to eat because of insects that invade them shortly after falling. We also visited Omo’a, a less popular village but equally interesting with its double tiki framing Milvina against the sunset.

From Fatu Hiva we sailed the 70 or so miles to Hiva Oa to check-in. This was a straightforward procedure, refreshingly free of the complexities and grasping officials we had become inured to in the Caribbean. The gendarmes in charge are posted there for three-month stints from France and the one we met told us that he enjoyed the change from his anti-gang squad in Paris to Hiva Oa, where the only crime he had had to deal with was a stolen fishing rod. The anchorage in Hiva Oa is practical, with fresh baguettes available every morning and the boatyard/chandlery nearby, but it is not particularly appealing due to the dirty water.

A 10-mile sail took us to a delightful, uninhabited anchorage on Tahuata with a beautiful beach. It is a challenge to land a dinghy through the surf, so most cruisers anchor their dinghies offshore and swim ashore. We enjoyed snorkelling although the water, as throughout the Marquesas, is not particularly clear. Hapatoni and Viatahu, the two villages on Tahuata, Twin tikis nearly framing Milvina

are both worth a visit. Both have dinghy docks and Viatahu has a few small stores and we had an enjoyable and fun meal in a house in Hapatoni. Our host had spent a year at a culinary school in Belgium, but had chosen to return home as he preferred the island lifestyle to the European. From Hapatoni we sailed back to Hiva Oa in April 2023 to haul out in the only yard in the Marquesas, before flying home to Canada for the summer.

We returned to Milvina in October and, after the usual boat work, had a few days on Tahuata and then sailed overnight to Taioha’e on Nuku Hiva, the administrative centre of the Marquesas, in company with fellow OCC members Mike and Daniela aboard Zigzag de Villeneuve. Although larger than the other villages in the Marquesas, Taioha’e is still a spread-out collection of houses and a few stores, so shopping usually requires a good deal of walking.

Nuku Hiva’s main attraction for us was the Matavaa festival, which is held in mid-December every second year and circulates around the six inhabited Marquesan islands – see https://matavaa. org/matavaa-2023. It is a celebration of Marquesan culture, reinvigorated after French Polynesia became semi-autonomous in 1984. There was a series of performances of music (mostly drums), singing and dancing in three villages, with teams of performers from each of the six islands. There is some government money put into the organisation, temporary constructions and travel

A black tip shark at Hiva Oa

Aakapa Bay, Nuku Hiva

Full body tattoos at the Matavaa festival on Nuku Hiva

Blowing a horn made from a trumpet triton shell

expenses for the teams, but most of the work is by the impressively large number of volunteer performers. A huge amount of time and effort must go into preparing costumes and rehearsing the presentations – for example, there was a team of about a hundred from Fatu Hiva, about one-sixth of the island’s total population. Most of the performances were by large troupes, but some individual ones showed local skills.

As well as dancing, the presentations show the extensive tattooing that is popular, particularly amongst the men. The style is totally different from that seen in most of the world. Another demonstration was of opening coconuts to dig out the copra. This is mostly done by impaling them on sharp, hardwood sticks, as demonstrated by a team of four women, then one of the men broke coconuts by hand.

Some temporary restaurants opened up, selling a variety of traditional food. By

Opening coconuts is quite a skill...

far the largest was on the day of dancing in Taipivai, a village a few miles from our anchorage. Lunch for about a thousand people was cooked in firepits in the ground, all at no charge for visitors, but food was served only onto traditional dishes. We bought a couple of half coconuts, cleaned-out for the purpose, rather than trying to eat off a banana leaf.

Like virtually all Marquesan

Carrying food in for lunch at Taipivai... ...and lunch is served!

anchorages Taioha’e is quite rolly, so we moved round to Anse Uauaka, also known as Daniel’s Bay, a few miles to the west, which is somewhat sheltered. We had a good hike up to the bottom of the 350 metre high Viapo waterfall. Although it is spectacular, the lower third is hidden behind a pair of overlapping buttresses. It is possible to swim up to the base of the fall from the pool at the end of the path, but recent rain had made the water muddy and uninviting.

Unfortunately we ran into nonos* on the tongue

Vaipo Falls above Anse Uauaka, Nuku Hiva

at anchor in Hakahetau Bay, Ua-Po

of beach between the river mouth and the sea. Helen and I were both bitten, which was annoying for me but catastrophic for Helen who had a bad reaction and hundreds of itchy bites which lasted several weeks. This, in combination with a steadily failing knee, and the heat, persuaded her to return to cooler climes in British Columbia. Heather Tyler, who had crossed from Panama to Galapagos with us, joined me for the rest of the cruise accompanied by her brother Peter. We circumnavigated Nuku Hiva with a stop in beautiful Anaho Bay, which has a small community, good dinner provided by locals and a rare easy landing on the beach. We also stopped for a night in the relatively calm Haahopu Bay on the northwest coast. There is a rough dock but the swell was more than we wanted to tackle with the dinghy. Swimming ashore on the steep sandy beach was an adventure. Next day we sailed the 35 miles south to Hakahetau Bay on Ua-Pou. The bay was relatively calm, but again the swell on the rocky beach was more than we liked so we just snorkelled and admired the spectacular peaks, before heading off on the 850-mile voyage to the Gambier Islands.

The 6½-day voyage was uneventful, although wind shifts were more frequent than we had expected, culminating in westerly winds for the last two days. We could easily have fetched Pitcairn Island, but decided not to as the weather around it was forecast to be nasty and landing would have been impossible.

The Gambier Islands are much less frequented than the Marquesas, both by tourists and by yachties. There were about ten sailing vessels in the archipelago when we were there, some semi-permanent and some short-term. Most of the water is protected by surrounding reefs, so anchorages are much better than in the Marquesas and the water is much clearer. The dominant activity is pearl farming and parts of some lagoons are inaccessible due to pearl-farm buoys, but there is lots of scope for sailing and finding calm anchorages with deserted beaches.

Virtually all the 1400 residents of the Gambiers live on the main island of Mangareva. The half dozen other inhabited islands have populations of under ten. Our first anchorage was off Rikitea, the only town in the Gambiers. Entry through the complicated reefs was easy, thanks to the buoyage and the standard chart. Our first move was to climb Mount Duff, then along the ridge to Mount Mokoto. The trail is quite good, mostly grassy with ropes to hold on the steepest parts. We were told that the trail is maintained for an annual race.

* Also known as no-see-ums or biting midges, nonos are a species of tiny sandfly between 1mm and 3mm in length. Often found on tropical beaches, they tend to come out at dusk looking for their supper...

Milvina

Next stop was the anchorage on the east side of Taravai, off the church which is shown on most charts. The first person we met on Taravai was Jean, who immediately went and knocked down a few coconuts to share with us. He has a house beside the church, which is large enough for over a hundred people but unused and rather decrepit. The fact that it has survived is a compliment to the French missionaries who persuaded the islanders to build it about 150 years ago, but I question the wisdom of dedicating so many resources to it back then while the population was dying. Like most locals, Jean is no fan of the church.

Jean sent us to visit his neighbours, Hervé and Valerie, who cultivate fruit and vegetables, as well as putting on a barbecue for cruisers most Saturdays. We found them a delightful couple and stocked up with fresh vegetables. Valerie is a talented artist and showed us some beautiful drawings she had made of visiting boats, with cleverly arranged borders of local scenes. We left with the intention of coming back for the weekend barbecue and commissioning a drawing of Milvina, but the weather prevented it.

We went off to explore the tiny uninhabited motus (islets) of Kouaku and Tauna, which lie a few hundred metres inside the eastern barrier reef. Anchorages were good and snorkelling between the motus and the reef was great, though going through the reef to swim the other side looked overly exciting for us. The motus themselves are interesting to walk around with beautiful sandy beaches, some vegetation and small wildlife including tree-climbing crabs. We spent a few lazy days wandering on the motus, snorkelling and doing some unwelcome boat work.

We spent a while confirming the old definition of cruising as ‘A series of opportunities to work on your boat in exotic places’. Our main issue on this cruise was our windlass. The new motor turned out to be defective and nearly started a fire, then the gearbox leaked oil into the repaired motor, causing it to fail. The design is such that a failed oil seal on the gearbox fills the motor with oil – it should have been built so that leaks would go on deck, which we modified it to do. The good news is that, after dismantling, washing the motor in diesel and drying it in the sun, it worked. However, I now have a new motor at home to take back to Milvina for next season.

On Aukena, one of the islands inside the lagoon, we met Bernard, who owns half the two-milelong island being a descendant of the historical owning tribe. He lives largely by hunting, fishing and growing fruit and has the island pretty much to himself. When we were approaching his house on the beach he seemed to be swinging an axe wildly at a flock of hens, but as we came closer we realised he was cutting open coconuts to feed his chickens and they were jumping in to get first peck. We invited Bernard on board for dinner and enjoyed his company very much.

Mount Duff from Mount Mokoto, both on Rikitea in the Gambier Islands

Walking a motu beach at Taravai

Repairing the windlass

He told us how the influx of construction related to the French nuclear testing around Mururoa atoll, 365 miles northeast of the Gambiers, had brought in lots of money between 1966 and 1996. It also resulted in the fish in the lagoon becoming carriers of ciguatera due to dredging and airport construction, a well-known problem when coral reefs are physically damaged so not a nuclear issue. He was not concerned about radioactivity, although there are some controversial claims of long-term damage. Overall, I was a little surprised that none of the locals we met had any concerns beyond the effective destruction of local fishing.

Due to a forecast of 30 knot winds from north-northeast we sailed back to the well-sheltered anchorage of Rikitea for a couple of days instead of visiting other islands, before leaving on 10th February for the 780-mile voyage to Fatu Hiva. The weather was poor at first, including rain, and we had our first close-hauled sailing in several thousand miles. There were lots of sail changes, so we were glad to be three on board. After a few days we entered the southeast trades and had beautiful, easy sailing, arriving in Omo’a at the southwest corner of Fatu Hiva on the 16th, having averaged only 120 miles made good per day. Omo’a is a quiet, attractive village, with an anchorage that is good in the prevailing winds, but few sailors seem to visit. The only advertised restaurant was not open. We had a good hike up the deserted road towards Hanavave Bay, during which we met a couple farming quite high in the hills. They directed us to a trail through the woods where there were several trees with ripe cherry-like fruit that we enjoyed. Sadly I forget their name. A short sail took us back to our original Marquesan landfall in Hanavave Bay, where there were several boats at anchor. The ones we spoke with had all made long crossings from the east.

Fresh-caught fish for supper!

We asked Sophie, one of the local experts in traditional cooking, if he could put on dinner for a few of us. After some discussion he and his wife reckoned they had enough food for three, so we reserved for the following evening. At about dawn next morning Sophie came in his outrigger canoe holding up two freshly caught fish and advised that more people could come for dinner. We visited his house in the afternoon and saw the fire going in a pit, while his son butchered a fresh-killed pig for supper. We got a few more sailors together and had a delicious meal at their house that evening. The photograph shows the cooking pit covered with wet leaves just before Sophie started digging out the food. His wife told us that they needed reading glasses, so we took her a couple of pairs the next day and came away loaded with bananas and giant grapefruit.

A fast sail in a good breeze took us up to Hapatoni on Tahuata, where we did some hiking and enjoyed the company of Brian and family of the ‘Sailing Vessel Delos’ YouTube series. Hapatoni is the home of several talented wood carvers, some of whom like to socialise on the beach as they work. They only had work in progress, so we did not consider buying any. We spent the next few days sailing short hops north to haul-out in Hiva-Oa, with plans to return in the autumn to cruise the Tuamotus and then sail up to British Columbia.

A little History

The Marquesas are some of the world’s most remote inhabited islands. Legally part of France, they enjoy many benefits compared to the many tiny independent islands in the Caribbean and Pacific, but the distance from Paris is evident when you see the limited variety in the grocery or hardware stores. It’s the first time I’ve been in a French supermarket with only three kinds of cheese!

Our chef!

The islands were first inhabited a thousand years ago, by peoples who came from the west. One wonders whether the easterly trade winds were perhaps less consistent than today, because the closest significant land is Tahiti, 700 miles to leeward. The indigenous population has been estimated at between 60,000 and 100,000 when the Europeans and Americans arrived in the late 18th century. After various troubles such as intertribal warfare becoming more deadly with European weapons, and extensive imported disease, the locals appealed to Queen Victoria for protection from visiting hooligans from Russia, the US and Europe. She ignored them, so the locals turned to the French who did offer help – perhaps the only place in the colonial era where the colonists were invited to take over.

French help did apparently control rapacious whalers etc, but also included missionaries who persuaded the locals to build ambitious churches and attempted to stamp out the local culture. Tattoos, ceremonial dancing, cannibalism and other traditions were prohibited. By the 1926 census the indigenous population had declined to 2,600, but it is now back up to around 10,000. In 1984 French Polynesia became semi-autonomous and since then much of the traditional culture has revived dramatically ... though not cannibalism.

Practicalities

While navigation in the reef-free deep water of the Marquesas is easy, the Gambiers (and the Tuamotus) are more difficult. Charts created from Google Earth and other aerial/satellite images are very useful complements to standard charts as they show positions of reefs and shorelines more accurately than standard marine charts, but they lack soundings. Free software is available to make your own charts, but it is now possible to download from various sources. We like http://svocelot.com/Cruise_Info/Equipment/Chart_Downloads.htm. The best cruising guide we found was at https://www.svsoggypaws.com/files/index.htm#frpoly. The SVSoggyPaws website, built by OCC members Sherry and Dave McCampbell, contains a massive amount of cruising information.

Pape’ete (700 miles from the Marquesas) is just like a medium-sized town in France, but all other communities are tiny with limited services. Nearly all yacht equipment has to be purchased in Pape’ete or imported (preferably in airline baggage). Virtually all businesses in French Polynesia are listed at https://www.tahiticruisersguide.com/.

Woodcarvers on the beach at Hapatoni on Tahuata

A POCKET-SIZED CRUISE

Rev Bob Shepton

(Honorary Member Bob Shepton, who was chosen to receive the 2023 Lifetime Award (see page 24), undoubtedly holds the record for the most contributions to Flying Fish, this being his 33rd article over a span of 37 years. His exploits are also recounted in his two books, Addicted to Adventure and Addicted to More Adventure, reviewed Flying Fish 2014/1 and 2022/1 respectively.)

This year’s cruise was pleasingly different from my usual. A different type of boat, a different type of cruising and area, and a different type of crew – Ian and Jane, a middle-aged couple (I hope that’s not an insult), and an old man. I had kindly been invited to sail with them on the west coast of Scotland. It could be said that we did not achieve much, the time being cut down to a week owing to the owners’ commitments, but we were able to have a pleasant sail, mostly, round some of the Inner Hebrides.

A lively sail close reaching across from Dunstaffnage to the Lismore lighthouse was followed by zero wind off Duart Castle, the seat of the Macleans of Maclean. We motored gently up the Sound of Dull (alias Mull, unless you have done it many times before) and, now there was some breeze, cut south of those awkward islands and skerries by Salen to get a better wind angle to make our way under sail round and into the hurricane hole of Drumbuie, to anchor by the ‘hut behind the reeds’ at the far end. “Why do you always anchor us by rocks?” the owner remarked, perhaps remembering an occasion some years ago when we had managed to get our anchor down in a very crowded Rona only to wake up in the morning to find a submerged reef close and very visible to starboard!

After some shilly-shallying next morning with the autopilot suddenly making wide sweeps from side to side, we had a good wind from Ardnamurchan Point. This took us on a close to beam reach past Muck to Rum, but it always seems to take a long time to sail along the latter’s southwest coast. Eventually, near the end, the wind became factious and we made a longer than expected motor through the gap with its lighthouse and round into the enclosed harbour of Canna. On my first visit there I pulled

The Dehler 36

Loch Drumbuie in the morning

up an immense pile of seaweed/kelp on the anchor the next morning, so we were anxious to pick up a mooring. We had to go a long way in but fortunately found one free at the far end. We had 2∙7m under the keel with the end of the tide still to go down, but we were safe and didn’t bottom out. Apparently

The best place to land is the ferry jetty

Guided into the anchorage at Canna by the church

the post of Pier Master at Canna is vacant and Ian reckoned I should apply for the job – it could not be too exacting, with the ferry only arriving and departing once a day, but I declined the invitation.

Next day a strong southwest wind gave us a broad reach up towards Loch Scavaig, our ultimate goal. Strong but also gusty and when it gusted it overpowered the boat, which was new to her owners as well as me. The steering was heavy and it was hard work getting her back on course. We had too much sail up – we were not obeying the adage ‘reef for the gusts’.

The entry into Loch Scavaig is really interesting. There are a lot of rocks around, and I believe Bob Bradfield has found even more uncharted ones in his Antares survey* of parts of the west coast of Scotland. When you get there the channel is fairly obvious, however, though you do have to squeeze through a narrow gap between the main island and a rocky reef at the end. Ian, with Navionics charts on his tablet, took us though an even narrower gap between two submerged rocks which rather concentrated the mind at the time. It was a fun day. For a start it wasn’t raining, and a short walk took us to Loch Coruisk at the foot of the Cuillins, a freshwater loch so close to the seawater loch. Jane went for a swim, the cold water being ‘good for the circulation’. Ian and I stayed firmly on land.

The next day was not fun – a hard push under engine straight into the wind towards Rum, with 30+ knot gusts towards the end. Should we divert on a better heading to Canna, with well-reefed sails? But by that time we were fairly close, so on we plugged, and plunged. Eventually we rounded the point into Loch Scresort, the best anchorage on Rum, and picked up a mooring with considerable relief.

* Google ‘Bob Bradfield, Antares charts’ for some relevant websites.

Loch Scavaig, near the Cuillins on Skye. The rocky reef, which is submerged at high water, must be avoided on entry and exit

... where Jane went swimming –good for the circulation!

time coming, but the wind still allowed us to sail close-hauled to round the buoys of the large fish farm on the southeast of Muck. I was sure the southwest wind would head us now, but no – Ian was still able to make the course for the Ardnamurchan Light. A slow rounding of the Light into the Sound of Mull and Jane, not too experienced, took over to practise in light airs. In fact it was quite tricky as the wind kept fluctuating in direction and she did very well all the way to Tobermory.

Fortunately the wind had moderated somewhat by next morning. A shaky start under sail in the waters between Eigg and Rum, with the wind coming and going until at last it settled down, developed into a long tack south in a stiff breeze to round the southwest end of Eigg. It was a long

As an ocean sailor I made a token objection to calling in to Tobermory without having crossed the Atlantic first, but was summarily overruled. We even slipped onto a finger pontoon – how low could one get? But my guns were spiked when I was generously given dinner at the nearby restaurant. It was intriguing next morning to tack gently down the Sound of Mull at 30° to the wind, with Jane at the helm gaining confidence and experience of exact sailing. For the record, I repeated my theory that ‘the two most difficult points of sailing are close-hauled and runningbefore’. We were making gentle but sure progress, though there was a touch of excitement when we saw a vast number of sails in the distance coming towards us. It was a fleet from the West Highland Yachting week, but we managed to avoid each other.

This brings me to another intriguing feature of this voyage, the Dehler 36 herself, new to me and only recently acquired by her owners. I knew immediately that she couldn’t be an ocean cruising boat as she had carpets on the cabin sole! She had several pros and cons, and of course all opinions expressed here are mine alone*. As a light displacement boat she was too light for serious offshore or ocean sailing, but one advantage of this was that she could be sailed, even close to the wind, in

* As Bob makes clear, these are his own opinions and not those of the OCC as a whole, so if you disagree with any of them please contact him and not Flying Fish!

Just a short walk to the freshwater Loch Coruisk ...

Passing the Ardnamurchan Light

light airs as we were doing now. Dodo’s Delight , my Westerly Discus 33, would have been struggling to do that in these conditions. The Dehler 36 had a self-tacking jib, a pro being that it tacked on its own, a con being that it would be difficult to hold it over into the wind if heaving-to, though Ian had fitted an extra line which he hoped would do just that.

For me the huge mainsail and small foresail were disproportionate and off-putting, if only because of the immense labour of raising and reefing the former ... which brings us to a major point – all the lines were led back to the cockpit. Fine, I had done the same years ago on my own boat. But they were all led to a winch positioned in the centre of the cockpit . This meant that you had to wind each line in quickly and with some effort, before cleating that off, putting the next line on and winding hard again. True, this was exacerbated by the electric winch not working properly, which would have done it more speedily and with less effort, but the system was still suspect in my mind, with everything relying on that one winch.

She was strong and well built but I didn’t think she had been worked out very well down below. The passageways were narrow, making it difficult for two people to move around at the same time, personally I don’t go for straight fore-and-aft galleys and sinks, and the cooker was behind the heads’ door when that was open. But she was designed as a racing boat and we were using her for cruising... The fact that the engine starting and stopping buttons were hidden beneath a black cover which

All the Dehler’s lines led to a central winch

made it impossible to see them was, I think, something forced on the new owners and was due to be replaced. I was impressed to be told that the guardrails and even some of the standing rigging was made of woven Dyneema, claimed to be the world’s strongest fibre. ‘Not like that in my day’, but you live and learn.

When we were bashing and crashing in 30+ knots of headwinds on the way to Rum, the owner fell to telling me a story. The survey had said he should pull the keel bolts but he had ignored it, on the grounds that there is always infinitesimal movement between the hull and a bolted-on keel and there were no signs of water ingress. To make sure, they had put epoxy all around at the join and Sikaflex on top of that. I was sure it would be okay but, as we crashed into yet another wave, I did wish he hadn’t told me the story at that precise moment...

Tobermory on Mull

VERTUE XXXV – Humphrey Barton. First published in 1950 by Robert Ross & Co (which two years later became Adlard Coles Ltd), with many reprints since. Normally available from both Amazon and Abebooks [abebooks.co.uk] etc. First edition: 210 185mm x 120mm pages illustrated with b/w photographs, technically interesting design drawings, other line drawings, track charts etc. Current ISBN 978-0-2466-3792-5

In 1949 Gulvain’s owner, Jack Rawlings, asked Humphrey Barton to join the yacht as sailing master for the proposed 1950 Bermuda and Transatlantic Races. I’m sure he jumped at the chance. His partner Jack Giles had designed the innovative aluminium alloy cutter, and they had high hopes for her success. As 1950 unfolded and the North Atlantic became a busy place, I wonder if Humphrey remembered the decision with a wry smile on his face.

Gulvain and her crew were to be shipped to New York for the start of the Bermuda Race, but Humphrey thought this was a bit tame and decided to buy and deliver one of the new Vertues that were being built to the Giles design. Time was too tight to sail via the trade wind route, but 3500 miles to windward across the North Atlantic in spring was likely to be rugged. Meanwhile, four other potential British transatlantic race boats were making their way to New York for the two races. The gaff-rigged Karin III had set off early in 1950 but the other three all managed to arrange shipment as deck cargo as far as Bermuda. They were then going to sail up to the start at Newport, Rhode Island and return, racing, among the large fleet of 59 yachts back to Bermuda.

Vertue XXXV left Falmouth for New York on 15th April 1950 with the imperturbable Kevin O’Riordan aboard as crew. He was as tough as Humphrey in an entirely phlegmatic way and they were a formidable team. The book describes how they started beating to windward off the Lizard ... and spent the next few weeks doggedly beating into an endless series of North Atlantic low-pressure systems, including five gales! The little boat stood up to everything, no gear carried away, and both men remained steadfast in their determination.

Meanwhile, on 20th May, another tough couple of sailors left Falmouth ‘under all sail to topsail and yankee’, in an even smaller yacht, bound for Spain, the Azores and back. Wanderer II was a foot shorter than the first Vertue, Andrillot, and was designed alongside her over the winter of 1935/6. Six inches shorter on the waterline, she had slightly more draft and was rather more curvaceous below the water. Like Vertue XXXV she had no engine and her crew, Eric and Susan Hiscock, wanted to make an offshore passage to see if they liked ocean sailing*. We all know the answer to that!

* The 1977 edition of Wandering Under Sail (first published in 1939), the first of many books by Eric Hiscock, includes an account of this cruise.

By 26th May Vertue XXXV had run into her sixth gale, northwest of Bermuda and near the Gulf Stream. As the gale slowly built, they gradually reduced sail until they were running under bare poles with a sea anchor streamed from the starboard quarter and the tiller lashed. That evening they turned in and listened to the gale steadily increasing. Humphrey wrote, ‘I simply shudder to think what the sea will build up to if this continues’. Then there is a gap in the story, which he had been updating daily. Two days later he wrote, ‘a fiend of a sea picked the yacht up, threw her over onto her port side then burst over her. There was an awful splintering of wood, a crash of broken glass and in came a roaring cataract of water’.

I won’t spoil the yarn, which is right up there with the best, but they survived. A fascinating twist to the tale is that quite nearby both Adlard Coles and Errol Bruce were also trying to survive aboard their small yachts Cohoe and Samuel Pepys, and they both subsequently wrote at length about the experience. The elegant Arthur Robb cutter Mokoia was also nearby, and I wonder if her log was ever published ... but I would urge those who I hope will now re-read Vertue XXXV also to read North Atlantic and Deep Sea Sailing, by Coles and Bruce respectively. (Like Vertue XXXV, both are available on Amazon and Abebooks.)

They all made it to New York where they were seriously entertained and where Vertue XXXV was left at Nevins boatyard on City Island to be repaired. Humphrey was delighted to see Gulvain’s familiar pale blue topsides awaiting him nearby, and he would have admired the exquisite Stephens-designed, Nevins-built yawl Bolero, also lying there quietly. She was about to win this Bermuda Race and the next two!

Gulvain didn’t win either race, but her sailing master continued to expand his circle of oceangoing friends on both sides of the Atlantic. Was this one of the many origins of the OCC? It is said that many early members were from the ocean racing fraternity. Wanderer II made good 1185 miles from Ponta Delgada to Falmouth on their return passage, but it was not declared as a ‘qualifying voyage’ as the Hiscocks never joined the OCC. After being repaired, Vertue XXXV spent many years based around Martha’s Vineyard before being bought and taken to Italy. She is now based in Chioggia, just south of Venice. RR

CCA CRUISING GUIDE TO NOVA SCOTIA – editor Wilson Fitt. Published in soft covers by the Cruising Club of America in 2022 at $64.95 / £46.50. Available in the US from Paradise Cay Publications [https://www.paracay.com/] and in the UK via Amazon. 263 203mm x 280mm (8in x 11in) pages, in full colour throughout. ISBN 978-1-7340-8634-8

The Cruising Club of America (the CCA) was born of a 1919 conversation among sailing friends on the yawl Elsie anchored in Maskells Harbour in the Bras d’Or Lake. It is therefore entirely fitting that the CCA should publish a cruising guide to Nova Scotia. This excellent, thorough edition builds on a long track record and a history of close co-operation between the CCA and the Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron, which endorses the guide.

Nova Scotia is a beautiful cruising ground and one with which many CCA members are intimately familiar. This is evident in the comprehensiveness of the text, as well as their updates to it, downloadable from www.cruisingclub.org/cruising-guides. The guide is divided into seven geographic sections, the first of which actually covers the neighbouring province of New Brunswick and the St John River. This makes sense, as some people will jump off from New Brunswick – a relatively short distance away, often a day sail – and many will combine a New Brunswick cruise with one to Nova Scotia. The guide also includes passage routes from New England and St John in New Brunswick, along with suggestions on navigating the notoriously tricky tides and currents around Cape Sable.

The guide continues with detailed sections on the Bay of Fundy, South Shore, Lunenburg to Halifax, Eastern Shore, the Bras d’Or Lake and Cape Breton, and the remote Sable Island (a national parks reserve which may only be visited with prior permission from Parks Canada – all clearly described in the guide). This is a well-organised breakdown of the various cruising areas in Nova Scotia, each of them with its own appeal and characteristic challenges. Each geographic area is covered in great detail. The list of anchorages is plentiful and well-presented.

There are many helpful sketch charts, a number of photos and navigational details along with lots of local knowledge. Some of the photos are aerial – very helpful as one orients oneself – while others depict harbours and anchorages, a much-appreciated aid as one attempts to envisage unfamiliar working docks to tie up to or the practical effect of extreme tidal ranges in the Bay of Fundy. The legend on a handful of the chartlets and images is somewhat difficult to read and some of the photos are unnecessarily dark, but this is a minor quibble. The vast majority of the images are spot-on, both providing excellent planning tools and, equally importantly, giving the reader an enticing glimpse of the rich scenery and rugged beauty of the Nova Scotia coastline.

The CCA Cruising Guide to Nova Scotia does not stop with providing passage and anchorage information. It also contains the sort of practical detail one often struggles to find when planning a visit to a new cruising area. This includes navigation, wind and weather, safety, rescue, health services, fuel, customs, import restrictions and, last but definitely not least, especially if coming from the year-round lobstering coast of Maine, lobster pots and aquaculture. The guide points out that, unlike in Maine, the lobster fishery in Canada is seasonal and, as a result, the cruising yacht is likely to see few lobster buoys in the summer months, largely removing one source of angst.

The book closes with three excellent appendices. The first, which sadly is becoming more and more relevant as our climate rapidly changes and storms become more frequent and severe, is a list of ‘Hurricane Holes’. The second addresses the ‘Environment of the Sea’, emphasising the ‘leave-no-trace’ approach to cruising and focusing on concerns and regulations with respect to fuel, sewage, bilge water and solid waste as well as a caution about nesting birds and marine mammals. The third is a delightful summary of the ‘Birds and Cetaceans’ one might encounter, including some excellent photos along with suggestions for books, apps and websites to make the experience more rewarding.

The CCA Cruising Guide to Nova Scotia is highly recommended and should form an essential part of the tool kit of every boat cruising Nova Scotia. A must-have, it will open up many new options to explore and greatly enhance your enjoyment of this beautiful cruising area.

MY WAY AROUND THE WORLD

– Saša Fegić. Privately published in soft covers and available from Amazon at £15.72 / $19.99. 330 229mm x 152mm pages, many carrying black and white photos. ISBN 979-8-8684-2610-0

‘If I would sail round the world, I would not achieve anything noteworthy. But it would fill me with pride that I was able to follow the path less travelled. And I wanted to have a beer at Yacht Club Micalvi, Cape Horn’. Such was Saša Fegić’s rationale for his extraordinary voyage.

Readers of Flying Fish 2021/1 may remember Saša’s article Three Great Capes in a 40-year-old Boat, written soon after he and HIR 3 returned to Croatia in October 2020 which, as one would expect, concentrated on the highlights of the voyage. This is no longer the case at book length when the descriptions of life on passage and ashore give an impression of tedium. The story is related in a low-key manner and would probably have benefited from professional editing. Among other things, the insertion every few pages of quotes from those who had inspired him – I

counted about 80 – became an irritating distraction. Having said that, the description of how life unfolds on a long passage will be familiar to offshore sailors and could be helpful to anyone considering making one. Saša meets the challenges many offshore cruisers face, including a knockdown, forestay loss, engine failure etc, with great ingenuity. However, as English is not his first language, the descriptions of these incidents often fail to engage the reader.

The first 70 pages describe how Saša, from Zagreb, Croatia, became a sailor, fascinated by the idea of sailing around the world. To realise his dream, and with minimal financial resources, he bought a 40-year-old, 34ft (10m) yacht in need of a total refit – not least because she had made a westabout circumnavigation via the Great Capes in 1988–90. In the following years she suffered misfortune and neglect, and sustained severe damage during Croatia’s war of independence in the early 1990s. Her name, HIR, means ‘caprice’ in Croatian and is quite the opposite of how she had to fight the severe weather of the Southern Ocean.

The principal message of this book is a familiar one. With sufficient effort, determination and the support of many others, almost anyone can achieve whatever they wish despite starting with the most modest resources. Luck is a necessary component, but is often a by-product of the energy devoted to achieving the objective. Thus it was that Saša Fegić acquired the derelict HIR 3, fitted her out, learned how to sail her and set off around the world with a disparate crew of friends, one of whom was his girlfriend. While the book recounts all that happened to them, we learn little of who they are and it is all the poorer for that. The yacht carried up to five from the Mediterranean to Mindelo. Thereafter, Saša’s girlfriend Marina crewed the Atlantic sections and Nebojša crewed the Southern Ocean. We learn little more about them, however, than that Marina organised provisions superbly but was upset by Saša’s lack of attention to her and that Nebojša was a heavy smoker who liked girls when ashore. There is an absence of joy, humour and insight into what he or his crew were thinking and feeling.

My Way Around the World follows the growing trend in both private and commercial publishing of keeping the price down by opting for black and white rather than colour photos, which is a pity when one can compare some of them with the colour originals in Flying Fish 2021/1.

SKIP NOVAK ON SAILING: Words of Wisdom from 50 Years Afloat – Skip Novak. Published in soft covers by Adlard Coles [www.bloomsbury.com] at £14.99 / $24.00. 303 235mm x 153mm pages with few illustrations. ISBN 978-1-399-41474-6

Skip Novak has poured more seawater out of his boots than most yachtsmen have sailed over – and he has the stories to back it up. His vast experience gives him licence to share his opinions, which he does in spades – often strong, sometimes controversial, but always informed and thought-provoking. He is witty and entertaining, with a ‘you are there’ style of writing. Some articles you might read for information or to hear one side of an argument, others are read simply for the joy of a great story.

Many OCC members will be familiar with Skip’s column in Yachting World, which he took over from Sir Robin Knox-Johnston in October 2014 and wrote monthly until February 2023. This book is a compendium of those 100 articles. It is not intended to be read from cover to cover but rather picked up and turned to a subject of interest. Helpfully, the chapters are organised into the following topics: 1. Learning to sail; 2. Ocean Racing; 3. Design and Maintenance; 4. Technology – Pros and Cons; 5. Safety at Sea; 6. Expedition Sailing and Cruising; 7. Stories from Back in the Day. For some of the older columns, Skip adds a brief commentary to reflect how recent events either confirm or disprove his earlier premise.

Woven into the accounts is the background of how a kid from Chicago became one of the most respected offshore sailors in history. Despite his pedigree, Skip remains wryly self-deprecating,

with lead-ins such as ‘Years ago in my reckless youth (or was it midlife?) ...’. I found it surprising, almost astounding, that a person with his extreme-sailing pedigree gets seasick from a boat’s pitching (but not from rolling and yawing). Fortunately, Stugeron taken ahead of a big bash keeps him on his feet.

Skip’s opinions may challenge one’s own perceptions, but whether you agree or disagree he forces you to hone your thinking. For example, he eschews sea anchors and drogues in favour of heaving to (at least in the larger boats he typically sails). He believes catamarans are the only way to go, for the tropics anyway (but rues the move towards power cats where the destination, rather than the journey, is the goal). He laments the overuse of lifejackets, especially in benign situations. And he’s bold enough (or reckless enough!) to wade into subjects as controversial as gender disparity in round-the-world racing (a chapter your reviewer happened to read the very week an all-female crew won the Ocean Globe Race). This would be a great book to have in the saloon in a stormy anchorage. Reading an entry aloud is bound to spark lively conversation amongst the crew, if not the full-on food fights that Skip cheekily claims to have participated in back in his racing days.

In his numerous sail-to-climb expeditions to South Georgia, the season’s climbing goals remained unmet more often than not due to extreme weather. His message to voyagers –accept the conditions as you find them, whether a blow in the English Channel or a bivouac on South Georgia. Cherish the failures as part of the game and realise how fortunate we are to be playing it.

Perhaps as much as anything, Skip is a bridge to and a reminder of an earlier era of world voyaging. After watching the home-made film Following Seas about the Robinson Crusoe-like adventures of Bob and Nancy Griffith, he writes: ‘I sat in a sad silence for a time after the credits rolled. I contemplated how we, by the virtue of our numbers, have out of convention tied ourselves up in bureaucratic knots and furthermore have entangled ourselves in so much safety equipment, gadgetry, tracking devices and contingency plans that there must come a time when there will be no point to taking that voyage, either for physical or philosophical motives. It can all be done by virtual reality’.

In closing, I would simply note that if you’re ever asked to review a book, better hope that it is one as thought-provoking, entertaining, and informative as this one is. Highly recommended.

MAF

REEDS FIRST AID HANDBOOK – Martin Thomas & Dr Olivia Davies. Published in soft covers by Reeds [www.bloomsbury.com] at £9.99. 192 100mm x 160mm pages, with many full-colour diagrams. ISBN 978-1-3994-0121-0

Written by experienced sailors, Reeds First Aid Handbook covers medical problems most likely to be encountered on board, from common issues such as seasickness and sunburn to more serious problems such as broken bones and emergencies, including heart attacks and strokes. Grading problems by their seriousness, it clearly indicates if it can be treated on board so needn’t mean the end of the trip, or whether it’s necessary to head back to shore or summon help immediately. There is clear guidance on how to make someone comfortable and, in the most serious circumstances, improve their chances of making a full recovery.

There are full-colour, step-by-step diagrams to illustrate the written instructions while the guide on what to include in your on-board first aid kit – which will obviously differ depending on where you are going, how long for and how far you will be away from the nearest assistance – will be welcomed by many yachtsmen. It’s often the first question medics are asked by fellow yachties.

Authors Martin Thomas and Olivia Davies are both well-respected doctors and sailors with years of experience on and off the water. Martin Thomas is an OCC Past Commodore and a Past

Vice-Commodore of the Royal London Yacht Club. A distinguished surgeon, he has written, as well as given talks and practical training, on emergencies at sea and medical treatment for yachtsmen and has recently updated Adlard Coles’ classic Heavy Weather Sailing. Dr Olivia Davies is a Consultant Anaesthetist at University College London Hospitals and Honorary Lecturer at UCL, dealing with emergencies and teaching first aid. She races a Wayfarer dinghy at Aldeburgh Yacht Club as well as cruising and racing in yachts. She has sailed as bosun’s mate on the Jubilee Sailing Trust’s Sir Winston Churchill and Lord Nelson. Their experience shows in the clarity of instruction and realistic approach to coping at sea. They understand the limitations and additional stress that being at sea can pose in a medical situation, providing practical guidance and reassurance. A book this size is limited in scope and the authors rightly place very firm emphasis on first aid training and preparedness – having a trained first aider on board could make a huge difference to the outcome in any emergency. Especially on longer trips, someone (preferably more than one) on board should have a basic first aid qualification.

The authors emphasise how important it is for a skipper to know if any crew member has a medical problem, a subject that can be surprisingly difficult to broach. What is it? How often does it cause problems and of what nature? What, if any, medication is taken and, most important, does the person concerned have enough and to spare for the whole trip? Exotic places are wonderful but not for having the easy access to medicines that we take for granted. We once sailed in the Indian Ocean in company with a friend who had Parkinson’s disease – getting that medication regularly was really interesting!

Reeds First Aid Handbook may be a small book, but it would make a valuable addition to any yacht’s bookshelf and is excellent value. The format is not waterproof so deck use might be limited, but the small size means it’s easy to pop in a pocket. It also means it’s easy to misplace. The spine is sewn so it can be opened flat, making it easy to refer to in an emergency.

WAVEWALKER – Suzanne Heywood. Published in soft covers by William Collins [www. williamcollinsbook.com] at £10.99 / $19.99. 400 129mm x 198mm pages, plus 16 pages of b/w and colour photographs. ISBN 978-0-0084-9853-5

WAVEWALKER, subtitled A Memoir of Breaking Free, is not a classic tale of adventure on the high seas but one which recounts a young girl’s sometimes harrowing experience of growing up aboard a 70ft wooden yacht with her difficult parents.

In 1976 at the age of seven, Sue and her younger brother Jon, aged six, left Plymouth, England with their parents Gordon and Mary Cook, to follow the path of Captain James Cook’s (no relation) third and final voyage begun 200 years earlier. With a disparate and frequently changing crew, Wavewalker made her way south and west to Rio de Janeiro, then headed east to Tristan da Cunha and Cape Town. While crossing the Indian Ocean en route to Australia Wavewalker was caught in a vicious storm, during which she suffered major structural damage and Sue sustained a head injury. After a stop at the remote outpost of Île Amsterdam where Sue’s head trauma was treated and a few repairs made to the boat, Wavewalker continued on.

‘The Wave’ as the author refers to the Indian Ocean knockdown, is the point in the book where the reader’s doubts about the wisdom of the undertaking increase substantially. Admittedly standards may have been different then, but there seems to have been minimal regard for safety on board, especially where the children were concerned. As water was pouring into Wavewalker’s hull, the fact that there was only one child-sized life jacket aboard brings home, though not for the first time, the questionable judgement of the Captain and First Mate.

MEB

With the boat repaired and a bit of money earned through various casual jobs, Wavewalker continued her journey from Australia to New Zealand, Samoa, the Line Islands and on to Hawaii, where Cook’s third voyage had ended. It was three years since the family had left England and the promised end to their voyage was in sight.

However, it was not to be. Gordon and Mary decided that the cruising life was to continue despite the original goal having been achieved. Sue, who for the previous three years had felt cut off from the life she once knew, now fell into an ever-deepening sense of isolation from that ‘normal’ life.

Wavewalker made seasonal migrations, with paying guests as crew, from Australia to the Solomon Islands, Vanuatu and numerous other South Pacific destinations. Sue spent her time tending to the needs of the guests and helping her mother cook and clean, while her brother worked on deck. Each year of this existence with no plan for the future increased Sue’s frustration, which soon turned to anger. The major, though not only, source of conflict between herself and her parents was access to schooling. Sue desperately wanted to attend school but this was rarely allowed because it was deemed unnecessary. After years of pleading she was finally given permission to participate in correspondence classes, which eventually provided her with a path to the freedom and normalcy that she craved.

Wavewalker is not the first book to tackle the topic of miserable children and questionable parents at sea, nor will it be the last. Martinique Stilwell’s Thinking Up A Hurricane* covers similar ground. Of course family conflicts over access to education are by no means limited to those who live aboard boats. Educated: A Memoir* by Tara Westover is the account of a young woman who is the daughter of survivalists living in the mountains of Utah. Despite all odds Tara makes her way to Harvard and Cambridge Universities. Wavewalker follows in this tradition.

There are plenty of other books about education, about parenting, about family relationships, about survival in the wilderness or on the high seas. Why Wavewalker? Readers will find themselves asking one fundamental question: why did Suzanne Heywood choose to write this book? For the reader, Wavewalker is certainly not a do-it-yourself book for parenting, nor for family travels, and certainly not for how to strengthen family bonds. For Suzanne Heywood, it would seem that writing Wavewalker was a healing process, a salve to soothe the bitter memory of a decade of servitude to the dreams of uncaring adventurers tasked with parenting. It is her ode to her own survival, which she has chosen to share with those who are not uncomfortable with such a close-up view of what is essentially a very private struggle. ALJ

* Penguin Random House South Africa, 2019, ISBN 978-0-1435-3034-3

* Windmill Books/Random House, 2018. ISBN 978-0-0995-1102-1

NB: The phrases ‘Discounted on Amazon’, ‘Also available as an e-book’ and ‘Also available for Kindle’ apply to such a high proportion of the books reviewed on the previous pages that it no longer seems necessary to include them in the introductory paragraphs.

Coleridge was a drug addict. Poe was an alcoholic. Marlowe was killed by a man he was trying to stab. Poe took money to keep a woman’s name out of a satire then wrote a piece so that she could still be recognised anyhow. Chatterton killed himself. Byron was accused of incest. Do you still want to be a writer – and if so, why?

Bennett Cerf, Shake Well before Using

FISHING UNDER SAIL ~ Ten Top Tips from an Atlantic Circuit

Charles Delaney

In 1999 Scott and Wendy Bannerot wrote The Cruiser’s Handbook of Fishing* which soon became the definitive guide for those looking to fish from a sailing yacht. I read it from cover to cover when preparing for our Atlantic circuit and was amazed by the heroic stories of landing exotic fish in waters on the far side of the world. I was also fascinated by the incredibly useful illustrations of rods, lures and other equipment. Throughout our cruise I put a lot of what I had read into practice with modest success, and would like to offer ten top tips and tricks which I hope will improve your success when fishing under sail.

By way of introduction, in 2021 my wife Caroline and I, together with our friends Ciaran and Olivia, set off from the UK on our Atlantic circuit (and extended honeymoon) in Caris, our 40ft Westerly Oceanlord (see Mentoring Charles and Caroline in Flying Fish 2022/1). I had very little fishing experience prior to this and learnt as we went along. Throughout the year we managed to catch a steady supply of fish which greatly aided our provisioning, and Caroline’s sushi recipe can be found on the website – see page 3 of this issue. One caveat, however – describing various fishing set-ups in detail is complicated and would make difficult reading. I went into much more detail in a webinar, available on the OCC website at https://www.oceancruisingclub.org/webinars.

Tip 1 – Fish the whole water column

Charles, Ciaran and Olivia on the first day of their Atlantic passage, with a decent haul of yellowfin tuna

Fish behaviour can be as unpredictable as the element they inhabit. On some days fish were striking our lures without a care in the world, on other days the rods would remain completely undisturbed. Given the variability of feeding patterns, sea and air temperature, barometric pressure, weather, moon state and a host of other factors, it is little wonder that some days were a frenzy of activity and others were frustratingly quiet. Put simply, sometimes the fish are feeding at the surface and other days they remain deeper in the water column.

To maximise your chances of putting a lure in front of a fish, utilise the space below your boat as well as behind it. I found that a useful set-up was to have one lure on the surface closer to the

* Published in 2003 by International Marine/Ragged Mountain Press. ISBN 9780-0714-2788-3

stern and one further away. (There is much debate as to the optimum distance, but a good rule of thumb is somewhere between one and five boat-lengths.) Often one lure will get the fish’s attention and the second gets the strike. To fish deeper in the water column, use a ‘planer’ –a small weighted sledge which takes lures 5–20m below the surface. I caught a large proportion of fish using a planer and it is a must-have on board. It is important to use a strong, non-stretch line such as braided mainline to attach the planer to your rod or hand reel as it creates a lot of drag.

An African pompano caught by Caroline off Grenada

A mahi mahi caught on a surface lure en route to the Cape Verdes

A wahoo caught on a planer and hand reel

Tip 2 – Lure selection

A bewildering choice of lures is to be found in any tackle shop or chandlery, but fortunately The Cruiser’s Handbook of Fishing goes into great detail about each of them. I found that tuna feathers, squid/octopus skirts and drone spoons provided me with the best results throughout the year, though I did catch fish on cedar plugs and hardbodied lures (the typical lure you think of when fishing, a realistically-painted plastic fish body with treble hooks hung underneath it).

Colour choice is also a greatly discussed topic. The general consensus is to use brightly-coloured lures when it is bright and sunny and darker lures when it is overcast. I didn’t find this to be a hard and fast rule, though I did find that some colour choices were much more successful than others. Blue and white, red and white, and pink and

goliath grouper caught on a 7in (18cm) plug in the Bahamas

Tuna feathers and octopus skirts

white lures had the most strikes over the year, however almost all lures caught fish at some point.

Size of lure is an important factor. Most manageable fish you would want to land can be caught on lures of 4–6in (10–15cm) in length. Almost all the mahi mahi (aka dolphin fish), tuna, barracuda, jack and king mackerel we caught were on lures in this range. I found that the larger the lure the fewer fish you caught on them, though these did tend to be larger fish. If you decide to run a 9–10in+ (23–25cm+) lure you run the risk of catching a very large fish indeed!

A drone spoon used to catch a barracuda

A

Tuna feather lures can also catch king mackerel

Tip 3 – Gear selection

Most cruisers we spoke to found that lures were constantly getting bitten off or the line was snapping when reeling in fish. This is a common problem and is due to the tackle not being heavy-duty enough to handle large fish from a moving platform. My set-up of two Shimano TLD A 50lb blank rods with Penn Squall 50LD lever drag reels proved to be more than enough for all the fish I caught – anything in this category provides enough power to handle most fish you may encounter. Hand reels are excellent to use on board. They are cheap, easy to set up and simple to rig and maintain. Hand reels must be tied to the boat with at least 20in (50cm) of 0∙4in (10mm) diameter bungee cord. This allows stretching and stops fish from snapping the line, as well as helping set the hook when you have a strike.

strand of nylon and stretches, whereas braided line is made up of multiple strands of synthetic fibres woven together and does not stretch. For a given test-strength, braid has a much smaller diameter than mono, which has the advantage that you can pack more line onto a reel.

Tip 4 – Line selection

There are two main choices for line selection – braid and monofilament. Monofilament (mono) consists of a single

My Shimano TLD stand-up rod – suitable for almost all fish likely to be encountered

A short-nosed billfish caught 200 miles northeast of the Azores on a 10in (25cm) lure

Bungees on hand reels are a must

It is important that your line has some stretch in it, however, as this reduces the shockloading on your rod and line when a fish strikes. Given that I was using braid as a mainline, in order to get some stretch in the line I attached 50ft (15m) of mono to the braid just before

Our Penn Squall LD reel

the lure. This allowed me to get a lot of braided line on the reel whilst still having some stretch. This is known as ‘running a topshot’ and is discussed further on the webinar. 100lb (45kg) braided mainline with 50ft of 50–60lb (23–27kg) mono will be more than enough. The largest fish we caught all year was caught with 100lb braid and 60lb mono topshot. For hand reels, a more robust set-up is advisable and I recommend 150–200lb (68–91kg) braid with 80lb (36kg) mono topshot. This is because you are unable to play the fish using the reel’s drag like you can with a rod and reel set-up. Do remember to attach the hand reel to the boat with bungee as advised above.

Tip 5 – Fish along underwater/floating structures

Fish tend to congregate along subterranean structures, be it underwater sea mounts, continental shelves or anything else which isn’t flat seabed. When fishing near coastal waters your chartplotter will provide a useful guide to the underwater topography, and planning a route which crosses these structures will greatly improve your strike rate. On ocean passages, pelagic fish such as mahi mahi and tuna tend to move in schools so this rule is not as applicable, however surface structures will often hold fish. For example, floating logs and debris, or rafts of sargassum weed, will often have fish congregating underneath. When we crossed the Atlantic from the Cape Verde islands we found that most strikes occurred when passing close to floating objects or rafts of sargassum.

Tip 6 – Natural bait/stripbait is a game changer

One of the best things you can do to improve your strike rate is to use bait on your lures. When you catch a fish, keep some of the belly meat, cut it into 4–6in (10–15cm) strips and put it on your lures. The Cruiser’s Handbook of

Fish love underwater structures

Fishing goes into this in some detail, as does the webinar. In the Caribbean there are lots of baitfish you can fish for on the reef, in particular ballyhoo, which make excellent bait when rigged whole onto a lure. Most fishermen in the Caribbean will give you some if you ask nicely, or maybe in exchange for a few cold beers. I salted and froze all my baits to make them last longer and they were just as effective months later.

A whole ballyhoo rigged on a lure is super-effective

Tip 7 – If a lure is not working, don’t be afraid to change

Sometimes a lure would catch three or four fish one day and be completely useless the next. As mentioned, there are a variety of reasons why fish are not striking, and if I had not got a strike after two or three hours I would always change to a different colour lure and move the lure closer/further away from the boat. I would also think about changing the lure and the depth of the lure on the end of the planer. By changing the offering you increase your chances of getting a strike. Often a lure had a bit of weed fouling the hook, and a fish will not strike a lure with weed on it. If you check your lures frequently you will spend less time trolling fouled lures which will never catch anything.

A blackfin tuna caught on a tuna feather off St Maarten

An oceanic pufferfish with deadly neurotoxins. Always be sure you know what you’ve caught before you eat it!

Tip

8 – Get a fish identification card

En route to the Canaries from Lisbon we pulled in a rather odd-looking fish. We thought it might be a Spanish mackerel so we started preparing it for dinner. As we filleted it, something didn’t seem right. It was a luminous blue, had a beak instead of teeth, saggy belly skin with small spikes and was rather slimy. We threw it overboard and washed carefully. On buying a fish ID card on arrival we realised that we had caught an oceanic pufferfish. They are highly poisonous, with deadly neurotoxins on their skin and in their organs. Known as fugu in Japan, bogeo in Korea and hétún in China, chefs train for years learning how to cook them safely. This close call highlights the need to identify your fish, both to ensure your safety and so that you don’t needlessly cull an inedible fish. We learnt a valuable lesson that day.

Tip 9 – Slow the boat down as soon as possible after a hook-up

When a fish is on the line, both rod and line will be under a fair amount of pressure. Unlike when fishing from land, the forward motion of the boat will add considerable tension to the line and risks ripping the hook out of the fish’s mouth, removing all the line on your reel or snapping the line. Slowing the boat as soon as possible will reduce this risk and you will have less line to reel back in. Aboard Caris we had a rule that whoever got to the rod first would be the one to reel the fish in, and everyone else would help reduce sail area/change course to slow the boat. When we had sufficient crew, one person would be tasked with reeling the other lines out of the water to prevent tangles. This could be quite the job when we were short-handed and trailing upwards of six lines!

Tip 10 – Gaffing fish

Using a gaff is important for getting fish onboard. Unless the fish is small, lifting it out by the line will almost certainly result in the line snapping or the hook dislodging. When gaffing a fish, aim for just behind the pectoral fins. I found the best technique was to get the fish directly under my feet, then get the gaff under its belly and pull upwards as vertically as possible. Using your legs and your arms will help set the gaff and will provide

Charles gaffing a shortnosed billfish

the power to get the fish over the guardrail. The best location to gaff will depend on the type of boat you are on. For me, it was from the side of the boat rather than from the transom. Gaffing from the transom/sugar scoop presents a number of safety issues and doesn’t allow you to impart as much lifting strength, whereas standing a few feet over the fish at the side of the boat allows a more powerful lift.

I hope that these Ten Top Tips bring you success when fishing under sail and I look forward to reading fishing accounts similar to the captivating tales in The Cruiser’s Handbook of Fishing in future Flying Fish. Tight lines!

A short- nosed billfish filleted and ready for the fridge

Caroline with two skipjack tuna caught en route to the Turks and Caicos Islands

SOUTH AMERICA VIA THE BEAGLE CHANNEL

Thierry J-L Courvoisier

(Thierry has written six previous articles for Flying Fish, concluding with the fourth instalment of Cérès through the Russian Inland Waterways in Flying Fish 2020/1. After being appointed a Roving Rear Commodore he wrote pieces for each of the 2023 Newsletters, effectively the prequel to this article.

Gaia is a 15m AMEL 50 sailed under the Swiss flag. Thierry and Barbara took delivery in La Rochelle in June 2020 and the following year sailed her to Scotland, the Faroe Islands and Iceland. In May 2022 they started a long cruise south via Europe, the Canary Islands, the Cape Verdes and Brazil, reaching Piriápolis, Uruguay, in April 2023. See also sy-gaia.ch, in French but readily translatable.

All photos by Barbara Courvoisier unless credited otherwise.)

Gaia spent the austral winter of 2023 in Piriápolis, Uruguay, well looked after by Victor, our local contact. It was there that, in April 2023, we had met Omar Sanchez, OCC Port Officer for Buenos Aires, for the first time. Omar had recommended Piriápolis as the best place to leave Gaia, and suggested we visit Buenos Aires on our return from Switzerland before going on board. This we did and enjoyed a highly interesting visit thanks to Omar’s deep knowledge of the city, its monuments, life and history. When we mentioned that we’d be happy to sail the Beagle Channel with friends in addition to Barbara and I, Omar expressed his interest in joining us and mentioned that he had already sailed that route all the way to Puerto Natales. Knowing that his presence on board would not only be a great help but also pleasant,

arrangements were made accordingly. Ivo Herzog, a Brazilian friend met in Itajai the previous year, was to be the fourth on board. We decided to prepare to sail south from Mar del Plata any time after Wednesday 15th November.

We made a number of new and very helpful friends in Mar del Plata. It is home to a lively sailing community with two sailing clubs, the Yacht Club Argentino and the Club Nautico Mar del Plata. Children and teenagers can train and race in and out of the protected harbour even in strong winds, and it is there that Sirio, the last boat of Argentinian solo circumnavigator, Vito Dumas is moored.

We finally left Mar del Plata on the midnight high tide on 22nd November after a spell of poor weather, having

Tango in Buenos Aires

Formerly the Buenos Aires ‘Hotel des Postes’, this impressive building is now a cultural centre

Gaia’s crew to Puerto Natales: Barbara, Thierry, Omar Sanchez and Ivo Herzog

purchased the equipment needed in Patagonian anchorages (four 100m lines, a machete and fishing boots), bunkered, provisioned and fulfilled the requirements of the Uruguay’s Armada Nacional. Our first port of call would depend on the weather and conditions met en route. Those being good, we skipped a stop in Puerto Madryn, where the anchorage has a poor reputation, and continued in the direction of Caleta Hornos. After a night in an anchorage to let a south wind blow itself out we reached the caleta, a barren rocky inlet in a deserted environment. The depths being rather less than charted we tied up at the entrance using the anchor and four lines to the shore, two on each side of the caleta, in magnificent weather. This was to change drastically next day, when a northerly blow lasting a day and a night hit us with 50 knots (force 10). The caleta is oriented so that the north wind blew straight down between the steep shores and onto our stern. The two stern lines took all the strain, a full-scale stress test for the lines bought in Mar del Plata. It was also a test for the nervous systems of the crew, but lines, boat and crew all passed with flying colours.

Our next stop was at Puerto Deseado. Mooring facilities are very limited there, the local shipyard providing a single reasonably-protected berth behind a floating pontoon in barely enough water. While in Puerto Deseado, OCC member Eugénie Nottebohm aboard Giulia announced on a WhatsApp group of sailors in Patagonia that she intended to sail south from San Julian, some 100 miles south of Puerto Deseado, solo in her Contessa 32, and would be keen to know of other sailors intending to be in those waters at the same time. The route lies along the Argentinian coast through the Le Maire Strait and into the Beagle Channel. These are not the kindest waters on the planet, particularly for a singlehanded sailor in a small vessel. Since our intentions were very similar in terms of route and timescale we kept in touch as we left Puerto Deseado, first via satellite e-mail, then on VHF and finally with direct contact as we approached the Le Maire Strait.

Gaia with four shorelines out in Caleta Hornos

Bad weather south of Puerto Deseado

Sailing through the Strait in mild conditions is not a problem, but it is very dangerous when conditions are not optimal. We had therefore planned on a stop at the Staten Islands off Tierra del Fuego to wait for suitable conditions. It became clear as we approached, however, that we could sail the Strait when we arrived provided we waited some hours for the tide to reverse and flow south. This we did, together with Eugénie, in the early hours of 11th December. The current never reversed, but it did decrease to some 1∙5–2 knots flowing north. The wind picked up from the predicted calm to some 20 knots from the north, which resulted in steep 1–2m seas – quite okay, but enough to imagine that the place can be as dreadful as described in the literature. Puerto Español, a large but reasonably sheltered bay some distance from the Strait, offered a welcome anchorage for Giulia and Gaia for a warm meal, a non-negligible amount of wine and a quiet night, all needed to decrease the adrenaline level in our blood.

The one protected berth in Puerto Deseado

The Beagle Channel was also quiet, even sunny, over the next few days, permitting a smooth trip to Ushuaia with stops in Harberton Farm and in Puerto Almanza where a small restaurant offers splendid centollas *. The facilities in Ushuaia are rather minimal. The wooden pier at the Club Náutico (correctly the Asociación Fueguina de Actividades Subacuáticas y Náuticas or AFASyN) is managed by OCC Port Officer Representative Roxana Diaz. She has a competent if somewhat authoritarian approach, necessary to organise the comings and goings of a number of rather large charter yachts en route to and from Antarctica. The club opens a warm room to the sailing community, where we spent Christmas and New Year’s Eve, and also

* Also known as the southern or Chilean king crab, the centolla is found off both the Atlantic and Pacific coasts of southern South America.

The Le Maire Strait in the early hours of 11th December 2023

has an old fishing boat, the Angel B, which is open only to club members but where we spent a wonderful evening thanks to Omar’s local contacts. The wind blows with severity in Ushuaia, thankfully from a direction with little fetch at the AFASyN pier, but a reminder that the Beagle Channel is not always as calm as on our arrival and a warning for the coming weeks. Barbara hurt herself cutting vegetables, a reminder that vegetables are not always as healthy as some would like us to think, but Omar, a cardiologist, showed his broad medical competence in curing the wound using mainly sugar, a well-known wartime medical technique.

The way Argentina and Chile share the southern tip of America and the tension between the two states mean that one has to sail 25 miles back, ie. east, from Ushuaia to Puerto Williams to enter Chile. Leaving Ushuaia requires obtaining an authorisation from the port authorities. This may entail a visit from an official to check the vessel’s equipment. While some of the requirements are reasonable and some staff informed, these visits can be reminiscent of the absurdities in Kafka’s novels. For example, a bell and an axe are required – meaningless pieces of equipment on a modern sailing boat, a fact of no relevance in the eyes of some officials because they are on the list of mandatory equipment. A visit to Gaia having been announced we borrowed an axe from a neighbouring boat. The visit being at dinner time, it was dealt with swiftly and without hassle.

Puerto Williams has no harbour but there is a well-sheltered cove in which the Micalvi, an old cargo ship, has been run aground. First comers tie to the ship with the next rafting alongside up to four or five layers deep. The Micalvi serves as a club house and is home to a semi-infinite number of drinks and parties including, while we were there, a birthday party for OCC member Camilla, sailing aboard Songster with Jurriaan and two-year-old Christopher. Chilian rules prohibit the import of fresh food, so the customs officials tasked with enforcing this rule prefer to do the paperwork on the Micalvi to avoid seeing the few apples etc that crews may have on board. The armada (Argentinian Navy) and immigration have to be visited ashore. The whole exercise is lengthy but friendly.

Rafting alongside the Micalvi in Puerto Williams

The AFASyN pier in Ushuaia

Leaving Puerto Williams to sail north through the Patagonian Channels means saying goodbye to human civilisation for quite some time as the next harbour, Puerto Natales, lies some 500 miles away. Along the way there are no roads, no houses with the exception of two armada radio stations, no shops. No nothing, as some would say. Sailing these waters also means accepting rather miserable weather. The region’s mountainous terrain is such that the humid westerlies hit the continent, are lifted by the Andes and cool. The humidity condenses and rains down on sailors attempting to edge their way north. The winds are strong – we are in the Furious Fifties – and almost always funnelled from the north between the innumerable islands, and can drive the water at up to 4 knots. The result is a cruise against winds of 30 knots or more in heavy rain, often making only 2 or 3 knots over the ground. The weather forecasts reflect the complex terrain only poorly, so the wind in the channels is generally much stronger than predicted. We met harsh conditions for most of the time, though some sailors report encountering better conditions.

The Beagle Channel runs south of the island of Tierra del Fuego. On the island’s west side the route turns north through numerous channels, with an occasional opening to the Pacific Ocean and the Magellan Strait, which flows round the north side of Tierra del Fuego, coming in from the northeast at Cabo Froward. The 120-mile channel from Cabo Froward to the Pacific is some 3–5 miles wide and 1000m deep. The wind always blows down the channel against those who boldly attempt to sail north and is mostly very strong. Sailing this stretch felt like a punishment. Coming out from behind Isla Carlos III a cargo ship called us on VHF to announce 60 knot winds (force 11) some miles ahead. Needless to say, we pulled into the closest caleta. Several days later, having sailed for a few short spells and spent four days in Caleta Mostyn, a lonely, rainy caleta, we sailed the last 30 miles of the Strait tacking innumerable times into 25–30 knot winds. When we reached Isla Tamar, the point where we could turn north again, the wind, which had been forecast to decrease to 15–20 knots, increased to 35 knots (force 8). This meant a long day to reach Puerto Profundo at the entrance to Canal Smyth, where we waited for another storm to blow itself out before making some more progress towards Puerto Natales.

Gaia moored in Puerto Profundo

The Micalvi’s interior

The caletas between Puerto Williams and Puerto Natales are often encumbered by large quantities of kelp. Chain and anchor collect the long stems and fronds in heavy bundles that need be cut when the anchor is lifted, considerably complicating departure manoeuvres, particularly in windy conditions and narrow anchorages. Hence the need for a strong machete and an energetic crew at the bow when lifting anchor.

We had left Puerto Williams on 7th January 2024 and reached Puerto Natales on 2nd February. While the conditions were hard, the landscape was stunning in its sheer magnitude and isolation. Rocks and impenetrable forests for days on end. No paths to hike or stroll, seldom a gravel beach for a few steps, powerful nature as it has existed since the last ice age – rocks, mountains, trees, water, clouds and wind are the only elements for hundreds of miles. Human presence has always been very scarce in this region and no traces of any inhabitants remain. We stopped in a number of caletas, most of the time with anchor and shorelines, greatly helped by Omar with his previous experience and by Ivo. In most caletas the protection is excellent, but in some the wind blew up to 50 knots, the feared williwaws. In some we had to stay several days awaiting a relatively calm day, our crew of four a human island in a humanless universe. Time was spent in many lively discussions, nourished by the vast knowledge of both Omar and Ivo on South America’s recent history. Of more immediate concern there were questions as to whether we would have enough fuel and food as our progress was so slow. On checking we found that we were fine regarding food, water and wine, but were short on beer. Fuel also proved sufficient to reach Puerto Natales.

Puerto Natales is a small city, the departure hub for many excursions to the nearby Torres del Peine, a large, wonderful and impressive mountain range some distance inland. In summer the population is dominated by young and sporty tourists eager to hike and climb, which makes for a lively city full of most welcome restaurants and shops. It is some way off the direct route to the north and hence visited by very few yachts, but we anticipated a change of crew and had planned for food and fuel refills there, so took the 100 mile or

Omar cutting kelp off the anchor

Moored in Caleta Brecknock

Gaia alongside the tug in Puerto Natales

so detour needed to visit the city. It has the reputation of having few good berthing possibilities. The anchorage on the other side of the channel lies about a mile away, a crossing possible only in calm weather and with a dinghy considerably stronger than ours. We had heard that a reasonably safe mooring alongside a fishing boat might be available in the fishing harbour, so enquired by radio about the possibility of staying for a few days. This was refused repeatedly on the grounds that the harbour was full, though we learned later that the real reason for refusing sailing vessels is that there have been numerous issues of theft from yachts which creates a big hassle for both sailors and harbour authorities. Sailing past the city we did not see any other place where it would be safe to stop, so continued some 15 miles to Puerto Pratt, where safe anchorage can be found. We spent two days there. Ivo rented a car, which helped greatly, but it was still impractical to fuel and bunker as a fence had to be climbed to reach the road from the boat.

A fellow sailor had mentioned having stayed reasonably safely alongside a tug in the Skorpius commercial harbour. Not seeing any other mooring we spoke to the harbour master who confirmed that we would be welcome ... for a price of US $600 per 24 hours. Thinking that this was ridiculous, particularly as no facilities were available, and assuming that discussions were bound to lead to a more reasonable price, we entered and tied up just before some nasty weather appeared. The discussions did not lead anywhere except to the threat of doubling the price, so we were left with no option but to pay the amount requested. The weather was indeed nasty,

Four boats in Caleta Refugio –Amelia, Boaty McBoatface, Songster and Gaia

the tug broke its lines one night and waves of more than a metre rocked us in the whirling winds. In conclusion, Puerto Natales should be avoided if at all possible. We informed the OCC Port Officer Representative in Puerto Williams of these difficulties and Omar sent the information to Noonsite. Omar and Ivo left us in Puerto Natales and Paola, Mike and François, friends from Geneva, joined Gaia for the following weeks.

Leaving Puerto Natales on 9th February was again a trial. The wind in the Golfo Almirante Montt just south of the city was forecast to be northwesterly 15–20 knots but it blew 45 knots. I was happy to have a boat capable of making progress and tacking in these conditions as we made our way west. Two days and one caleta later we reached Caleta Columbine, where we found Songster with Camilla, Jurriaan and Christopher, as well as Boaty McBoatface , a German yacht we have met on

Leaving the glacier.

Photo M Struik

In frovnt of the Pio XI glacier in Seno Eyre. Photo M Struik

Caleta Sally, next to the Pio XI glacier.

Photo M Struik

numerous occasions over the past six years. This was the beginning of, for the region, some intense social life. A few nights later, Amelia having arrived, we were four boats in Caleta Refugio picking ice from the sea to cool our drinks while dolphins swam around. Glaciers are indeed one element of the landscape. The Pio XI glacier is one of the most impressive, its front extending for almost two miles into the sea after pushing its way through the forest. This glacier is one extremity of the continental ice shelf and is one of the few, if not the only, glacier in the world that is still growing at the present time.

The glacier is two days from Puerto Eden, a lone village of only 50 inhabitants. It is the first settlement after Puerto Natales and, for those not stopping at PN, from Puerto Williams. The settlement exists due to its well-sheltered bay and was an early post of the armada, close to which the local Alakaluf tribe congregated and lived for the final decades of their civilisation in the early 20th century. There were four boats there, Songster, Amelia, Boaty McBoatface and Gaia. Facilities are limited but it was possible to get some laundry done, to buy food the day after the arrival of the cargo ship, and to get fuel.

The route continues north of Puerto Eden along Messier’s Channel to reach the Golfo de Penas or ‘penalties’, a name that generally reflects the feeling of those who sail it. (Messier was

Caleta Lucrecia, en route to Puerto Eden

Puerto Eden

an astronomer who compiled a catalogue of fuzzy objects. The Andromeda galaxy, for example, bears the number 31 in this catalogue.) We enjoyed a rare southwest wind, fresh but from the right direction, to sail the channel and the Golfo in one go. The latter, fully exposed to the Pacific Ocean, was true to its reputation for being irregularly, disagreeably bumpy. Running fast in the fresh wind, the boat crashed loudly into the seas and not all stomachs could stand the ordeal as well as the hull did. Arriving on the other side at Caleta Cliff we were surprised to find the charted position wrong by some 2 miles, but the waypoint given in the Italian bible* is correct. Entering the pass to the caleta between high plumes of spray kept the skipper’s adrenaline level high, but then the weather improved so much that we unanimously decided on a rest day. We repaired the staysail, explored the caleta on foot and by dinghy, some went for a short swim, and we enjoyed the sunshine.

Once on the ocean, the route continues past the Skyring Peninsula, where we spent a night in yet another spectacular caleta, Seno Pico Paika. An isolated rock lies on the direct route in the middle of nothing. This rock, only visible due to the breaking seas, is also 2 miles from its charted position. The crew of Amelia, a day ahead of us, had thankfully made us aware of the problem.

There are three possible channels to continue north from the Skyring Peninsula. We chose the southernmost one to avoid some nasty north winds and entered Channel Pulluche in thick fog, helped by the radar. Thankfully the chart was correct there. A few caletas later we reached Puerto Aguire, where a single floating pontoon is proudly called a marina. The village is rather lively with 1200 inhabitants. Unfortunately the establishment called ‘Ristorante de Navigantes’ does not serve meals, but it does satisfy other needs of the flesh.

A few more caletas northwards brought us to Puerto Juan, some 40 miles southwest of Isla Grande de Chiloé. We made the crossing under a blue and sunny sky with stunning views of the continental volcanos, Corcovado, covered as it is by scintillating snow and ice, being the most impressive. We did not stop in Quellón, the southernmost city on Chiloé of which we had not heard much positive, but in Estero Huidal, a nicely protected bay. There were cows grazing in the sun and some agriculture, as Chiloé is home to large potato farms. The contrast with the hostility of the landscape further south was vivid. The island’s capital is Castro, a city where houses close to the shore are built on palafits (stilts) as the tidal range is up to 8m. We enjoyed a pleasant stop in Marina Quinched, reasonably protected, not too far from the city and with friendly staff.

* Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego Nautical Guide by Mariolina Rolfo and Giorgio Ardrizzi, 3rd edition. Published by Nutrimenti Mare in 2016.

Crossing the Golfo de Penas

Our fishing had not been particularly successful throughout the whole cruise, except once sailing along the shore of Chiloé when a respectably-sized sierra (a member of the mackerel family) bit on bait prepared by François. It provided two good meals for the crews of Gaia and Amelia.

It is about 70 miles from Isla Grande de Chiloé to Puerto Montt, time for another few caletas where the tidal range is the difficulty. Anchoring in steeply shoaling ground with 8m tidal range is challenging. While it is acceptable when the weather is settled, I would not like to be caught in a blow in one of these places.

Puerto Montt is a larger city of about 200,000 inhabitants and has a marina where it is possible to leave a boat for the austral winter. The city itself is not particularly attractive, but there is a very pleasant market including a number of restaurants and long quays for strolling on the rare sunny days. The country behind Puerto Montt is very attractive, with the Osorno volcano and large lakes surrounded by thick forests. There we had the pleasure of meeting some astronomy colleagues from a previous life – Chile is home to some of the world’s best astronomical sites.

We had decided to overwinter Gaia some 150 miles further north in Valdivia. This requires exiting into the Pacific through the Chacao Channel, which separates Isla Grande de Chiloé from the mainland. It is another stretch of water to be treated with respect, as the currents are strong and run against the west wind and swell from the Pacific. The sail north is without further problems, except for being along a lee shore without any safe refuges. Valdivia is well inland up the river of the same name, with the Marina Estancilla in a protected curve about halfway between the city and the sea. Facilities are modest, but it is possible to lift a boat out and staff are available to keep an eye on the few boats spending the winter there. It was there that our sail around the southern end of the Americas ended and where Gaia will stay until November when we will fly out to her again.

The marina in Puerto Montt

IT’S ALWAYS SOMETHING!

An Atlantic Crossing in a Contessa 32

Anne Kolker

(Anne Kolker is an anesthesiologist (anaesthetist in British English) who worked at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center in New York for 30 years before retiring to do more sailing. She and husband Alan became avid sailors about 29 years ago, and had plans to retire and cruise aboard their Stellar 52 Etoile until Alan died in 2008. Since then, Anne has made many cruises along the US East Coast in Etoile and taken part in numerous offshore races with all-female crews, as well as sailing as crew/ ship’s doctor on other racing boats.)

I had been talking about doing an Atlantic crossing with Etoile, but the complexity of her systems made it seem like a daunting project. When my friend Margaret ‘Garet’ Wohl sent me a copy of Cape Horn to Starboard by John Kretschmer, featuring a Contessa 32, I thought the story was compelling. Garet had bought a 1985 Contessa 32 and asked if I would consider an Atlantic crossing with her as part of a crew of three. Garet and I had sailed together on many offshore races over the previous ten years and it sounded like a real adventure on a much simpler boat than mine, so I said yes without hesitation. Garet asked a friend with whom she had done an ARC race many years ago to join us and he too agreed to come.

Garet had owned Salacia, her Contessa 32, for about six months before deciding to do the crossing. She documented the boat in Denmark for ease of EPIRB registration, then worked very hard to get all systems ready including adding new sails, a small solar panel, safety equipment and an IridiumGO! for communications. She took short sails from her home harbour of Sète, France and in late September 2018 began the passage down the coasts of France and Spain to deliver Salacia to the Canary Islands. We hoped to depart from there in January 2019, but in early October Garet called to say that her ARC friend wouldn’t be joining us due to a heart problem. She searched for a replacement through an online site for ocean crew and found Chris, an experienced 58-year-old British sailor who had done two west to east Atlantic crossings and was, per Garet’s evaluation, a very capable sailor with mechanical skills as well.

To familiarise myself with the boat I joined Garet for two weeks on passage from Barcelona to Valencia. Salacia was small and sturdy. We had a problem with the overheat alarm for the engine but it turned out to be the alarm, which was old, not the engine, which was new. We also had a windvane self-steering gear, which seemed like a good idea although it was totally new to me. Our Spanish coastal trip was mostly motor-sailing, so we never used the self-steering.

* Cape Horn xxxxt Garet at the helm to Starboard , published in the US by Burford Books in 2010.

We departed on 3rd January and, once beyond the shadow of Gran Canaria, had good wind and nice weather with little wave action. We settled into our watch routine of three hours on and six hours off, and all was good until 2230 on day three, when I was making tea in anticipation of my 2300 watch. I was pouring boiling water into my mug, but not holding on, when the boat lurched and I went flying backwards against a knob with the teapot in hand. I was able to place the teapot on the nav station desk before I crashed and felt immediately that I had fractured my clavicle (collarbone). As a physician I was fairly sure I knew what had happened. My first reaction was nausea, and then

We planned to depart the Canaries in early January 2019. I arrived in Gran Canaria on the 1st and met Chris at the airport, so we shared a taxi to the marina where Salacia was docked and stowed our gear aboard. Chris was clearly an easygoing and capable crew member. After a few days of final preparation and provisioning we set off for Mindelo in the Cape Verde islands, since there was very little wind to take us west but enough wind to take us south until the butter melted.

I fainted. I recovered quickly, however, and ascertained that my shoulder, arm and hand still worked and, aside from intense pain, I was probably not badly injured. I insisted on standing my watch for a while to get some fresh air, then tried to sleep as best I could in whatever position wasn’t painful.

Anne, Chris and Garet in the Canaries

Labelling cans for storage

Checking the anemometer and antenna

Front view of my arm and shoulder a week after the injury

The next few days were relatively pleasant, with lots of marine life and occasional ships to watch. Chris and Garet chased a leak that was causing the bilge pump to cycle, which was a concern for battery drain. It turned out that two areas of hoses (the engine exhaust and a throughhull vent for the heater) were not adequately sealed, but they were easy to fix. We reached Mindelo on 11th January, navigating into the harbour with gusts to 29 knots during the approach. After docking I headed for the shower, where I was finally able to see my shoulder, which was covered in a deep-purple bruise that flowed down to my elbow. I checked some reliable sources to be sure that there was no real treatment for a clavicle fracture. Aside from pain on movement, so long as I took lots of ibuprofen I was fine.

Ilhéu dos Pássaros in the approach to Mindelo with 29 knots blowing

After adding to our provisions and resting for a few days we left Mindelo on 14th January. Again, we settled into our routine. We picked up the equatorial current for a nice ride, giving us a speed of about 5 knots. After dinner on the 16th we planned to charge the batteries, but the engine wouldn’t start, the starting battery registering only 4∙7 volts. We deduced that leaving the starting battery’s switch in the ‘on’ position had drained it, but luckily we were able to jump-start the engine and recharge it.

A panoramic view across the Canal de São Vicente towards Santo Antao

On the morning of the 19th Garet woke me to come on deck – Chris was clearly not well. He admitted to having chest pain similar to what had caused him to have a cardiac stent inserted several years earlier. We knew nothing of this history. Chris had talked quite a bit about biking the hills of the Tour de France, running half-marathons and doing solo English Channel crossings on his small sailing boat. He had seemed like a very fit 58-year-old, and apparently had been given a clean slate by his doctor and was taking no medications. I questioned him about his medical history. His father had died at 60 and a male cousin at 50, both of cardiac causes – and I quickly decided that we needed to have him rescued. His pulse was faint, colour was grey and pain was evident and constant. I immediately gave him two aspirin, the only first-line therapy we had for him. It seemed pretty clear to me that he was dehydrated and that his stent, which was in a major blood vessel supplying his heart, was clotting off.

Chris had the phone number for the Maritime Rescue Coordination Centre at Falmouth, England and we called them on the satellite phone. They patched us through to a physician, to whom I was able to give a cogent history and review of the problem. They immediately agreed to arrange for a rescue with a boat-to-boat transfer. I sent Chris below to lie down, telling him to drink water and remain quiet. He was very anxious and clearly uncomfortable but declined any drugs to ease his pain. I was ambivalent about giving him painkillers, knowing there would be a transfer at sea that might require some agility, but thought they could have helped.

Falmouth MRCC asked us to broadcast a Mayday, which we did without any reply – we were pretty sure that there were no boats within range of our VHF radio. They also asked if we could turn back toward Cape Verde, but with 20 knots of wind behind us and very little fuel, any attempt to return nearly 500 miles would have been futile. We continued on after being told that Frontier Jacaranda, a 292m (958ft) freighter on passage from South America toward Rotterdam would rendezvous with us at around 0300 next morning. We began to communicate with the freighter via e-mail, giving our position every few hours. The captain explained his plan to position the vessel so that we would be in their lee for the rescue.

I checked on Chris regularly to be sure he wasn’t feeling worse. I worried that his continued chest pain, despite the aspirin, indicated that the clot I suspected was continuing to further damage his heart. I tried to help him remain calm and gave him some information about what he might expect in the coming days. I explained that transfer home to Great Britain was unlikely until he was stable. I gently added that I thought this event would surely diminish his ability to do strenuous exercise, but that his exercise tolerance would be evaluated much later, once he was home and stable. We were both anxious, yet trying to be calm. What I found most disturbing was that Chris was certain that he had never been told to take daily aspirin, which would be the norm for patients with cardiac stents in the US.

Finally, at around 0130 GMT on 20th January, we hove to, waiting to see Frontier Jacaranda, having already spotted her on AIS. She appeared with all deck lights on, fenders lowered and crew along the rail. I spoke with the captain, explaining that Chris needed to be picked up in their rescue boat, as had been arranged, since he was unable to engage in any sort of physical exertion. We dropped our sails and motored as close as we dared, Frontier Jacaranda, the ship that came to Chris’ rescue

the freighter moving slowly as we came near. The rescue boat was lowered and came toward us with four crew and a huge bag of what looked like two-inch diameter rope. Despite my injured state, I was able to catch the line and tie it to our midship deck cleat while they approached and tied alongside. Chris left us, carrying only his PFD (lifejacket), wallet, passport and mobile phone. We watched briefly as they turned back towards their ship. It was about 0400 GMT. Although we were extremely sleep deprived we raised our sails and turned west just before sunrise. Now we were two sailors with at least 1800 miles to go.

The next two-and-a-half weeks were slow. Most of the time we had little wind (between 4 and 8 knots), clear skies, virtually no rain and flat calm seas. We saw shooting stars every night and flying fish all day. Sunrise and sunset were the usual beautiful offshore events. The only really overcast day and night, unfortunately, was during a total eclipse of the moon, an event I had been excited to experience in the dark skies offshore. Our routine of three hours on and three hours off was exhausting, so we set our phones to wake us every 20 minutes during the night to be sure we didn’t miss an oncoming freighter. Otherwise we spent our days reading, resting and fixing things. A low-pressure oil alarm kept sounding off, but even though it seemed to be another alarm problem, not a pressure problem, we contacted the engine manufacturer via e-mail to be sure. Then the toilet seat on the vacu-flush toilet fell off and needed to be fixed in order to get the toilet to flush...

One of the many flying fish which came aboard

Each day our weather forecaster seemed to think we were about to have better wind, but it never happened. We sailed under poled-out jib alone and gybed to change course. It required a big effort from me to roll the sail in and out, but with just two of us there was no other choice. Dealing with the pole was beyond my shoulder strength. As we neared the Caribbean, we struggled with sargassum weed clumping on the rudder of our windvane self-steering, which created drag and caused us to veer off course. Ultimately, and with some effort, we were able to push it off with a boat hook, but the battle lasted several days and nights.

Sargassum weed in close-up, looking beautiful and harmless

We saw many large clumps of sargassum weed

We passed south of Barbados, having decided to make landfall on Grenada where Garet has a house. Then I planned to fly home from the first port we reached so that I could finally get medical attention. We arrived in Grenada’s Prickly Bay just after midnight on 6th February. My final job was to make a large loop and lasso a mooring as we came alongside it. It worked on the third try. Finally, we could sleep more than three hours! But first we tied up properly, opened a bottle of wine and celebrated. It was about 0900 by the time we awoke.

I flew home the next day and was seen by an orthopaedic surgeon who confirmed that my clavicle had been fractured into many pieces. Surgery was not required and after several months of rehabilitation and exercise I was almost back to normal.

Chris survived. After two days Frontier Jacaranda reached the Cape Verdes, where he spent another two days in hospital before being air-transferred to Gran Canaria where he spent a further two-and-a-half weeks in cardiac intensive care. From there he was transferred back to the UK for continued hospitalisation. He received an AICD (Automated Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator) in addition to intense therapy with a blood thinner, probably to protect against further clotting. When I heard from him a few months later he reported that he was starting cardiac rehabilitation. He explained that his functional status was quite limited due to a high degree of heart failure. He thanked me for having told him what to expect, saying that everything had happened as I had said it would. He added that his doctor told him that my care had saved his life. It is gratifying to know that he survived – not knowing the outcome, Garet and I had worried about him for the rest of the crossing.

Garet shipped Salacia back across the Atlantic and, once my shoulder had recovered, I went back to sailing Etoile in the Marion Bermuda race. I now carry a big bottle of aspirin on board – you never know what might happen!

Editor’s footnote: The events described in this article took place early in 2019. During the course of correspondence in January this year the author mentioned, ‘By the way, Chris is alive and well. I had an e-mail from him about a month ago’.

Reprinted by kind permission of the Cruising Club of America, in whose journal Voyages it previously appeared.

Salacia on a mooring in Grenada

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A VERY TIGHT CREW

Reija Treacy Wolnik, Leszek Wolnik and Marija Skunca

(See page 6 in the Awards section for the background both to Reija’s application for Youth Sponsorship and the General Committee’s decision to waive the usual rules regarding sponsorship and Full Membership.)

Reija

My name is Reija, I’m 14 and I’ve just spent the last 12 weeks away from home, sailing across the Atlantic with my Grandad*. I’m Irish but my family moved to New Zealand when I was four, leaving our whole family and life in Ireland. I love sports and adventure, horse riding, surfing and skiing. I summited Mount Taranaki, the second highest mountain in NZ’s North Island, when I was 11. We started at 0200 so we could walk by moonlight and be on the top for sunrise, so you could say night watches are in my blood.

Last year my Grandad was going to cross the Atlantic. He’d been sailing around Ireland and the North Sea for the past few years and had been planning this passage for a while but had to postpone it because his brother in America got sick and he needed to be with him. When Grandad came to visit in January it was the first time we’d seen him since before Covid and I had missed him so much. I’d just started sailing with the New Plymouth Yacht Club, doing their Learn to Sail programme and their Optimist sailing each week. I loved it, so I asked Grandad if I could go with him on his Atlantic adventure.

His first instinct was to say yes, but my parents were pretty nervous and unsure as I hadn’t been sailing for very long. They agreed that I could go if there were four crew – Grandad as skipper, another experienced sailor, a woman for support and me. Everything was looking good until our fourth crew member pulled out and we were down to three with only a few weeks left.

Grandad talked to a lot of people in the sailing community and a few said maybe it was good to go with just three because his boat is quite small. If there was a good training programme and plan in place then it should be okay. My parents took a bit of convincing, especially my Dad, but with a lot of reassurance and pleading they said okay and we booked my flights from New Zealand to Ireland. Even that was a big deal, flying so far by myself. The first flight was 17 hours and the second one 9 hours, but when I got there I was so excited I didn’t mind a little bit of jet lag.

We had to organise the last of my gear and equipment and then in early October Grandad and I flew down to the boat in Lanzarote, where I met Marija for the first time. She was super-nice and friendly and we became close quite quickly. We both loved the beach and spent lots of time doing flips and handstands in the sea. Lanzarote was my favourite of the Canary Islands because there were a lot of fun tourist attractions. My favourite was César

* Reija was writing back in January.

Sunset at anchor in the Canaries

Assembling the two halves of the Chameleon dinghy

Manrique’s house which has some of the rooms in lava bubble caves. It’s so cool.

Grandad’s boat is a cutterrigged Vancouver 32 called Máirín , with a yankee jib, staysail and mainsail. It was just the right size for the three of us, although later on in the trip we had to swap bunks on night watch. This got to be a bit gross sometimes when it was very hot and humid, getting into a bunk with Grandad’s sweat after night watch – ewwww!

After a day or so of boat maintenance and settling in we started learning some basic stuff about the boat and its electronics. It was the first time I’d ever seen a B&G chartplotter or anything like it. It was fascinating and felt superimportant to absorb. Grandad taught us how to use it but not to rely on it. We learnt how to plan a passage using a paper chart, about sextants and the stars and planets and how these would line up with parts of the boat when we were on course.

We started practising sailing on day sails around Fuerteventura. I couldn’t believe how much I progressed over that first week, learning to tack and gybe on my own and how to follow a plotted course. I learnt all about preventers and about poling out the yankee with an extra third sheet in case we needed to drop the pole in a hurry. We also learnt how to use the running backstays to stop the mast pumping when we had the staysail out in bigger winds. It became obvious what we needed to improve on before leaving for the Cape Verde islands – it was so easy to forget the running backstay in a gybe! My absolute favourite thing was the dinghy. It’s stored in two halves, and practising putting these together in the water and then starting and driving the motor was such fun and made me feel so capable and confident.

Grandad gave me a copy of The Day Skipper Handbook – Sail* which had a lot of information in it and was really interesting. I learnt the forces of the winds and how to read them, the different parts of the boat and what ours had that was different from others, and how to set up the cars on the traveller and the genoa tracks.

We talked a lot about emergency procedures, which I found hard as it felt like bad luck to be talking about these things. But I understood how important it was so I learnt about fires, emergency evacuations, how each person has a job in an emergency and that you need to pee straight away when you get into the liferaft before your body goes into shock. It was a really good training programme.

We left for the Cape Verde islands on 5th November. Marija and I did the chartwork the whole way and it was really fun, like a game, doing it manually like in the olden days and then checking and staying on course. Before we left Grandad had said that after a while we’d be able to tell in our

* RYA Day Skipper Handbook – Sail by Sara Hopkinson. Published in 2010 by the Royal Yachting Association.

Writing up the log

subconscious when we were a few degrees off course and I’d thought ‘what? how’s that even possible?’, but after a while we could. With the course change you’d hear a different wind sound on the boom or maybe you’d be on the bow and see the sun slide off to the side. When it returned to the front you’d know it was because Grandad had just adjusted the windvane self-steering. The crossing to the Cape Verdes was rough, with a 4m swell and 30 knots of wind. The swell was rolling in from behind us though, and we felt very prepared after all our training. Grandad was surprised that there was so much wind, but it was how I’d imagined the trip was going to be. In my mind, maybe because of all the sailing movies we had watched, I had prepared for this kind of wild weather. I loved getting into my offshore gear and getting soaked. I loved being on night watch and being responsible for our safety and our course. It felt natural and exciting. Down below things were pretty tricky. Our food fell on the floor every single time we cooked and sleeping was hard as we kept getting slammed against the hull as the boat rolled, but I didn’t mind these things as it felt like part of the adventure.

It took six days to reach the Cape Verde islands and we were so proud of ourselves when we got there, seeing all the ARC boats and knowing that even though we weren’t part of that group we were doing something special too. It was so nice to have a few days in Mindelo to explore and rest, and to see the way people lived in a country so different to Ireland or New Zealand. I loved going to the local café and I got my hair braided ready for the big crossing.

We set off from the Cape Verdes on 17th November and I felt really happy, but there were loads of other underlying emotions. We’d had peak

A wet watch between the Canaries and the Cape Verdes

Making friendship bracelets with Marija

sailing conditions while in the Canaries, then the pretty rough crossing to the Cape Verdes. Now, setting off to cross to Guadeloupe, the winds were really light – about 2–6 knots. Grandad and I talked a lot, he told me stories about my mum and we cuddled, played Monopoly Deal and I made a lot of friendship bracelets. We decided to stop and have a swim and it was such a highlight swimming in 5000m (16,400ft) deep water. I loved jumping in from the boat.

One of the hardest things on the crossing was the lack of space and time by yourself. If you needed a break from the others you’d say “I’m going to the shops” which is what we named the bow. You could go and hang out there for a while by yourself and the others would give you space. Grandad put up a hammock for me, and the first day it was up I spent hours in it reading and feeling so happy to be rocking over the water in my own little cocoon.

I had a lot of trouble sleeping. I felt exhausted and worn out but also kind of wired tired. Once Grandad gave me Phenergan, an antihistamine which has sedative effects, but it just made my body and arms really heavy and tired while my mind was still active and awake. Lack of sleep and that weird tiredness was one of the hardest things on the passage.

Going for a swim in mid-Atlantic

Over the next couple of days we watched the barometer and downloaded the weather forecast twice a day. We could see a huge wind-hole ahead of us and started to worry about our cooking gas, water and food. In that first week lots of our fresh food went rotten much more quickly than we’d expected, so we made the decision to move further south to try and avoid getting stuck out there for 40 days.

Reaching the halfway point was amazing. We had a halfway party with lots of singing, dancing and eating pancakes. We spread some of Grandad’s brother Mark’s ashes which felt really special – special that Mark was with us

Chilling in my hammock

and also that we were marking this point by doing something like this.

We’d dropped down in latitude as PredictWind was showing a big wind-hole ahead, and when we gybed back we were expecting 17 knots of wind but actually got gusts of up to 25 knots. This was a big change from our first week of super calm weather but again I loved it. There were so many squalls and it meant we were changing our sails quite a lot. It felt like the first half of the crossing was much harder than the second.

During one of my night watches in the last week the wind reached force 8 (34–40 knots). I had been learning about the Beaufort Scale and was excited to wake Grandad to tell him and to ask if we should take down the mainsail? I was a bit scared about dropping the big sail in those winds, but luckily the wind dropped so we managed to just stay on the third reef. Being in force 8 winds was one of the best bits and I really valued that I got to experience really big waves with that much wind.

After 20 days, I was the one to spot land in the evening of 7th December. I was watching the sun dip down and then land suddenly appeared. I climbed down to wake Grandad who was sleeping before his watch and we all celebrated, dancing and singing. I sent my Mum a text on the satellite phone and she told me she was crying. She was so happy we had nearly made it. We had to decide whether to slow down in order to arrive in Guadeloupe in daylight as we knew it was a tricky approach. I was bursting to get to land and so ready to not do another night watch, but I also was okay to do one more knowing we were nearly there. Reaching Guadelupe next day was the best feeling. Marija and I did so many cartwheels on the dock when we got in! We had done it! We had crossed the Atlantic Ocean!

The trip involved so many highlights, lots of struggles and so much learning, and I felt that doing something like this at 14 was such an achievement.

You have to eat well at sea!

Having the opportunity to do this, away from my immediate family, was amazing. I think everyone this age should do something away from their family, even for a week, just to see what it’s like to be away from the way things are at home.

I really wanted to feel independent and be respected as part of the crew even at 14. At times I did feel like a passenger or that I wasn’t equal to the others and that was hard to deal with mentally and emotionally. If something was happening on the boat my job was always to helm and not the harder things, even if I was able to do them or felt I’d be just as good. It made me feel a bit excluded but that’s okay.

Sometimes it was hard the way Grandad worried about me. Like when he was worried about Marija when she was sick, he also worried about how that would affect me. At home, I’m someone who runs away

Cartwheels on the pontoon in Pointe-à-Pitre

Alongside the pontoon in Guadeloupe

when I’m upset or angry. When I have big emotions, I guess you would say I go into ‘flight’ mode and need some space and time alone. Now I feel like I can face my feelings more, like instead of fight or flight I just have to face them. The trip has changed me so much. Mentally I can withstand some really rough and tough conditions and I’m also more aware. My sister always told me to ‘read the room’ before saying stuff but I never really understood what she meant. Now I understand. I’ve become a lot kinder and I really care about people, but I don’t care what they think. I’ve also realised something about my values and what matters in life. I used to value respect, kindness and perseverance but they were just ideas. Now I feel I’ve absorbed them – like instead of thinking about respecting someone you just do it.

One of my biggest recommendations to anyone going on a voyage like this is to make time each day to share how you feel. We started team meetings when things were hard, but they didn’t always go well because we didn’t have a structure or know how to do them. Even so it was great to have a chance to get stuff out and to hear what Grandad and Marija were feeling instead of trying to read blank faces, especially if things were stressful.

For me, the best thing about the whole trip was my relationship with my Grandad. Even though we’ve always been close, because we’ve lived on opposite sides of the world for ten years there’s always been a bit more difference than if we’d lived nearby. We got so close on this trip and I felt he looked after me so well. I got to know him in a way that I never would or could have known him without living in such a small space in those conditions. He is obviously totally independent, but I think at times he needed me just as much as I needed him and I really liked being able to be there for him to spread his brother’s ashes and to dance and sing to David Bowie with him. That was our anthem for the trip, Space Oddity – Ground Control to Major Tom. It was the perfect song for our Atlantic adventure.

I loved my adventure and I’m so grateful to the Ocean Cruising Club and everyone who helped and encouraged me. Fi Jones made it all possible by supporting Grandad in working out training and safety programmes as well as helping me apply for sponsorship. Rachelle and Emily made it possible for me to be a member aged 14 and helped Grandad with the paperwork. I still can’t believe that I was sponsored whilst being so young – it made me feel incredibly valued and special.

Leszek

I’m Leszek Wolnik, Reija’s Grandad and a keen cruising sailor. In June 2017 I bought a Vancouver 32 in Sweden, sailing her from Gävle on the Baltic to Gothenburg with my wife Maureen and our two grandsons aged 16 and 14, and then on to Bergen mostly singlehanded. In 2018 I sailed up the Norwegian coast to Lofoten and then home to Ireland via Scotland as well as joining the OCC as an Associate Member. In 2019 I took a berth aboard Rubicon 3 to Svalbard to gain the experience to mount an expedition myself. The Covid pandemic limited cruising options in 2020 so in 2021 I circumnavigated the Faroe Islands and also sailed around Ireland.

The plan in 2022 was to cross the Atlantic, so I set sail in June and had reached the Canaries when, in September, my brother called me with bad news so instead I flew across the Atlantic to be with him through his end of life. Afterwards, I went to stay with my family in New Zealand, and while discussing the voyage my then 13-year-old granddaughter Reija asked, “Grandad, if you cross the Atlantic later this year, can I go with you?”.

I instinctively agreed and then wondered how we could do it and would her parents allow it? I looked for female crew as company for Reija and found Marija, a keen 33-yearold rock climber but with limited sailing experience. Reija’s parents wanted us to have an experienced fourth crew member in case I was injured or incapacitated but, unsurprisingly, we struggled to find someone, even with the enthusiastic help of Fi Jones from the OCC.

I had a difficult time thinking through the choices – was it an acceptable risk to head off with two novices, one aged only 14, or was it pure recklessness? I kept mulling over the many ways things that could go badly wrong and wondered if I could even face going home were the worst to

My home-made infinitely adjustable dynamic tether...

... and the tether in use

happen. Logic and some some good passages behind me told me I should be able to mitigate the risks and I realised that I could train our novice crew on passage and stage the voyage into natural phases, only proceeding to the next step if the crew were sufficiently capable and confident.

It was at this point, a month before departure, that the OCC became the most amazing resource and facilitator. I designed a training programme which Fi Jones reviewed and improved and then both Fi and her husband Chris gave me a list of safety factors that needed mitigation. The priority was keeping everyone on the boat, especially me, and Fi made the brilliant suggestion of using a Prusik loop on our tethers to give an infinitely variable length of between 30cm and 2m (12in and 6ft 6in).

The OCC were so proactive, not only permitting Reija to become an Associate

Máirín has a safety cage around sprayhood, to which I added chest-high safety lines to the lower shrouds

Member aged only 14 but also allowing the Youth Sponsorship programme to provide her with a generous grant towards her travel and the kit she needed to buy. Both of us will forever be grateful for the support and validation the OCC gave to our adventure!

The crux of the training plan was to have both crew able to navigate and sail safely even if all electrics were lost and I wasn’t available. We took three weeks in the Canaries during which Reija and Marija learnt to sail and manage the boat singlehanded, navigating on paper with just a Portland plotter and a handheld GPS. We broke all procedures down into lists, detailing every step – raising the main had 21 steps and getting the boat ready for passage over 40!

They also learnt electronic navigation using iSailor on iPads, use of radar and AIS and to know whether a ship would pass ahead or astern using a hand-bearing compass. We trained in dinghy handling, anchoring etc, all whilst enjoying the most delightful cruising. Throughout we had rigid rules regarding tethering, with chest-high Dyneema lines attached to a stainless steel frame around our sprayhood and lead to the lower shrouds. Beyond that we had soft Dyneema attachment points leading to the bow roller – a godsend in keeping us safe in some of the conditions we met. We had endless discussion and role-play on all aspects of safety and crisis management, ranging from different fire on board scenarios to abandoning ship and grab bag contents.

Marija and Reija sailed and navigated the 750 mile passage from El Hierro to Mindelo without my help using the Admiralty 100 planning chart and plotting a noon position each day to correct the course to steer. They learnt to balance the sails so well that their

Our route from the Canaries to the Cape Verdes

new course to steer using the Windpilot self-steering gear was never out by more than 10° over the 24 hours between GPS fixes.

We had solo four-hour watches for all our nights, and I did my best to eliminate crew anxiety and build confidence by ruthless conservatism in sail management. Our first night out of El Hierro we had 20 knots gusting 25 and a 4m swell, but the crew were comfortable and relaxed with just a triple-reefed main which had us loping along at a gentle 4 knots. We increased sail each night incrementally as the winds increased to 30 knots (force 7) and they learnt to work the windvane in the dark by feeling the chain links. They were composed and resilient, despite running repairs the first two nights, and we were all immensely proud when we arrived in Mindelo after conditions described by some of the ARC+ fleet as ‘carnage’.

We had a super time resting and provisioning in Mindelo and had the wonderful experience of swimming underwater with large turtles. We left Mindelo on 17th November a few hours after the ARC+ fleet and for the first week had extremely light winds which gave us opportunities to heave to and go swimming! Utterly spiritual in 5000m of azure-blue water.

Swimming with turtles at São Vicente

On passage the crew were tough, self-contained and resilient, even when Marija succumbed to a major infection needing all my STCW Medical Care at Sea* training as well as Telemedical advice and support from Athlone Castle MRCC. She made a wonderful recovery after coming within 24 hours of needing evacuation and only took one watch off which she paid back the next night!

The winds started to pick up in the second week and the rest of the passage was a literal blast with sustained gusts up to 35 knots (force 8). I had wondered how Reija would cope with these new-to-her conditions, but the real challenge for her, and one that I thought was acceptable, was being responsible for the boat in those dynamic and sometimes anxiety-inducing circumstances whilst her crew and support were asleep. She was an absolute trooper, waking me regularly with updates and questions and making sure that every action was appropriate before she took it.

When the wind reached a steady force 8 on my watch the following night I furled the yankee away but neglected to tighten the lazy sheet properly, with the result that during Reija’s watch the gale unpicked it from under the other sheet and unwound it but backwards into a huge, soggy, flogging balloon. My crew were so calm and competent when faced with this mess that Marija and I just headed to the bow in the dark and unwound the flogging sail by hand whilst

* Part of the UK Maritime & Coastguard Agency’s ‘Standards of Training, Certification, and Watchkeeping’ certification, with courses available at a number of training colleges around the UK.

Reija unfurled and refurled to get it rewound correctly. Not a bother for either of them, and Reija even shot a 9 minute video of my struggles hanging onto thrashing sheets whilst Marija undid layers of intermeshed yankee...

I learnt a huge amount on this passage, especially about listening and communication skills. The three of us have very different ages and life experiences, but found we could navigate through some very difficult and tense interpersonal situations by honest sharing of emotions and listening to each other. Reija initiated ‘team meetings’, which proved very successful and allowed us to remain curious, open and supportive of each other whilst discussing the things we were grateful for as well as those that were troubling or indeed traumatic.

I have so much praise for my crew but have run out of space! I’ll close by saying that they sang and danced their way through the entire Beaufort Scale up to a sustained force 8, and the stronger the wind, the higher the seas and the bigger the challenge the more their eyes shone. They went from not knowing what the Beaufort Scale was to having such a fine feeling for sail balance that they made reefing decisions based on boat response rather than wind strength. After 20 days at sea they got off the boat in Guadeloupe and cartwheeled up the pontoon in joyous celebration! In an early e-mail Fi Jones described us as ‘a very tight crew’ and thankfully she was absolutely right!

I’d like to thank and dedicate this passage to Reija’s Mum and Dad, Sorcha and Shane, for entrusting me with their girl, to my wife Maureen for her love, support and generosity, to Marija for making it happen and of course to Reija, who just went out and did it, as usual...

Marija

My name is Marija and I am from Croatia. I fell in love with sailing in Kinsale Outdoor College and after completing my Day Skipper course I could not wait to put everything into practice. I didn’t think that my first experience would be embarking on an ambitious sailing expedition across the Atlantic with such a diverse crew, but it was a great way to start building skills

Marija and Reija shopping for provisions in Mindelo’s African market

and resilience. We had to develop trust in an adventure that transcended the boundaries of age, culture and familiarity. Age, a potential divide, soon became a source of strength as we discovered that each generation held a unique piece of the puzzle that gave this journey its wealth of experiences and perspectives.

With Leszek’s guidance and training we got a deep insight into what to expect on our journey before leaving the Canary Islands. Our first longer passage, to the Cape Verdes, was a good introduction to the open sea with 4m swell for the full seven days. Waves sometimes broke into the cockpit but, except for dealing with nausea and messy sleep patterns, we did not have a tough time so entertained ourselves with crafts, games, singing, boat chores, and taking turns preparing meals. Conversations on deck became a forum for exchanging stories, blending our different pasts and the present into a shared experience.

Weather conditions in the Atlantic can be unpredictable and unforgiving. Storms, high winds and rough seas are common, putting both crew and vessel to the test. As an inexperienced sailor I’ve learnt to read the signs of an approaching squall, deploy safety measures and steer the vessel skilfully. This demands a level of alertness and decisiveness that can only be honed through hands-on experience, a challenge that can be particularly daunting for those new to the open water. Communication, planning, keeping calm and teamwork are essential elements in a successful ocean passage which, especially for an inexperienced sailor, can be an unparalleled adventure of self-discovery and personal growth.

As we neared our destination we found ourselves bound not only by the shared triumph of crossing the Atlantic, but also by the bonds of the uncharted territories within ourselves and each other and, in the process, we discovered the beauty of unity in diversity. We emerged from the experience as a tight-knit family, forever bound by the memories of our transatlantic odyssey.

A TALE OF THREE MEN (AND A PIGEON) IN A BOAT

John Sweeney

(John Sweeney has been an avid adventurer since 1990, with a keen interest in sailing, kayaking, caving and hillwalking. His love of cruising was inspired by a number of trips with Peter Haden, OCC, in Papageno and with Peter Owens, OCC, aboard Danú of Galway. Since 2006 he has owned a Dufour T7 and then an Elizabethan 30, both sailed primarily on the west coast of Ireland. In 2017 he took the plunge and purchased Island Lass, a well-found Sadler 32 built in 1979.

John, his wife Jess and children Gráinne, Seán and Sarah spent the summers of 2018 and 2019 aboard Island Lass in Galicia and returned this year for another season. They hope to go further afield (Azores and Canaries) in the coming years. John has lost a number of close friends in the recent past and now has the motto ‘nobody is promised tomorrow, so why not do it now!’.)

When you open the engine bay 100 miles off the coast and find that two mounts and the coupling have failed, it for sure brings a moment of clarity. All those years of experience in many adventurous situations, be it rescuing a group of colleagues sheltering in a flooding cave in the west of Ireland, or crewing during a force 10 (53 knot) storm off Cape Wrath in northern Scotland, give one the ability to act in a measured and resilient way. This is the story of just that.

Never start a passage on a Friday, they say, and maybe for good reason, but, due to a medical appointment and a closing weather window for the Bay of Biscay, I had no option. In preparation for this trip, over the winter I had upgraded my ‘trickle charge’ solar panel to a 115 watt Victron BlueSolar System and also replaced our old Flavel cooker with a new Plastimo Voyager. The final addition was a Matusec AIS Class ‘B’ unit, which I linked to OpenCPN and Navionics. Other than that, boat preparations were the usual paint jobs etc.

In terms of crew I had enticed Conor Owens from Galway Bay SC and Paddy Griffin from Kinvara. Paddy’s partner Eva Cantillon was also due to come but had to pull out at the last minute for family reasons. Both Conor and Paddy brought a wealth of experience, Conor being a lifelong sailor who has sailed extensively in Irish, British and French waters, and Paddy being an oceanic surveyor who has sailed in waters from Arctic Greenland to the Antarctic, including South Georgia. As for myself, my preparations for this trip were somewhat different to others I have made. In January 2024 I was diagnosed with an autoimmune condition known as Ankylosing Spondylitis. The main manifestations relevant here are that mobility in my lower spine and pelvis has lessened, making manoeuvring around the boat more of a challenge. Therefore my own preparations came in the form of ‘mental preparedness’,

Island Lass

involving many conversations with myself about the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘why nots’. I can only control the controllables.

In the week leading up to the trip I got the engine serviced, including all filters and the impeller replaced. A small problem had developed with the raw water intake but after 15 minutes Mantas, my mechanic friend, diagnosed it as an incorrectly sealed strainer cap. Provisioning could start! Eventually, with final farewells, an ebb tide and favourable northwesterly force 3–4 (±11 knot) breeze, we slipped our mooring at Kinvara, Galway at 1505 on Friday 17th May and took up a bearing of 270° towards the Aran Islands, through Gregory Sound and then south towards the Blasket Islands. The wind eased but the sea remained quite lumpy so we motored for three hours to try to keep momentum and stabilise the boat.

We passed the Blaskets under sail at 1020 on the 18th. I made a routine call to the coastguard for a weather update as overnight we had not heard any traffic on the VHF. The Coastguard gave us a 1 out of 5 for our transmission but a quick change to an auxiliary VHF aerial brought us back to 5/5 (it later transpired that there was damage to the VHF aerial aloft). They also confirmed that we were visible on AIS, and wished us a safe passage. Some hours later, and using the last bit of mobile data, I screen-recorded the GRIBs from PredictWind onto my iPhone and these turned out to be quite important over the coming days. We needed to get south as soon as possible as a weather system was approaching from the west. The northern sector (North Biscay) was to experience gale-force winds, but the mid to southern sector less.

At 0100 next morning the engine overheating alarm activated and it was soon evident that we were not pumping raw water. I began to diagnose the issue, beginning with the strainer cap, then the water pump, the new impeller and the heat exchanger. No solution was evident. Repeat the process – what had I missed? All the hoses were clear and the strainer cap seal was good. After three hours I was getting frustrated, a little queasy and very stiff. Once more ... it must be the pump. I compared the old and new impellers. Although they looked the same size, two slight differences were noticeable:

1 – The spine in the middle of the new one was slightly thinner.

2 – The rubber of the new one was very slightly less chunky.

I screen-recorded PredictWind GRIB files on my iPhone

Pedro, our new crew member

For pig iron1 I put the old impeller in again and hey presto, we had water! A quick tidy up and a cup of soup and we were on our way again.

Pedro makes himself at home

At about 1800 that evening we were joined by a very tired racing pigeon. Our new crew member, Pedro, was indeed a curious little creature. From landing on the bow he cautiously made his way back to the cockpit and eventually onto the navigation table. Luckily, I was able to catch him relatively easily before a mess was made! He was given a berth under the sprayhood where he stayed for the next 16 hours. We gave him water and mixed seeds, and you could see him getting stronger and stronger. Overnight he puffed himself up for warmth. He looked as if he had doubled in size, but I guess this is how birds use their down to trap air and create an insulation layer. Eventually at 1030 next morning, Pedro took the leap of faith and continued on his race.

At around 2230 on the night that Pedro arrived, at some 100 miles south of Baltimore, my watch was finishing. We were under power with slack winds and a good sea state. Earlier that evening I had added fuel to the tanks as I knew that these conditions were not to last. Just at handover, Conor remarked that the engine had ‘not missed a beat’ since our episode the previous night. I had wished him a safe watch and with that climbed into my bunk, when there was a very noticeable change in the sound coming from the engine. Without inspection, I immediately killed it. I lifted away the steps to reveal our Yanmar 30GM30F slumped to port – the forward mount support had broken.

Fortunately the Sadler 32 has extremely good access to the engine and shaft through the cockpit sole. On opening this up I was horrified to see that the aft mount had sheared its bolts and the shaft coupling was mangled. Luckily there was no compromise to the shaft and no water was coming in. It was at this point that I notified the crew that ‘We are not in Kansas anymore, Toto’ 2. I was happy that at no stage did even a semblance of panic set in with any of the crew, myself included.

1. To ‘do something for pig iron’ means doing something despite suspecting it’s likely to be pointless.

2. A slight misquote from the 1939 movie The Wizard of Oz. It has come to mean encountering a place or circumstance that is unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

Okay, so what to do? I took a few minutes to gather my thoughts rationally. Interestingly, it was the principles of first aid that came to me – Preserve Life, Prevent Deterioration, Promote Recovery.

Preserve Life – At that moment we were not in immediate danger. Nobody was injured and there was no water ingress. We were not near any rocks or shipping and there was a good sea state and slack winds. We did not need outside assistance.

Prevent Deterioration – I needed to ensure that the engine with its broken mounts could not compromise the shaft. I asked that the engine be put in reverse in order to prevent the prop from spinning then, using the engine’s lifting points, we hoisted it to bring the broken mount supports in line. These were tied off to winches and cleats either side of the companionway. Satisfied that this was a good jury rig, I made a step from one of the bunk locker covers.

The remains of the coupling

Promote Recovery – The last piece of the puzzle was where to go. With impending strong northerlies forecast my concern now was to get out of their way. The options that I had were: north to Baltimore (c.100 miles), east to the Isles of Scilly (c.140 miles), southeast to Brest (c.230 miles) or south to A Coruña (c.430 miles). After some consideration we agreed to continued south as planned without an engine. After all, we were on a sailing boat. We did not fancy trying to track north or to seek refuge in the Isles of Scilly or Brest for which I had no pilots etc. So, after another two hours and more cups of soup, we continued south towards Galicia with a slack wind and poor visibility.

Overnight we made only 23 miles, but in the morning spirits were high as the pigeon was eating and the winds were slowly rising, but we had a glitch in the AIS meaning that we could not see other boats. At 1750 we hailed a French fishing boat that we could see in the distance for an

The engine being supported by ropes to the winches, with a new step made from a bunk locker cover

The skipper contemplates entering the marina under sail

updated forecast, which still matched the PredictWind GRIB that I had downloaded a few days previously. They also confirmed that our AIS signal was strong, which bolstered our spirits even further. The new solar panel seemed to be working enough to keep the batteries topped up but, to be cautious, all instruments bar the VHF and the 12 volt charger were switched off, with only navigation lights by night. Navigation, especially for the approaches and final leg, was by Navionics on tablet and iPhone.

As for food, not having the fridge was not a big problem as I had mainly provisioned for a vegetarian / vegan passage and the only real perishables were milk and cheese. With these the cooker operators conjured up some fine fare! The downside was that on arrival the beer was warm...

The following two days gave some very pleasant sailing in force 4–5 (±16 knots) on the beam. We saw dolphins, basking sharks and a minke whale within metres of the boat. Some huge blows in the distance may have been sperm, blue or humpback whales. We even saw a late cuckoo flying north. To our dismay, at 2115 on the 21st the wind died and the visibility dropped to one mile. We were glad we had confidence that the AIS was giving our position to the boats that were potentially all around us. It was not a comfortable 12 hours, wallowing at the mercy of the benign, milky ocean. Suddenly, our attention was diverted to the

Celebratory (warm) beers!

sound of ‘All Ships. All Ships. All Ships’ bellowing from the VHF. An EPIRB signal was being received by the coastguard and what we assume was a spotter aeroplane was scrambled to investigate. Was it ours? Frantically I grabbed McMurdo but he was not the culprit. Conor grappled with his pocket to see if it was his personal EPIRB, but it was not. We kept watch, but there were no further transmissions.

Island Lass’s motley crew. L to r:

Paddy Griffin, John Sweeney and Conor Owens

In the morning we spotted another fishing boat and again made contact. They confirmed that our AIS signal was perfect and that the wind gods were once again turning in our favour. Force 6 (±25 knots) imminent, but no stronger – we had progressed far enough south to avoid the big blow. I was happy with our decision to continue. I inspected our jury rig, and most importantly the shaft, at every watch change and all was well on all occasions. From this point on we experienced two days of some of the most exhilarating sailing that I have ever enjoyed, with a 112-mile best day’s run and 117 miles over a 24 hour period. Island Lass just let the big rolling sea pass underneath her and kept pushing forward. A double-reefed main and 20% genoa gave her fine balance.

As we approached Galicia, shipping got much more frequent and the wind remained a steady force 6 (±25 knots) on the beam. At this point my mind turned to orcas and what to do if we were unlucky enough to encounter one*. Just as I thought it, we all spotted a distinctive orca fin about 20m from the boat. We kept watch, but it never came back.

A beautiful full moon guided us along the Costa da Morte until daylight broke as we approached the Ría de Muros. Tired and in lee of the mainland, our ETA was putting us in Marina Muros at approximately 0900. Alas, I had not allowed for the fact that the northeasterly force 6 that was powering our charge down the coast would become the force 6 that would halt it in the ría! I was in contact with my good and ever helpful friend Peter Haden as to potential contacts who might be able to tow us into a berth, but on contacting the marina and others, none were at hand.

Five hours of beating up the ría eventually gave way to the wind dying off completely and a gentle sea breeze developing, which allowed us to set a course for the marina entrance. I tacked into the entrance channel, up the fairway and onto a waiting marina berth at 1300 on Friday 24th. Paddy stepped off and gently held our bow. Relieved and exhilarated, we cracked open a beer and exhaled! We had made it safely and successfully despite our misfortune, covering 695 miles in 6 days and 22 hours.

Huge thanks to Paddy and Conor for their company, advice and good humour during the trip.

* In the past few years there have been numerous reports of orcas (killer whales) damaging yachts in the waters off Galicia and around the Strait of Gibraltar. Often working in pods, the whales either ram the hull or bite the rudder, sometimes removing it entirely. So far their behaviour remains unexplained, with ‘hooligan youth’ among the suggestions.

STRANGE, WEIRD, WONDERFUL PALMERSTON ATOLL

Irene and Peter Whitby

(Peter bought Catspaw, 39ft Gib’Sea, in England in 1993 and sailed locally for two years prior to retirement. He then set sail for the Caribbean, cruising the islands and up the US East Coast to Maine. Peter and Irene met in 2000 in Antigua and, despite having never sailed before, Irene soon signed on for a life of adventure. The following article is one chapter of a book she is writing for younger generations of her family who might in future wonder what Grannie did.

It starts with tales of the Caribbean and the US East Coast, before returning south and transiting Panama towards the Galapagos and French Polynesia. For nearly 20 years they cruised the Pacific for an average of six months a year, often well off the beaten track and laying up according to the seasons. Irene’s book will end with the sale of Catspaw in Thailand in 2021. They now live in the Algarve, where Peter is Port Officer for the Guadiana River.

This chapter is mainly about life in the unique Palmerston Atoll in the Cook Islands as Peter (alias Pedro) and Irene experienced it in 2004. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palmerston_Island for a brief history of Palmerston Atoll plus a number of suggested links.)

Palmerston was, and I’d imagine still is, a unique and strange atoll. The inhabitants are all descendants of a patriarchal figure, William Marsters, a Lancashireman who settled there in 1862 with his three Polynesian wives*. He divided the islands and reefs into sections for each

* Visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Marsters to learn more about him.

Edward ferries us ashore from Catspaw, anchored outside the reef

of his three ‘families’ – he fathered up to 26 children and had 134 grandchildren – and established strict rules regarding intermarriage. His descendants were still very much in control of the islands when we were there in 2004, though many had left to live in New Zealand or elsewhere in the Cook Islands.

While in Rarotonga we met a Norwegian woman who was married to a man from Palmerston, though we didn’t meet him as he was a fisherman and at sea while we were there. She asked if we would take some supplies to his family in Palmerston, so when we arrived there at night and anchored outside the reef we soon had a visit from Simon and Edward, two Marsters brothers from his ‘family’, who had seen our lights and wanted to check that we were anchored safely. Once reassured, they said they’d be back in the morning to take us ashore.

It wasn’t possible for us to get Catspaw into the lagoon as the pass was too shallow, but the ‘families’ (all Marsters, of course) ferried visitors to and from the island. Palmerston is very isolated and off the beaten track, and in 2004 there were few visitors. On the rare occasion when a yacht did arrive it was ‘hosted’ by one of the three Marsters ‘families’, who rotated the responsibility. They were very welcoming, warm, friendly and generous people. Since we had brought provisions for one particular ‘family’, that was the one to host us. Head of the family was Kai, with her husband Ngu and their six children, Kai’s brothers Simon and Edward (the boat brothers) and Grandmother Tuaine.

We collected shells on the beach with the children, played games, had lunches with the ‘family’, visited the school and the church, passed the phone box (the only phone on the island), had a wander through the original wooden house which William Marsters built and, while on the beach, met members of the other two families. We moved from place to place via the communal beach as we couldn’t walk through the centre of the island due to the

Delivering the supplies

very clear boundaries within which each family lived. All the children came together at school each weekday and on Sunday everyone on the island worshipped together in the church, but generally they lived their day-to-day lives in three very distinct, separate groups. This on a very remote island with a total population, then, of between 40 and 60 people (mostly related) at any given time!

Small cargo ships brought supplies three or four times a year and took away the parrotfish the islanders had caught and kept in huge chest freezers. There were no shops. If a woman was pregnant she would be taken to Rarotonga on one of the cargo ships to give birth and, depending on timing, could be gone for up to nine months. There was a schoolteacher who was married to a Marsters man and a family member who was the preacher, but no nurse, doctor or dentist. One of the boys who belonged to ‘our family’ was suffering from really painful toothache. While he was giving us a tour of the beach he wore a balaclava and kept poking his tooth with a crooked fork. Oh, how I wished I was a medic of some sort!

If a woman visited the island and wanted to marry one of the men, that was okay because she would change her name to Marsters, but if a man visited, fancied one of the women and they wanted to marry, they could, but then had no choice but to go and live elsewhere as it would bring another surname onto the island, which was most definitely not permitted!

Papa Tom, the 80-year-old preacher and head of the ‘middle family’, had been in hospital in New Zealand for many months and had recently died there. While we were visiting, a ship brought his body to be buried in the family graveyard. We were invited to attend both

William Marsters’ house

Main Street, Palmerston

The burial, with slabs

the pre-funeral gathering and the funeral itself the next day. We said thank you but declined, saying that it was their ‘family’ time and that we had lots we could do on Catspaw . We had a feeling that it wouldn’t work so looked out suitable clothes, just in case! We were right. At 8.30am Simon and Edward appeared insisting that we should attend, take photos, join in and please wear black and white ... oh and I should wear a hat in church! Fortunately I had a straw one.

The grave was very wide and deep, so the pallbearers climbed down into it to place the coffin and then put concrete slabs on top so that, in the event of a cyclone, he couldn’t ‘rise-up!’. They decided they didn’t have enough slabs and, since one of the ‘families’ had a concrete mixer (donated from New Zealand), a committee meeting was held at which they agreed to start it up and make more! We all stood around, though they found a chair for the elderly widow. I really had trouble forcing down a fit of giggles. It was the sight and sound of the concrete mixer that almost caused me to lose it. Everyone was just chatting as if this was a normal occurrence and who knows, maybe it was! The concrete was finally ready and was barrowed down planks of wood to be added to the slabs already there. Next, with the widow perched on a small trailer drawn by a tiny tractor, we all walked to the beach area where the whole island had contributed to the feast. We actually had a lovely time with good food and were made very welcome by all the ‘families’. It was a very strange day, though.

Taxi to the wake

We had previously been informed by Ken, a Canadian friend of Pedro’s, that a dead whale had washed up in Palmerston and as it decomposed some residents had harvested the bones and teeth. A carver in Tonga was interested in acquiring whatever they were willing to sell, so after we’d made sure it wasn’t illegal and that they definitely hadn’t killed the whale, we visited the few ATMs on Aitutaki island and withdrew US $1000 especially for that reason.

Our brothers Marsters helped us load two 7ft (2 1m) lower jaws and two ribs onto Catspaw and we visited Bill, head of the middle ‘family’ a few times, since he reputedly had some whale teeth. These visits were interesting because ‘our family’ could only take us as far as the closest boundary, very near to a large old tree in the centre of the island which we had been told the whole island population tied themselves to in the event of a cyclone! On one of our visits to Bill, ‘Commodore’ of the Palmerston Island Yacht Club – no yachts, no sailors, just a very tall flagpole – he proudly showed us an enormous Royal Navy White Ensign which had been given to him by HRH Prince Philip when the Royal Yacht Britannia visited in 1971. I don’t think there can be many other White Ensigns in the middle visited of very small, very remote islands in the Pacific Ocean.

Anyway, back to the whale teeth. Bill’s wife was in Rarotonga having a baby and supposedly knew where they were, while for some reason Bill didn’t He kept calling her from the only phone on the island, but she wouldn’t tell him where they were and then her father died and she stopped talking to Bill altogether. Days later we heard that the father had, by magic, risen again, but she still wouldn’t tell him where the teeth were. With every visit to Bill the story got weirder. Finally, we decided to tell him that we were leaving in two days’ time, early in the morning and if they could be found then he could bring them out to Catspaw. Amazingly they were indeed found and he did indeed bring them to us, five of them!

Another wee story... On the first Saturday of each month from June until September the ‘families’ went out to their own motus (islets) around the atoll to catch small birds for a feast to be held the following day. At 2pm on Saturday everyone gathered for the bird distribution ceremony. The scrawny birds were then killed, plucked, gutted, washed and prepared for cooking in family umus (underground ovens with hot stones, covered with palm leaves) for Sunday lunch. All ages were involved. We watched young children with machetes cutting off wings while others helped Grandma with plucking and gutting. We were invited to join the Sunday feast and, as honoured guests, would be given the favourite and most prized part, a delicacy, the brains! How were we going to get out of this? As it happened the wind was ideal, just perfect for us to leave on Saturday evening or at the very latest on Sunday morning! What a shame, we were so looking forward to eating tiny wee bird brains ... definitely time to leave!

That said, we had been made very welcome and ‘our family’ were so grateful to us for bringing the

The five elusive teeth

The birds for the monthly feast

provisions that Kai and Tuaine made me a lovely straw hat and a fan, and Ngu made Pedro a shell necklace (just what he needed, although it was a lovely gesture). My hat and fan have pride of place, together with an engraved whale’s tooth, in our home in Portugal. They really are very special.

And so to Tonga, five days away.

After a short visit to Niue we arrived in Neiafu, capital of the Vava’u group of islands and home of the carver who was interested in the whalebone and teeth. Our arrival there was a wee bit secretive. Ken, who had asked us to bring the whale bone, met us in a quiet corner of the harbour and the bone and teeth were transferred to his boat so that when we cleared in the authorities wouldn’t charge us import duty. After inward clearance we were able to begin socialising and Ken then took us to meet Leonati the carver, who was keen to have a look at the bones and teeth.

My treasured fan and hat in the making

The one word I have always used to describe Leonati is ‘gentleman’. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a man who better epitomised the word before or since. His wife and children were also the loveliest people, welcoming, polite, funny, hospitable and so much more. Grateful for the new material, Leonati offered to engrave one of the teeth for us and asked what we’d like him to put on it. Not knowing what would be best, we left it up to him. He said we could visit their home as often as we wanted to watch him working, and what memories I have of doing just that. I was a regular visitor to Leonati’s home and was always met with a

very warm welcome from both him and his wife. I took her some cooking utensils and bits and pieces I could see she didn’t have and could use. He used a very fine tool to scratch the design freehand on the surface then filled it in with black paint. It was very demanding work which he could only do for a few hours each day before his hand ached, so it was going to take him a while to complete.

Whalers in bygone days carved and engraved teeth to fill in time between catching whales. Our tooth has a whale and her calf on one side and traditional Tongan war canoes on the other. One day while we were there a volcano erupted on a small uninhabited island not far away and, when I went up to see Leonati that afternoon, he was excited to tell me that he had scrimshawed the event on our tooth!

One day he greeted me with the news that he would finish work on our tooth the following day. His wife had told him he should make a stand for it, since it was engraved on both sides and should be viewable from all angles. He had found a piece of wood in his shed and carved it

The transfer to Ken (right)

A master at work

Leonati and Pedro with the treasured tooth

into a whale’s tail, with the tooth hung between the two flukes – he made it all look so easy! The following day Pedro and I arrived as he was adding the finishing touches. It is a really beautiful work of art, so special and associated with such incredible memories. If Pedro and I ever get divorced, I think our biggest conflict would be ‘who gets the tooth?’ ... we’d best avoid it, then!

BRITAIN THROUGH DUTCH EYES

Willie Ambergen

(In 2023 Willie Ambergen and Jessica van der Leij sailed an almost 2000 mile circumnavigation of much of Britain, starting from Medemblik in the Netherlands. Their yacht, VentoVivo, is a 12 5m Malö 40 Classic.

Read more at www.sy-ventovivo.nl (in Dutch, but readily translatable.)

A last Dutch meal

“Kibbeling and French fries, please”, I order in Oudeschild on the island of Texel. This will be our last dinner in the Netherlands. Kibbeling and French fries is the Dutch version of English fish and chips, and I already know that the best Dutch kibbeling is served here in Oudeschild. After this excellent meal we are ready for the 240 mile crossing to Whitby.

Customs clearance is super simple

The crossing to Whitby is very easy, with lots of sunshine and easterly winds, but not too much. Forty hours after our departure we sail through the swing bridge into the port of Whitby. We ask the harbour master whether we should do anything more with respect to customs and immigration, but he’s already contacted the local authorities about our arrival so we don’t have to do anything apart from lowering the yellow Q flag and replacing it with a British courtesy flag. Now it’s time to enjoy the town and take long walks in the beautiful surroundings. We walk the pretty coast path to Robin Hood Bay, where we drink our first English cider in the garden of the Victoria Hotel and enjoy the same views as shown in the 2017 movie Phantom Thread.

The Q flag comes down at Whitby

VentoVivo in home waters

As we sail away from Oudeschild on Friday 26th May I send an electronic e C1331 form to the gov.uk website and, with this action, all the formalities for entry into the UK are complete. It’s that simple!

‘And what are you doing here?’

After overnight stays in Hartlepool, Newcastle and Blyth we sail to Holy Island for our first anchorage of the trip. After checking that the anchor is well dug in there is immediately peace on board. We don’t hear any sounds except the quiet rippling of the tidal stream against the bow of VentoVivo. Now we can enjoy the view and the countless curious grey seals swimming around the boat. Next morning, while I brush my teeth in the heads, I see a grey seal who looks me straight in the eye with a look of ‘and what are you doing here?’.

The Scottish courtesy flag goes up Our first port in Scotland is Arbroath. This is a rather impoverished town with many old fishing boats and a small marina. The last fishermen in Arbroath now fish mainly for lobster and crab. According to the two elderly fishermen we talk to, the whitefish have been almost completely fished out by ‘those f.... Dutchmen’.

Lobster fishing is no longer very profitable and the ones that are caught are sold at the local fish auction for just £8 per adult lobster. The fishermen tell me that there is very little local demand for lobsters and that nearly all UK lobsters are sold to Italy.

Although we are still in Britain, the harbour master in Arbroath makes it very clear that the British courtesy flag must now be replaced by a Scottish one. After this very clear advice it takes us nearly a day to find such a flag.

Bertie, the nicest harbour master in the UK

In the marina at Peterhead a local sailor asks me what our next destination is. When I tell him that we are going to Whitehills that day, I am immediately told that Whitehills is a good harbour and that we should say hello to Bertie, the nicest harbour master in Scotland. The 100 miles to Whitehills turned out to be the most beautiful sailing day of the entire holiday. Sun, flat water and a steady 20 knots of wind and our heavy cruising boat makes an average of 9–10 knots. Wonderful! We hadn’t experienced these high speeds before in VentoVivo.

Entering the harbour at Whitehills is not easy because it is narrow and has several dangerous shallows. Fortunately, half a mile from the entrance harbour master Bertie gives us a call

Our anchorage near Holy Island

Arbroath

Welcome to Whitehills

on VHF and tells us exactly how we should enter his harbour –where to stay close to the harbour wall and where to turn to enter the marina safely. His directions are excellent and after ten minutes of guidance our lines are caught by Bertie and tied up ashore. Then he explains where to do our shopping in the village, in which restaurant we should order the cullen skink (a Scottish smoked-fish soup) and in which fish shop we will find the best fish. Later, in the English sailing magazine Yachting Monthly, we read an enthusiastic story from an English sailor about Bertie’s hospitality.

The Caledonian Canal

After stops in the Lossiemouth and Inverness marinas, on Saturday 17th June we enter the Caledonian Canal via the sea lock at Clachnaharry. At the entrance to the lock we get a detailed explanation from the lock-keeper about what we must do to pass safely through all the locks on the Caledonian Canal. His best advice is to let all the rental motorboats enter the locks first and only follow after ‘those stupids have bumped against all the walls and other rental boats’. With this advice the locks are not a big problem. The only thing which makes me a little bit nervous is the pronunciation of the Scottish names, especially when I must pick up the VHF to call the local harbour master.

Neptune’s Staircase near Fort William

We pass through the canal in five days. The overnight stays at Dochgarroch and Kytra Lock are especially beautiful, as is the night at anchor in Loch Ness. Only Fort Augustus is a little disappointing. This is a real tourist trap with busloads of tourists looking for the Loch Ness monster every hour of the day. And if they can’t spot Nessie (which is normally the case), they go to the tourist shops to buy a toy Nessie.

The west coast of Scotland, a mecca for sailors

From the new and very useful marina at Corpach we sail past Fort William and via Loch Linnhe heading for the marina at Dunstaffnage, near Oban. During our first day in western Scotland we sail between beautiful islands and past castles and anchorages. Unfortunately we have to sail past the anchorages, because a summer storm has been forecast and we prefer to stay in the very sheltered marina of Dunstaffnage. The Scots will perhaps know a variation on the Dutch proverb ‘after rain comes sunshine’ because, after a stormy, rainy day in Dunstaffnage, there is suddenly a day of high summer. In shorts and polo shirts we cycle on our folding bikes along the coast and over the beautiful moors to Oban, to spend an afternoon as ordinary tourists.

Tobermory, where waterproofs are a necessity

After a few days in Dunstaffnage we sail to Tobermory on an evening of the most beautiful weather in the world. It seems that stable good weather happens sometimes in Scotland, but not when we are there as the next day it is stormy again and raining cats and dogs. We spend the morning on board with a book and a newspaper, but in the course of the afternoon we get restless from all the sitting inside. In full sailing gear we go on deck to inflate our dinghy, go ashore and then quickly dive into a pub. The next day the sun returns, we can put our shorts on again and finally admire the colourful harbour front of Tobermory in all its beauty.

Raining cats and dogs in Tobermory

The brave initiative of the residents of Eigg

But after the rain comes sunshine ...

Our first anchorage on the west coast of Scotland is at the Isle of Eigg, where we anchor just in front of the quay in the sheltered harbour basin. It is Tuesday 27th June.

The recent history of Eigg turns out to be very special. Until 1997 it was a poor island with

A very well-protected anchorage

fewer than sixty inhabitants. Then the residents bought the island from the former owner and, with donations from the general public –including an anonymous contribution of £750,000 – as well as help from Highlands and Islands Enterprise, invested in their island and thus in their own future. The inhabitants have lifted themselves and their island out of the swamp of desolate poverty ... the fact that the island and its inhabitants are doing well becomes evident from a sign in the local shop which reads ‘residents and staff wanted’. Apart from all these economic miracle stories, the island also turns out to be lovely.

Canna

We are also very impressed by the small island of Canna which has only 10 or 15 inhabitants. We pick up a mooring right in front of an old church and graveyard. The next day it is windy and rains heavily and we wake up to sounds like wolves howling. The bad weather and the

howling of wolves, in combination with a berth in front of a church and graveyard, is quite sinister. But as soon as we get up we discover that the wolf howls do not come from wolves at all but from young grey seals calling for their mothers. Immediately the sound is no longer lugubrious but cute.

Over the next few days we explore the island. The wind is still blowing quite hard but it is mostly dry and sometimes even sunny. The walks we do are fantastic and can be added to the

Grey seals at

Canna

There’s beautiful walking on Canna

at Eigg

top ten most beautiful walks we have ever made. The hills are very green, the waters around the island steel blue and from the hills of Canna we have a breathtaking view of our boat and the island of Rùm.

In the only pub/restaurant on the island we experience how good fresh fish tastes, as the fisherman who passes our boat in the afternoon delivers fresh fish straight to it. One evening when we have dinner in this restaurant we enjoy big plates of fruits de mer and fresh fried fish. Super tasty.

Mallaig and Loch Moidart

From Canna we sail past the island of Rùm to Mallaig on the mainland of Scotland. This is a small town with only one supermarket, one launderette, one hairdresser and one gas station – and that’s exactly what we need that day. We do our shopping at the supermarket, we wash our clothes in the launderette, we buy a new starter battery at the gas station and I get my hair cut for the first time on the trip. In short, we are completely happy for a while. Unfortunately, in the afternoon the wind direction changes so we are suddenly sitting in the stinking diesel fumes of many ferries. We therefore decide at 1700 to leave for the South Channel of Loch Moidart. The navigation to the anchorage in the South Channel is challenging, with strong currents, a winding channel and many rocks below and above the water. But once the anchor is properly secured we can enjoy the idyllic spot with a view of a ruined castle on a small island. The harbour master at Dunstaffnage had recommended this anchorage to us and it turns out he was completely justified.

My son Sietse takes over

After 2½ weeks in northwest Scotland we sail to the island of Kerrera, near Oban, to pick up our son Sietse and his girlfriend Roos who will sail with us for two weeks. With the arrival of Sietse the onboard roles change immediately. With great conviction Sietse states that I am still a poor sailor and that he will take over the helm for the next two weeks. I’m totally fine with this, as he’s an excellent sailor and I enjoy just being mate for a while.

Special service in Glenarm

After a few days sailing in southwest Scotland, on Sunday 16th July we cross over to Ballycastle in Northern Ireland. To head south we have to leave Ballycastle in the late afternoon. This is because of the tide. From Ballycastle we call the harbour master of Glenarm to ask if there is room in their harbour. The harbour master reports that he has a place but says his office will close

and Roos join us in Oban

Careful pilotage and steering are needed in Loch Moidart

Sietse

at 1700. Even so, when we arrive at around 2000 there are still two, somewhat older, harbour masters waiting for us. They sit with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other discussing the world’s problems. Presumably they have less fun at home than on the bench in front of their harbour office. We are very glad about this special service.

A new push-pull cable and perilous mooring operation in Ardglass

After stops in Glenarm and Bangor we approach the tidal harbour at Ardglass. At low tide huge rock formations come to the surface in the tiny harbour and careful navigation is therefore essential. Just before we turn into our berth the engine stays in gear, and only with brute force can Captain Sietse manage to get it into neutral. There is clearly something wrong that must be repaired immediately. After we have completely unscrewed the steering column it turns out that the push-pull cable is completely bent and needs to be replaced.

Ardglass, located in the middle of nowhere, is a nice but not so convenient place. The local harbour master gives us the telephone number of a certain David, and when we call him he immediately agrees to come to the boat and have a look. He turns out to be a repairman of old rally cars and old boats, so is the ideal person to help us. That evening we spend a few hours removing the old push-pull cable. David tells us that he has to be in Dublin the next day for a job and will pick up a new cable for us there. The day after that David fits the new 4 5m cable and we re-attach the connections for all equipment in the steering column. Within 30 hours of the cable being damaged the new cable was installed. Such a fast service is incredible. I’m sure that even in the Solent or the Netherlands such a repair would take days.

Jessica and Sietse unscrew the steering column

No shortage of reading in Glenarm

‘Don’t come to Ireland for the sun!’

After a stop at Glenarm we sail on to Howth, one of Dublin’s two large marinas. Unfortunately it is quite rainy in Dublin, but when I complain about the rain to the harbour master I get a very clear response, ‘don’t come to Ireland for the sun!’. After some days in Dublin we have to say goodbye to Sietse and Roos, and following 2½ weeks of being mate I have to do all the steering and mooring myself again.

Crossing the Irish Sea in good and not-so-good weather

An approaching storm and bad weather forecasts make us decide in Arklow to leave Ireland sooner than we had planned and cross over to England. The first 22 hours of the crossing are fantastic and after a wonderful sunset we enjoy beautiful, clear, starry skies during the first two night watches. Then at 0400 the moderate wind turns to the south and picks up to force 4, it starts to rain and also gets foggy. This weather change has been predicted, so we know that we still have to motor directly into the wind across a knobbly Irish Sea for half a day. It’s not pleasant, but it’s not dangerous either. Fortunately, the fog lifts a bit just before we reach Land’s End so we can just see the lighthouse which marks the offlying rocks. Just before Newlyn the drizzle turns into torrential rain, so we sail into Newlyn harbour on 26th July looking like a bunch of drowned cats*.

Summer storm in Cornwall

Land’s End is visible ... the weather is getting a little less worse

From Newlyn we enjoy some fantastic walks on the coastal paths and then sail around Lizard Point towards the Helford River. Unfortunately we can only stay there for one night because there are two summer storms coming and we would rather not be on a rusty steel chain in Helford River. Fortunately a berth is available in the marina at Mylor. I had been in Mylor Marina once before, in 2018, also to shelter from a summer storm that chased me away from the Helford River. The storm that passes is fierce, and even in the shelter of Mylor the wind blows at force 8 (34–40 knots). The harbour staff at Mylor Marina walk round the pontoons day and night to keep an eye on the boats and next day one of them tells us that, according to his sports watch, the previous day he’d walked 12 miles!

High season in Cornwall and Devon

After leaving Mylor several things change. First, the weather is nearly always sunny for the rest of the trip, which is nice of course. But the coasts of Cornwall and Devon are very crowded

* Not a typo! This is the expression used in many languages. We stay in Mylor because a serious summer storm is coming

Although the passage planning for our sail to Yarmouth was quite good, 25 knots of wind makes the Needles Channel quite rough. In Cowes we meet the first Dutch sailors we’ve seen for months and start to realise that home is getting closer and closer. We choose to take it easy for another week. After all, as Dutch sailors we don’t often get the opportunity to hang out in Yarmouth, Cowes and the Beaulieu River.

En route to the Netherlands and home

Beautiful Salcombe

and this is a huge contrast to the less crowded regions in northern Britain and Ireland. If a region has a lot of tourists it normally means that it’s also very beautiful and this correlation is certainly true in Cornwall and Devon. The harbours and bays of Fowey, Mevagissey, the Yealm, Salcombe and Dartmouth are very ‘cute’ and the coastal walks are stunning, but we miss the peaceful and quiet sailing in Scotland and Northern Ireland. We also miss the small-scale, quiet harbours and anchorages where nothing really happens.

Challenging sailing in the Needles Channel

From Poole we sail with a beautiful following wind to Yarmouth on the Isle of Wight.

Rough water in the Needles Channel

After a night in Itchenor the feeling of an endless holiday disappears. We know that the stops in Brighton, Eastbourne, Dover, Calais and the Belgian coastal towns will not be the most beautiful of the trip, but we still have nice settled summer weather with a very useful wind from the southwest. The fine sailing weather offers excellent compensation for the less interesting harbour towns. Near Oostende the sunny weather is interrupted by some thunder and lightning for an hour, but fortunately the dark thundercloud passes just behind us and we stay completely dry while it is pouring in Oostende. The upside of this short interlude in the summer weather is that it does result in some nice photos.

The afternoon thunderstorm near Oostende just misses us

The first place in the Netherlands that we visit is Vlissingen, which we reach on Thursday 31st August. I have never been there before, but Vlissingen turns out to be a lovely old town with a beautiful harbour in the middle of the historic city centre. After Vlissingen we sail past Scheveningen, IJmuiden and Texel and back to the IJsselmeer. When we sail into our berth in Medemblik, the near circumnavigation of Britain is complete and we’ve sailed almost 2000 miles in 3½ months.

I realise that I’m repeating myself, but we found the peace, the great environment and especially the people in Scotland and Ireland very, very nice.

The steel industry in Ijmuiden is ugly, unhealthy and stings the eyes, but sometimes it is beautiful

A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping In sight...’

Lord George Byron, Don Juan

FROM THE ARCHIVES

22 days out from Floreana

Roger

Jameson

(The following article, which first appeared in Flying Fish 1964/2, was prefaced: ‘Extracts from Roger Jameson’s letter dated 28th July, from Floreana, Galapagos, aboard Lucent.’ Even in 1965 she was something of an anachronism, described in Past Commodore Tony Vasey’s The First Fifty Years as ‘a Cornish Lugger of most primitive rig. (Luggers originated for coastal fishing and carried their sails laced to heavy spars which had to be ‘dipped’ when going about. This was done by lowering the sail sufficiently to carry the heel of the spar round the mast before rehoisting it.)’

Roger added that, ‘We changed her rig by adding a 16ft (4·9m) bowsprit with 11ft (3·4m) outboard, which either sports a working jib or a 250 sq ft (23·2m2) yankee. This once gave us 8 2 knots for about 20 minutes in calm Thames Estuary water – most alarming.’ See pages 77/78 of The First Fifty Years for more about her rig. Although her dimensions are not given, they may well have been close to the 55ft LOA x 15ft 6in beam (16 8m x 4 7m) of the Swift, which also features in this piece.

Visit https://www.cornishluggers.co.uk/ to learn more about these distinctive vessels.)

When you get this letter, it means that Lucent will have arrived in Tahiti. So far it has been an ideal rest-cure passage, with moderate quartering winds, record runs and 12 hours in every night, all requiring not one hand’s turn from the crew, who eat, sleep, fish, make new clothes or simply gaze. At this point I cannot refrain from boasting about our record runs, not so much to extol the energy of the crew as to confound the unkind critics who maintain that Lucent is slow. Our previous best day’s run of 153 miles, achieved a few days out of Las Palmas, has been shattered and now stands at 171 miles, noon to noon, and what is more our customary three-course dinner was neither postponed nor lost, but duly eaten. We have also beaten the 1000 miles in a week during which the same and usual consideration was paid to the comfort, well-being and rest of the crew. For the record our runs have been as follows. After a slow first five days in which we made good 484 miles, our days’ runs have varied between 105 and 171 miles. Now, however, the wind is falling light as we approach the Tuamotu Archipelago, and I don’t anticipate any more records.

But this is telling the story backwards, and perhaps I had better retreat 60° of longitude to Kingston, Jamaica, where, I believe, I left off last time*. Leaving England in the grip of the icy winter of 1962/63 I flew back to Jamaica and Lucent in the happy knowledge that David Balfour would join me in two weeks’ time and that the crew problem was therefore solved. With some distress of mind and pocket I discovered on my return that Clive, my crew since Miami who had agreed in view of his incompetence to return to his job in Grenada, had smuggled ashore and sold the whole of the ship’s stores with the exception of two packets of cornflour and one jar of bay leaves. The police and customs were very interested in Clive on account of the 50% import duty on all tinned goods, and six month’s rations for two men amount to a sizeable cargo, but it was beyond their means or enthusiasm to chase him all the way to Grenada. It so happened that I had the opportunity to return and look for him myself but, by that time, twelve months later, my bird had flown. Perhaps you would like to warn all OCC people against this wandering confidence man.

When David arrived stocks had been replenished and we soon set off for Panama. David’s experience of yachting, though considerable, had previously been confined to the English Channel and Western Approaches, and great was his wonder at my faith in the trade winds

* This was the first time Roger had written for Flying Fish, so the account he refers to must have appeared in one of the Newsletters that preceded it and which, sadly, are missing from the Archives.

when he saw me calculating that to arrive off Panama just before dawn we would have to leave Jamaica at 4pm. My faith was, however, justified, and on the morning of the fifth day at sea we picked up the lights of the canal entrance a little before dawn and dropped anchor on the flats, awaiting customs, immigration and the admeasurer a little before nine o’clock.

Formalities over, we were soon moored alongside the hospitable Panama Canal Zone YC in company with another OCC ship, the St Briac, owned by Didier Depret, the one-armed terror of the Spanish Main, and his wife, Bernadette. Didier is on a honeymoon world cruise and I was later to discover what a lasting impression he has left on the ports he has visited. He, however, can tell his story better than I In company with St Briac we passed through the canal for the lordly sum of $7.20 and, still in company, sailed towards Wreck Bay in the Galapagos Islands where we arrived ten days later after an uneventful and very calm passage.

We must have spent about ten days happily cruising among these delightful islands, living off the fresh fish, goat, lobster and crab which are available in abundance, though my memory is hazy for dates, the sure sign of time well spent. So absorbing was our activity that we rather dreaded the day when our supplies of gas and water would dictate departure. One day, however, found us in Academy Bay on Santa Cruz, and that day (or should I say evening, when I entertained Carl Angermeyer to a bottle of whisky?), changed the whole of our plans and gave me the opportunity to fulfil what must be the dream of most members of the OCC – to take, as it were, a clean sheet of paper and, basing his ideas on the small experience that is his, design and build, at somebody else’s expense, the Ideal Ocean Cruiser.

Add to this the terrifying privilege of proving the design at sea and you will understand why I was glad that Charles Darwin visited the Galapagos Islands in 1836, precipitating one of the major revolutions in thought of the 19th century from his observations, and prompted the establishment of the Charles Darwin Foundation for the Galapagos Islands* whose purpose is to study and protect the strange indigenous species of flora and fauna, many of which are in danger of extinction.

This same Charles Darwin Foundation has established a scientific station on Santa Cruz from which the many protectionary measures made law by the Ecuadorian Government are administered and to which scientists come from all over the world to study the creatures which exist nowhere else. At the time Lucent sailed into Academy Bay and Carl and I were carousing over the bottle of whisky, they were at a loss to mount expeditions to the outlying islands, either for protection or investigation, for they had no boat.

Carl told me that several attempts had been made and several schemes laid to get some suitable ship and that a wealth of dollars had been set aside for that sole purpose. Even a mooring had been laid, but the buoy had so far been graced only by visiting yachts and local fishing boats.

Thus it came about that I called on the Director of the Station and arranged with him to return to England and spend his dollars on a suitable ship. The exact specification was left to me, to be agreed with Mr Peter Scott, the naturalist, save only that the vessel should provide efficient inter-island transport for six scientists and should be as fast as possible, should she ever have to chase away poachers after the valuable fur seals. I think the Director envisaged a motor cruiser with steadying sails, though I explained that I would have to rig her temporarily to bring her out from England. He was, I think, understandably perplexed therefore, when I returned 13 months later with a sort of sawn-off, bald-headed brigantine – though whether it was his native reticence or the punch of her two auxiliary Lister diesels that forbade him to register anything but polite approval of my year’s labour I shall never discover. It was all fixed up with almost indecent haste, the whole contract being concluded within 24 hours of our first meeting, and it is to the enduring credit and faith of the Director that he entrusted the funds of his organisation to the ruffian, barefoot and clad only in a pair of blue jeans, rifle on shoulder and bullets in belt, who wandered into his house one tea-time in April 1963.

* Still going strong 60 years later – see https://www.darwinfoundation.org/en/.

Lucent, in the meantime, was chartered to the scientists, and David Balfour bravely agreed to remain with her to look after her and keep her at their disposal. His reminiscences of his dayto-day life at Academy Bay and during a subsequent visit of over 60 scientists from California are worth a book in themselves. One day he might write it. What chiefly delighted me was that when I eventually returned with the Beagle, as the new ship was appropriately named, I found Lucent in better condition than I had left her and the cat population increased to five.

So I returned to England, having spent the first few Charles Darwin dollars bribing the official who threatened to gaol me for having out-of-date papers when I landed in Guyaquil and, having introduced myself to Mr Peter Scott, set out in search of the Beagle. After a week’s looking I had found the Swift, an ex-Mounts Bay Lugger lying unused in Newlyn, Cornwall – 55ft long and 15ft 6in beam, straight-stemmed and counter-sterned – and with the ready approval of the Charles Darwin Committee in Paris, bought her and faced the formidable task of converting her. As she stood she was decked, unrigged, but had two Lister diesels, one in the workshop, the other installed but disconnected. Two precious months were spent in Newlyn having the engines installed, preparing detailed plans for the conversion which was to take place at Hollowshore1 and doing any work which could be done without the assistance of a slip and shipyard.

When at last, at the end of July, the ship was sufficiently seaworthy to make the journey to Hollowshore, we left Newlyn, relieved that from now on progress would be a little less Cornish, but sad to say farewell to the many friends we had made. By this time we had recruited the first of the crew, an amiable boy of 19 who proudly took charge of the engines, an appointment made on the sole strength of his having helped his brother tune his racing car. He had never been to sea before. In view of our short-handed situation I decided to proceed up channel in day hops. Whether this was more dangerous than staying at sea overnight I do not know, as our docking procedure, undertaken in Plymouth, Dartmouth, Weymouth, Lymington, Newhaven and Dover was fraught with hazard and it was entirely due to the engineer’s nimbleness that we arrived at Hollowshore unscathed and without leaving a trail of insurance claims behind us.

The trouble was that at this time there were no engine controls at the wheel, and no signalling system to the engine room. This meant that I had to call out ‘Come ahead’, ‘Stop’, ‘Slow’, ‘Come astern’, etc at the tousled and greasy head that popped up and down the engine room hatch, until the last moment as we came alongside, when it was both hands to tie her up before she got away again. We even managed to tie her up to the Ship Inn at Lymington in this manner, although the remarks of the harbour master were something to the effect that he did not usually encourage boats of 55ft as far up as that.

Once at Hollowshore progress with the conversion was brisker. What a wonderful place to fit out this is. The Hollowshore Cruising Club2 maintains a clubhouse adjoining the shipyard, complete with bunks, kitchen and bar, and here we set up home and office. As a member of the club I had free run of the yard, use of all tools and virtual direction of the labour as well, so that I could only blame myself if progress was not fast enough.

Time and money dictated that all our energy should be directed towards the accommodation to be installed forward of the engine room, which effectively occupied the third quarter of the hull, and that the original fishermen’s accommodation aft should remain much as it was. We did, however, convert two of the old bunks into a spacious bonded locker, with more doors than were ever found by the customs. Forward of the engines, the main companionway led down to the chart-room on the starboard side, and forward into the saloon-cum-galley, with a miniature bar alongside, and pilot berths under the sidedecks behind the three-sided sofa which encompassed the table. Forward again on the starboard side was the Director’s Stateroom, and beyond that the forward cabin, spacious and with extravagant stowage space. In the eyes of the ship we built a palatial loo, specially designed so that it could readily be used as a photographic darkroom. The major alterations on deck consisted of raising the cabin top over the saloon,

1. Near Faversham on the north Kent coast.

2. Also still thriving 60 years on – see https://hollowshorecc.org/.

sinking a self-draining cockpit over the engine room (later used as a swimming bath after the style of ocean liners and alternatively as a fish keep) and arranging seats about the cockpit and steering positions so that they also served the dual function of extra hot weather accommodation. The bulwarks were effectively raised to about 26in (66cm) by a fabrication of 1¼in pipe wrapped right round the ship from stern to bowsprit end and back again.

The rig was, however, my chief delight and no doubt the most unconventional part of the conversion. To claim that I had designed it would be wrong, for it was designed by generations of seamen long dead and gone. I did, however, piece together a pot pouri of the ideas of the builders of West Indian schooners, Saoirse, Havfruen III and a collection of trading ketches of the last century and it seemed to work, though it caused the Ministry of Transport some concern ... but more of that later.

The rig had three functions: to get the ship to the Galapagos Islands, to steady her while motoring in those becalmed but often sloppy seas, and to bring her safe to Acapulco or Panama should both her engines fail and she drift away from the islands on the swift-flowing Humboldt Current. It would, of course, be advantageous if only a small crew were necessary and if the sails could double as awnings. All this boiled down to a two-masted affair, with main and mizzen sporting jib-topsail, jib, staysail and, on the main mast, a square topsail and main course. Between the masts we set a mizzen staysail and a mizzen top staysail, and aft a spanker which brailed up and a spanker topsail. In all we had 1850 sq ft (172m2) of canvas. I could not resist a little whimsy and had a 12ft x 8ft (3∙7m x 2∙5m) silhouette of a Galapagos Tortoise placed fair and square in black dye in the belly of the main course.

During the months that followed our arrival at Hollowshore work went smoothly enough, and one by one our crew was assembled. I was keen to have five people if possible, at least two of them competent to take charge of a watch so that I, being lazy, could conserve my energies for the crisis I hoped would never come. In the search for crew I met some astonishing individuals, many of whom simply wanted to get away from the wife. I signed none of them and resorted to press gang methods of waiting outside pubs at chucking-out time, and in this way collected a very happy crew.

One of my chief problems at this stage was to find two spars for masts. I had sent letters to several timber people in Norway for spruce spars of the required size and searched shipyards for the cast-offs of yachts gone Bermudan, but in vain. A spar-builder’s estimate for the two masts came to £315, which I thought was too much. It was then that I discovered that the timber used by the Central Electricity Generating Board for telegraph poles was in all respects equal to spruce, and I was able personally to select two poles from the yard in Belvedere, east of London, and have them barked and delivered to Hollowshore for £25 total cost. They had to be planed by hand, a task that cost the Charles Darwin Foundation 38 pints of beer, representing 38 manhours of volunteer weekend labour by Hollowshore Cruising Club members.

It was while at Hollowshore that I made a mistake that was to have far-reaching repercussions in our timetable, the owner’s budget and my personal fortune. I decided that it would be jolly to register the Beagle at Guyaquil and sail under the Ecuadorian flag. Had it been as simple as that all would have been well. The argument was tenable – after all, the Foundation existed on Santa Cruz by courtesy of the Ecuadorian Government and it might well have been misconstrued if their ship had been registered under any other flag. Besides, the Foundation is under the guiding hand of the United Nations and to have a ship under British registry might be misinterpreted. Nevertheless, I had unwittingly set in motion a process that was to delay the whole expedition for five weeks, cost the owners an additional and unnecessary £500 and lose me six weeks’ work at $20 per day. The villain in the plot was the Ministry of Transport.

(David Wallis, Flying Fish editor back in 1964, précised the next part of the letter, inserting in italics that Roger, ‘had great trouble registering Beagle. Basically the trouble was that the MoT surveyor doubted the strength and stability of the hull with the proposed rig and, in spite of Roger’s opinion based on his own experience and the expert opinion he obtained, the MoT insisted on certain modifications being made to the hull which, in Roger’s view, added little or nothing to her strength.)

We eventually contrived to have three official departures, and all three were designed to convince the press that we were repeating Darwin’s original voyage. That the existence of the Panama Canal now renders it unnecessary to battle round Cape Horn appeared of little interest to anyone. We were a square-rigged ship called the Beagle and that was enough. Our first departure took place long before the conversion had been completed either above or below decks but, thanks to a monumental effort by the Hollowshore Cruising Club, as we locked into St Katharine Docks and tidied up for the ceremony that had been arranged we looked quite convincing from the dockside.

The send-off was quite an affair. First the Ecuadorian ambassador made a speech (which I had written for him) and got off on the wrong foot with the assembled throng of naturalists by grouping the pigs, goats and donkeys, introduced to the islands by man, with the precious animals which are indigenous. Then he hoisted the Ecuadorian ensign and we felt well and truly ‘registered’. My brother next blessed the ship and crew with generous use of Holy Water and little regard for the highly-polished brass or the uncompleted electrical bird’s nest in the engine room. That indispensable naturalist Mr Peter Scott, and the President of the Foundation, the late Mr Van Stralen, both made speeches. Finally the gin pennant was hoisted and, by courtesy of the Plymouth Gin people, 120 guests drank to the success of the expedition. We sailed on the tide, posed under Tower Bridge for the photographers and went straight into dry-dock at Greenhithe to do her bottom.

Our next departure was a Hollowshore affair, on a Sunday morning in December. By this time we had moved from the Hollowshore Cruising Club and taken up residence on board with every available heater going and the cabin thermometer topping the 40°F (4∙5°C) mark. High water was at 12:30 pm and the pub opened early so we would not have to go to sea on empty stomachs. The crew were very well behaved, all at their appointed stations for getting under way – no easy task in the narrow creek – well before high water, but I confess that I was still in the bar at 1:30 pm. I tottered up the precarious ladder between dock and ship missing my footing on the way, was caught and set on deck by willing hands of the assembled crowd, and received from the Commodore a substantial Christmas pudding, two jars of brandy butter and a framed photograph of Hollowshore which still graces the Beagle’s saloon.

I took the wheel ... “Stand by for topsail aback”. It was the first time any of us had sailed with square sails. “Cast off springs. Cast off forward. Hold aft”. The crew responded like a team. The backed topsail strained to take her head away from the quay, but nothing happened. Beagle did not budge.

The jeers from ashore told us that we had missed our tide. Hastily the club workboat was manned, a warp was taken to the point of greatest leverage (the bowsprit end) and slowly, but with increasing momentum, she pivoted on her heel and slid into deep water. A mighty cheer acclaimed our success, but degenerated into ribald laughter as the creek-mouth spit claimed its due and we squelched to an ignominious standstill. The ebb tide flowed quietly forward along our sides and left a chuckling trail of muddy bubbles from the stem. This time there was no escape, and having put out anchors in deep water we went ashore to continue the celebration until the night tide should once again liberate us and set us on our way.

In Dover we victualled and filled the bonded locker. Several tantalising days passed with clear, frosty weather and a gentle easterly outside, while the interminable farewells were said and last minute jobs done. A date in Plymouth, whence the first Beagle had sailed in December 1831, forbade delay however, and we sailed to meet the Lord Mayor and C-in-C for what was, we hoped, to be our last departure.

A gentle, fair wind gave us moderate progress to start with, but I would not happily re-live those first few frosty hours at the outset of a 7000 mile delivery passage. The ship was untried, doubted by the MoT and forecast to be wrung to pieces in the first heavy weather we encountered. The crew, with the exception of first mate, had never been to sea before. The rig had been described by a frank but knowledgeable critic as ‘freak’, and December is not a month normally

recommended for the trials of so many unknowns. Furthermore, our fair wind was rising and we had everything up.

Dusk came early as we passed south of the Isle of Wight and we ran at 8 knots. We brailed up the spanker to ease the steering, but still we edged too near the race off St Catherine’s. With the tide flowing against the freshening easterly she ran wild, and it was not until the steering gear gave up the ghost and she broached that I realised how strong the wind was. As she lay in the trough with all square canvas flogging to leeward and great seas marching down at us, I remember being thankful that she was headed offshore. From aloft, as I and the bosun struggled to contain the topsail and course, I marvelled at the way she lay, heeled about 30°, while frequent bursts of spindrift swept to leeward. The faces of the crew on deck looked white in the half-light as they watched our progress aloft.

We next set about repairing the steering gear, and it was only then that I learned that the emergency tiller I had made several months before in Cornwall was useless, not having half enough length. It served to steady the rudder while I replaced the lines to the quadrant, and that was about all, but we were soon able to get her off the wind again and back on course. After that, with our reduced canvas, we ran more easily. Dawn found us off the Start and a few hours later a snow flurry chased us into Plymouth Sound, where, thanks once again to the efforts of Dick Harris of Plymouth Gin, we were to be accommodated in Millbay Docks.

Our final send off was one which I shall remember for a long time. The climax, anticipated by daily reports concerning our personal histories in the local press, was a magnificent lunch in the refectory of the Plymouth Gin Distillery, at which the Lord Mayor and Commander-InChief made speeches and presentations and the crew, dressed in their best, demonstrated once again how well-behaved they could be. One final mishap delayed our long awaited departure. Having taken on fuel during the afternoon we were unable to moor in our sheltered berth in Millbay Docks until the tide served after dark.

Little did we know as we came alongside that the Dutch freighter had left his black-painted jib hanging forgotten over the side, and it was inevitable that in the dark our main yard would foul it and snap in two. It was Friday evening. Christmas was in the middle of the following week, and it seemed that we were fated to repeat the first Beagle’s record of sailing ‘after the holiday’, for what hope had we of finding another spar (I had spent six weeks looking for the original), or getting the existing one fished* before the holiday period had run its course? We held a council of war and hit upon the happy idea of sticking the two broken ends into an 8ft (2∙5m) length of steel pipe. It was simple and it worked. With but 24 hours’ delay we were heading south with a bit of west in it, aiming to pass outside Ushant and see what the weather sent. Our good fortune held, the anticyclone that had teased us in Dover persisted, and we motor-sailed with the lightest of following winds towards the formidable Cape Finisterre. As we made southing the frost melted off the yards and deckworks and the ship’s cat, Erasmus, one of the Lord Mayor’s contributions, luxuriated in the weak winter sunshine.

Two days later was Christmas Eve. So far our luck had held and the calm, bright weather continued, but this was not to be for long. While still 80 miles north of the Spanish coast we heard a forecast of force 10 (48–55 knot) westerly winds for Finisterre and the idea of spending Christmas at sea lost its appeal. The nearest shelter was Cariño, a small fishing village in which I had sheltered previously and, as the wind backed south and freshened, we appreciated the punch of our two Listers as we slowly gained the shelter of the weather shore.

It is not easy to fuel up in Cariño, so after Christmas we motored in renewed and persistent calm to La Coruña and tied up alongside the Real Club Náutico. Thence to Lisbon, the fine weather continuing with light following winds. This enabled us to experiment with several slightly different arrangements for brailing the main course into the mast, until we were satisfied that we had the right compromise between too many strings to pull and not enough control of

* Academia’s Dictionary of Nautical Words and Terms states that ‘To fish a spar is to strengthen it, when fractured or weakened, by lashing or fastening another piece to it’.

the sail in a squall. On leaving Lisbon our luck with the winter weather changed for the worse and we made a poor passage to Gran Canaria, taking 14 days. The wind persisted strong from the southwest and whichever tack I tried it seemed to head us. Then it freshened, and as we were making next to no progress, we lay hove to for two days. Below it was warm and dry, and our short one-man watches were little hardship. On the seventh day out the wind dropped and we drifted slowly southward, at last making some progress, and finally bowled into the harbour at Las Palmas on a fine, sparkling day, confident that we had by now left the winter far behind. From then on it was plain sailing, and the trade wind blew us to Barbados in 23 days and on to Panama in a further eight. A few days before we reached Barbados I went over the Beagle’s accounts and funds and saw only too clearly that we did not have enough to complete the delivery and feed the crew. This threatened to be a severe blow to our timetable, as I had already experienced many delays in getting funds out of the financiers and didn’t look forward to a long delay in Barbados waiting for committees to convene in Paris and Brussels. The obvious thing to do seemed to be to charter the Beagle for a few day-trips, and she became a familiar sight sailing in the lee of the island, her decks overflowing with 20 drunks a time. So we were enabled to pass through the Panama Canal and on towards Galapagos.

I am not going to accuse the Panamanians of stealing because I cannot prove it, but a surprise was in store for us a few hours out of Balboa. The propeller off the wing engine* had disappeared. This had been taken off in Las Palmas to reduce drag and I had personally replaced it at Cristóbal when we had slipped the Beagle on the excellent slipway at the Panama Canal Zone Yacht Club. Key, nut and pin were all in order. It must have disappeared somewhere between Gatun Lake, where we put the wing engine on load for the first time for two months, and that moment when I started up the wing engine 12 hours out of Balboa. I had planned our fuel on the basis of 12 hours on, 12 hours off for each engine, and as the only way to transfer from one tank to the other was via a pipe draped over the deck, this latest surprise was regarded as a bore. At that time of the year there was little hope of wind. We got a little breeze, however, and I determined to sail within the main engine’s range of the islands and if necessary motor from there.

This scheme worked and we dropped anchor in Wreck Bay on the 14th day. The same night, having radioed ahead our ETA, we sailed for Academy Bay where the Darwin Station and Lucent awaited our arrival. On board we had the Commandante, the Naval Governor of the Islands, knocking substantial holes in the first mate’s precious malt whisky. Next morning we sailed into Academy Bay and were immediately surrounded by what seemed to be the entire population. This time not only the whisky suffered but my Plymouth Gin as well. Furthermore, as if to complicate matters, the cat that David had aboard Lucent gave birth to five kittens, two of which lie flaked-out beside me as I write. I was apprehensive of the reception we would receive from the Director of the Foundation. Having been sent home to get a motor cruiser with steadying sails, here I was with a brigantine. He was too kind to be rude, however, and the handover was completed with apparent satisfaction all round.

A month or so later Lucent, with myself, David Balfour and Simon Gullick (mate of the Beagle) sailed, having spent the intervening time making all ready to cross the Pacific and shooting and smoking enough goats to keep the increasing cat population fed. We were bound towards Amanu in the Tuamotu Archipelago, as an apéritif, as it were, to Tahiti and the rest of French Polynesia. Our landfall at Amanu on 1st August, having run 3015 miles in 24½ days, was followed by 24 riotous hours ashore before we set out again for a further five days to Tahiti ... over which the curtain should, perhaps, discreetly be drawn.

* A wing engine is a subsidiary engine installed alongside the main engine/s. Its main purpose is to provide back-up should the main engine/s fail, but it can also be useful when manoeuvring in confined spaces.

Save the Ocean, Protect Your Passion

- Liz Clark, sailor, surfer, and environmentalist

“Join us today, we need all hands on deck if we are to have a living, thriving ocean for future generations to enjoy.”

WINTER SAILING IN THE MED

Gian Luca Fiori

(Although Italian member Gian Luca joined the OCC back in 2012 this is the first time he’s written for Flying Fish. His yacht, Vivaldi, is a Hinckley 51, a 15 6m classic designed by McCurdy & Rhodes and built in the US by Henry R Hinckley & Co. She came into the Fiori family in 1989 and the following year Gian Luca’s father-in-law sailed her across the Atlantic, returning with the ARC. Since then Gian Luca and his wife Angela have based her near their home in Massachusetts.

Both are passionate about competitive and cruising sailing, and over the years Vivaldi has competed in eight Marion Bermuda races, sailed to Nova Scotia a couple of times, completed an Atlantic circuit in 2013 and spent several winters in the Caribbean. Last summer Gian Luca decided to return to the Mediterranean, both to enjoy some singlehanded sailing and because he finds it easier to recruit friends and family to crew there. He plans to take Vivaldi back to her home port of Marion, MA next summer, adding to the more than 50,000 miles they’ve already sailed together.)

Sailing during the winter in Europe, particularly Italy and Greece, is challenging due to the weather. It normally blows for several days and then you have a window for motoring from one place to another. On the other hand it’s a pleasure not to have to fight for space in marinas, to visit towns with very few tourists and to enjoy dinners at restaurants which are open all year round ... which means restaurants for the locals. The Tyrrhenian coast of Italy is attractive, with plenty of history and beautiful towns. Greece is a little more touristy and a bit more complicated with documentation, but the few ‘postcard’ days are beautiful. Don’t even think of swimming, however, as the water temperature is less than 17°C (62°F).

This article covers two separate winter cruises, from Pisa, Italy to Marina di Ragusa, Sicily in November/December 2023, and from Marina di Ragusa to Naxos, Greece in March/April 2024.

Pisa to Marina di Ragusa, a gastronomic journey I returned to Vivaldi after a brief visit to my home in the States to learn that there had been a big storm in Italy’s Marina di Pisa. The marina is protected, but 35–40 knots of wind (force 8) was too much. Vivaldi suffered little damage, but the boat on her starboard side was damaged by her rubrail and on Vivaldi, several screws along the rail were missing and the latch at the lifeline gate was broken.

Nickolas arrived and we had to wait a couple of days for another storm to pass before we finally left for Portoferraio, Elba, 50 miles away, at 0730 on 18th November. It was awfully cold and we had to motor all the way. We arrived at

A prime berth in Portoferraio, Elba

around 1600, an hour before sunset, and they gave us a great berth right opposite the gate to the town. Portoferraio is an interesting town, built as a fortress in the 16th century by Cosmino I, Duke of Florence. It is surrounded by a wall that climbs around the town, which has lots of steps, beautiful views, narrow alleys and a lot of restaurants and stores – all closed because the season was over.

From Elba we motored the next day to Porto Ercole, a small harbour where the owners of the Marina Emporio del Sub were waiting to assist us, though by now we had become skilled at sternto-dock mooring.

On reaching Porto Ercole we circled Monte Argentario, spotting huge villas with gorgeous views of Giglio Island, made infamous by the grounding and partial sinking of the Costa Concordia in 2012. Porto Ercole was even quieter than Elba, with only one small supermarket open.

The quayside at Porto Ercole

Our next stop was at Riva di Traiano, a bit south of Civitavécchia, which used to serve as the Port of Rome. It is now a large commercial harbour with little to showcase. Despite this, cruise ships do make stops and there might be more activity during the season. While strolling the docks we observed a fishing boat unloading its catch on deck, the crew sorting through shrimp, sardines, anchovies, San Pietro and bronzino* – all small catches. It’s hard to believe that fishermen can sustain themselves with such catches.

After a two-night stay we departed with northeast winds of about 20 knots, sailing swiftly to Anzio. Arriving at Nettuno Marina at dusk on 23rd November we were directed to a spot that, while secure, wasn’t particularly pleasant. It was also a lengthy walk to exit the marina. Nettuno welcomed us to the south of Rome with its bustling crowds, honking cars and lively streets. Intriguingly, there were large flocks of parakeets creating a distinctive racket. As a historical note, the Allies disembarked at Anzio in World War Two, sustaining significant casualties.

* John Dory and European sea bass respectively.

En route to Porto Ercole

The statue at Nettuno

From Nettuno we sailed to Gaeta in company with another yacht, Nessie. On arrival at the marina we found them berthed next to us, so introduced ourselves. They were a father and daughter, trial-testing a new Italian-built yacht. Since we planned a two-night stay to wait out the weather we invited them over for drinks. Sarah had peeled a piece of skin from her thumb so Nickolas, displaying his emergency medical team credentials, cleaned it and changed the bandages.

Gaeta was intriguing. There were numerous stands where we bought fresh fruit and vegetables along with a bottle of good olive oil. The Guardia di Finanza had a nice old yacht at the town docks and we wondered at its purpose. We also pondered why they consistently have nicer boats and better-equipped buildings than the Guardia Costiera. We suspect that pursuing tax evaders may be more profitable than protecting shipping routes. We saw the wind increasing so were glad of our decision to stay in port, but while we were in the town the wind veered to the south leaving us beam-on. Our dock lines were severely chafed, but fortunately Nessie ’s crew added more lines in our absence. No other damage occurred but it was a very uncomfortable night. By morning the weather had improved and we left for Marina Aragonesi in Casamicciola, a little north of the town of Ischia. Everything in the town was closed and the ferries turned and dropped anchor very close to us. Nevertheless, the marina was quiet, providing a bit of rest after the previous night.

From there we sailed to Naples, encountering cold weather and a lot of ferry traffic. We went to the marina on the island of Santa Lucia, right in the centre of town. Space was very tight and after refuelling they asked me to reverse Vivaldi into a challenging spot with little space to manoeuvre. I was relieved that I managed it without any damage. We were in a good location in the lee of the Castle of Santa Lucia as strong winds blew for several days. Nickolas and I ventured into town to find the best Neapolitan pizza. La Pizzeria Da Michele was the chosen place, offering a choice of four varieties along with water, beer, wine, or coffee at €5.50 per pizza. I opted for the cosacca, a margherita with Pecorino cheese for its slightly stronger flavour.

The split mountain and Santuario della Santissima Trinità near Gaeta

Naples saw a crew change, as Nickolas left and I was joined by Miguel and Maria. The city made a strong impression on all of us with its big avenues, small alleys, grand palaces, churches and bustling atmosphere filled with people and food everywhere. We continued to explore the town for the next few days and any weight I may have lost while with Nickolas was promptly regained. We stayed an extra day to let another weather front pass before setting off on 3rd December towards the Aeolian Islands 130 miles away. It was an overnight sail and the conditions were favourable, though it was quite cold at departure and remained chilly throughout the night. After midnight we witnessed spits of fire coming out of the Stromboli volcano.

Arriving in the morning at Lipari we explored the town, which is perched on top of a rock with a castle and ruins dating back 6000 years. The town is charming and we enjoyed lunch in one of the few restaurants that was open, as well as replenishing our fruit and vegetables. The following day we motored to the island of Vulcano, site of an active volcano with hot minerals bubbling up from the seabed. Although we had planned to anchor and swim, the water was filled with nasty-looking jellyfish prompting us to change our minds and continue to Milazzo on Sicily, another town with a castle and good opportunities for dining out. The castle, built during the times of the Greeks, witnessed subsequent possession by the Romans, Arabs and Spanish. It offered a magnificent view of the Strait of Messina and the Aeolian Islands.

Next day we approached the Strait of Messina, which is only a mile wide at its narrowest point. There was less traffic and current than we’d anticipated based on what we’d read, though there was a significant amount of ferry traffic between Sicily and Italy. We had a large tanker behind us for several minutes but we gradually manoeuvred out of each other’s way. We pulled into Messina port, where we had a less than quiet night due to the floating docks being set rolling by the passing traffic. The city has an interesting church

A very cold overnight passage from Naples to the Aeolian Islands

The vast Piazza del Plebiscito, Naples

Gian Luca at the helm

where we enjoyed the beginning of Mass accompanied by music from a massive organ, but despite walking around town in the rain searching for a Sicilian meal we ended up disappointed. Next day we moved on to Riposto, south of Taormina, finding a great marina with staff who arranged for us to rent a car. We drove to Taormina, a nice town with wellmanicured streets and expensive stores and restaurants – a waiter remarked that ‘at Taormina, you pay for breathing’. The entire town, including authorities, inhabitants and those who work there but can’t afford to live there, gathered for the switching on of the Christmas tree lights. An enjoyable evening!

In the morning we had clear skies and a fine view of Mount Etna, which had some snow at the top and was smoking gently. We enjoyed this view throughout the day until we reached Siracusa, the home of Archimedes. Siracusa is another old and charming town with castles, squares, narrow streets and churches. We stayed for three nights, allowing us to explore Catania, one of the largest cities in Sicily with an impressive downtown featuring huge avenues lined by historic buildings which evoke an imperial and rich ambience from times past. And we finally discovered the best arancini*.

* Arancini are rice balls stuffed with meat or cheese, coated with breadcrumbs and deep-fried, and are a staple of Sicilian cuisine.

Mount Etna

The following day we took the bus and visited Noto, a baroque town and UNESCO treasure, though the sheer size of the buildings, churches and palaces in such a small town left me puzzled. The bus trips to Catania and Noto proved enjoyable and economical, providing us with the chance to appreciate the scenery and interact with the locals. We saw numerous orange and tangerine trees ready for harvesting – at one point the bus stopped and the driver got out to purchase three kilos of tangerines for €5.

From Siracusa we set sail on 11th December towards Pozzallo on Sicily’s south coast, our last stop before reaching Marina di Ragusa, our final destination. We decided to stay two nights to let the weather pass and visit Módica, famous for its chocolates. Another town, another castle, another huge church. Módica seems like a city inside a funnel. Once you are downtown you climb up to leave it. On the 13th we reached Marina di Ragusa, a full service marina with good berthing, boatyard, bar and a community of liveaboards who showed up to say hi. By then I had been sailing for more than six months (less the five-week break at Pisa), covered 5056 miles and visited 32 towns.

An International Laser Class Association regatta held at Marina di Ragusa

This passage recounts a delightful gastronomic journey. Beginning in Pisa, my quest for the best spaghetti with vongole (clams) lasted for several days, leaving me unable to distinguish the best from the worst but certain that I’ll never tire of them. The pasta exploration continued with variations like norma (eggplant or aubergine), sardines, other seafood and octopus. In Naples I sought out the finest pizza, again favouring the cosacca

Módica

Sepia (small cuttlefish) with fennel, spaghetti with little sepia, and spaghetti with calamari (squid) also made it to my culinary adventure. Maria introduced me to Citron, the epitome of lemons, oranges and tangerines. Then the realm of arancini unfolded, featuring norma, ragú, pistachios and ricotta. The quest for the best caponata (another eggplant/aubergine dish) ensued, accompanied by a sampling of cannoli1 which, although not usually a favourite, proved delightful here. To embrace the Christmas spirit I also savoured four distinct types of Panettone2 .

Marina di Ragusa was a great place to park Vivaldi from mid-December until early March. Various friends visited and we drove something like a thousand miles in a rented Fiat Panda Hybrid exploring southern Sicily. The countryside is all undulating hills with big, semi-derelict houses – we wondered why they were not rebuilt. As Easter approached we could see the wakening of the bars, tourist shops and stores opening for the summer season, which must be heavily crowded, hot and difficult to enjoy. The marina is safe and protected from the weather and all the people working there were really helpful. I even had a new sprayhood and bimini made for a fraction of what it would have cost in the States.

1. A tube-shaped shell of fried pastry dough filled with a sweet, creamy filling made with ricotta cheese. A staple of Sicilian cuisine.

2. A sweet Italian bread containing dried fruit, originally from Milan but now enjoyed at Christmas throughout much of the world.

Marina di Ragusa to Greece

Nickolas, Miguel, Maria and I departed Marina di Ragusa on 21st March and with favourable weather and ample time charted a course for Malta, just 50 miles to the south. We motored all the way there. On reaching Valletta we opted for Roland Marina based on its positive reviews and reasonable prices, and docking proved smooth despite some crosswinds. That evening we took an Uber to Birgu, near Valletta, to enjoy some typical Maltese cuisine and were not disappointed. Birgu at night was charming with its narrow streets, tranquillity and views of the bay and marinas. The following day we returned to Valletta, bustling with tourists. Venturing away from the centre offered a more serene experience. We also explored Senglea, finding similar charm with its narrow streets, churches, statues and picturesque bay views.

On Saturday 23rd we departed for Zakynthos, Greece, initially manoeuvring through a parking lot of tankers in light winds. As the breeze picked up we sailed with reefed mainsail and genoa. By Sunday the wind had intensified, prompting us to reduce sail further. Even so, we maintained our course and reached Zakynthos late on Monday night. We sorted out berthing arrangements the next day with the help of an agent, mastering our first bow anchor, stern-to-the quay mooring.

Ta’ Xbiex, Malta as seen from Roland Marina

Zakynthos, though bustling with tourist facilities, felt less crowded off-season and we enjoyed peaceful nights at anchor in nearby Kerry Bay, despite the chilly water temperatures. Miguel and Maria explored the surrounding rocks and beaches, accompanied by a friendly labrador. Returning to Zakynthos we hoped to resolve our paperwork issues, limited by Greek regulations to a 30-day stay. As for cuisine, we indulged in traditional Greek dishes like tzatziki1, Greek salad, eggplant and roasted lamb for Easter and also sampled delicious gyros2 .

After ten days in Zakynthos dealing with paperwork, not helped by a 48-hour Customs strike, we finally set off for Kalamata on the morning of Thursday 4th April. Miguel and Maria had a flight to catch the next day, but fortunately it was a smooth sail. Kalamata didn’t seem particularly remarkable; we explored a park with a makeshift railroad museum but found no significant historical sites. Miguel and Maria departed and the next day I went to a supermarket, struggling with translations to find specific items for new guests Greg and Deborah. Following their arrival we enjoyed a leisurely stroll along the beach, then drinks and dinner ashore, before departing for Limeni, a little way down the coast. We were able to anchor near the town but experienced issues with dragging during the night due to not setting a stern line as recommended. Fortunately we were able to relocate in the dark to a more secure spot near the beach.

1. A classic Greek dip or sauce made from cucumber, garlic, yogurt and herbs.

2. Similar to a kebab and usually containing beef or lamb.

Leaving Valleta

A mosaic detail in a church in Zakynthos

Rough seas en route to Zakynthos

Our next stop was the stunning beach at Ormos Fargo, where we anchored among a few other boats to enjoy the crystal-clear water. Continuing our journey, we reached Monemvasia on its almost-island, where we berthed at the town dock. After dealing with transit log documentation we explored the renovated village with its picturesque gift shops, restaurants and bed-and-breakfasts nestled on a rocky outcrop. Climbing to the 12th century church provided breathtaking views.

Departing early the next day for Porto Cheli, we initially motored against the wind but later enjoyed some pleasant sailing before entering the bay, which offers picturesque anchorage spots as well as a modern marina. Opting to stay put due to weather concerns and my guests’ schedule, we took a ferry to the charming island of Hydra, where we admired the quaint town’s charm. Reflecting on Hydra harbour and the risky conditions we observed, I’m glad I didn’t attempt to berth Vivaldi there despite the ample space. The rocks extend under the dock so your stern can’t get close enough, plus your anchor is likely to get tangled with all the debris on the sea floor.

Following a quick visit to Milos we left early on 19th April in order to reach Paros 44 miles away before a strong southeast wind set in. Even so, by the time we entered the harbour it was blowing around 20 knots and, getting no response from Paros Marina, I opted to anchor in 6m (19ft) instead. Without serious help I would have not been able to get to the dock without damaging Vivaldi and probably someone else. With that wind the anchor set immediately. It continued to increase and by sundown was above 30 knots. We could see a fire burning in the mountains with flames devouring the vegetation. Later we saw firemen and eventually a helicopter arrived which picked water from the sea with a hose and dumped it on the fire. The wind, the fire and the helicopter passing a few feet from us was quite exciting.

The old village of Monemvasia Hydra harbour

Strong winds at anchor in Paros harbour

Night came and we were holding well until 0400 when the wind increased. The anchor lost its grip and we dragged into deeper water and then back into shallower water where the anchor reset itself. I wasn’t happy that we were closer to the shore, however, so called my crew and we started hauling up the anchor, driving the boat forward so I could get the chain in. It was complicated because my signals couldn’t always be seen, the wind was howling and the chain kept getting stuck in the windlass. Eventually we got the anchor up and motored back to where we’d been before but a little bit closer to the beach, and dropped it in 4∙5m (15ft) letting out 64m (210ft) of chain. Now we were really secure! The wind continued to increase during the day, with a steady 40 knots (force 8) and gusts up to 55 knots (force 10). Vivaldi swung back and forth but we were holding well, though we spent our time checking that we weren’t beginning to drag towards the beach or the harbour. It was 0100 before the wind began to drop again.

On Saturday 27th we reached Naxos Marina and were given a south-facing berth at the entrance. I had problems getting the stern to the dock due to the cross winds and limited space to turn but managed it eventually. It was forecast to blow hard for the next week, and with no space in the harbour at Mikonos and the only alternative being somewhat exposed anchorages we decided to stay in Naxos Marina. Unfortunately, next day a 21m (70ft) powerboat had problems berthing and ended up resting against Vivaldi causing minor damage. We had to go to the port police to report the accident and deal with the insurance, but the cost of the repair is under my deductible* and I don’t have any hope that the owner of the powerboat will pay. The port police told me these accidents are common in all the marinas.

After Naxos we headed to Kythnos. At first we had to motor upwind to round the cape of Paros and then sailed closed-hauled in 15 knots, but the fun soon ended as the wind died and we had to motor the rest of the way to anchor in a bay on the island’s southeast coast.

* Similar but not identical to an excess.

The Portará of Naxos, the entrance to a 6th century BC temple to Apollo

I had read that there was an abandoned anchor in the middle of the bay so avoided anchoring there. Our anchor didn’t hold at the first drop so I hauled it up and – surprise! – the abandoned anchor was tangled with Vivaldi’s. I used the boat hook to dislodge it and it slid back into the water, but it caught the boathook and I couldn’t dislodge it, so now there are both an abandoned anchor and a boat hook down there.

Next day we moved to Loutra and docked stern-to with the anchor at the bow. Soon the marina filled up and I finally relaxed when Vivaldi had boats on both sides to protect her. It is a picture-postcard town and we had planned to be there for one night, but after looking at the weather we remained for three and enjoyed the Orthodox Easter dinner hosted by a powerboat at the end of the dock whose owner roasted a whole lamb.

Finally we left Kythnos and motored to the Olympic Marina near Lavrio on mainland Greece, arriving on 6th May. It is a huge marina and Vivaldi looked small

Celebrating Orthodox Easter with a whole lamb cooked on the dock

Loutra on Kythnos, a very pleasant marina

Passing through the Corinth Canal

high walls. The second event was a significant change in the weather. For the entire week it took us to sail back to Sicily it remained calm with very little wind. It seems the Ionian Sea is more polite than the fast and furious Aegean! This marked the end of my Greek cruise, though one day maybe I’ll charter a boat and explore more of the Aegean islands.

among the huge catamarans and powerboats. From there I visited Athens and Delphi, before being joined by three friends for the run back to Sicily. We made landfall at Riposto, just east of Mount Etna, on 25th May.

The passage was memorable for two reasons. The first was passing through the Corinth Canal, for which we’d registered online and paid the fee in advance. On arrival we waited for some eastbound vessels to pass, then were instructed to follow a westbound tug and maintain a speed of 6 knots. The channel is impressive, being really narrow – less than 60ft (18m) across with depths of 25–30ft (8–9m) – between steep,

WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT when I talk about crossing the Atlantic?

Mike Keizer

(As soon as a new member is accepted, Club Secretary Rachelle Turk sends them a ‘welcome e-mail’ full of practical information about the Club, the OCC website etc. It also mentions the Qualifier’s Mug, suggesting they might like to submit an article to enable them to be entered for it. Mike joined in 2022 so it’s taken him a little while to get around to this but cruisers have a reputation for being unhurried...)

When Rachelle asked me to write something about crossing the Atlantic, my shot-from-the-hip reaction was – boring! Mostly very boring. I absolutely didn’t know what I should write about. I would love to cross the Atlantic again, but differently with the knowledge and experience I gained. It took me a while to distance myself from this adventure and to be able to say something meaningful, I hope, about it. I was not aware of what an Atlantic crossing would mean to other people or to myself. I never gave it any thought because I was too occupied with reaching my goal. And I am still working on it because I see crossing the Atlantic as a stepping stone to circumnavigating. It took the people surrounding me in ‘normal life’ time to react to it as well, as I never advertised, announced or talked about it much.

In the apartment building where I live in Switzerland, some of the kids that rode with me in the elevator looked at me open-mouthed and were unusually silent until I reached my floor and we said our goodbyes. At first I wondered what was wrong with these kids but I suppose that most people are talking about me behind my back instead of talking to me. Young people apparently do the same in school. I am still getting reactions from people more than three years on, though, which I find surprising. The most surprising reaction was from my mother. She told me she was proud of me – something she never ever told me before and never ever did after. Later on I found out that she told her doctor, and it was only after he replied that it was kind of exceptional that I guess she started to give it some thought.

I never labelled this passage as exceptional, it was just something I had wanted to do from a very young age. I never expressed my inclination publicly or advertised it in a newspaper. I treated it, as I did all my other ‘strange’ ideas, as something that would not be taken very seriously ... some wacky idea from a not-so-straight-thinking idiot. I’ve had the luck to implement some of my ‘strange’ ideas outside of sailing too, but none of them caused attention like crossing the Atlantic did. I don’t see myself as a boat or sailing person but more like someone who likes a degree of adventure and to explore new things, plus I am curious about what explorers like Columbus or Magellan experienced on their voyages.

Author Mike Keizer

Since I have been subjected to most questions more than just once, I guess I am prepared and not taken by surprise anymore and now feel able to say or write something sensible about it.

It took me a very long time after Rachelle asked me, and I only

got inspired and started writing after I read Haruki Murakami’s book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. So yes, I confess to having stolen, or rather adapted, the title. Haruki Murakami did the same because he modified it from the title of a book by Raymond Carver, What we talk about when we talk about love. That is where all literary aspirations from my side end – the title. Although not a marathon runner like Mr Murakami, I did run or jog, whatever you want to call it, almost everything up to a half marathon and cycled up to 250km a day (with camping gear), so I kind of identify with what Mr Murakami is writing about and I admire his disciplined training and writing.

So, what am I talking about when I talk about sailing? First I should talk about sailing. What does it mean to me? What does it do to me? These are not subjects I talk about in a pub or clubhouse over a pint of beer, or in my case usually a glass of Diet Cola.

When I imagine a sailing craft I think of a J Class yacht powering through the water propelled by a cloud of white sails, probably the classic romantic image of most sailing-inclined folk. But when I think of sailing, I remember having the most fun when I was younger, sailing on a lake in summer in a Polyvalk, a popular Dutch open rental boat, sleeping under a deck-tent during the night. Playing with the wind. Just holding helm and sheets. Watching the ripples made by the wind on the water and observing the birds and the clouds. Listening to the water gurgling when passing around and under the hull. Seeing the flow detach itself from the hull. Feeling the boat heel over when a wind gust graced me with a gentle push, propelling the boat forward like a giant hand. Watching dragonflies play in and over the reeds. Listening to the birds singing. Watching the ducks, geese and swans herding their offspring.

My parents weren’t very interested in sailing so I got my introduction and part of my instruction from an uncle and a cousin of my father. They had yachts with cabins. I laid my hands on a comic written and drawn by Gerard van Straaten about a certain Eilco Kasemier who returned from a circumnavigation in 1978. Later on I read a book by Herman Jansen who circumnavigated in a fibreglass boat. Both were eye-openers which started me thinking and dreaming as a youngster. In 2012 I was going through my list of things to do and there it was again: sailing around the world.

I bought my first boat in 2014 from a Dutch couple who had moved to the Lofoten islands. That’s where the boat was and I had a huge chance to learn and gain experience while sailing her back to the Netherlands. I sold her in March the following year as I wanted something designed less for close-hauled sailing and more for the trade winds, with a useful galley, a shower, toilet, plenty of ventilation for the tropics and a cabin in which I could stand upright. My budget did not allow for a fancy 40+footer so I had to cram everything that I thought might be useful inside a Bavaria 34 and go it alone. What Max did have was two 150 litre water tanks, which made it very desirable to me, and was much wider aft which made it less prone to rolling and more suited for trade wind sailing. I also found an aft cockpit better for solo sailing and the easily-accessible swim platform is ideal.

Max in St Peter Port

Mike’s folding bike –very handy for shopping

I want to make clear that I am not a tourist. I didn’t start my trip with an urge to see everything remotely interesting to me or to the general public, or all ports and anchorages between the North Sea and the Panama Canal. In the end I had ten stops – Stellendam (Netherlands), Cherbourg (France), St Peter Port (Guernsey), A Coruña (Spain), Póvoa de Varzim, Figueira da Foz and Vilamoura (Portugal), Arrecife (Lanzarote, Canary Islands), Rodney Bay (St Lucia) and Curaçao. In any case, I didn’t have the time to be a tourist. I am in my 50s so not retired, was not on unpaid leave and I couldn’t take a sabbatical. I did it because I wanted to cross the Atlantic and I wanted to do it now. I have witnessed too many hard-working men found half-paralysed or dead in bed a few weeks into their retirement, so waiting for retirement was and is not an option for me. That meant I had to do it in stages. Yes there was a plan, but it fitted on a Post-it note. A very small one. Position the boat as well as possible for a crossing or an alternative and see how and where you can go from there.

Approaching Cherbourg

I started my voyage in the second half of July, a 14-day stint. My goal was Lisbon because it had an airport that allowed me to fly back and forth to Basel, but I only got to Póvoa de Varzim just north of Porto (in fact it is the last stop of the northern branch of the Porto underground system). It turned out that Porto was as easily accessible as Lisbon. In September I transferred Max to Vilamoura in the Algarve and before the end of the year I got her to Marina Arrecife on Lanzarote. Then Covid struck, I had issues with my employer (unrelated to my sailing ambitions since I was only using my normal work-related holidays) and everything suddenly got really complicated ... what the Americans would call a curve ball.

Departing Guernsey

Île d’Ouessant

see a few satellites coming over. The only communication I had was with my sister via my Garmin inReach Mini, though my parents were happy to know where I was. Every morning I was greeted by a pair of seabirds and I am pretty sure I was also accompanied by some fish near the keel while I was crossing. I think that that was the main reason why I was visited by

Cockpit instruments

The difference between sailing at sea and on a lake is not big. You just have to keep the boat going and make sure you keep a look-out at regular intervals, 15–20 minutes in my case. (The most useful advice I got, from an uncle who used to be an officer in the Merchant Navy, was, ‘Whatever you do, be vigilant between four and six in the morning’. That saved me twice.) One still has the gurgling but additionally the nice hissing sound of the salt water detaching from the hull and the rudder, followed by the brushing sound of sargassum weed when in the trade wind belt. I like to think the sargassum weed is trying to clean the hull, keel and rudder. The movement of the boat is a bit more violent at times and sometimes it is overcast. But nearer to the equator it is still nice and warm even when the sun is not shining.

During the night the stars come out in mindblowing numbers and the important ones for astro navigation can be easily found. No light pollution. In the middle of the Atlantic there is no – well, more accurately, hardly any –shipping traffic and no aeroplanes overhead. It is silent. No radio, either FM or DAB+. The VHF stays silent as well. Sometimes you can

One of the best sails of the passage

Our first flying fish

dolphins every now and then. They were eating my pets! I also saw some large shadows in the water when the sun shone through the turquoisecoloured waves. By the shape and size I would assume they were tuna having a look and maybe having a go at my company too. But in general it is the same as on a lake.

Playing with wind and waves, observing the clouds and creatures, listening to the noises the boat, the wind and the water are making and feeling the movements of the boat.

I left Lanzarote after the 2020 hurricane season finished. I had struck a deal with Rodney Bay Marina that I would have the same Covid restrictions as the ARC fleet and pushed off on 6th December. Actually I was pushed off. The conditions were rough. Books and other stuff were flying around the cabin and at one point I considered wearing a bicycle helmet after I twice missed hitting a cupboard with my head. After a week I was realising that I had at least two more weeks to go, but luckily things calmed down a bit. After 25 days I reached St Lucia, then it took another four days to enter Spaanse Water at Curaçao.

The St Lucia courtesy flag

Approaching rain

In the middle of the Atlantic nobody will hear you scream! Of course all kind of things went wrong. On 23rd December the autopilot broke and I repaired it. Next day it broke again and I repaired it again. After that it kept working for the rest of the way across. My windvane refused to work at all on these trade wind courses, however. I spent from 0100 to 0700 one night avoiding a big tanker with a red ‘Bravo’* light on a slowly converging course. Another night I spent in the cockpit clutching one of my boat hooks, being afraid of a pirate attack after spotting a vessel that behaved erratically. I thought it might be some Venezuelan marauder looking for loot. Yet another night I went on deck to find that suddenly all the stars and the wind had disappeared. Until then there had always been a few stars in the sky and I had never been totally ‘blacked-out’. It felt like the proverbial calm before the storm. I started the engine and slowly motored out of it. In the morning, when I looked back I could see this huge cloud sitting on the water. Just dark, still and silent.

Under normal conditions I refuse to enter an unknown port at night. Of course I arrived at Rodney Bay Marina 2200 on New Year’s Eve. No answer from anyone on the VHF. After getting all the lines and fenders out I inched my way to the harbour entrance with the help of my Navionics tablet, which displayed some sort of channel. Suddenly I saw these shadows appearing from the darkness. Anchored sailing yachts without anchor lights. I dropped the

* The International Code of Signals specifies the red ‘Bravo’ code flag as meaning, ‘I am taking in or discharging or carrying dangerous goods’. At night the flag is replaced by a red light.

On the quarantine dock in Rodney Bay, St Lucia

Running butterfly style

speed a few knots more. I actually had to wait for another sailing yacht to leave port before I could enter and tie up to what next day appeared to be a superyacht dock.

In St Lucia I only had to do a confirmation Covid test for which the results are normally available within 24 hours. Sadly I had arrived at New Year and 1st and 2nd January are holidays in St Lucia. The doctor arrived on 3rd January and the result was available that evening, but three of the six days I had reserved for St Lucia had already passed. I spent those three days on a quarantine dock, with a huge metal gate and an impressive padlock and chain keeping it shut. Two nurses checked us every day for symptoms and fever.

The iron gate on the quarantine dock

An hour after leaving Rodney Bay for Curaçao I ran into some fishing gear which was marked only by some 2 litre bottles containing colourful pieces of cloth. I was able to cut most of it away by reaching down into the water from the swimming platform at the stern, but some stuff, including some smaller Coke bottles, was still dangling from the keel and propeller. I had to return to Rodney Bay and anchor in order to cut away the rest while snorkelling ... all under sail because I didn’t dare use the engine.

Mopping-up

Didn’t I have any joy while sailing? Yes, I did. I got to see dolphins, whales, the most intense bioluminescence I have ever witnessed, unbelievably starry skies, moonlit nights so clear you could read a newspaper. I got to collect all the flying fish and squid in the morning from the deck. I learned how to SCUBA dive in Curaçao, something I’d believed was not for me, and had a good look at all the underwater wonders there. When on the water I felt a sense of belonging and being taken care of. What more is there to wish for?

All in all it wasn’t too bad and nothing happened that would keep me from giving it another try in the future. I went back to see something of Lanzarote in March this year, mainly the Timanfaya National Park. Max had been parked on the island for three years, but because of all the chores and the Covid crisis all I really saw was the capital, Arrecife –mainly the route to Ikea, Lidl and the sailmaker’s loft. I still have to see St Lucia and all the other islands in the Caribbean chain. Next time.

Manoeuvring in Willemstad, Curaçao

BENGT IN CHILE

Elisabeth

and Wim van Blaricum

(See Bengt in the South Seas ~ Towards Chile in Flying Fish 2023/2 for the story of Swedish members Wim and Elisabeth van Blaricum’s 50-day passage from Huahine in French Polynesia to Valdivia, Chile aboard Bengt, their steel Bruce Roberts Offshore 44.)

Follow their travels at www.sailblogs.com/member/bengt – in Swedish, but readily translatable.)

Sometimes the need to change plans caused by gear failure makes you feel blue. Especially when, as we had, you finally make landfall in a country which has been your goal for many years. A sign from above to do some rethinking, maybe? We felt like that when our engine, just repaired at great expense in Valdivia before departure to the Patagonian channels, developed a serious leak in its freshwater cooling system causing a 4 litre coolant loss in two days – an engine which already sounded a little sick and left a cloud of blue smoke behind it at start-up. We have had so many gear problems in the last year that Elisabeth had the feeling someone was trying to prevent us from sailing south.

It was late December 2023 and we were anchored in remote Juan Yates. All spare parts were onboard, we thought, and a quick search of the internet, thanks to Starlink, showed that it was a fairly simple but at the same time complicated repair, and that it would be impossible to get out of the anchorage without an engine. We didn’t dare take the thermostat housing apart in case we failed to make the repair, which basically consisted of changing one plastic pipe and two O-rings, all of which we had with us. As it turned out we were missing some other small parts, so we tried to fix the leak in the pipe between the thermostat housing and the engine’s heat exchanger with what we had on board. We used several different sorts of sealant but the leak persisted. Our last try before experimenting with epoxy was with expanding polyurethane Gorilla Glue. We made a small mould around the pipe and poured the glue in it. This took several days – a little squirt in the morning, let it dry, another in the afternoon and a last one before bedtime, and so on. After three days we filled the system with water and waited overnight. Nothing under the engine by morning, so we ran it a while to see what would happen. All seemed well, although we felt it could no longer be relied on.

Juan Yates anchorage is on the mainland side of the Golfo de Corcovado. It consists of numerous islands forming a lagoon which gives perfect protection in all weather. The

Bengt in the Juan Yates anchorage

Sealions are everywhere

wildlife is abundant with lots of sealions, dolphins, Magellan penguins, blueeyed cormorants and even some steamer ducks, all of which can be watched from the boat or by dinghy. Our electric outboard did not disturb the peace of the place. Near a little island, Isla Glass, one can observe a rare species of otter. We saw them often in the small channel which separates Isla Glass from the next islet, lying on their backs as they ate. We spent a lot of time there, celebrating Christmas and New Year with a barbecue, watching the penguins come ashore just a few metres from us to go up a little track into the bushes, sometimes with very loud braying sounds just like donkeys. At first they were very suspicious, especially avoiding going near the dinghy on the beach, but after a few days they got used to us sitting there. It was warm, sunny weather so we, apart from boots, were just as naked as the penguins.

Isla Glass, Juan Yates –our little paradise

We have difficulty leaving places we like, and we visited many places around Golfo de Corcovado and the Chiloé archipelago that we liked, so progress south was slow, very slow. Bengt had left Valdivia on 3rd November 2023 and by January 2024 we still hadn’t come as far south as we’d planned. In many places we met wonderful people, which made us realise that meeting all these marvellous, kind and helpful people was worth more than racing to Puerto Williams and Cape Horn.

Chiloé has some wonderful anchorages and some nice towns for stocking up on fresh food and diesel. In Dalcahue we filled with 300 litres of diesel, all by jerry can, and, without us asking, people helped carry them to the dinghy. Others invited us to their homes, sharing their experiences with us and always asking if we needed anything. Elisabeth baked lots of bread and cakes for our guests, most of whom had never been on a yacht before. We were already in love with Chile and its inhabitants but now it was getting serious. We might stay. It was very hard leaving Juan Yates, especially for Elisabeth who

Magellan penguins heading for the forest on Isla Glass

Blackish sandpipers. It is a paradise for birdwatchers

had fallen in love with these solitary small islands, but after two weeks we had taken in the two shorelines, so raised the anchor and slowly left this wonderful place. Bengt’s engine behaved well so we continued unhurriedly south, mainly under power, visiting wonderful places like Estéro Pindo with its almost landlocked bay and rich bird life, Caleta Porcelana with its hot pools in the middle of the forest, Caleta Punta Porvenir (Playa Bonita) with its waterfall and beautiful beach as well as Bahia Dorita with its five-star hotel and termas (hot baths). We had all the anchorages to ourselves even though another yacht passed by once in a while. There

were lots of fishing boats and small cargo ships in the channels, with friendly crews who blew their foghorns, opened the door to the wheelhouse and waved. We, naturally, did the same.

Further south we visited Caleta Amparo Grande (Seno Morrás) situated in Canal Puyuhuapi

Hot pools in the forest at Caleta Porcelana

We met lots of fishing boats, this one in Canal Baeza

on Isla Magdalena. Here we met Blanca, her son Nicholas and family. We had anchored behind a fish farm to find shelter from the very strong winds, but Nicholas came past with his boat and told us to come further into the bay – he had a strong mooring in front of their house – inviting us for lunch at the same time. Bengt was moved and the dinghy launched. We enjoyed lunch with Nicholas and his friends and went for a walk in the forest with them, learning about the different trees, their names and uses. We stayed there some time, getting to know Nicholas, Blanca and the two dogs, Captain Spot and

Panda. We also got acquainted with Don Gato, the most cuddly cat we have ever met.

We went for walks, the dogs following us. Panda loved being in the dinghy. Blanca showed us edible berries such as calafate and murta* of which we picked a lot later in autumn to make jam and marmalade. There was also an abundance of blackberries to make tasty jam.

* Berberis microphylla or Magellan barberry and Ugni molinae or Chilean guava.

Don Gato enjoys a cuddle

Nicholas, Blanca and family at Caleta Amparo Grande

Nicholas and his friends told us the story of a mysterious island, Isla Friendship. It lies close to Isla Kent but is not visible on chartplotters or Google Maps. We just had to go there, so took farewell of our new friends and sailed south across Canal Moraleda to the islands of the Chonos Archipelago.

Elisabeth taking Panda for a dinghy ride in Caleta Amparo Grande Blanca showed us lots of edible berries. These are Calafate

The myth of the mysterious island is probably still alive because of its location at the far west end of the archipelago. It is known to lie between the Chonos Archipelago and the Guaitecas Archipelago and even its co-ordinates are known – 45°1’20∙88’’S, 74°10’16∙18’’W – but no one has yet managed to reach it though many have tried. Rumour has it that the island is inhabited by extraterrestrials, who chose southern Chile because of its cosmic conditions. Only those ‘invited’ by the island’s inhabitants can reach it and be magnetically guided to its exact location. We weren’t ‘invited’, but we didn’t spend very long on Isla Kent either. It’s claimed that these aliens are human-like beings who came to Earth to help humanity face recent changes. They were supposed to show themselves in 2020, but we have found no evidence that they did.

During the 1980s, various radio amateurs in Chile claimed to be in contact with a group belonging to a foreign religious community that had settled on Isla Friendship. Their only contact with the outside world was by radio and, though they had a boat, they generally stayed away from the outside world. There were said to be rare metals on the island, the mining of which would allow the religious community to cover its expenses. Its inhabitants were said to be very tall with Caucasian features and at first it was thought that they could be Mormons or Catholic priests. Media attention surrounding the existence of the island prompted two expeditions, one with the support and personnel of the Chilean Navy and the other private, but neither succeeded in finding such people.

We spent the night in Caleta Gato on Isla James. Early in the morning (to avoid the strong afternoon breeze) the anchor came up together with a beautiful red sunrise and we motored towards Puerto Maria Isabel near the entrance to Isla Kent’s lagoon. Here we anchored to wait for high tide as the passage into the lagoon runs through two narrows that one must pass at high tide slack or

with a slight countercurrent to avoid the rocks that lie below the surface in both passages. Least depth at low water is 4m. It felt like going into a pass in the Tuamotus.

High tide was at 1700 so we

Bengt certainly came very close to it.

The second passage was wider but had two underwater rocks, one on each side, so we had to be careful, but all went well. The 6-mile passage up the lagoon was deep and free of hazards. We anchored at the far end, just a few hundred metres from the Pacific Ocean. Next morning after breakfast we rowed ashore to explore. There is a path through the dense forest and then you stand face to face with the Pacific Ocean on a long sandy beach.

Here we had some Chilean neighbours for a while. One of them came by and asked if we wanted some small fish to use as bait in our crab pot. Elisabeth, a fisherman’s daughter, was keen so we went ashore and set the crab pot that we had been given by a sailor in Valdivia. It needed to be weighted with some stones and the bait had to be attached in a small net. We also had a rope and float (both, and the net, found on the beach) so located a good place and dropped the pot.

Three fronts passed in early February while we were in the lagoon at Isla Kent. The first two brought gusts up to 49 knots and lots of rain. Even though the bottom consisted of sand/ clay and offered very good holding in 15m, we deployed a second anchor parallel to the first so that both anchors worked at the same time. The third front passed in conjunction with a more northerly depression and produced gusts of more than 60 knots (65∙8 knots on our anemometer) as the barometer fell from 1022mb to 996mb in just a few hours. Then it started to rain and the northwesterly wind backed to west and then southwest and dropped to 20 knots. The barometer rose just over 3mb in an hour, after which the wind increased to a steady 35 knots with gusts of 48 knots, but the sky cleared and the sun came out. The wind dropped just before we went to bed. The only damage was to the wind generator –the blades had lost a few pieces and one of the pole mounts had come loose. The Starlink antenna survived, although the wind pressure on it must have been enormous. Next time we will take it down, just in case.

We stayed for two weeks, going for long walks on the beach, climbing up and down to the freshwater lake and walking through the forest to the other bay which also had a nice sandy beach. The crab pot contained 14 crabs of which five were of edible size, the others we put back to grow some more. We cooked crabs, picked wild spinach for soup and pie and explored the lagoon by dinghy, but eventually it was time to leave this paradise so we raised the anchors and headed back to the two small narrows to pass them on the last of the incoming tide. This time we were a bit early and the still strong incoming tidal current created lots of eddies that played

The beach on Isla Kent just after we arrived... ... and following the storm

Elisabeth climbing down to the freshwater lake on Isla Kent

with Bengt, heeling him* over to starboard or port and pushing him off course, but we got through without problems. We spent the night in Caleta Gato and early the next morning headed for Puerto Aguirre where we met our friends Mary and Dave aboard Synchroneity, last seen in Valdivia. The coolant leak we had ‘provisionally’ fixed in Juan Yates started leaking again and the engine was emitting more and more blue smoke, so we decided to sail back to Puerto Montt to get it fixed. We had got the message, so decided not to continue south in Chile but to sail back to Polynesia and end up in New Zealand for the 2024/2025 hurricane season. Chile is a fantastic country with beautiful scenery and wonderful people, but heading south means 90% motoring which is something we had not realised and do not particularly like, especially with our unreliable engine. It was no easy decision, but the only one we felt we could make. We notified the Armada of our change of plans, but they thought we had some kind of emergency and wanted to do an inspection of the boat. We stayed a few days in Aguirre, walked in the beautiful natural park, made dinghy trips to some of the small islands nearby, picked flowers, bought some fresh food and socialised with Mary and Dave and some other sailors.

* Bengt was named for Bengt Matzén, who spent 16 years building him/her in his garden in Stockholm. See Bengt in the South Seas ~ Towards Chile in Flying Fish 2023/2.

Sunset in the anchorage of Puerto Aguirre

From Aguirre we sailed north along Canal Perez Sur to Estéro Árboles Espectrales on Isla Benjamin and then to Isla Jechica via Canal Perez Norte. We followed this for a few miles until we reached Estéro Chulle, which almost divides the large Isla Jechica in two – similar to Isla Kent but without the narrows, so we went all the way in and anchored off the tiny marina [https://www.islajechica.cl/en/historia.php]. Isla Jechica is a fantastic place and the owners of the marina-cum-restaurant-cum-hotel have built trails in many places. We did some walking, and talked with the owners who helped us get in touch with the Armada who were difficult to convince that we had no problems.

From Isla Jechica we headed to Isla Betecoi, but the beautiful bay in which we had intended to spend the night in was exposed to the afternoon breeze, so we picked up the anchor again and decided to cross El Guafo towards Chiloé. We passed Melinka and e-mailed the Armada there that we were continuing towards Quellón because it was such a nice day. El Guafo showed its better side and we were able to sail all the way across to Chiloé, with wonderful views of the snow-capped peaks on the mainland turning orange at sunset. We arrived in Quellón, a busy harbour, in the middle of the night but had no problem finding an anchorage thanks to the saved track from the previous time we were there. In the morning two gentlemen from the Armada came to visit and did an ‘inspection’ and Bengt got permission to continue. We stayed a few days but then continued towards the beautiful fjord Estéro Pailad where we met our friend Miguel who has a summer house there.

From Estéro Pailad we continued to Isla Anihué, where we met another of our Chilean friends, Rodrigo, who was sailing for a couple of days with two guests. We took long walks both on Isla Anihué and Isla Mechuque, where we met the same friendly little dog that we had met when coming south the previous November. He again accompanied us the whole way and patiently waited while Elisabeth picked wild spinach and Wim took pictures. Of course he got some dog treats, so he followed us all the way back to the dinghy. In the evening we rowed over to Rodrigo’s boat with a sticky chocolate cake (Swedish: kladdkaka*) and a bottle of wine. One of the guests, Juan, turned 63 that very day so we congratulated him. Rodrigo turned 75 on 29th February so we congratulated him too. We had a most enjoyable evening in good company and a beautiful windless night with a full moon reflecting in the mirror-like water.

* Elisabeth’s kladdkaka tt can be found on the website – see page 3 of this issue.

Heading south was mostly under power

Beautiful walking in Estéro Pailad, with Bengt at anchor below

The high pressure gave fine weather but no wind, so the engine had to take us to Puerto Montt via a stop in beautiful Estéro Chope. We crossed the Golfo de Ancud with a light southerly wind so we could sail on and off, but we had to keep a good lookout for the many crab floats, which are small and white so not very visible. Closer to Puerto Montt, a busy place, some ships passed. We anchored in the bay opposite Marina Reloncavi and launched the dinghy to visit Kikam, with our friend Heinz onboard, in the marina.

We’d arranged for a mechanic to visit but unfortunately he never turned up. We were given some other names by Chilean sailors, but after a couple of days got fed up with mechanics not showing up so took the dinghy the 1½ miles to the Armada office to get a new zarpe (internal transit document), this time for Valdivia. While Wim was inside filling in the forms, Elisabeth bought fresh produce from local shops and stalls on the quay, where we had been allowed to moor our dinghy next to one of the small ferries. As usual when sailing the wind was against us and the forecast for the coming week not good, with bad weather and headwinds, so we made our way to Caleta Huelmo, 12 miles south of Puerto Montt. We decided to leave Bengt in the small marina there while we travelled to Sweden to visit family. As always we had a long list of things to bring back including a new radar, a folding solar panel, spare parts for the engine and five kilos of coffee.

On our return we motored the 185 miles from Caleta Huelmo to Valdivia through a very bumpy Canal Chacao and with a weather forecast that was completely wrong. We reached Baie de Corral at the river mouth in the middle of the night, the new radar showing its value since not all fishing boats here have AIS. Next day, 12th May, we motored the 5 miles upriver to Marina Estancilla – after five months’ absence it almost felt like coming home. There were some new boats in the marina. One of them was Kerina, with Swedish/Australian singlehander Pär aboard. He remembered Wim from 1988 when their then much smaller boats, both on their last legs of circumnavigations, were moored next to each other in Horta.

We set off in early June to tour Peru and Bolivia by bus, and hope to leave Valdivia at the end of the month for the long crossing to Polynesia.

Land was created to provide a place for boats to visit. Brooks Atkinson.

THE BOAT DATA BOOK – Ian and Richard Nicolson, 8th edition. Published in soft covers by Adlard Coles [www.bloomsbury.com] at £32.99. 240 156mm x 234mm pages, with many line drawings but no photographs. ISBN 978-1-3994-1293-3

It’s now 32 years and over 100,000 ocean miles since I joined the OCC and it seems to me, in retrospect, that it’s not so much what we think we know when we first leave on an ocean crossing that really matters, it’s more about what we didn’t know and wish we had known that might ultimately come to haunt our dreams. It’s also worth remembering that the adage ‘life begins where land ends’ has the tragic potential to go in the other direction. A neighbour recently asked me if any aspect of ocean sailing was truly dangerous. “All of it – potentially,” I replied. A moment of silence followed.

Happily, human ingenuity in the design and construction of seagoing craft over centuries, and the development of modern materials over recent years, allows more people than ever to venture into this profound wilderness in assumed relative safety. But, as always, preparation is everything and the downside of this can be the bewildering range of choice facing us. From fundamental decisions such as the design specifications of which vessel to buy, to what tools and emergency-repair equipment to carry on board, the range and complexity of materials and technology now available is mind boggling, and there is no shortage of pundits to guide us in their favoured direction.

Fortunately help is at hand. Ian Nicolson first published The Boat Data Book back in 1978 and, ably supported by his son Richard, it has now reached its 8th edition. Ian has spent his life as a boatbuilder, naval architect, yachting journalist, author, surveyor, designer, university lecturer and, not least, a sailor. He is now in his mid-90s and is still a technical enthusiast, author and sailor. He is also a founder member of the OCC and has been our Port Officer for the Clyde since 1959. Few could match these qualifications when it comes to compiling such a book. It is, as one might expect, a combination of specifications, formulae, tensile and shear strengths of fittings, safe working loads of running and standing rigging, engine and electrical recommendations; design considerations including space required for the stowage of various items, galley layout and sizes of bunks; and, finally, conversion tables for dimensions. The colour-coded sections are easy to follow and presented with explanatory notes preceding each section. The detail is impressive. For example, the ideal height and reach of the perfect human form to grasp the engine controls from the helmsman’s seat is 925mm for a tall man, reduced by about 150mm for full grasp. I can think of one skipper at least who would gladly adopt this formula if he only could find crew.

The section on yacht design offers particularly useful information on stability, sail area and engine power relative to waterline length, together with accommodation construction and dimensions of typical living space. I thought that the brief section on considerations when laying up a vessel ashore was particularly pertinent since many of us will have had to do just that in some very remote, not to say sketchy, boatyards around the world. And there is much, much more. So, all in all the subtitle, The Owners’ and Professionals’ Bible, is more than appropriate and I wish I’d had a copy before first venturing offshore.

The Boat Data Book is informatively illustrated with both line drawings and charts to support

interpretation of the data – I particularly liked the diagrams explaining the formulae for camber, shear etc without which I would have been completely lost. It is clearly devoted to ‘what we might use or need’ and not ‘how it might be done’, for which there are plenty of other sources, but as a data reference book for ocean cruisers or dinghy sailors there can be no equal. CNJ

THE PACIFIC CROSSING GUIDE – editor Francis Hawkings, 4th edition. Published in hard covers by Adlard Coles [www.bloomsbury.com] and the RCC Pilotage Foundation at £60.00. 304 216mm x 280mm pages, profusely illustrated with colour photographs and chartlets. ISBN 978-1-3994-0701-4

This new edition of The Pacific Crossing Guide covers all regions of the Pacific and, as with its predecessors, describes in detail how to set about a Pacific passage. We embarked on our crossing from Panama to French Polynesia armed with the 1st edition, edited by OCC Past Commodore Mike Pocock and published in 1997. Things have changed dramatically since then.

The penultimate draft of the 4th edition arrived as a PDF on my iPad in late March when we were midway between Galapagos and Hiva Oa, illustrating exactly how communications have changed. Indeed, the technology of communications continues to change at a great pace and I fear that, in this respect, The Pacific Crossing Guide may already be out of date.

Many aspects of ocean crossing are more constant, however, and The Pacific Crossing Guide considers in detail the choices that a modern cruiser must make, including of boat, crew, route, downwind sails, rig and safety equipment. The text notes the growing popularity of multihulls and suggests that 20% of ocean-crossing boats are multihulls, but in 2024 the percentage of multis on the Coconut Milk Run was nearer 50%.

Skills, such as anchoring in coral strewn regions, are comprehensively addressed and there are numerous links throughout the book to a vast variety of digital resources enabling the reader to dig deeper with ease.

The chapters on staying healthy, provisioning and maintenance all offer great advice, useful lists and links. A lot of work has gone into the Navigation chapter, including explaining crowd-sourced depth data and the use of satellite imagery in poorly-charted regions. In the 2024 crossing season some 80% of boats were equipped with high-speed broadband via Starlink, which meant that many were streaming satellite imagery directly to the plotting apps (such as Aquamap or Boating) on their devices rather than creating or downloading plotter friendly overlays for OpenCPN. Neither is there mention of ‘over the horizon AIS’ which, in 2024, is emerging as a major new safety feature.

In my PDF the references to Starlink in the Communications chapter were already out of date, but this may have been revised before hard-copy publication. In 2024, Starlink was being used by the majority of boats both offshore and in coastal waters. The arrival of reliable and affordable broadband has allowed the rapid adoption of WhatsApp as the primary method of communication between boats and the rest of the world, wherever they are on the globe. The Starlink hardware is also evolving quickly with the recent roll-out of smaller, portable units designed to run on 12 volts. Global satellite messaging smartphones will be arriving soon.

The chapter on Weather is concise, professionally written and informative, as are all the chapters detailing the destinations of which we have had first-hand experience. Some of the Galapagos information has changed slightly during the 2024 season, but Francis Hawkings wisely points the reader to other sources for the most up-to-date information.

A couple of other recent developments were missing from the PDF, but may be included in the final draft. Both are recent but will endure. In the Pacific the NOFOREIGNLAND app has gained huge traction amongst cruisers and is now probably the most useful resource for

those visiting the busier anchorages in the South Pacific. I could not find any reference to it in the text. Similarly, WhatsApp gets only three brief mentions. It has undoubtedly become the primary communication tool both ashore and in the open ocean and, because it is ‘one to many’, played a pivotal role in many mid ocean emergencies during 2024.

The Pacific Crossing Guide is a meticulous and comprehensive piece of work describing a huge cruising region. As with all RCC Pilotage Foundation publications it is lavishly illustrated and contains contributions from a massive range of highly-experienced cruisers, each expert in their region. For anyone intending to cross the Pacific, The Pacific Crossing Guide should be their first purchase.

WHEN I PUT OUT TO SEA

– Nicolette Milnes Walker, 3rd edition. Published in soft covers by Golden Duck [https://golden-duck.co.uk/] at £11.99. 142 140mm x 220mm pages with mono photographs of variable quality. ISBN 978-1-8992-6257-1

The first woman to sail alone across the Atlantic from the UK to America and non-stop was 28-year-old Nicolette Milnes Walker in 1971. Her 30ft Pionier 9 Aziz, built in 1963, was displayed alongside Chay Blyth’s British Steel at the 1972 London Boat Show. Blyth was voted Yachtsman of the Year, but a special once-only trophy as ‘Yachtswoman of the Year’ was awarded to Nicolette. Then somehow her name disappeared from the record books and these days most sailors have never heard of her, despite her voyage having been an incredible achievement.

When I Put Out to Sea is the first in a series of republications that will bring other woman sailors of the past back into view. Now in her 80s and living in Dartmouth, Nicolette – now Mrs Coward – was happy to have her book reissued and searched through boxes of photos and press cuttings that had lain undisturbed for 40 years to provide some illustrations. While the book is certainly ‘of its time’, the qualities of female courage and independence are timeless.

Nicolette set off via the Azores route in June 1971 and 44 days later reached Newport, Rhode Island. Despite being relatively inexperienced she had coped well. Aziz was, in contrast to today’s ‘all mod cons’ yachts, pretty basic. She had a Hasler self-steering gear, but roller-furling headsails were rare back then and instead she had six different headsails, from a large genoa to a storm jib, which needed changing according to the conditions.

Nicolette navigated using a sextant and contacted ships with a signalling lamp. She had a receiving radio for news and entertainment, but no VHF. In between keeping the boat sailing she had about 40 books to read and music supplied by a cassette tape recorder. Stores included a variety of tools and spares, what seems like masses of tinned and dried food (very few yachts had refrigeration back then) and plenty of fresh fruit. She also carried several bottles of whisky and enough cigarettes to smoke 20 a day (unusual nowadays?), but the weather conditions Aziz and her remarkable skipper coped with were at times quite horrendous and Nicolette deserved all the treats she had stowed away. She had plenty of repair jobs to keep her busy –some things never change! – and her previous profession as a research psychologist gave her a unique opportunity to think about the stresses of being alone and far from help when sailing singlehanded. Her thoughts make interesting reading – she comes across as an unusually selfaware and self-contained person.

When asked what difference her successful crossing had made to her life, she replied that it meant she no longer had to prove anything, at a time when women were often regarded as less able than men. (As a female crew of two who crossed the Atlantic in 1984 in our Rustler 31, we recall being invited over to a large American yacht in the Tobago Cays by a (male) skipper who asked in awe, “Who did the navigation?” Attitudes have come a long way since then!)

When I Put Out to Sea is well written and gives a realistic impression of life at sea in a small boat

more than 50 years ago. For anyone enjoying an Atlantic crossing these days, almost certainly with more high-tech help, it gives a vivid picture of ‘how things used to be’. Accounts by the pioneers of ocean sailing in small boats make fascinating and thought-provoking reading and Nicolette’s book is one of the best.

THE LIVES OF SEAWEEDS: a natural history of our planet’s seaweeds & other algae – Julie A Phillips. Published in hard covers by Princeton University Press [https://press. princeton.edu/] at $35.00 / £30.00. 288 191mm x 248mm pages, with 150 colour photos and illustrations. ISBN 978-0-691-22855-6

Those of us who live on or near the sea are familiar with the seaweeds of the intertidal zone such as wracks and sea lettuce. Some of us have sailed into the Sargasso Sea or seen the effects of sargassum weed when it encounters land. Many of us have also dived on coral reefs and kelp forests and witnessed the abundance of life within. This book presents an opportunity to delve more deeply into the lives of these chlorophyll-containing organisms.

Seaweeds are a remarkably diverse group of organisms ranging from tiny filaments to giant leathery kelps that grow to 50m (164ft) long. It’s important to note that seaweeds are not plants but macroalgae. Sea grasses are plants – they have true roots, stems, leaves and flowers and require pollinators to reproduce. Seaweeds do not have these structures, which evolved in land plants. The body of a macroalga is called a thallus. Larger seaweeds have ‘tails’ called holdfasts which enable them to adhere to rocks. A few can survive free-floating in the ocean, but only if they can stay close to the surface as they require sunlight to survive.

Seaweeds belong to evolutionary lineages classified chiefly by the dominant pigments that colour them – either blue-green, red, green or brown. This book, however, is organised not by classification but into five distinct sections: evolution, morphology, life histories, ecology, and algae and humans. It presents an engaging and richly-illustrated exploration of the natural history of seaweeds and other algae.

Seaweeds are essential for life in the oceans and freshwater lakes as they offer protection from predators and a base food source for many species. Colonies of seaweeds create complex habitats that support diverse and productive biological communities. As photosynthetic organisms, seaweeds and other algae transfer billions of tons of carbon globally from the atmosphere to the deep ocean each year. Touted as the biofuel of the future, seaweeds and algae also hold promise for biodegradable packaging, offer a nutritious food source, and exhibit antiviral and antitumoral properties. They are being grown in aquaculture for food and for the extraction of pharmaceuticals, nutraceuticals, and cosmeceuticals.

Naturally, we are grateful for nori, the dried edible seaweed that contains our yummy sushi rolls. Interestingly, nori was eaten as a paste for centuries before the Japanese invented papermaking and applied it to pressing and drying the red algae Pyropia around 1750.

Offering rare insights into the algal world, The Lives of Seaweeds makes good reading for marine life enthusiasts. My one criticism is the small type size used for the body of the text.

DOB

AMAZING SAILING STORIES – Dick Durham, 3rd edition. Published in hard covers by Fernhurst Books [www.fernhurstbooks.com] at £14.99 / $19.95. 270 229mm x 150mm pages, but no illustrations of any kind. ISBN 978-1-9126-2169-9

This book is seriously let down by its title, which is neither accurate nor inspiring. This is a pity, because much of it is interesting even when the subject matter is already well known. Comprising 60 short pieces of between two and seven pages in length, grouped into eight categories ranging from Survival though Calm to Storm, Human Error, Adventure, Tragedy, Rescue and finally Deliverance, Amazing Sailing Stories is the ultimate ‘dip into’ book.

Despite being, I like to think, fairly well-versed in the sailing genre, quite a few of the tales it contains were new to me though some of these – such as Frank Bullen’ s account The Exploding Whale – cannot really be described as ‘sailing’ stories. Neither can the disappearance of John Franklin’s 1845 expedition in search of the Northwest Passage. (It dates this third edition that no mention is made of the discovery of the remains of Franklin’s two ships, in 2014 and 2016. Visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franklin’s_lost_expedition to make good this deficit). Other pieces, such as the author’s account of his visit to Thailand five weeks after the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami, are interesting but not ‘amazing’ by any stretch of the imagination.

Dick Durham is a yachting journalist of many years’ experience with half-a-dozen books to his credit, including excellent biographies of Maurice Griffiths and Mike Peyton, reviewed in Flying Fish 1994/1 and 2010/1 respectively. It therefore surprised me to find so many errant commas and other punctuation errors ... or have too many years as an editor made me super-sensitive? Having said that, it’s only fair to add that Dick writes with pace and flair and displays total understanding of his subject matter.

Among the passages which will stay with me longest is Anchoring a Tall Ship in a Puddle, an account of superb seamanship when, in December 1909, the four-masted barque Pitlochry reached the mouth of Germany’s River Elbe so far ahead of schedule that no pilot was awaiting her. Embayed in the Heligoland Bight in pitch darkness and driven by a force 10 storm, her captain had ‘no choice but to sail up the river himself, without a pilot’. How he did this and anchored his 97m (319ft) vessel just 50m (165ft) upwind of a deadly shoal makes compelling reading.

Another memorable tale, headed by the enigmatic title Sea Dark, Sky Crying, is the rescue of Isabelle Autissier, the only female competitor in the 1994/5 BOC Singlehanded Round the World Race. Dismasted east of Cape Town, she constructed a jury rig to reach Kerguelen Island, stayed there for a couple of days and then left for Australia. Twelve days later her 60ft yacht was pitchpoled by a rogue wave and severely damaged. Isabelle made headlines around the world as the Royal Australian Air Force located her and, after three days, helicoptered her off her stricken yacht.

Amazing Sailing Stories concludes with sources listed by chapter number. This is somewhat frustrating, as neither the Contents list nor the individual tales are numbered, making it difficult to be sure to which tale each source relates – perhaps they carried numbers in a previous edition but these have been deleted? It is also unclear whether the various tales are taken almost verbatim from these sources, or whether the author has rewritten and précised, and if so to what extent.

To sum up, Amazing Sailing Stories could be described as a mixed bag. There’s something of interest for everyone, but it’s unlikely to hold the attention of many readers for all 60 pieces. Of course one could always buy it, read selectively, and then give it to a younger reader or sailing newbie for Christmas!

AOMH

NB: The phrases ‘Discounted on Amazon’, ‘Also available as an e-book’ and ‘Also available for Kindle’ apply to such a hi proportion of the books reviewed on the previous pages that itgh no longer seems necessary to include them in the introductory paragraphs.

ENERGY MANAGEMENT: COMFORT WITHOUT A GENERATOR

Dietmar Segner

(Dietmar Segner and Marie Ibe come from Hamburg in Germany but have mainly lived aboard greyHound, their aluminium Berckemeyer BM48, for the past six years. During that time they’ve sailed from Europe to New Zealand, having many experiences and surprises along the way. Their aim here is to give an overview of their experiences and provide some suggestions and ideas which may be useful to other members.)

The basics

When greyHound was under construction one of the key points was that the energy concept should work without a diesel generator. Such generators not only increase costs during construction but also involve considerable weight and space requirements. Their operation causes vibration and an annoying amount of noise for you and your neighbours in the anchorage. Few things can be more disturbing in a peaceful anchorage than the humming and splashing of your neighbour’s generator.

The amount of maintenance required should also not be underestimated. If an oil change is due every 250 hours and the generator runs for three hours a day, it means having to contort yourself every three months to carry out the service under the generator’s soundproof cover. Problems with non-functioning generators were a frequent topic of conversation in the harbours and anchorages during our half-circumnavigation. This does not even take into account ecological aspects such as carbon dioxide emissions. The aim should therefore be to achieve maximum quality of life without the use of a diesel generator.

For reasons of reliability, greyHound’s electrical system has a classic design without a bus system and is 12V (volt). It should also be mentioned that she is mainly sailed by just two people. This has an impact on the amount of water to be produced by the watermaker as well as on the number of drinks to be cooled down, and thus on the energy balance. To make matters worse, the effectiveness of cooling devices suffers in the high temperatures of the tropics.

Electricity generation Solar

By far the most important element is the solar power system. Over the years this has become increasingly clear and the surface area of the panels has been expanded. When greyHound was built in 2008 there were three glued-on panels of 69 Wp* each on the fixed deckhouse. Two

* The watt-peak (Wp) is the maximum electrical power that can be supplied by a photovoltaic panel under standard temperature and sunlight conditions.

Ready to leave for the crossing from Mindelo, Cape Verde

years later we added four more panels with a total of 192 Wp on the superstructure in front of the traveller, and three years ago another two fold-out fixed solar panels of 160 Wp each were fixed on the forward extended tubes of the pushpit. All the panels are protected against mutual discharge with diodes and connected to the on-board power supply via two Votronic Mpp controllers.

Theoretically this totals about 400 Wp on deck and 320 Wp at the rail. Nevertheless, the modules on the rail contribute about 55% of the charge because several of the panels on deck are likely to be shaded by the main boom and because the panels on the rail are better ventilated/ cooled, which increases the power output.

Solar panels bonded to the fixed doghouse and to the coachroof in front of the mainsheet traveller

We had the pushpit extended forward to take a pair of fold-out solar panels

greyHound at Sandy Island, Carriacou, Grenada

So how much yield do the solar panels produce? During our last Atlantic crossing and the subsequent time at anchor in the southern Windward Islands we recorded the power output. The results are shown below, separately for the seven panels glued to the deck and the two hinged panels on the rail. Under sail, the average production was 139 Ah1 per day with a maximum of 173 Ah and minimum of 103 Ah. On the leg to the Cape Verde islands the yield was lower due to the more southerly course, when the panels were inevitably shaded more. Further north around the Canary Islands the days are shorter in winter and the sun is closer to the horizon than to the zenith resulting in further decreased power output. At anchor – without sails – at 12°N to 13°N the yield is better with an average of 183 Ah (maximum 209 Ah, minimum 95 Ah). The possible yields are probably even higher, as the controllers switch off when the batteries are full, which is inevitable in this real-world description.

This means that the solar charging system easily saves more than three hours of engine charging at 60A, and even with a high-performance charging system still saves 1∙5 hours of engine charging per day. Converted to the usual kilowatt-hours2 of a domestic household supply the yield is 1∙6–2∙2 kWh per day. Incidentally, the solar yield during the marina stays in Mindelo, Cape Verde and St George’s, Grenada was still 90 Ah to 95 Ah per day even though the shore connection was plugged in and the panels on the rail were folded down.

What effect does bad weather have? As can be seen from the graph, the minimum yield is still almost 100 Ah or 50% of the average yield. Although it rained a lot that day and it was always cloudy, the light intensity was still significantly higher than on a November day in northern Germany. As a rule, any shortfall in battery charge can be made up on the next sunny day. There are also a number of optional tasks (making water, baking bread – see pages 229 and 230) that can be avoided on a day with a low solar yield.

1. An Ah (ampere-hour) is a unit of electric charge equal to the charge transferred by a steady current of one ampere flowing for one hour.

2. A kilowatt-hour (kWh) is the energy delivered by one kilowatt of power for one hour.

Real-world data on the yield of the solar power system described, during a passage from the Canary Islands to the southern Caribbean. It is divided into the two segments of the passage and approximately a month at anchor in various bays

GC-Cape Verde

Deck: 62 0 Ah (48∙5%)

Wings: 65∙8 Ah (51∙5%)

Total: 127∙8 Ah

Transatlantic

Deck: 63∙2 Ah (44∙4%)

Wings: 79∙2 Ah (55∙6%)

Total: 142∙5 Ah

At anchor

Deck: 78∙4 Ah (42∙9%)

Wings: 104 1 Ah (57 1%)

Total: 182∙6 Ah

300 miles to go to Grenada. The intense sun is good for the solar panels but the skin needs protection

Regarding durability, it is often advertised that solar panels have no moving parts and last almost forever. Our experience is that the panels glued to the deck have almost all ceased to work after 10 years. This is not noticeable at first – a lower yield is initially blamed on a few clouds – so it makes sense to test the panels regularly. For this purpose it is very helpful if the solar controller/ regulator displays the current Ampere. Under otherwise constant conditions, an assistant places a towel on each of the panels in turn and the reduction in the displayed current is observed.

To summarise on the subject of solar panels – you can’t have too many! They make no noise and require practically no maintenance, making them highly attractive for sailors, especially in

Our Superwind 350 wind generator mounted on the stern gantry

southern waters. The only problem on monohulls is accommodating the desired area. Many bluewater sailors have elaborate structures attached to the sterns of their boats for this reason and one sometimes wonders how these surfaces perform in seriously bad weather. Another advantage is that the panels do their job even when the boat is unattended, meaning that shore excursions lasting several days with the refrigerator running are possible without the boat being connected to shore power. They are also useful when there are power cuts in a marina, which we have experienced in less developed areas of the world.

Wind

We have a Superwind 350 mounted on a gantry at the stern. Modifying the blades has significantly reduced the noise level, which is acceptable though still somewhat disturbing, especially in relation to the noiseless solar panels.

The yield is negligible below 15 knots of relative wind. It is worthwhile at anchor from 14 knots, as well as when sailing in 25 knots from astern or when sailing upwind, although most long-distance sailors like to avoid the latter. We have rarely been able to generate more than 10A charging current with wind over a period of time. However, the wind generator has two advantages that should not be underestimated – it works day and night and 5A over 24 hours is also 120 Ah, and it often works complementarily to the solar panel. There is often wind when there is hardly any sunshine. Nevertheless, in areas with good weather such as the Mediterranean and the tropics, two additional solar panels – if they can be accommodated – seem to make more sense than a wind generator. The situation is different at higher latitudes.

Alternator on the main engine

For the largest possible charging capacity, a second, large alternator on the engine would be ideal. Large alternators have fewer thermal problems, need to be regulated down less and are more reliable overall. In addition, the remaining original alternator would provide a certain degree of back-up. Unfortunately, for space reasons it was impossible to fit a second alternator in greyHound’s engine compartment. As an alternative we have a small-body, high-power 200A alternator from Balmar used in conjunction with a conversion kit for the Yanmar engine (4JH4TE) with a 10-groove ribbed belt and tensioner for the belt. Any effects on the engine supplier’s warranty must be taken into account.

Temperature sensors on the alternator and the battery, as well as a corresponding external controller, are very important. We had an ARS MC614 from Balmar but exchanged it two years ago for a Wakespeed WS500. This regulates even better as it has a shunt directly in front of the battery and can differentiate between charging current into the battery and consumer current out. A large AGM (Absorbent Glass Mat) battery bank or a lithium battery can draw so much charging current that it heats up the alternator to the point of destruction unless the temperature sensor on the alternator, in conjunction with the programming of the controller, limits the charging current. For better cooling, we have routed the fresh air supply to the engine compartment directly to the alternator using a flexible ventilation pipe. With such a set-up, the above-mentioned 200A alternator initially generates approximately 150A and in the medium term, when the current limitation kicks in for thermal reasons, 90A to 130A.

The Balmar alternator (red, 12V / 200A) with new belt pulleys for flat multigroove belts (blue) and tensioning device (also blue)

On the subject of charging current distribution, it has become clear over the years that there is only one sensible solution, which is for the alternator and the voltage sensor of the regulator to be connected directly to the service (domestic) battery bank. The engine battery is then charged by a battery-to-battery charger. All our previous battery-charging set-ups using diode or FET (Field Effect Transistor) charge distributors had serious disadvantages and resulted in either one battery bank not being fully charged and coming to a premature end due to sulphation, or

the other battery bank being overcharged and also coming to a premature end. The charging tolerances are small and ideally ±0∙1V, so the voltage drops in the cables can lead to inefficiency or overcharging with a FET or diode distributor. For example, on our system when we had a FET or diode distributor fitted a charging current of 100A would result in a cable loss drop of 0∙3V at the service battery. Our starter battery would be fully charged after five minutes but at that point, with minimal current flow into the battery and the non-smart diode system, there would be no voltage drop to the battery. The starter battery was therefore kept at charge voltages (and thus overcharged) when it should have been in the float stage receiving about 1V less than the service batteries. With the battery-to-battery charger the starter battery receives exactly the charge it needs from the service battery, regardless of the latter’s state of charge. Another advantage of this method is that different battery technologies can be used for the starter and service battery (eg. gel for the service battery and conventional plates for the starter battery).

Shore power

Even though we mainly live at anchor we do sometimes visit a marina and this may be for longer periods, such as when wintering in the Mediterranean or – as in our case – during the lockdown in New Zealand. Our shore-power charger is a Victron Phoenix multiplus with 80A charging capacity and 2000W inverter power (more on the latter opposite). This charger can cope with different AC voltages and frequencies, which is important as in large parts of America and many Caribbean and Pacific islands 115V at 60 Hz* is common. As greyHound is aluminium we have to be particularly careful about stray currents when connected to shore power, so we have installed an isolation transformer to protect against electrical corrosion. ttThis transformer can be switched to take in 115V and step it up to 230V so that most of our European voltage electrical items on board can still operate when connected to 115V shore power. The amperage of the charger is not critical as the batteries are always recharged within 12 hours using shore power.

Portable Generator

We bought a mobile, gasoline-powered Honda EU20i generator with 1∙6 kW continuous output to operate the washing machine while at anchor and as a back-up in case the charging option via the main engine should fail. In practice, we’ve hardly used it for either purpose; primarily because it is very noisy, both for us and our neighbours, even though this model has a relatively moderate noise level.

To ensure that the generator remains operational it needs to be serviced regularly and the gasoline must be preserved with a stabiliser, at least if it contains organic components. Gasoline purchased in Germany has a target life of only three months, but fortunately in most areas frequented by longdistance sailors ethanol is used for other purposes than diluting gasoline.

Energy consumption (consumers listed in order of relevance)

Refrigerators

The fridge or, on many yachts the fridges, are among the largest consumers. A fixed value cannot be specified as this depends heavily on the ambient temperature (consumption is proportional to the difference between the ambient temperature and the internal temperature). At an external

* The number of hertz (abbreviated Hz) equals the number of cycles per second.

temperature of 30°C a fridge consumes twice the amount of electricity as at 20°C (30° -10° versus 20° -10°). In one of our two fridges the cooling air is sucked in from the bilge and is therefore almost the same temperature as the water. Similar to water cooling, this saves considerably in the Baltic Sea but not so much in the tropics with a water temperature of 27°–30°C. We chose not to have a freezer as the difference between 30° and -15° makes it clear that it would be associated with considerable power consumption. Thicker insulation can reduce heat loss and therefore electricity consumption, but the insulation needs to be at least 12cm (5in) thick, or better still 20cm (8in), to keep consumption manageable. This means that a freezer requires considerable space, something which is accepted and/or taken into account on very few production yachts. If we had another boat built we would specify much thicker insulation. With our set-up we calculate 40 to 60 Ah per day for each of the two fridges.

Autopilot

An electric autopilot is standard for long-distance sailors and under no circumstances should an undersized system be specified. It has to do its job at all times and in all conditions, especially in rough weather. For a crew of two, having to steer by hand if the autopilot fails on an ocean crossing is the ultimate punishment. On many yachts, including ours, a second full autopilot is either carried or already installed. Unfortunately, the power consumption of the autopilot is considerable, especially when there is a lot of wind and large waves. With the Simrad AC42 installed on greyHound in conjunction with a Jefa J-DU-TS8-12 motor, the average power consumption can be between 1A and 6A per hour, 24 hours per day, on longer passages. For reasons of reliability and the absence of any power consumption, we have a Monitor windvane self-steering system for longer passages, the electric autopilot being used only under engine or in very light winds. Under these conditions, however, it consumes little power. Over our last four Atlantic and Pacific crossings the Monitor was used about 79% of the time and the autopilot 20%, with manual steering well under 1%. When anchoring, and on shorter trips, the vane itself lives down below in the lazarette.

Watermaker

The watermaker is also a relevant consumer. We use about 40–50 litres of water per day for drinking, showering/washing and cooking, which requires about 50 minutes of operation of the watermaker. It is relatively easy to choose when to run it – either at least once every four days so that the membrane does not get dirty, preferably at midday when the sun is at its maximum or when there is a combination of sun and wind, or when the engine is due to run anyway, such as when there is a calm or a change of anchorage. Of course, a longer engine running time in light winds is ideal. In order to avoid the use of plastic drinking-water bottles almost completely we had a separate 60 litre polyethylene drinking-water tank installed. This only takes water from the watermaker and has its own tap with foot pump – even in a marina no water from pipes or hoses gets into it. This water makes great tea and, in conjunction with a Sodastream-like device, delicious sparkling water which completely eliminates the need to buy mineral water in plastic bottles. And the espresso tastes better too!

230V-based appliances

There are some 230V-based appliances that significantly increase convenience on board. These include the baking machine, the Nespresso machine, the electric kettle and the washing machine. First, an important preliminary remark – the 230V comes from an inverter and powerful inverters, such as our Victron Phoenix multiplus, consume electricity even if no 230V consumer is connected. The Victron, for example, consumes approximately 3A at rest. Over 24 hours that would be 72 Ah, which is of course unacceptable. For this reason the inverter should only be switched on when it is actually needed and switched off afterwards. Smartphones, for example, should never be charged via the 230V chargers but via USB sockets connected directly to 12V. If the latter option is not available – eg. for electric toothbrushes or similar – then these

should be charged when the inverter is on anyway or when the boat is running under power. An alternative is to have a second, smaller, sine-wave inverter of 300–400W which will only use some 0∙4A at rest. This is also a good solution for supplying power to a StarLink modem.

In many countries no tt is available that is compatible with German palates. In addition, the shelf life of bread is quickly exceeded on oceanic voyages. For these reasons an electric baking machine has proven its worth. It has two advantages over the oven: you save on propane/ butane, which is not always easy to obtain abroad, plus a baking machine heats up the galley considerably less than does the oven, a very relevant consideration in the tropics. A typical bread-baking programme for 500 grams of flour requires around 20 Ah.

A small Nespresso machine can significantly improve the quality of life for caffeine lovers. It requires around 1200W but only for a short time – 20 seconds for heating up and 80 seconds for a large cup of lungo*. If the inverter is only switched on for the boiling process this results in a consumption of around 5 Ah for two large cups.

Washing machine

Luxury on board! A latte is quite realistic and, if the sun is shining, the water for tea can also be heated electrically...

If the SOC (state of charge) of the batteries is close to 100% or it is expected that the solar panels will bring the SOC to almost 100% during the day and there are no plans to bake or make water, then we use an electric kettle for making tea as it is quicker and saves propane/butane. When choosing a kettle, try to ensure that it is rated at less than 2000W. Some smaller kettles are rated at around 1600W. Ours is 2000W and therefore draws 175A. It takes 5 minutes (300 seconds) to heat the 1∙5 litre teapot, so the consumption is 14∙6 Ah.

Running a washing machine without shore power – is that even possible? It is certainly desirable, because experience shows that using laundry services in developing countries often leads to the loss of beloved items of clothing (the service provider often mixes the laundry from different boats in order to better utilise the machine), both whites and colours meld to a uniform grey, or that one’s skin reacts allergically to the detergent. If you look at what a washing machine needs its energy for, it quickly becomes clear that it is mainly to heat the water. For a 60° program this is 90% of the energy usage. However, as the results are better with warm or hot water, we had to find an alternative method of heating it. The solution was a mixer in the washing machine inlet, which mixes water from the boat’s hot water tank with water from the main tank to achieve the desired temperature. This can be done manually in the form of a three-way tap or electronically, controlled by an MS1002 controller. So, if a 60° wash is required, ‘30°’ or ‘cold’ is set on the machine’s control panel and the hot water is simply fed in for the main wash cycle. As this water is warmer than the set temperature, the machine will not heat up and will only consume a small amount of electricity for the motor drive. The water in the hot water tank must of course be heated beforehand by combining it with engine running time or operation of the diesel heater.

* Meaning ‘long’ in Italian, ‘lungo’ refers to both the time it takes to extract and the volume of the finished drink, which is about the same size as a double espresso.

...while a nice Campari-orange (cold, of course) makes a splendid sundowner...

Our 3 kg washing machine consumes 0∙15 kWh in a cold program, which corresponds to 13 Ah from the 12V mains plus 6–9 Ah for the inverter. Then there is the water consumption of 36 litres in the Eco program and 50 litres in the normal program. This keeps the watermaker busy for 40 to 50 minutes and requires around 30 Ah, so you have to reckon with a total of 50 Ah. Of course, it makes sense, although it is not absolutely necessary, to schedule the wash shortly after a motor phase or – if it is calm – while motoring.

Other 230V-based appliances

Most of the other 230V appliances on board do not require high power. These include chargers for the Dyson vacuum cleaner, for electric toothbrushes, for shavers and for electric batterypowered tools. What is relevant here is the inverter’s own consumption and the often long charging times. With a charging time of 10 hours, for example, 30 Ah are required for the inverter alone. These devices should therefore be charged at least simultaneously or, ideally, while the engine is running. If at all possible, however, charging should be carried out directly from 12V or via USB sockets. Most smartphones, tablets, battery-powered flashlights and GoPro cameras can be charged via USB, and we use car charging plugs for charging computers. These are now available for charging via USB-C plugs with up to 36W. This significantly reduces losses compared to charging via 230V and inverters.

Electricity storage

Aboard greyHound, power is stored in six AGM Lifeline batteries with a total capacity of 750 Ah. The six-year-old battery bank shows almost no loss of capacity despite constant use. Three years ago we supplemented the battery bank with a block of six BOS LE-300 LiFePO4 cells which are simply connected in parallel. Our reason for this was twofold. Firstly, the latter block with its 154 Ah capacity performs a significant proportion of the partial charging and discharging processes, which reduces the lead-acid batteries’ ageing. Secondly, and more important, it significantly increases the average charge level of the lead-acid batteries. One of the main problems with

this type of battery is that the last 10% of charge is only absorbed very slowly, regardless of how good the regulator or charger is. It is almost impossible to charge a lead-acid battery to 100% using a generator or alternator on the main engine even though, to maintain the capacity of a lead-acid battery and thus its service life, it is very important that it is always as fully charged as possible or at least fully charged regularly. If you regularly moor in marinas this is achieved by using a good charger on shore power, but many bluewater sailors hardly ever visit marinas and often there is no marina anyway. As a result, the service batteries on many long-distance sailing boats are never charged above 80% or 85%, which reduces their service life.

While the lead-acid battery will only accept a small amount of current above 90% state of charge, the small lithium block will still charge quickly. Once the engine is off and the charging process complete, the built-in battery management system of the small lithium block slowly transfers its charge to the lead-acid battery, thus charging the latter fully. Since the LE-300 has been connected, the AGM lead-acid battery bank has been charged to 100% much more frequently, which has certainly had a positive effect on its service life. The only downside is that the small lithium batteries have a different Peukert factor and charging efficiency than the lead-acid batteries, which makes the Philippi battery monitoring display somewhat less accurate. For this reason, we also installed a Balmar SmartGauge, which indicates the state of charge of the AGMs directly.

Peculiarities

We have encountered oddities, not least the 60 Hz problem. In the USA and many countries influenced by the USA, electricity comes out of the socket at 60 Hz, whereas in Europe it is 50 Hz. This has no effect on the vast majority of appliances, but our German washing machine refuses to work at 60 Hz – presumably the spin speed would be dangerously high. The frequency cannot be changed, so in 60 Hz areas we have to run it using the method described previously, ie. via an inverter which generates 50 Hz with an external supply of hot water, during which time the shore connection is temporarily unplugged.

Another surprise was that the respective controllers of the different energy sources influence each other. For example, if the batteries are reasonably full and the solar system is charging at 25A, then the voltage at the batteries is 13∙4V. When the engine is started, the ‘intelligent’ regulator on the alternator interprets this to mean that the battery is practically full so it goes directly into float mode, or, since the battery voltage is already higher than the set float voltage, it shuts down the alternator completely. This has an unpleasant side effect: the rev counter, whose control voltage comes from one of the three windings of the three-phase alternator, receives no pulse as the alternator receives no field voltage, so shows nothing. If a larger consumer such as the watermaker is switched on, the alternator is activated immediately and the rev counter also has something to display.

There are similar interactions between the regulators of the other voltage sources. In some cases the charging power of a solar bank can be increased by briefly disconnecting it from the boat’s electrical system and then reconnecting it. This makes the controller start a new charging cycle with a bulk–absorption–float and, for the time being, outputs a significantly higher voltage.

Conclusion

By a combination of selecting the units (solar power system, windvane steering, efficient enginecharging electrics), forgoing a freezer and air conditioning, and optimising time sequences (making water, using the washing machine), it is possible to enjoy a pleasant level of comfort without a generator on board and at the same time maintain a certain degree of sustainability. In the past six years we have not had to run the engine for charging alone more than perhaps three times a year, in very unfavourable conditions.

A minor disadvantage is that the electrical system requires a certain amount of supervision and understanding from all members of the crew. It’s not quite the case that you can say, “What’s the problem? The electricity comes from the socket!”.

New PHRF Division

New division for PHRF handicapped boats

Celestial and Electronically Navigated boats each have their own Class

Separate Class specific trophies

“Bring A Friend” Financial Incentive

marionbermuda.com

Skippers in one or more of the last three races (2017, 2019, or 2023) who bring a new skipper and boat will each get $150 off their registrations

No Boat Inspection Required

Boats that participated in the 2023 Marion Bermuda Race or the 2024 Newport Bermuda Race will not require any pre-race inspection

20% Discount on Flights to/from Bermuda on BermudAir

Marion Bermuda Race Crews, friends and family flying to and/or from Boston will receive this discount

Room rate discount at the Coco Reef Resort in Bermuda

All staying in Bermuda because of the race will get this discount

Photo by Spectrum Photo

ABOARD SEA JESTER, BOUND FOR THE AZORES

Max Gordon

Ever since discovering my love for the water as a young child, influenced by my father and grandfather alike, I had dreamt of one day making an ocean passage. This dream suddenly became a possibility while I was carrying out work on OCC members Peter and Anabel Merriman’s Beneteau Oceanis 48, Sea Jester, in 2023. They very kindly offered me the opportunity to sail with them on part of their return from the Caribbean, joining them in Bermuda bound for Horta on the beautiful island of Faial in the Azores.

Prior to this, in 2014 I had sailed with the Ocean Youth Trust aboard John Laing, a 72ft bermudan-rigged ketch, gaining me my RYA Competent Crew qualification but perhaps more importantly driving my hunger to spend more time at sea. With this behind me I quickly looked at how I could get back on the water. Luckily, I was a cadet in one of Britain’s largest waterborne youth organisations, the Sea Cadet Corps, and during my time as a cadet spent a total of three weeks aboard TS Royalist – a week sailing out of Oban on the west coast of Scotland, and then a two-week delivery voyage from London to Halmstad, Sweden ahead of the 2017 Tall Ships’ Races. Fast forward to 2019 and I had started working with my father in the rigging industry in Portland on England’s south coast. I soon became a member of Weymouth Sailing Club and regularly raced aboard Apple Jack, a beautiful example of a ‘race ready’ Jeremy Rogers-built Contessa 26. The biggest adventure was yet to come, however.

2nd–4th June : Preparation

I had only a few moments to take in the beauty of Bermuda with the backdrop of a wonderful sunset as the aeroplane made its approach, but could instantly see the attraction of the islands. Once on solid ground I made my way to St George’s where Sea Jester was anchored, meeting Peter and Anabel in the infamous White Horse pub for a catch-up and much-needed drink. Knowing how busy we would be next day preparing the boat for the crossing, we soon headed back aboard to get some rest.

Among the jobs that needed doing were replacing the Windex and anemometer, followed by a rig check. All looked good until I got to the starboard side D1* and discovered that four of the 19 individual wires that make up the shroud had broken underneath the upper swage terminal. To ensure full safety I recommended replacing the shroud, even though it looked as though it might interfere with our plans to leave the following day. By a stroke of luck we were anchored no more than 200m from Ocean Sails, run by fellow OCC members Steve and Suzanne Hollis. We contacted Steve, and

* The D1 is the lowest diagonal shroud and runs from the deck to the base of the first spreader.

Working with Steve from Ocean Sails

Heading for The Cut and the Atlantic Ocean

what a credit to both his company and his island he was! Once we got the D1 down and over to his rigging loft he put his other work aside to get the problem sorted as quickly as possible, and working together we made up a replacement shroud using StaLok swageless terminals. With the new D1 fitted, and following a quick explore around the picturesque town of St George’s, we looked to the final task for the day – collecting our fourth and final crew member, Patrick, who was waiting for us at the White Horse pub. Over a final drink we discussed plans for departure and the last couple of jobs that needed doing prior to that.

Departure day was upon us and, with safety briefs and lifejacket fittings complete, we just had to pick up the solar panels. These were threatening our departure as they were still stuck in customs but, with a little charm I’m sure, Peter managed to secure their release. We finally cast off our lines from the refuelling berth at 1700 – next stop the Azores! Navigating our way through The Cut, the narrow fairway which divides St David’s Island from St George’s, we passed under the stern of an incoming cruise ship, the Norwegian Gem. This was to be the first and last bit of traffic we would see for some time.

Before supper we devised the watch system we would be sticking to for the next week or two. With four of us onboard we decided that an ‘on watch’, ‘on standby’ and ‘golden kip’ method would be best. Essentially this meant that after two hours on watch you would move into standby for two hours, perhaps snoozing but staying clothed and ready to be of assistance should the person on watch need you. Then, once the next handover had taken place, you were into your two hours of ‘golden kip’ for some proper shut-eye. We fell into

Sea Jester’s cruising chute at work

this watch system shortly after supper, at around 2000, and with my first watch beginning at midnight I went below to try to get some sleep in preparation. Before lowering myself through the companionway I took a brief glance back at Bermuda, reminding myself that this would be the last piece of land I’d see for at least 14 days.

5th June onwards : The Crossing

The beginning of my first watch was met with some great sailing conditions with 12–14 knots of wind from the port quarter, increasing to just shy of 20 knots within the first 20 minutes. At this point Peter and I decided to put in a reef, typically at the same moment as the heavens decided to open. With the reef in and us both soaked, not having had time to don our foulies mid-reef, the rain calmed as did the wind, dropping back to around 9–12 knots – classic! The rest of the watch was quiet, with Anabel taking over from me at 0200, moving me on to standby and then eventually back to my cabin to sleep.

The cruising chute had been hoisted while I was asleep, a great sight when rising for the morning watch. However, the wind soon dropped to less than 4 knots so the decision was made to drop it and motor until the wind picked up. While steaming along we were joined by a few birds gliding alongside, one of them a white-tailed tropicbird, or ‘long tail’ as they’re known in the Bahamas, which seemingly dipped its wings in salute on its final flypast.

At the start of my watch the following evening I was greeted by a clear Atlantic sky filled, due to the lack of light pollution, with the most stars I’d ever seen. Unfortunately that’s where the good news ends, as during the previous watch it had been noted that, at irregular intervals, the engine had been producing clouds of smoke from the exhaust and a distinct smell of diesel. By halfway through my watch the smoke had become constant. Using our head-torches, Peter and I tried to make out the colour of the smoke to help us identify the cause. Although this proved difficult against the clear Atlantic water it did give us a chance to see some marine life, with jellyfish and bioluminescence surrounding the boat. With the engine issues continuing we decided to turn it off and wait for enough wind to sail, so for the remainder of the passage we only used it either when trying to diagnose/fix the problem or approaching an anchorage or harbour.

One of the beauties of being at sea is obviously the wildlife, from marine creatures to the different species of bird. One of the ambitions of all the crew was to see a whale at some point during the passage. We thought the best chance would be close to the Azores, but our first sighting was just four days out of Bermuda. I was below when I had heard an excited yell from Patrick, and rushing to the companionway saw him pointing towards the port quarter. About 200 metres from the boat a black fin briefly broke the surface – it had to be a whale, but the distance meant we couldn’t identify the species. Our second and only other encounter with a whale came about six days later. While trimming the headsail with Patrick and Peter I spotted what looked like a puff of smoke coming from the water about 50 metres off the bow. A much bigger whale this time and a lot closer, it passed us on the starboard side showing off its impressive dorsal fin. Although we were thrilled at the encounter, another part of us prayed that it wasn’t a hungry orca looking for something to eat in the shape of our rudder! Fortunately such attacks are much rarer where we were compared to off the Spanish coast.

The most comical encounter with marine life came around the ten-day mark, aptly involving a flying fish. We had seen the occasional small flying fish most days up to this point, with a tiny one being found on the deck one morning by Patrick. However, I wasn’t ready for the introduction to a larger example that I was about to get. I had just settled into a late-night watch after taking over from Anabel when, about ten minutes in and while looking down at the chart plotter, I felt a hefty blow to the side of my head. Jumping up in astonishment I wondered what on earth could have just struck me, at first thinking it might have been a disorientated bird ... perhaps the booby that had been following us for most of the day? Thoughts were soon revised when a smell of fish engulfed the cockpit, and then I knew exactly what had just happened. Anabel and I burst out laughing and the following day Peter jokingly issued me with a helmet he had lying around on board in case of further strikes!

our morale firmly boosted, attention soon turned to our planned landfall on the Azorean island of Flores, about three days away.

Our final few days before reaching Flores featured a mixture of little wind and no wind at all. Where we could, in what patches of wind there were, we used the Code 0 to boost boat speed, but no complaints were made as we were joined by pod after pod of dolphins to keep us

Wearing my anti-flying fish protection

For the majority of the passage we were being chased down by Mangata, an AMEL 50 owned by friends of Peter and Anabel. By mid-morning on the tenth day they were within a mile of us, a distance which shrank rapidly until by 1400 they were sailing alongside us. This gave us the chance to get some great photos of both boats under sail in champagne sailing conditions. With Mangata now leaving us in her wake and

Sea Jester flying along, taken from Mangata...

... and Mangata overtaking us

company. As I wandered up into the cockpit on the morning of our arrival I was greeted by the sight of Flores in all its beauty, its green cliffs towering over the Atlantic waters. After battling some flukey winds caused by the island, we dropped anchor at Fajã Grande on its west coast. The anchorage is dwarfed by the huge, green, volcanic cliffs that surround it, with multiple waterfalls along their faces. After 13 days 11 hours and 1788 miles we had reached the Azores.

We spent our time at Fajã Grande swimming and exploring the nearby waterfalls and then dined at the restaurant that overlooks the anchorage. We were to spend only one night there, so I was extra sure to take in the breathtaking views from the cockpit. The following morning we weighed anchor and sailed round the south coast of the island to Lajes, on its southeast corner. Lajes sustained serious damage to its sea defences during Hurricane Lorenzo back in 2019, damage that was still being repaired while we were there. Once the anchor was firmly laid my first impression was of the birdsong coming from the cliffs. We set the tender up and headed ashore to have a look around and find a place to eat, and along the way found ourselves at the lighthouse we had used as a reference point on our approach, standing proud with its red beacon overlooking the waters below.

Patrick managed to get us a table at a restaurant 800 metres up into the hills of Lajes, a walk I definitely felt later in the evening after not doing much walking for the previous two weeks. The food, however, was well worth it. After eating we headed down to the harbour master’s office, which doubles as the Clube Naval de Lajes and serves as a bar for locals and visiting yachtsmen alike. It was run by Jorge, the harbour master, a very friendly chap who claimed to sell the cheapest drinks on the island. At one euro for a beer I had no reason to doubt him!

The following morning Patrick was leaving us to make his way to Lisbon, so after the others had bade their farewells I dinghied him ashore at around 0600, then headed back to the boat to prepare for departure for Horta on the island of Faial. No more than 20 minutes after leaving we were joined by yet another

Spectacular Fajã Grande

Lajes lighthouse

Hoisting the courtesy flags in Horta pod of dolphins playing alongside, a sight we had now grown used to. Healthy winds made for a great start to the short hop southeast to Horta, with a fleet of boats leaving Lajes at around the same time. We arrived the following morning after my final overnight sail of the voyage. Once ashore we checked in with customs and could finally lower the quarantine flag and hoist the courtesy flags of Portugal and the Azores.

With the Azores being a volcanic archipelago which began forming some 10 million years ago we thought it would be good to visit Faial’s volcanic caldera (crater). We made our way to the rim of the volcano, which stands 1043m above sea level at its highest point. The wind at the top was fierce with varying visibility through the low clouds, but when it did clear what a sight it was into the crater below. The size was simply mesmerising, making walkers on the opposite side look like ants.

My time on Sea Jester was quickly coming to an end and my flight to Lisbon creeping up on me too quickly. We still had one job to do, however – paint the boat’s emblem on the quayside, a tradition followed by many visiting crews as shown by the sheer number of paintings spanning from one side of the inner harbour to the other. I was able to help with the background of Sea Jester’s emblem before the rain came in, probably

Pictures left by previous yachts

Sea Jester’s completed emblem

Faial’s vast caldera

for the best as my art skills have never been great. With the rain calling a halt to painting, my time to leave had sadly arrived. During the short taxi ride to Faial’s small airport I reflected on what a trip it had been, with great sailing, beautiful views, fantastic people and memories that I knew would never leave me.

My thanks firstly go to Peter and Anabel for hosting me with great hospitality for the three weeks I was on board – without their kindness and generosity none of it would have been possible. It was also Peter who suggested that I apply for the Youth Sponsorship, even though I was already at sea. Secondly I would like to thank the OCC for accepting me onto the Youth Sponsorship Programme, which made the trip a lot more viable financially. The programme assists young people under the age of 25 to make ocean passages, when otherwise they might not have the opportunity or necessary funds. This voyage taught me many things about myself and ocean passages, which I’ll endeavour to take with me through life as I try to make my dream of a life at sea possible.

A FAMILY CRUISE FROM PREVEZA TO ATHENS

Mike and Helen Norris

(Mike and Helen are among Flying Fish’s most regular contributors, having contributed a dozen times over the past 13 years. Since 2017 their 37ft (11∙4m) cutter-rigged Countess ketch Island Drifter has been based in Greece. See https://oceancruisingclub.org/Flying-Fish-Archive for their previous articles

This article covers the first half of their Spring 2024 circumnavigation of the Peloponnese ‘island’, which is separated from mainland Greece by the Corinth Canal. It also includes their cruise from Preveza in the Ionian to Athens in the Aegean, during which they were accompanied by their younger son Will and his family.)

We arrived in Aktio Boatyard, opposite Preveza on the west coast of mainland Greece, in mid April following a flight from Gatwick. And, after unloading our luggage and making the boat habitable for the night, broached a box of red wine we’d discovered on board.

Our objective was to circumnavigate the Peloponnese ‘island’, the first leg of which would take us to Athens via the Gulfs of Patras and Corinth and through the Corinth Canal. First, though, we spent a month servicing and renovating Island Drifter [ID]. After launching and a sea trial we were joined for the first leg of our ‘circumnavigation’ by our younger son Will, his wife Lesley and our granddaughter Emmy.

Will has windsurfed, sailed dinghies and crewed on ID during holidays in the Canaries, Caribbean and, together with Lesley, in Portugal. Even so, he would not describe himself as anything more than a good, competent crew. In the past two years they have, as a family, sailed with us in both the Aegean and Ionian Seas during summer half-terms and Emmy has begun to sail dinghies.

Preveza: We arranged for Will, Lesley and Emmy to be picked up by taxi at the airport and driven to Preveza, where we were moored stern-to at the town quay. The town was in the middle

Testing the box of wine that we found on board

of celebrating Greek Orthodox Whitsun and, to our surprise, a temporary stage had been set up about 50m from the boat on which troupes of Greek dancers in traditional dress performed with accompanying bands – an excellent introduction to the forthcoming cruise!

After a welcome drink in the cockpit while enjoying the music and dancing, we took them on a tour of the more interesting areas of the old town before having supper at Ventura Taverna, situated at the crossroads of two tiny backstreets overhung with vines and bougainvillea.

Lefkas: Next morning Emmy helped us prepare for sea, casting off at 0715 in order to catch the 0900 opening of the floating bridge at the north end of the Levkas Canal. Her parents slept on! She helmed all the way down the narrow canal and into One Tree Bay, in which she’d enjoyed swimming last year. Her parents only woke up when we dropped anchor! We had a light brunch in the cockpit, a swim off the boat and also to the sandy beach where there was a ‘pop-up’ taverna.

Will, Lesley and Emmy

Preveza town quay

The floating bridge opening

Mitikas: In the early afternoon we weighed anchor and continued south to Mitikas, where we anchored behind the harbour’s protective wall. There we launched the dinghy and motored with Emmy over to see OCC Vice Commodore Phil Heaton and his wife Norma aboard their Ovni 395 Minnie B. They had already explored the small town and thoroughly recommended eating at Pharos Taverna, located on the point of Mitikas town spit.

The town of Mitikas, and in particular the family taverna in which we had supper, was like something out of the 1960s. We watched the father bring the catch from his boat and gut and clean the fish on the beach, then his wife cooked and their daughter served them. There was no menu or even discussion before a variety of starters were simply put in front of us, followed by a selection of grilled fish accompanied by chips.

Will and Emmy enjoy the water

About to sail under the 2-mile-long Rio-Antirrio bridge, which connects the mainland of Greece with the Peloponnese ‘island’

After returning by dinghy to ID we prepared for sea. We weighed anchor at midnight to head south down the ‘Inland Sea’ which runs parallel with the mainland coast, standing two 3-hour watches until dawn.

The Gulfs of Patras and Corinth: On reaching the entrance to the Gulf of Patras we turned due east and were able to raise the main and genoa. We sailed steadily east in a light breeze until we approached the massive Rio-Antirrio suspension bridge – the largest cable-stayed bridge in the world. We’d been warned that the wind would funnel and change direction as we approached the bridge and the narrow entry to the Gulf of Corinth, and it did. We ended up motor-sailing into strong winds and a 2-knot current for the next hour.

We were within five miles of our intended destination of Trizonia island when we (in hindsight rather foolishly) made a fuel transfer from the boat’s main tank to its smaller day tank as we were concerned that the latter was getting low. Shortly afterwards the engine hiccupped and stopped – and refused to start. To keep ourselves off the shore and adjacent shallows we quickly hoisted a reefed mainsail and genoa and tacked south across the Gulf towards the north coast of the Peloponnese, with the intention of tacking back north to Trizonia island and then, if necessary, using the dinghy as a powerpack to help us into the harbour. Meanwhile Mike and Will changed the fuel filters, praying as never before, and were eventually rewarded by the engine restarting as we approached the entrance to Trizonia harbour.

The shaded edge of Trizonia harbour, with ID alongside a concrete quay in the background

Al fresco dining at Pharos Taverna, Mitikas

Two Kouros – enormous statues over twelve feet tall – in the Architectural Museum at Delphi

Trizonia: Once in the small harbour of Trizonia we pulled alongside a rough concrete quay where our lines were taken by a French couple. The harbour was built and financed by the EU, but it has never been properly finished and neither has it been taken over by an independent management company. Result – no bureaucracy, harbour fees or electricity, although water was available ... and free! With no showers at the harbour, Lesley persuaded the manager of the apparently empty Hotel Dryma to allow her family to use the hotel showers.

There were no facilities in the village, not even a food shop, although there were several tavernas to cater for visiting tourists. Trizonia is the only inhabited island in the Gulf of Corinth, with 60 permanent residents who can travel to the nearby village of Glyfada on the mainland coast by a small ferry.

Galaxidi: The wind was forecast to change direction and increase, and when it did we left Trizonia and ran south-southeast, poled out, for five hours towards our next destination, Galaxidi harbour. It was the best sail we had had to date on this circumnavigation! On arrival we had a few problems – including briefly running aground – while reversing in a strong wind into the only available space on the quay, coincidentally next to the French family we’d met in Trizonia.

Delphi: Early next morning we hired a car and set off for Delphi, an interesting 20-mile drive inland. Delphi is acknowledged to be one of the most beautiful classical sites in Greece. The Ancients regarded it as the centre of the then known world and its spectacular site amidst ravines, rocky bluffs and sheer cliffs on the slope of Mount Parnassus contributes to its air of mystery. It takes its name from Apollo Delphinius where the god, in the shape of a dolphin, was worshipped. Coincidentally, when we left Galaxidi the next day we saw our only dolphins of the cruise!

A visit to Delphi involves steep climbs on ancient marble slabs, but is rewarded by everchanging views and monumental treasures. Its Architectural Museum contains amazing statues in incredibly good condition, mainly excavated by French archaeologists in the late 1800s.

On returning to Galaxidi we had a late lunch in the ‘Memories of the Port’ taverna on the quay owned by Kostas, a personable and proactive owner/waiter. It was one of the best meals we had and Kostas made it a great experience. Mike and Will finished off with free shots of Tsipouro, though Will subsequently confessed that he’d rather drink meths!*

* Methylated spirits, usually called denatured alcohol in the United States.

Corinth: From Galaxidi we sailed some 50 miles to the Corinth Yacht Harbour, adjacent to the entrance to the Corinth Canal. We were just able to squeeze into an alongside space on the outer concrete quay, albeit with almost no water under the keel. Then we explored the town, where Helen and Emmy found the enormous statue of Pegasus, symbol of the Corinthians.

The Corinth Canal: We had booked and paid online for a transit time of 0700 to pass through the canal, so we did not have to pull in to pay at the control tower which until recently was mandatory for all vessels. Instead we waited outside the entrance until called forward on VHF, promptly on the hour. From the outer entrance we could see the high bridges and, as we approached the narrow gap between the canal’s outer walls, the hydraulic submersible road bridge was lowered and we received the green light to proceed.

The transit was memorable. The sheer limestone cliffs through which the canal was cut rise up to 79m from the water – more than three times the width of the canal itself. It is over 3 miles long and crossed by road and rail bridges which limit the height of a boat’s mast to 52m –not exactly a problem for ID!

Passage through the Corinth Canal

The Ancients used to drag their ships across the isthmus. The present canal, which divides the Peloponnese ‘island’ from mainland Greece, was started by a French company in 1882 and finished by the Greeks 11 years later. It suffered serious damage during the Second World War and did not reopen until 1948. It was closed again in 2021 following a landslide, reopened from June to October 2022, was closed again over the winter for further work and finally reopened fully in June 2023. We saw clear evidence that a great deal of effort is being put into repairing and improving the Canal’s sheer cliff walls.

The Aegean Sea and Athens: Once through the canal we had some 30 miles of sailing along the south coast of Salamina Island and through a plethora of anchored and moving commercial vessels to Piraeus Sailing Club’s marina in Athens. The club does not normally accept visitors

Young children, some under five, confidently sailing Optimist dinghies out to sea from the harbour

GoogleEarth© overview of Piraeus Sailing Club’s small marina, situated in the circular harbour of Mikrolimano in the centre of the photo

The flood-lit Acropolis as seen from the city centre – indeed it can be very difficult and expensive to get a berth in any of the seven marinas in Piraeus, the port area of Athens. Fortunately, having been there back in 2018, we were able to book a reasonablypriced berth for three nights on one of the Club’s pontoons inside the well-protected circular harbour of Mikrolimano. The Piraeus Sailing Club is an active sailing and social club for all ages, boasts two bronze medallists from recent Olympics and is home to the Dragon in which the ex-King won gold at the Rome Olympics in 1960.

Nik, our tour guide

A friend of Will’s who has worked in Athens recommended that we visit the lively centre of the city at night and in particular eat at Taverna Saita. So, on our first evening in Athens, although we were all quite tired we took a very reasonably priced Uber into the centre. It was well worth it – the streets were buzzing and the taverna was great. We’d come to Athens principally to visit the Acropolis (fort) and Parthenon (temple), both of which Emmy had learnt about at school. Since the sites get extremely crowded and baking hot we’d booked a threehour guided tour for 8am, which meant an early start from the marina. The tour was well worth the cost and Nik, our guide, was knowledgeable and took time to explain everything clearly to Emmy, the only child in the party of twenty.

Sunday 2nd June was Will and Lesley’s 12th Wedding Anniversary. We celebrated by having brunch on the balcony of one of the marina restaurants, washed down with a bottle of Moët which Will had secretly ordered in advance. Afterwards Will called an Uber to take them to the airport, where they boarded on time only to be advised that the flight would be delayed for an hour. While they waited the pilot invited some of the passengers up to the flight deck, including Emmy who loved the experience.

The Saronic Gulf: Next morning we sailed for four hours to an anchorage outside Salamina town, the capital of Salamina Island, where we met up with our friends Rolf and Roz (R&R)

The Parthenon, dedicated to the goddess Athena who keep their yacht in the marina there. We stayed for three days in the well-protected anchorage before sailing in company with them to Poros Island at the southern entrance to the Saronic Gulf. We stayed there on anchor for a further couple of days, before bidding farewell to R&R and continuing our ‘circumnavigation’ of the Peloponnese ‘island’.

TUAMOTU 2024

Simon Currin

(As well as serving as Commodore from 2019 until earlier this year, Simon has been a frequent contributor to Flying Fish, most recently in 2023/1. He and Sally left Scotland in 2015 aboard Shimshal II, their 48ft (14∙6m) cutter, laid her up in Nova Scotia during the Covid pandemic, and then headed south towards Panama which they transited in late 2023.

In Panama they were joined by Tim Farmery and Heather Bone, who sailed with them to the Galapagos islands, the Marquesas and on to the Tuamotu Archipelago, leaving Shimshal II at Makemo island. Follow Simon and Sally’s travels at https://voyagesofshimshal.blogspot.pt/p/blog-page.html.)

The shrill squawk of our VHF’s MAYDAY RELAY alarm disturbed the pre-dawn peace and shook me out of a deep sleep. We had been sailing reefed-down overnight to be certain of making our landfall in daylight. Our watch change was about to take place when the VHF blurted out the spine-chilling news that a yacht called Resolution was aground on the outside of Raroia’s fringing reef. We were the nearest boat able to respond!

For those who don’t know it, Raroia is a tiny atoll in an archipelago of 77 other similar atolls spread over 1100 miles of the South Pacific. They are called the Tuamotu Archipelago but have been known for centuries as the ‘Dangerous Islands’ because their navigation can be perilous. Each atoll rises only a few metres from the sea and traditional charts were notoriously inaccurate. The difficulties are further compounded by swift and unpredictable currents in the passes leading to their bommie-strewn* lagoons.

Raroia was to be our first motu and we had planned a cautious approach after a 450-mile passage from the Marquesas. All hands were to be on deck for our landfall. We would then eyeball the pass at the time the Tuamotu Tidal Guestimator predicted slack water. If the white water in the pass looked manageable we would then creep through and use four pairs of eyes to avoid the numerous, uncharted bommies between pass and anchorage. The Guestimator is an ingenious spreadsheet written by the OCC crew of Visions of Johanna that juggles known tidal data, latitude and wind (strength, direction and duration) to ‘guess’ when to enter Tuamotu passes at slack water. Persistant strong winds driving ocean swells force more water into the lagoons and thus can abolish the flood tide completely. The Guestimator attempts to take all these variables into account – clever stuff!

Our careful preparation was undermined as soon as we responded to the MAYDAY RELAY. Despite our proximity, we could not raise the stricken boat on their VHF and instead received * Bommies are isolated coral heads rising from an otherwise level seabed.

The pass at Tahanea. Photo

Ulf Svennson

messages (sent to us by both VHF and the noforeignland app via Starlink) from vessels safely anchored inside the lagoon. We dropped our sails and altered course to motor to windward wondering, as we went, how we would be able to assist a yacht high and dry on a coral reef being pounded by waves. There were no powerful commercial vessels for hundreds of miles and we hadn’t the horsepower to pull a boat off a reef even if we could safely pass them a line. Coral atolls are collapsed volcanic seamounts rising steeply from ocean depths so there would be no possibility of laying anchors and winching a boat off. Lots of thoughts but no solutions flashed through our minds as we raced towards the casualty. As we closed their co-ordinates, Resolution’s VHF crackled into life and announced that they had managed, somehow, to get off the reef and were able to rendezvous with us despite a badly damaged rudder. They requested that we escort them through the pass to a safe anchorage, standing by should their ability to steer desert them. Dutifully we agreed, but felt as though it was a case of the blind leading the blind (and partially disabled) as this was our first landfall in the Dangerous Islands and our first lagoon pass.

Luckily Resolution also had a Hydrovane whose rudder was relatively unscathed by the impact, and this was able to complement what remained of her main rudder. Gingerly we were both approaching the pass when the crew of a catamaran, safely anchored inside the lagoon, urged us to come straight in as the current was slack. We wondered about their advice as it was a spring tide and the wind had been blowing at 20 knots or more for the previous ten days. The Guestimator suggested a mid-morning slack water, but we chose to listen to the boat beckoning us in. Resolution and Shimshal nosed through the first of the tidal whitewater and gradually the current increased. Surf was breaking either side of us and the swirling water around us was starting to look more like an angry Gulf of Corryvreckan in our Scottish home waters than the meek entrance to a tropical paradise. We piled on more and more revs as the current strengthened, until Shimshal was blasting along against both tide and a 20knot headwind. Our speed over the ground soon crumbled and then Resolution spun into an eddy and went shooting back out into the ocean at breakneck speed, luckily avoiding the worst of the

The Kon-Tiki Memorial on Raroia

A colourful hermit crab

Resolution’s rudder damage

standing waves as she went. Shimshal soldiered on for a few minutes, but when the engine overheating alarm came on we put the helm over and followed Resolution back to the ocean with a speed over the ground of 14 knots.

For the next couple of hours we drifted around waiting for the mid-morning slack that our Guestimator had predicted and wishing we hadn’t listened to those comfortably tucked up at anchor inside the lagoon.

What a difference a couple of hours makes! Our next attempt on the pass found the weak currents we had hoped for, and we shot through with barely a ripple disturbing the surface. By now the sun was up and so, with all eyeballs on deck, we were easily able to spot the bommies and weave our way to a safe anchorage. Our confidence was bolstered by streaming satellite Aquamap images to ‘spot’ the bommies before they could be eyeballed. We switched on our chartplotter’s ‘track’ function to lay a super-accurate GPS ‘crumb trail’ enabling us to trace our route back to the ocean should conditions for our exit be less than ideal. We chose to anchor on the eastern side of the atoll where the reef and palm-clad mini-motus would give perfect shelter from the prevailing trade winds. It was also the place, marked by a memorial plaque, where Thor Heyerdhal’s Kon-Tiki raft was wrecked in 1947.

Although the seabed was mostly sand a few bommies littered the anchorage. We used three buoys to ‘float’ our chain so that only a few links lay on the seabed, which allowed us to swing without either destroying picture-perfect coral or wrapping our chain around overhanging spikes

Shimshal at anchor in the Tuamotu.

Photo Ian Lewis

A white tern

and crevices. We had acquired three abandoned, rigid-plastic pearl farm floats for this purpose –ideal as they don’t compress and become less buoyant when submerged in the way a fender does. Each was secured to the chain with some thin cord and a carabiner* every 10m or so.

Once safely anchored and our ‘floating chain’ suitably admired, we dinghied over to Resolution to meet the crew and inspect their damage. Olaf, the skipper, described the sickening crash that threw him out of his bunk as his three-year-old pride and joy fetched up on the coral reef. In a shaky voice, he explained how he thought his time was up. We dropped over the side with a snorkel, mask and camera to capture the images that he needed to send to his insurer. Half the rudder was missing, with the stock protruding but unbent. There were deep gouges to both hull and keel, but there were no leaks and the rudder was useable in favourable conditions. Not great to suffer so much damage 550 miles from the nearest haul-out facility, but at least the boat could be sailed.

Olaf then came over to Shimshal to use our Starlink connection to send all the images and documents to his insurers, who swiftly advised him to sail the boat to Tahiti rather than to take it out into the ocean and scuttle it which could, so easily, have been an option. Resolution’s builder, Hanse Yachts, e-mailed drawings of the rudder via our Starlink and they were forwarded to the Tahiti shipyard that agreed to build and fit the new rudder. Resolving this tricky situation was made so much easier by access to reliable broadband in this remote region of the South Pacific. I’m pleased to report that Resolution made her way to Tahiti without assistance, where we saw her, some months later, ashore and awaiting her new rudder.

The ten days we spent snorkelling on Raroia were the perfect introduction to the Tuamotu. The warm water was gin clear and the coral perfectly adorned with an abundance of flora and fauna. We contacted a speedboat owner in the tiny town on the other side of the

* A metal clip or loop with a spring-loaded gate, similar to those on lifeharness tethers.

Resolution reefed down with half a rudder

atoll to collect a group of cruisers and take us to his home for a feast with music and dancing performed by his mates. Many days in paradise to cherish and remember.

Our next motu, Makemo, is the administration centre for ten of its smaller neighbours. Children and the sick travel there for schooling and healthcare. It boasts a population of 815, a fine cathedral, a few shops, a couple of restaurants and a very warm welcome to visitors. The whole community put on a church fundraising event on a Friday night which a few cruisers also attended. A fine feast followed the church service and droves of kids performed music and dancing late into the tropical night.

An OCC friend encountered a further danger that lurks in the Tuamotu. Having feasted for days on reef fish she succumbed to severe ciguatera poisoning, which made her very unwell for a few days and left her suffering with long-term neuropathic pain, fatigue and other neurological symptoms. A month later she recorded her first-hand account in an OCC Webinar that is now hosted on the OCC website at https://www.oceancruisingclub.org/webinars?ID=2738.

We reached Tahanea, some 80 miles further west, after an uneventful overnight sail followed by an easy pass to negotiate. We slid through the rushing waters at first light and dropped the anchor in the clear shallows of an uninhabited paradise. Once again we floated our chain and dropped overboard to admire the many bommies from below the water. A short dinghy ride took us back into the pass where we drifted effortlessly with the current watching the technicolour corals and marine critters shoot past.

Raroia

Ruffian on passage between Raroia and Makemo

We liked Tahanea’s isolation so much that we stayed for a week. A few other cruisers were anchored nearby, which proved lucky when our nearest neighbour, Matilda (OCC), retrieved our dinghy at 0600 after it mysteriously untied itself. It’s always embarrassing to lose a dinghy, but we were relieved by how commonly this happens when others shared their confessions.

We thought we had the perfect window to move further west. The plan was a slow, 50-mile overnight sail to Fakarava’s South Pass, which would allow us to transit at slack water in good daylight. All forecasts and forecasters agreed that we would arrive at the entrance with flat seas and wind speeds of less than 10 knots and we set out with confidence.

Just 15 miles from our destination things started to go wrong when the wind picked up out of nowhere. We thought it was a squall and would soon pass, but it did not. As the wind built, the seas turned white and confused and our destination looked increasingly dangerous. Fakarava’s South Pass was now an exposed lee shore and the prospect of negotiating the narrow tidal pass with 40 knots of wind did not appeal. We altered course to sail a further 35 miles to the North Pass, but the tidal planning didn’t work. To enter at slack water and in daylight we would have to sit out the storm at sea. Accordingly, we hove to and retreated below to let Shimshal cope with the wind and the angry ocean whilst news pinged in via WhatsApp of the challenging time friends were having in their anchorages in nearby atolls. A hardy couple, with circumnavigations and a Northwest Passage transit to their credit, came close to losing their boat when their Tahanea anchorage turned into a dangerous lee shore lashed by 50 knot winds. Many dragged and a few went aground losing yet more rudders to South Pacific coral.

Shimshal rode the waves without drama and her crew survived without sea sickness. By dawn the next day the winds had started to abate and we closed the North Pass in tranquil conditions. Our OCC friends on Yaghan had been monitoring our progress overnight by AIS and told us of a plumb anchoring spot next to them. We hurried to it and dropped our anchor in 8m just off the harbour at Rotoava.

Shanti 3 on passage between Makemo and Tahanea

The supply ship leaving Fakarava

Everyone in the anchorage had been chastened by the storm-force conditions that had caught us all out. Normally the active weather cells in the Tuamotu are on a small scale, but the one that had just passed had been several hundred kilometres in diameter and had developed within a few hours. Its power had been drawn from the sea temperature differential between the deep ocean and shallow water of the atoll lagoons. Nobody had seen it coming and many had weathered it in unsuitable and unsafe anchorages. Though we didn’t appreciate it at the time, we were lucky to have been at sea.

Fakarava is one of the most developed atolls in the archipelago and we were soon ashore enjoying fine food at a harbour-side restaurant with Anders and Nilla of Yaghan, with whom we have had many encounters during our Pacific passage. The supply ships had visited recently and, unlike on many of the other islands, fresh baguettes and croissants were abundant. Even eggs were available if we joined the queue at exactly 7am on Wednesday!

Undoubtedly the highlight of our stay on Fakarava was the incomparable diving. We dived and snorkelled both passes and delighted in the appropriately named ‘Wall of Sharks’. A magical underwater world.

After a fortnight on Fakarava we resumed our westward journey intending to visit Toau, Rangiroa and Tikehau, but the weather had no regard for our plans. Soon after we had hooked up to a mooring

Sally and Simon in Fakarava North Pass

Shimshal at Fakarava south anchorage

in Toau’s False Pass we received news of another South Pacific weather phenomenon starting to develop. A ‘squash zone’ forms when an intensifying region of high pressure snuggles up alongside a low-pressure system, compressing the isobars between them. To our south a vicious winter low was spinning off New Zealand and, further east, a high-pressure system was forecast to intensify to 1045hPa*. The combined systems were forecast to drive enhanced trade winds of at least 30 knots. With a haul-out deadline looming we took the advice of John Martin, OCC member and weather forecaster based in New Zealand, and selected a slot to sail to Huahine in the Society Islands before the squash zone had properly formed.

Soon all the WhatsApp chatter was of where to sit out the forecast 10-day blow. Our OCC friends aboard Pacific Wind and Matilda, moored next to us, decided to head for Apataki and a known safe haven. On the evening before our departure for Huahine, Valentine and Gaston, the sole occupants of Toau, barbecued a gourmet supper for four boats from freshly caught lobster. At first light the next day Sally and I slipped our last Tuamotu mooring and began a boisterous 300-mile passage to the Society Islands. The squash zone materialised as forecast, and we sat it out on a comfortable Huahine mooring whilst the winds blew for ten days with gusts to 40 knots. Our time in the Tuamotu had been truncated by the weather but our experiences of the ‘Dangerous Archipelago’, both above and below the water, had exceeded our expectations. Our enjoyment of these tiny coral specks in the vastness of the South Pacific was enhanced by sharing so many anchorages with a small fleet of fellow OCC boats that we had come to know since entering the Pacific. Many of that fleet will be spending the cyclone season in French

* hectoPascals (hPa), more often referred to as millibars (mb).

Gaston cooking lobster at Toau

Polynesia and will resume their onward journey to Australia and New Zealand in 2025. Shimshal is now laid up ashore in the Society Islands and we will rejoin that NZ-bound fleet in 2025.

Cruising notes

2024 was a very busy year in French Polynesia, with unprecedented numbers of boats converging there from North, Central and South America. There is talk of imposing anchoring bans and mandating the use of moorings to preserve coral and prevent overcrowding. There appears to be no prospect of increasing the number of moorings, however, so there is uncertainty about how cruisers will fare in Polynesia in the future. These issues are more acute in the Society Islands, but there are already unenforced restrictions and charges in Fakarava’s Rotoava anchorage and other popular atolls in the Tuamotu.

An expanding cruising population strains the supply of groceries in remote islands, where supply ships are infrequent and their schedules sometimes disrupted, and occasionally cruisers would comment on the need to be quick to seize the newly-arrived fresh produce without giving a thought to the requirements of the local people. We also came across some boats without holding tanks, whose crew thought it acceptable to discharge sewerage directly into an idyllic lagoon. Not a great way to endear cruisers to either locals or the authorities...

The crowded eastern Pacific, 7th April 2024

Electronic charts in the Tuamotu are now superaccurate and the ability to

overlay satellite images via Starlink or by building .KAP files dramatically improves the safety of navigation within the lagoons. Many blogsites (such as www.S/VSoggyPaws*) offer downloads of tracks, compendiums of information and .KAP files, but don’t forget that the OCC has its own database of cruising information at https://cruisinginfo.oceancruisingclub.org, shared with the Royal Cruising Club and the RCC Pilotage Foundation.

* See Using Satellite Imagery with OpenCPN by Sherry & Dave McCampbell in Flying Fish 2023/2.

A ketch that ended up on the reef

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, letters and recipes. Most articles need a short intro – who you are, who you were sailing with, the type and size of boat, etc – and they should all be headed by a TITLE and the author’s name (or names, of course).

Please ensure that all place, personal and boat names are spelt correctly, including in the captions, and tell me if you’re sending the same piece elsewhere, inside or outside the OCC. Finally, please be aware that, in common with commercial publications, Flying Fish has an established ‘house style’ and all articles will be edited to comply with this.

LENGTH: no more than 4000 words. A few articles of up to 6000 words may also be accepted, but only by prior agreement. Such articles must describe a challenging cruise covering considerable distance, illustrated by outstanding photographs. It is not a licence to waffle!

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Please include a list of captions, including any photo credits, in the order the photos should appear in the text. Something 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. Finally, to make my job really easy and lessen the chance of possible mistakes, please drop the captions (in red) into the text in the relevant places.

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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.

DEADLINE: This has been brought forward to 1st SEPTEMBER to enable me to meet the printers’ mid-November deadline. Extensions will be made where possible but only by prior agreement. The issue may close early if it becomes full.

For more information please e-mail me on flying.fish@oceancruisingclub.org.

Anne Hammick, Editor

NAVIGATING THE WORLD ~ AND BEYOND The work of the Royal Institute of Navigation

Cynthia Robinson, Past President

(All photographs courtesy of the Royal Institute of Navigation unless otherwise credited.)

Captain James Cook and Captain Matthew Flinders are two of the world’s most famous navigators from the Royal Navy, with voyages spanning the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Neither had a seafaring heritage and both worked hard to gain a command. Cook’s achievements are perhaps the better recognised worldwide, whereas those of Flinders are most celebrated and fêted in the continent he circumnavigated – and named – Terra Australis.

Two hundred years after he was tragically murdered in Hawaii, Captain Cook’s name was immortalised in stone in Westminster Abbey. In contrast, in July 2024 Captain Flinders was reburied in his home village of Donington, Lincolnshire, not far from England’s East Coast. He had previously been buried in a plot on the then northern outskirts of London, in an overspill graveyard belonging to St James’s, Piccadilly. The area was subsequently repurposed as St James’s Gardens, a neighbour to busy Euston railway station, and it was in January 2019 that his grave was found during excavations for the HS2 railway. I felt exceptionally privileged to represent the Royal Institute of Navigation, as the last task of my three-year Presidency, at the recent service for the re-interment of Captain Flinders.

In keeping with the majority of the RIN’s 2000 members, I was introduced to this

The author at the reinterment service for Captain Matthew Flinders fascinating organisation through a personal recommendation. In my case it was Bill Anderson, then Training Manager at the Royal Yachting Association, who advised that, as I had secured all the RYA Yachtmaster qualifications (except Examiner, which came a few years later), membership of the RIN would be a useful ‘next step’ to extend my nautical knowledge. Perhaps I should add that the RIN offers a range of membership grades, with the most prestigious being Fellow. This affords the use of the post nominals FRIN to people who have made a significant contribution to the development of navigation, whether maritime, land-based or relating to air or space.

At the other end of the scale there is an extremely attractive membership fee structure for young people as they start to gain knowledge and experience in their careers or in practical navigation. Although based in London, the RIN’s reach stretches worldwide and beyond, as demonstrated in 2021 when its annual award for Outstanding Technical Achievement was presented to NASA in recognition of the innovative autonomous navigation system that enabled a series of successful flights on Mars by their

Ingenuity ‘helicopter’. In those dark days of the pandemic the majority of interactions were online, but nevertheless HRH The Princess Royal congratulated and chatted to the winner.

The world-renowned Journal of Navigation is published by the RIN. It was none other than Mike Richey, famous singlehanded transatlantic sailor of the 25ft junk-rigged Jester, who established the RIN, worked as its Director for 35 years and launched its Journal. It was with great sadness that Anne Hammick and I both attended Mike’s funeral in Brighton in January 2010. He had been an OCC member for 44 years. The next time Anne and I met was on the very happy occasion of the RIN’s 75th anniversary celebration in London, a magnificent dinner at the General Lighthouse Authority’s Trinity House in early 2023. Guests from near and far, and from all disciplines, were entertained by the wise words and amusing anecdotes of long-term RIN member, and OCC Honorary member, Sir Robin Knox-Johnston.

The late, great navigator and sailor Mike Richey, who established the RIN in 1947

Personally, I value the RIN for a number of reasons. Firstly, it has a wide variety of Special Interest Groups (SIGs), ranging from building the skills of sailors, pilots and people who enjoy outdoor adventure, to human factors and wayfinding in buildings such as airports and hospitals (cognitive navigation), animal navigation, and military and corporate initiatives in satellite communications, to providing advice to the UK government on securing critical national infrastructure against natural and criminal activity.

Secondly, the RIN offers networking opportunities par excellence. Whether I am navigating an ocean or the Solent, I want to know what actions the officer on the bridge of a tanker is considering so I can factor these into my own options under the International Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea. To my mind there is no better way to learn than to chat and network with the captains and pilots of the ships at RIN events in order to understand what challenges they are facing. I always remember one captain asking me why yachties always choose white sails as he explained these merge so perfectly with a rough seascape as to make the yacht disappear entirely. We have also discussed autonomous vessels, which are already in use in survey work, plus the progressive adoption of autonomous vehicles and aircraft systems.

Sir Robin Knox-Johnston FRIN arrives at Trinity House for the RIN’s 75th anniversary dinner

UK Government Minister Andrew Griffith addresses RIN members at the AGM in June 2024

Thirdly, as the RIN is a Learned Society, it is an excellent source of information, whether via seminars, webinars, conferences, its Journal or its popular magazine, Navigation News . If my enthusiasm has whetted your appetite, have a look at the RIN’s website at www.rin.org.uk. There you will find details of the activities of all the SIGs plus forthcoming events, webinar recordings and past issues of Navigation News.

The Small Craft Group attracts the greatest number of members and runs annually alternating conferences on ‘Electronic Navigation’ and ‘Weather and Sailing’. The winter 2023 Electronic Navigation conference was held at the Cruising Association’s HQ in London, followed in November this year by a Weather and Sailing event at the Royal Yacht Squadron, Cowes. Space permitting, non-members are generally welcome to attend RIN meetings, although members receive the benefit of advance notice of these popular events plus lower attendance fees.

The Small Craft Group works closely with the UK’s Maritime and Coastguard Agency, the RYA, the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, the UK Hydrographic Office (UKHO) and Trinity House among others. The Group is currently working on two major initiatives. The first is an update of their incredibly popular 2020 publication Electronic Navigation Systems –Guidance for Safe Use on Leisure Vessels , edited by OCC member Jane Russell. This booklet outlines the pros and cons of electronic charts and can be purchased from the RIN as a paper version or downloaded free of charge from the website. The RYA promotes it to all their Yachtmaster students.

Sir Ian McNaught, former Captain of the QE2, talks about some of his experiences

Attendees at the RIN’s triennial Animal Navigation Conference in 2023

A bigger project for the Small Craft Group is to chair the multi-agency Pleasure Vessel Navigation Systems Working Group. Following several revisions of the Group’s recommendations, in 2023 the RIN submitted to the UK Safety of Navigation Committee its Suggested Core Standards for Electronic Charts and Display Systems for Leisure Vessels, with a view to moving towards recognition of such systems for navigation. The proposals are now being considered by the International Hydrographic Organisation and its members around the world. The essence of the proposals is to recommend the standards required for electronic charts when paper charts are finally withdrawn worldwide by national hydrographic offices. This initiative is considerably more complex than might at first be assumed. The UKHO has printed paper charts for centuries, many with soundings taken on Captain Cook’s voyages. Although paper charts remain the first choice for many sailors, over the years we have seen these morph into Raster (facsimile) and Vector (multi-layer) presentations for electronic display. You will have noticed, however, that the first screen states: ‘Not to be used for Navigation’. This is included because no standards currently exist for the production of such charts. Have you ever noticed that different publishers use different colours for shoal waters? Is this sensible?* Large commercial ships are mandated to use bulky Electronic Chart Display and Information System (ECDIS) equipment, using standardised charts that have to be displayed on standardised hardware (with an entire second provision to afford full redundancy should the first display fail). The Sea Fish Authority produced a Mini-ECDIS version which has less stringent requirements and the option of a portable system as a backup.

What yacht or small commercial vessel has the space or battery capacity to accommodate two high-spec ECDIS units instead of paper charts? In consequence, different companies have developed a variety of single display screens and software for the ‘sub-ECDIS’ (including yachts

* Imray Laurie Norie & Wilson were the first to produce coloured charts, well before any national hydrographic office, and chose the logical sequence of mid-blue for deeper water, pale blue for shallows, yellow for inter-tidal and green for land. Those who followed chose to opt for different combinations, hence the UKHO’s white for deeper water, light blue for medium depths, dark blue for shallows, green for inter-tidal and yellow for land.

The view from the bridge during an RIN visit to Southampton Solent University’s simulator

and boats) market. Another very significant consideration is that hydrographic offices do not necessarily own the data they include on the paper charts published in their name, so are unable to sell it on to commercial software developers. The information may have been gathered, and still be owned, by third parties such as independent harbours or privately-owned rivers. A further challenge is that in some areas of the world there is a paucity of coastal data suitable for the leisure market. It has been reported to the RIN that some of the skippers on superyachts (which are mandated to use ships’ ECDIS displays) are relying on unregulated mobile phone software to enter secluded anchorages that have scant depth data as these are of no relevance to large ships. Members of the OCC will be well aware of the importance of accurate soundings for precision navigation. Moving from the medium of sea to air brings the additional challenges of ensuring safe vertical and horizontal separation from other users despite the fast closing speeds of the moving targets. While the trajectories of jets in airways are carefully monitored and adjusted by air traffic controllers, lower airspace in the UK is set to become ‘integrated’. Currently, it is ‘segregated’, which means that drones and uncrewed aircraft systems are afforded their own time-limited blocks of airspace. Regulators in the USA and European continent plan to continue with segregation, but those in the UK, with its relatively small area of increasingly crowded skies, seek to ensure that every drone, helicopter and small aeroplane knows exactly where it is at all times in three dimensions. Small aeroplanes tend to fly in straight lines and although drones may try to do so, the latter do not yet have the capacity to carry enough hardware to be accurate in their 3D positioning.

Navigation equipment on autonomous aircraft must be improved before commercial flights are allowed in busy airspace

The author enjoying some useful training

Although GPS (or, more correctly, Global Navigation Satellite Systems (GNSS) is considered by most leisure users to be very accurate, this is not always the case. Accuracy increases markedly when cross-checked by a ground station or a satellite that is ‘geostationary’ above a fixed point on the globe. The European Commission delivers an enhanced service called EGNOS (European Geostationary Navigation Overlay Service) which is so reliable that it delivers associated indemnity for precision aviation approaches. Such approaches are invaluable to helicopters and aeroplanes wishing to land in poor visibility at regional airports without ILS (Instrument Landing Systems) infrastructure. Unfortunately, the UK lost the associated EGNOS ‘Safety of Life’ indemnity after Brexit, which means that no commercial operator in the UK (whether in the air or on the sea) can benefit from the invaluable ‘extra insurance’ enjoyed by members of the European Union. Needless to say, the UK is searching for a solution to the problem.

In recent years the RIN has started offering professional registration through the Engineering Council for people specialising in Positioning, Navigation and Timing (PNT) disciplines, providing guidance and mentoring as the candidates work on their submissions. Quality control for the process is delivered by the Royal Aeronautical

The UK government’s Framework for Building PNT Resilience. Courtesy of the UK National PNT Office

Society (which itself supports aviation professionals through a similar process). The increasing need for training for the workplace has spawned a wide range of other Continuing Professional Development (CPD) initiatives and I am certain that this will become an area of very considerable growth for the RIN. Personally, during the 30 years of my own membership I have received an enormous amount of informal CPD in my principal disciplines of sailing and singleengine aviation and I should be delighted to see this area develop to attract and support more members. The RIN is already working with the UK Space Agency to provide a PNT training package for personnel working in the space industry.

Regrettably, wherever we may be on the planet we face an increasing threat from criminal and hostile state degradation or ‘spoofing’ of positioning signals from satellite systems. The tragic wars in Ukraine and Gaza have led to thousands of reports of the positions of aeroplanes and seagoing vessels being incorrect, perhaps relocated on display screens hundreds of miles from their known positions. The world is facing a massive escalation of such spoofing. There is also the possibility that solar flares, correctly termed Coronal Mass Ejections, may destroy some satellite capability and even electronic systems on the ground. Solar activity of this type is due to peak in 2025, but some comfort may be taken from the fact that the last massive burnout of electrical equipment on the surface of the earth was recorded as long ago as 1859!*

HRH The Princess Royal, Patron of the RIN, chats to Admiral Lord West of Spithead at the 75th Anniversary reception held at St James’s Palace

Many businesses are acting to reduce cyber threats to their IT systems, but few appreciate how easy it is for criminals to scupper the GNSS signals to their transportation and logistics provisions and timed financial transactions. It is thought that this complacency might be because GNSS and similar signals are ‘free to use’, accurate in principle and contribute in a positive manner to so many aspects of our daily lives. In August 2023 the UK’s National Risk Register included, for the first time, the risk of a loss of positioning and timing services. Two months later the UK was fêted worldwide when it launched what is believed to be the first state PNT Office to tackle the potential lack of resilience in global satellite signals; their first publication was Government Policy Framework for Greater Position, Navigation and Timing (PNT) Resilience. Several of the RIN’s PNT experts contributed to this work and, indeed, wrote the White Paper publication Preparing for a Loss of Position and Timing for the UK’s National Preparedness Commission which was published at much the same time. In 2024 the RIN commenced a government-funded initiative to develop guidance on how Critical National Infrastructure can improve its resilience to potential positioning and timing aberrations or spoofing. This is due for publication in 2025.

* See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carrington_Event.

The author at the RIN’s European Navigation Conference 2024 held at the European Space Agency

The Royal Institute of Navigation is honoured that, on the first anniversary of her brother’s coronation, HRH The Princess Royal accepted King Charles III’s invitation to become Patron. Their father, the late Duke of Edinburgh, was Patron for almost 70 years and was even present at the RIN’s inaugural dinner in 1947. The RIN team looks forward to keeping Her Royal Highness, who is a keen sailor, apprised of future exciting developments in navigating the world and beyond.

Although the RIN benefits from the work of excellent employees, the staff team is very small. The reason it is able to punch above its weight so impressively is the voluntary contribution of its members. It is a charity as well as a Learned Society, with trustees who are elected to sit on the RIN Council for three-year terms. This Council comprises skilled individuals with a wide range of knowledge and expertise – one of the newest members is the ‘Natural Navigator’ Tristan Gooley, several of whose books have been reviewed in Flying Fish. Similarly, all the RIN’s SIGs are run by committees of volunteers and the technical programmes for the RIN’s conferences are planned and delivered by volunteers.

The RIN’s reach extends well beyond UK shores. It is a key member of the European Group of Institutes of Navigation which runs the annual European Navigation Conference (ENC). In my role of RIN President I had the privilege of attending this conference in both 2023 and 2024, at the magnificent venue of the European Space Agency in the Netherlands. The annual ENC conference is hosted by different institutes (the RIN hosted it in 2024) and attracts over 300 delegates. The RIN is keen to work with increasing numbers of partners in more countries and is happy to guide and support members who would like to run an RIN event or visit to a place of particular interest.

I hope I have managed to pique your interest in the RIN. It is a truly fascinating and absorbing organisation and one with impressive loyalty amongst its members. There is no doubt that everyone in the OCC has an interest in practical navigation and so is eligible to join the RIN. You may also be a keen astro-navigator, someone who is fascinated by emerging technology, the development of international navigation standards, the reliability and accuracy of satellite signals or what actions ships’ captains are considering when encountering yachts. Why not join us? You’ll be in for a treat. Have a look at the breadth of the RIN’s work at www.rin.org. uk or send an e-mail enquiry to the RIN team at admin@rin.org.uk

To have an efficient surveying service you must have a high sense of duty in the surveyors, or the work will be scamped ... You must have a higher sense of duty than is necessary for ordnance surveyors or civilian ones; they cannot wreck ships and drown people, and marine surveyors can; their work lives after they are dead, and their capacity for producing wrecks lasts till the place is re-surveyed.

Sir John (Jackie) Fisher, First Sea Lord, Naval Necessities, 20th October 1904

SAILING THE SEAS LESS TRAVELLED Curtis Jazwiecki

(Visit www.sweetruca.com to learn more about Curtis, Kate and their J/46 Sweet Ruca and watch their Patagonian adventures on YouTube.

Many of the places mentioned in the early part of this article appear on the chartlet on page 120. Photos by Kate Gladieux.)

When we set out to sail around the world via Cape Horn we had little knowledge of what we were getting ourselves into, even though Kate and I were experienced racing sailors from the USA’s Midwest. We both grew up sailing on the Great Lakes. Kate started in Optimists and Thistles, winning a Junior National Championship and later becoming an instructor with US Sailing. I cruised with my parents on Lake Erie from a young age, before moving on to racing both one-design and offshore, culminating in an overall win of the Chicago to Mackinac Race on the Great Lakes, sailing as navigator with Kate as a helmswoman. Cruising sailors, we were not, at least not at the beginning. Anchors, dodgers and refrigerators were outside our sailing vocabulary. We quickly became hooked on the lifestyle, however, after spending a month cruising through Lake Huron’s spectacular North Channel and Georgian Bay on a spartan J/105.

When I was young I read tales of the Whitbread and Vendée Globe races in my father’s sailing magazines. What lodged in my head were not visions of palm trees and tropical islands, but towering waves of streaking foam attempting to overcome grimacing sailors in oilskins while water washed the decks clean. Even so, something drew me to this challenging route. When we left Newport, RI I thought I knew what it was, but later I would learn there is much more to southern latitudes than screaming down frigid waves to go around a rock! Now, at anchor again in the crystal blue waters of Rikitea, part of French Polynesia’s Gambier archipelago, I can look back at the experience gained sailing a route around the bottom of the Americas. It is more than a sailing accomplishment. Becoming closer to nature and spending time amongst cultures that live very simple and remote lives is what resonates most with me about this journey. It has changed my perspective.

Sailing Cape Horn and the Canals of Patagonia

The tales of rough usage are for the most part exaggerations, as also are the tales of sea danger. Joshua Slocum

This quote by one of sailing’s most famous authors sums up our thoughts on sailing in this area. Don’t read this wrong – the passage is fraught with challenges and no place for beginners.

Kate and Curtis at Caleta Alakush off Paso Darwin

The obligatory Cape Horn rounding photo

The forces of nature will brutally punish mistakes and there is no one to call for help. It is not an easy place for yachts, but this is also the draw. With the advantage of a well-prepared boat, an experienced crew, proper planning, local knowledge passed on from other sailors and today’s improved weather forecasting, most of the area’s dangers can be avoided. As described in the books, there are still 70 knot williwaws (violent squalls), snow storms, uncharted areas and ice to sail through. However, with proper planning, careful navigation and waiting for weather windows, these dangers can be mitigated. The place to gain local sailing knowledge is the Micalvi Yacht Club and Cedena Sailing School in Puerto Williams, Chile. Here, a mixture of newcomers, seasoned Cape Horners and Antarctic adventurers come together in what may be the ultimate high-latitude sailing brotherhood. OCC Port Officer Representative Captain Eduardo Cruz Donoso and his compatriots teach the next generation of young Chilean sailors in Optimists and Lasers, as well as sharing their knowledge with cruising sailors arriving from all corners of the world, many of whom leave their flags on the hallowed deckhead and bulkheads of the Micalvi.

and Curtis

The interior and bar of Club Yate de Micalvi showing the flags left by sailors from around the world. We recognised many other OCC boats

Kate

on the foredeck of the Micalvi at Puerto Williams

Sweet Ruca at anchor in front of the Seno Pia glacier

After leaving Puerto Williams we were very much on our own for the next 600 miles in the cold and icy Beagle Channel. This is perhaps the most awe-inspiring and challenging section of the passage. Towering mountains and glaciers dramatically meet the deep fjords in an intimidating but beautiful way. Due to the dangers and inaccuracies of the charts one should only sail during the day and take refuge in one of the many well-protected notches by evening. Conditions can change quickly and strong gusts materialise from almost any direction, so every night we secured Sweet Ruca with both the anchor and four 100m shore lines.

Waiting out a storm in Caleta Brecknock

Entering the uncharted ‘shortcut’ of Paso Auguila

Glacier Pio Xi unleashed a sea of bergy bits in Canal Wide, many of them larger than our boat

The climate is driven by large storms that continually roll through the southern ocean, but it is possible to take advantage of some very beautiful and sunny days between weather systems. On days with no wind, the silence is only interrupted by the sounds of falcon wings moving through the still air and glaciers cracking in the distance.

Moving northwards through the canals, the Beagle Channel meets the Strait of Magellan and the scenery begins to change from snow caps above the tree line to barren, windswept rocks as the storms moving across the South Pacific crash into the shores of Chile with uninterrupted force.

Our next stop and encounter with civilisation would be the remote village of Puerto Eden, where the last of Chile’s indigenous Kawéskar people still reside. This is a place where the changing times are apparent. Once a disconnected village that thrived on local artisanal fishing, the shift toward the influence of tourism and technology is evident in buildings associated with the cruise ship industry and Starlink. The village’s sole diesel generator still turns off every evening, and when the lights go out the feeling of wilderness returns.

We again set sail north, through the Messier Channel towards Chile’s next big challenge. The Golfo de Penas (meaning gulf of distress) separates Patagonia’s fjords from north to south and is the gatekeeper of the southern canals. The compulsory journey into the heavy seas of

Puerto Eden

Caleta Sisquelan at the entrance to Laguna San Rafael

this area must be timed carefully as the winds, waves and currents can damage even the largest of ships, as evidenced by the wreck of HMS Wager which lies near its entrance (visit https:// en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS_Wager_(1739) for the full story). This area is perhaps even more challenging than Cape Horn itself.

Once into Patagonia’s northern section one feels much safer and free to explore. Fuel, food and civilisation are now in reach if needed. We enjoyed this area very much, deciding to double back and spend another summer taking in the glaciers, hot springs, hikes and, most importantly, the kindness of the local people. While they still live a remote lifestyle, they are beginning to create a good network for eco-tourism. Perhaps this area, between the Golfo de Penas and Puerto Montt and including the beautiful island of Chiloé, is the best of both worlds and may give the sailor all that is required if Patagonia is on the bucket list.

This area’s resounding beauty and culture is only interrupted by the influence of commercial fishfarming. These aircraft carrier-sized complexes, which run diesel generators 24/7 and fill the sky with light, are to be found in almost every nook and cranny. After months in the pristine southern fjords surrounded by nature, we began to see the sad effects and pollution of these behemoths. The impact of mankind’s consumption and industry is stunning and intense.

After so many miles in harsh sailing conditions, the boat needed a bit of refurbishment to prepare for the

Puerto Montt’s Club Reloncavi. Much has changed since the cruising guides were published

4000+ mile jaunt to our next destination, another of the world’s remote places, the Gambier archipelago. In Puerto Montt we checked and refreshed maintenance items on the boat – standing and running rigging, autopilots, sails, safety items and engine, and replenished our provisions for the forthcoming passage. We also met many local Chilean sailors who were wonderful hosts and became great friends.

Venturing Across the Pacific Ocean

After enduring the difficult climate of southern Chile for so long we were looking forward to a change of scenery and temperature. Even so, it was difficult to leave not only the beautiful mountains but also the kind people whom we had met in our wake. We were ready for palm trees and coconuts again, but what we would find at our next destination would once again exemplify the kindred spirit of those who live a remote lifestyle.

The French Polynesian archipelago of Gambier and the island of Mangareva were set firmly in our Expedition routeing software. The passage turned out to be 23 days of non-stop sailing, skipping Easter Island and Pitcairn due to weather conditions that would have made landing there impossible. The weather was poor – cloudy and rainy with large swells. What we had hoped would be warm-water spinnaker sailing for days on end in a deep blue ocean was not the case! Beam seas of grey and white crashed onto the deck as we reached away from the mainland at speed under reefed sails. Occasionally we would have respite, the sun would come out and we could set the gennaker again. Easy sailing was always short-lived, however, as the stormy weather pushing up from the south returned and the kite was doused once more.

We spent the final week of our passage under a heavily-reefed main with little or no headsail as we ran in seas of more than 3m and winds gusting into the 30s day in and day out. A large breaking wave sheared an internal pin in our autopilot ram requiring us to switch to our spare unit, and at one point we decided to get our unused storm jib out to balance the boat and limit flogging of the genoa while surfing, all while keeping speeds under control and at a cruising rather than racing pace. I usually want to go faster, but this was one of those occasions when slowing down was prudent.

Testing out the storm jib to slow the boat down on the way to the Gambier archipelago

Arriving in French Polynesia

Exhausted by the fast, wet trip, we made landfall in Gambier early in the morning. The steep peaks jutted from the sea and were a welcome sight after the long and rough passage. Entering the western pass over a visible coral reef contrasted with the endless blue we had been sailing through for almost a month. Few boats venture to this remote archipelago roughly 800 miles

The view from the top of Mount Duff, overlooking the harbour of Rikitea

south-southeast of the Marquesas and we were the only ones flying the OCC burgee. The cruisers that do make it here are a very diverse group from all points on the globe and many were on their second circumnavigation. Visitors to the islands are blessed to experience this unique place, home of the black pearl, and are also well positioned for a downwind passage through the less visited portions of the Tuamotu atolls.

Rikitea, surrounded by an internal reef and again by the outer islands, is a great place to relax and take in the local culture while enjoying essentially the same views as the ships that arrived here hundreds of years ago. The islanders are friendly and welcoming to cruisers and the economy is still supported mainly by pearl farming and not yet overrun by tourism. It is wonderful to see how the cruisers who arrive tend to blend with and adopt the local culture and language. There were many family boats with children attending the local school. Youngsters played football (soccer) in the streets and the social activity amongst the adults included dinners of local fish and grilled chicken while exchanging stories between islanders and cruisers. While not apparent at first glimpse, the Polynesians, some of the world’s original ocean voyagers, have much in common with the cruisers who arrive here. Living in close harmony with the environment around them, there is an unsaid understanding that the ocean is a great equaliser.

We spent our time in the Gambier archipelago sailing the majestic outer islands and exploring uncharted coves. There are uninhabited islands such as you might see on a postcard, but they can still be fraught with danger and care must be taken as the outer reefs are still very wild, evidenced by a cruiser who was attacked by a shark while free-diving. With little medical care available on the island, he had to be flown to Tahiti by an emergency military medevac as civilian aeroplanes are not allowed to land on the airstrip after dark.

As we sailed through the Tuamotus on our way to Tahiti it was apparent that, in these remote places, material goods and possessions are not what make a person wealthy. Here, riches are not shown in dollars and cents in a conventional way but in smiles, family, friendship and congregation. When we left the USA to cruise and sail around the world via Cape Horn, I thought it was about checking boxes – the 1000-mile box to join the OCC, sailing around famous bits of land, gathering stamps in a passport, etc. Now, we know better. What we have found aboard Sweet Ruca after all these miles in far-flung places is that cruising is an adventure into the human spirit. It is a way to connect more deeply with people and nature. Travelling this less-trodden route via yacht has allowed us to gain new perspectives and has introduced us to new and diverse experiences, people and cultures. We can also share a new-found wealth of knowledge with other sailors and those we meet ashore. The road less travelled is undoubtedly a bit more difficult but is a path worthy of the choice.

BOSUN’S BAG: A Treasury of Practical Wisdom for the Traditional Boater – Tom Cunliffe. Published in hard covers by Adlard Coles [www.bloomsbury. com] at £25.00. 176 184mm x 248mm pages with many illustrations. 978-1-3994-1189-9

This is a delightful book. Buy it!

Tom Cunliffe’s easy, rolling style makes it difficult to just dip into this book without the eye being caught by another nugget of seagoing wisdom across the page. Meanwhile, Martin Mackrill’s delightful pen and ink, and full colour, illustrations lift the whole ensemble to another level. Lastly, at 7½” by 10”, the size and feel of the book is just right and I like the tough, modern, hardback format, with no need for a superfluous dust-jacket but with the physical presence to sit proudly amongst the best on the bookshelf. Of course it does sit alongside Tom’s other, similar volume, Hand, Reef and Steer, but the contents are more lyrical, as well as being equally practical. Not too much from the earlier work is repeated and it comfortably follows the noble line of Claud Worth’s Yacht Cruising, Eric Hiscock’s Cruising Under Sail and, to a lesser extent, the collected volumes by Francis B Cooke, all brought up to date.

Few serious cruising yachtsmen will be unaware of Tom Cunliffe’s larger-than-life literary style. This book is a master-class in using his apparently endless supply of salty anecdotes to illustrate the numerous points of technical wisdom it contains. As usual the main heroines of these tales are his beloved ‘real’ converted pilot cutter Hirta, her Colin Archer predecessor Saari and the Nigel Irens Westernman. The seamanship practised aboard these three classic gaff cutters was generally exemplary, and one of the basic techniques of setting up the sheeting and handling of a cutter’s foretriangle on the wind is beautifully explained here. Apart from basic traditional seamanship, really excellent discussions of numerous subjects such as the use of guardrails and their necessity, the use of boom gallows and how to achieve a proper, traditional, harbour stow of the stays’l are covered. Tom manages to avoid being too dogmatic and has a happy knack of explaining exactly why certain jobs aboard are done in certain ways. Quite surprisingly, he discusses why he is, generally, in favour of securing ropes and lines with locking hitches. But his language is very carefully chosen and, as with a discussion on the essential necessity of flaking down a halyard, ready to run, he is wonderfully lucid.

Apart from the wider issues of seamanship, we are given a treatise on traditional bosunry, but including examples of updated thinking to make use of recently-developed materials. Welcome to the brave new world of Dyneema core line instead of stainless steel guard rails, with all their associated paraphernalia of swaged fittings, bottlescrews and so on. So this is no history lesson but a seriously rational and up-to-date way of looking after and handling your classic sailing yacht. I am a little older than Tom, and was also brought up sailing aboard ‘converted’ Bristol Channel pilot cutters, sailing trawlers and classic yachts. His description of ‘rattling down’ or creating a set of ratlines up the shrouds was generally impeccable, I thought, but the finishing touch of making sure the cross-over elements of the clove hitches on the central shroud are all formed running down aft was missing. I too used to live aboard for long periods from the 1960s onwards, and found that cutting paraffin lamp wicks straight across when trimming is not as effective as following the convex curve of the top of the burner. This method of trimming seems to last longer before sooting-up than if cut straight across.

The production of a piece of writing is a team effort because editors are necessary to bring about its eventual publication. Writers sometimes feel constrained by editorial demands, but what on earth were the editors and publishers thinking when they sub-titled this delightful book ‘for the traditional boater’! I refuse to believe that Tom Cunliffe willingly agreed to this outrageous piece of nonsense and I sincerely hope that it will be changed as soon as possible: what is wrong with the ‘traditional sailor’?

Buy the book anyway, it’s a cracking good read!

RR

CCA CRUISING GUIDE TO NEWFOUNDLAND – editors Doug & Dale Bruce, 2nd edition. Published in soft covers by the Cruising Club of America in 2023 at $64.95 / £54.47. Available in the US from Paradise Cay Publications [https://www.paracay.com/] and in the UK via Amazon. 280 203mm x 280mm pages, in full colour throughout. ISBN 978-1-7340-8635-5

Newfoundland, ‘The Rock’, is a cruiser’s, heaven combining a wonderful mix of isolated anchorages in secluded fjords, remote islands and secure government wharves in small fishing communities.

This guide has been written and updated based on first-hand accounts from experienced sailors covering over 400 anchorages, harbours and wharves. Perhaps because of the limited number of sailors visiting the entire island (or at least submitting pilotage information), only 81 locations have been updated based on visits since the previous, 2019, edition. Consequently, much of the written information remains as it was even though, given the remoteness of the locations and the impact of Covid, onshore facilities and access to them may have changed in the intervening years. Fortunately, the CCA website maintains a section dedicated to cruisers’ updates at https://cruisingclub.org/book/nfguide/updates which currently includes over 80 reports from 2022 that did not make this revision. Care should be taken when visiting any location with pre-2019 credits for its pilotage information.

Despite this, the guide provides a wealth of valuable data for any sailor visiting these waters. A general introduction is followed by eight sections covering separate cruising areas, starting on the south coast and working anti-clockwise around the island. The general information covers weather and satellite communications, and it is worth noting that while the weather forecast is updated four times a day, it is broadcast on a continuous loop and can therefore be accessed any time VHF services are available. In addition, ‘Starlink’ satellite services are now the system of choice for broadband by many commercial and recreational sailors in the area, albeit at a cost.

Several of the areas provide a season’s worth of cruising in their own right. These include, on the south coast, Fortune Bay and Placentia Bay (areas 2–3), and on the northeast coast Notre Dame Bay (area 6), with potential overwintering facilities at Lewisporte Marina. For remoteness and beauty the northern peninsula (area 7) is a must, especially if continuing north to Labrador.

Each main anchorage is accompanied by a simple Navionics chart and useful advice on approaches and shore facilities. Colour photographs give the reader an insight into this wonderful cruising area, where the people are always welcoming, helpful and friendly, the wildlife is amazing and anchorages stunning – frequently with no other yachts in sight!

Overall, the CCA Cruising Guide to Newfoundland provides a wealth of information about 408 anchorages, harbours, wharves and marinas around the island and is an essential reference book for anyone planning to visit ‘The Rock’.

MAURICE AND MARALYN: A Whale, a Shipwreck, a Love Story – Sophie Elmhirst. Published in hard covers by Chatto and Windus [www.penguin.co.uk/vintage] at £18.99. 262 215mm x 135mm pages but no illustrations of any kind. ISBN 978-1-7847-4492-2

The story of Maurice and Maralyn Bailey losing their boat in the Pacific Ocean when hit by a whale, and then spending 117 days in a liferaft towing a dinghy (actually 118 days and 8 hours, but the initial report of the duration stuck), is well known to cruisers who have been around for some time. Indeed, Maurice and Maralyn were OCC members and the principal guests at the 1974 Annual Dinner. Their own telling of their four-month ordeal was published in 1975 as 117 Days Adrift.

The author, a journalist and not a sailor, came across the story during the Covid pandemic when researching about people who choose to live on the water. She writes compellingly and, drawing on the Baileys’ own book, provides sufficient detail to engage the reader, eagerly wanting to know more. She starts with their decision to leave an austere 1970s England and sail to New Zealand. The building of their boat – a 31ft Golden Hind sloop named Auralyn –and preparation is well captured, including their fateful decision not to have any kind of radio transmitter. Having crossed the Atlantic and traversed the Panama Canal, on 4th March 1973, some 300 miles from the Galapagos, a whale struck Auralyn, punching a hole they could not staunch. They took to their liferaft, towing their dinghy packed with as much food, water and other essentials as they could load before Auralyn sank.

What comes next is the tale of survival, not only physically but also mentally and emotionally. The cruising reader is drawn in to their experiences and, although knowing the outcome, still has hopes raised and then dashed that they might be rescued by one of the six ships they saw before finally being taken aboard a South Korean fishing boat some 900 miles from where Auralyn had sunk. The remarkable fortitude of Maralyn is exemplified time and again in the descriptions of how they coped with adversity and how she maintained Maurice’s increasingly fragile morale. Once aboard the fishing boat Maurice said, “We made it”, to which Maralyn replied, “Now for Auralyn II and Patagonia”.

The final 100 pages describe their re-entry to a world fascinated by their experience, the warm welcome they received when visiting South Korea, writing their book, the receptions and awards, the alienation Maurice felt from English obsessions of the time and Maralyn’s determination to return to the sea.

They did sail again, for Patagonia in 1975, but this time with crew. It was not a happy vessel, as it seemed that only Maralyn could cope with Maurice. The book tells of Maralyn’s death in 2002 and the succeeding years that Maurice spent mourning her passing and essentially being lost without her. The love between them does emanate from the pages and the poignancy of the end of their life together is palpable.

Notwithstanding all this, there are disappointments in the book. There are no photographs of Maurice and Maralyn, their boats or when they were fêted in South Korea, the USA and the UK, and yet there are many in the archives. There are no charts to show where they went and the route of their liferaft. There is no index to enable easy revisiting of particular topics. These are not small omissions. Yet this is an engaging story, albeit from 50 years ago when cruising in small boats was so different from today, with GPS, EPIRBs and satellite communications. It is a story that you would not expect to hear in relation to cruisers today, but that’s not to say it couldn’t happen to some who venture out onto the ocean. PH

THE HALF BIRD – Susan Smillie. Published in hard covers by Michael Joseph (Penguin Random House) [www.penguin.co.uk/] at £16.99 (discounted on Amazon). 224 144mm x

222mm pages, with no illustrations other than a route map (not a chart) at the beginning.

ISBN 978-0-2415-5316-9

I was eager to buy and read Susan Smillie’s debut book. A former Guardian and now freelance journalist, Susan worked with the OCC pandemic response team to write an article about what cruisers were facing out there. Borders closed while people were at sea and they were not given permission to reprovision and refuel, even with children on board. She helped us get the word out that these cruisers were not superyachts with unlimited resources but mostly families or couples just living an alternative lifestyle with limited reserves. She interviewed our members and joined our Facebook groups to report their stories so politicians would understand their plight.

When I saw the cover of her book, The Half Bird, the artwork made me think that this would be a special read, and it is. It’s a story about Susan’s life and how events led her to an alternative lifestyle that would give her the freedom she craved and access to the strength she knew was lurking inside her.

After the death of her close cousin from cancer, the sudden loss of her brother in a car crash and the death of her mother, as well as a failed relationship and a brush with a brain haemorrhage, Susan realised she’d not find solace or fulfilment in a ‘normal’ career living day-to-day in a city. She’d lost her connection with nature, which left her empty. She’d worked hard to progress to editor by her 40s, but a course correction was needed.

When still a young girl she had asked her brother if she could use his dinghy, and he had given it to her. She learned sailing from a boyfriend with whom she remained close. Then she fell in love with a little sailing boat that she rescued from a boatyard in Scotland and decided she would learn to live aboard and singlehand Isean (a Scots Gaelic word meaning little bird or chick).

Susan takes you on the journey of her transformation from sleepwalking consumer to making do with what she has, having and wanting less as time goes on. As she does, she becomes emotionally stronger and less dependent on others. She sets off with occasional help from friends and alternates between settling down in a community and setting off on her own to remote anchorages she has all to herself.

Throughout her journey south to Spain and Portugal and into the Mediterranean she overcomes obstacles, deals with being a woman on her own and how people treat her, and makes many mistakes from which she learns. She analyses communities and the behaviour of their residents from the perspective of a journalist who has learnt to observe and interpret. She describes a terrifying night-time encounter with refugees fleeing Algeria.

With each new experience she becomes more sure of herself, happier within herself and more confident of her choices. She helps a friend who crossed a bad policeman who then turns on her. Then comes Covid and she cannot escape this place. She decides, as she isn’t allowed to sail, to build herself a shelter on land hidden in the natural elements away from the community. She lives like a castaway, making do with whatever floats into the cove. She reconnects with nature but is reminded of the fragility of her mobile life.

Smillie is a true cruiser. If she likes where she is, she stays put. If she doesn’t, she moves on. She lives every moment to its fullest – and teaches the reader that to find fulfilment you have first to let go. The Half Bird is beautifully written and easy to read. A tale of love and grief in a memoir that reads more like a novel. Part ocean-sailing travelogue, part journey of self-discovery, Susan takes us from Land’s End to Greece and from sorrow to joy. Along the way, she heals herself.

DOB

ULTIMATE SAILING ADVENTURES: 100 Epic Experiences on the Water – Miles Kendall, 2nd edition. Published in soft covers by Fernhurst Books [www.fernhurstbooks.com] at £20.00. 208 203mm x 260mm pages with over 100 colour photographs. ISBN 978-1-9126-2167-5

Ultimate Sailing Adventures, sub-titled 100 Epic Experiences on the Water, is quite a difficult book to categorise other than to say that it would make an excellent Christmas present coffee table book for your favourite sailor, whether of the active or the armchair variety. The problem, as it were, but primarily the delight of the book is in the variety of the experiences detailed. These cover all parts of the globe, from the UK and Europe, to the tropics, to the highest latitudes north and south. The level of difficulty varies too, from ‘simple’ (eating sushi at sea), through ‘moderate’ (going aloft under sail), to ‘extreme’ (sailing the Northwest Passage). Some adventures, such as ‘Wander the World in a Wayfarer’ span all difficulty levels, and for good reason!

So there is something here for each and every one of us to aspire to, whether looking for increasingly ‘out there’ challenges or to dial down the difficulty-level. There’s also a certain amusement value in seeing how many of one’s own voyages make it into the book. There are some adventures that one really wouldn’t want to try, no matter how gung-ho you are: ‘Survive in a Liferaft (for 117 days)’ and ‘Survive Pirates’ being two that spring to mind, and some that are beyond most people’s means and/or capability eg. ‘Race Around the World Non-Stop (in the Vendee Globe)’.

Many of them, however, or close variations thereof, could reasonably be on many a sailor’s bucket list: sail the tides in the Golfe du Morbihan, explore Thailand, cruise Turkey, follow a Caribbean cricket tour by boat, compete in the Round the Island Race to name but a few. And, since sailing encompasses such a wide variety of craft, the experiences in the book include a huge array of vessels too: from reed boats to foiling kiteboards and trimarans, from Viking ships and tall ships to cruising yachts and superyachts, from J-Class yachts to ice wingsurfers. The breadth of this sport we call sailing is breathtakingly well demonstrated which, in many ways, means it would be an interesting book for a non-sailor too. Can you imagine Ultimate Footballing Adventures working?

Each entry is beautifully illustrated with a full-page photograph opposite a few hundred words of lively text. I would imagine that the photographs are even more stunning on a computer screen, but the appeal of the paperback is the ease with which one can dip in and out. My only gripe, applicable to either format, is that the photographs are not captioned, maybe something that could be changed for the 3rd edition?

In summary, this is a lovely coffee table book, one with which it would be easy to while away a winter hour or two next to the fire, dreaming of sailing adventures. You may even find the germ of your next sailing escapade in its pages!

NSB

ADRIFT: The curious tale of the Lego Lost at Sea – Tracey Williams. Published in hard covers by Unicorn [www.unicornpublishing.org] at £15.99. 184 147mm x 210mm pages, in full colour throughout. ISBN 978-1-9134-9119-2

On one level this is a fascinating and visually attractive book about the ‘finds’ that Tracey Williams and her friends have made on the beaches of Cornwall and Devon over the past 27 years. Below the surface it is a commentary on the horrendous amount of plastic in even a small corner of the ocean.

In 1987 the Tokio Express lost 62 containers overboard southwest of Cornwall during a storm. One was filled with 4∙8 million pieces of Lego, en route from the company’s factory in Denmark to North America. Ironically, the majority of the tiny pieces were sea-themed –octopuses, divers’ tanks and flippers, yellow dinghies (incorrectly referred to as ‘liferafts’) and dozens of other items, some buoyant, some not. Initially the former washed up all round the coasts of Cornwall and Devon, sparking the author’s initial curiosity as she walked the nearby beaches with her family. Local children collected Lego by the bucketful, though these days it’s

much less common. Pieces identified as being from the Tokio Express have made it as far as Ireland, Cumbria and the Netherlands and possibly to the East Coast of the USA, though the provenance of these is less certain.

Lego pieces can often be dated quite accurately, thanks to active co-operation from the Lego Group, and ones which have been in the sea since the 1970s and ’80s allow scientists to estimate how much longer they might have survived – a sobering 100 to 1500 years, depending on size and chemical makeup.

From Lego the author widens her interest to all the (mainly plastic) detritus cast up on beaches the world over. Where does it all come from? Why do particular items ‘cluster’ in certain places as the Lego pieces clearly did? How do ocean currents distribute cargo spills around the world’s oceans? It is estimated that around 9∙5 million tonnes of plastic ends up in the sea every year, nearly 2 million of it directly from ships and fishing vessels. Much of it fragments into microplastics, some 270,000 tonnes having accumulated thus far. The vast majority of this has sunk to join tahe 1400 or so containers lost overboard each year – perhaps not as many as one might expect, seeing that around 6000 container ships are at sea at any one time, some carrying up to 25,000 containers.

Photos of the hundreds of items collected over the years by Tracey Williams and her friends, or dredged up by Cornish fishermen, while often rather pretty add emphasis to her statements. So does the 1∙7m (5∙5ft) Moai* created by Cornish sculptor Rob Arnold from ±500,000 pieces of plastic – including many Lego parts – collected from local beaches. Other flotsam (and, sadly, jetsam) to feature are disposable lighters – no mention of disposable vapes, but you can bet plenty are there – hose attachments, toothbrushes, those little plastic toys which we used to find in cereal packets, the lids from Smarties tubes (despite plastic lids having been discontinued nearly 20 years ago) ... the list is endless. This all happens to be in Cornwall, which is fringed by busy shipping lanes and has gales, a large tidal range and beaches in constant use in winter as well as summer, but it could be anywhere in the world that containers go AWOL.

ADRIFT: The curious tale of the Lego Lost at Sea is printed on high-quality matt paper, with an attractive dust jacket even though the book itself is completely anonymous on both cover and spine. It is illustrated by hundreds of eye-catching photos and half a dozen evocative (though apparently unattributed) watercolours of beach scenes and seascapes. The final pages carry ‘beachcombers’ bingo’ quizzes, ‘the ingredients for plastic soup’, a whole page of plastic hair rollers and a slightly macabre page of ‘body parts’ (from dolls, of course). It concludes with a glossary, a page of FAQs, a bibliography (mainly books and scientific papers) and a long list of ‘useful websites’.

Of obvious appeal to Lego lovers of all ages, Adrift will also intrigue anyone who has ever picked up an alien object on a beach and wondered how it came to be there.

AOMH

* The iconic ‘long-eared’ statues of Easter Island.

NB: The phrases ‘Discounted on Amazon’, ‘Also available as an e-book’ and ‘Also available for Kindle’ apply to such a high proportion of the books reviewed on the previous pages that it no longer seems necessary to include them in the introductory paragraphs.

If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write things worth reading or do things worth writing.

Benjamin Franklin

SAILING THE SEAS OF FRIENDSHIP ~

A Voyage of Adventure and Connection

JoAnne and Bill Harris

Port Officers for Honduras including the Bay Islands

(JoAnne and Bill received the Port Officer Service Award for 2023 – see page 7.)

The life of a sailor is always a journey marked by adventure and discovery whilst sailing the deep blue mysteries of the open ocean. But beyond the allure of distant horizons and the thrill of navigating the waters between, there lies a much deeper treasure – the brilliant friendships forged through the diversity of languages and cultures of the fellow cruisers who we encounter along the way in this nomadic sailing life. These bonds, born of shared adventures and challenges, are as enduring as the sea itself. We have always enjoyed the camaraderie of sailing in company with other boats and relish the opportunity to reunite with old friends and fellow cruisers to see where they spend their time when not cruising.

The Highs and Lows: Adventures that Bond

Of course sailing is not just about calm seas and perfect winds, it’s also about facing the unexpected. A sudden storm, tricky navigation through a narrow channel, vessel safety and security issues, rescues at sea and serious mechanical issues contrast with the thrill of spotting dolphins playing in the boat’s wake, working together on Ultra Community Projects to give back to those in need, or celebrating with cocktails at sunset – moments like these define the sailing experience. The highs and lows that bring cruisers closer together create memories that will last a lifetime, and the challenges we all face only strengthen our bond further. Helping each other, learning from each other and working together are what life is all about.

During our 16 years of full-time sailing we have welcomed the opportunity to assist numerous boats with local knowledge, navigation, customs and immigration, as well as with safety and security issues, mechanical, medical or electrical problems and so much more. We have also been overjoyed to be on the receiving end of great help from fellow cruisers to help solve our own boat issues.

The Unseen Horizon: The Future of Sailing Friendships

In the absence of modern distractions friendships deepen, conversations become more meaningful and the beauty of the natural world is more profoundly appreciated. As the journey progresses, the friendships formed at sea often transcend the voyage itself. Sailors stay connected, sharing stories of their adventures, planning future expeditions and supporting each other in their respective lives.

A New Adventure: Reunions and New Horizons

After another great season of sailing in Belize and Honduras’ Bay Islands, in spring 2023 it was time for us to return to Río Dulce, Guatemala which, for the last few years, has been the hurricane haven for Ultra, our home-built custom trimaran. After getting Ultra sorted and organising a sitter for Sailor, our Siamese kitty, it was time for more adventures.

Soon we were on a local bus to Guatemala City and a flight to London, to rendezvous with our long-time cruising friends and buddy boat, Paul Instone and Sabina Rawlings of Chat Eau. It was the start of an amazing adventure we will never forget. We stayed with them in London for a couple of weeks of sightseeing and then the four of us were off on a road trip. Our travels took us to the Jurassic Coast of Devon to stay in Paul’s parents’ caravan in Seaton where we enjoyed hiking, boating, beaches, festivals and yacht racing. From there we were off to explore

the dramatic English countryside with amazing sites including Stonehenge, Dartmoor and more. After that we went to visit Wales, where Paul grew up.

Next, the two of us took a train to see Nigel and Sarah of Steel Appeal, more cruising friends of long-standing who had left their boat in Río Dulce and were spending the summer house/pet sitting in Somerset. We felt blessed that during the summer and fall of 2023 there was a heatwave across this part of the world with record high temperatures as, after many moons of living in tropical places, we are not keen on cold weather! Our time with Nigel and Sarah was spent visiting a variety of charming pubs with great music, along with trips to see historic sites and villages, outdoor markets and fairs, and so much more.

After two weeks of soaking in the beauty, art and history, we took a train to reunite with Mel and Jane Tate of Deep Blue at their beautiful home in Cambridgeshire. Paul and Sabina also drove up and it made for a delightful weekend together full of hiking, dinners, exploring and laughs. After a wonderful few days we took a train to Edinburgh. We were unable to rendezvous with OCC members or other cruiser friends there, so stayed in student housing at the University of Edinburgh. A festival was taking place so the city was bustling and full of friendly people. We admired the amazing architecture including Edinburgh Castle, learned about Scotch whisky, visited historical sites and more.

Dave Coates and Anna Brooke of Tamarisk. We were delighted to stay with them in their beautiful cottage and to help them with their garden and home repairs. The weather was mostly bright and sunny as we explored the historic sites, beaches and local pubs and took a photo with the famous Bee Gees statue.

From there, we flew to the Isle of Man to see great cruiser friends

The authors with Paul Instone and Sabina Rawlings, together with Paul’s parents Malcolm and Marge, enjoying a Sunday roast in Wales

Bill at Beer in South Devon where the tides are wicked

The harbourside village of Laxey on the Isle of Man

and Nigel at their new house-sitting location in Highbridge on the Somerset Levels. Blessed with continued great weather, we visited Cheddar and Bath plus other well-known places. By now it was mid September. We took a train to visit Paul and Babs Watkins of Magna Lyra in the charming village of Hamble-leRice, where we enjoyed cocktails at the Royal Southern Yacht Club and dinner at The Bugle, a picturesque old pub overlooking the Hamble River. We were thrilled to attend the muchanticipated Suzie Too reunion and happy hour with our great friends David and Suzie Chappell aboard their new motor yacht, again called Suzie Too, at Ocean Village Marina in Southampton. This gave us the chance to reunite with many friends and fellow OCC members we had not seen in several years, including Steve and Fiona

The authors with Dave Coates and Anna Brooke on the Isle of Man

After a week with Dave and Anna we flew to Dublin to visit Carlos Renato Toledo of Mia, another long-time cruising friend. We had a great week with him as our host, again visiting museums, galleries and historical sites as well as watching local yachts racing. Returning to Bristol, England, we reunited with Sarah

Carlos Renato Toledo at Howth, Ireland

Bailey of Supertramp, Alan and Terry of Seminole Wind, Adrian and Clare of Flyin’ Low of Poole and Ian and Gerry of Spray of Rochester. Also at the gathering were Mel and Jane, with whom we had already stayed and, of course, Paul and Babs. After drinks on board we had a brilliant dinner, also organised by Suzie, during which the women changed seats after each course. After a wonderful evening we returned with Paul and Babs to their beautiful home and the next day the two of us attended the impressive Southampton International Boat Show.

With David and Suzie Chappell and other OCC members aboard Suzie Too at Ocean Village Marina, Southampton for the Suzie Too Rally reunion

With

On the OCC stand at Southampton Boat Show with Richard and Jane Kingsnorth of Zwailer

Next we were off to Poland to visit our old friend Maggie of Baloo, whom we first met more than 12 years ago in Honduras’ Bay Islands. She had to work that week, so we stayed in Krakow exploring the historical sites, art galleries and museums and attending orchestral performances. Then we took two buses to get to the small village of Torniova Gorski to meet her wonderful family and see where they were born and grew up. We visited the oncebooming old silver mine and surrounding local villages, and enjoyed a brilliant stay in a castle for a few days to celebrate JoAnne’s birthday.

JoAnne and Bill with Maggie and her family in the historic Tarnowskie Góry silver mine, Poland

After a week with them we were off to Katowice to see the sights, and from there took a train to beautiful Bratislava, Slovakia. After exploring Slovakia, we caught a ferry up the Danube to Austria to spend a few days in Vienna. Then we boarded the ferry to Budapest, Hungary where we spent several days before moving on to Romania via a 100-year-old train in which we had a private four-person sleeper cabin. Sadly we were unable to meet up with any OCC port captains or members in Austria, Hungary or Romania.

From Romania we caught a bus to Bulgaria to meet up with Paul and Sabina again, as Sabina is Bulgarian and they were visiting her family. We all took an amazing road trip across Bulgaria to experience the culture and history, but headed south to Greece after 2½ weeks for warmer weather. There we hoped to rendezvous with other OCC port officers or members, though without a boat this proved difficult. During our month in Greece we visited the islands of Kea, Paros, Naxos and Syros, before catching a plane to Barcelona, Spain to meet up with Paul and Sabina once again. A few days later all four of us boarded a Royal Caribbean cruise ship to Florida. It only cost US $500 per person for a 14 night cruise, so was cheaper than flying! It was the second time we had crossed the Atlantic by cruise ship and we had

Malaga Marina, Spain

We thoroughly enjoy travelling and in a five-month period were sailing in Belize, Honduras and Guatemala, then flew to England, from which we visited Wales, Scotland, the Isle of Man and Ireland before heading east to Poland, Slovakia, Austria, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria and finally Greece. Mainland Spain at the end of November was followed by the Canary Islands, the Bahamas and the USA. Along the way we enjoyed everyone’s hospitality immensely.

In December we returned to Ultra in Nanajuana Río Dulce, Guatemala. We soon got back into the routine of being aboard, with the fun as well as the daily work that it entails. It was wonderful to have visited so many old friends, but it is always great to be back aboard once again. We sincerely appreciate everyone who opened their homes to us and gave us VIP tours of their areas. It was truly epic! We were disappointed that, due to time constraints, we could not get to see and visit everyone and accept all of the amazing invitations whilst we were in Europe, but we are looking forward to seeing all of them next time. OCC members are incredible!

Ultra with party lights a great time, participating in the activities as well as meeting other passengers. This sailing life is a small world, and while talking to a very nice couple in the lounge we discovered that they too have been cruising for many years and are currently based on the Pacific side of Nicaragua. It turned out that we had many friends in common. We promised we would visit them the next time we pass through their small surfing town of San Juan del Sur.

We soon sorted Ultra out, despite having been gone for several months, and set sail for Honduras and the Bay Islands. A month later we received the delightful news from our great friend and then OCC Commodore Simon Currin of Shimshal II that we had received the 2023 Port Officer Service Award (see page 7). We would like to thank everyone who nominated us for this Award – it is both a thrill and an honour to be recognised by the OCC in this way. We look forward to many more years of continuing to be a part of OCC and providing great service, always giving a warm welcome, planning fun events, making ourselves always available to help others and much more for all to enjoy.

In the end, the true treasure of a sailor’s life is not found in the destinations reached or the miles sailed, but in the friendships made along the way. These are friendships built on trust, shared adventures and a mutual love of the sea. They are the lifelines that anchor sailors in the storms of life and the sails that carry them forward into new adventures. In this life we always seem to meet up again somewhere, somehow, all around the globe. We are forever grateful for all the fun, great hospitality and wonderful friendships we have already made, and will continue to make, through sailing and the OCC throughout our cruising lives aboard Ultra in the future

EXPLORING SUMATRA AND JAVA

Dave and Sherry McCampbell

(SV Soggy Paws is a St Francis 44 Mk2 catamaran built in 2004 which Dave and Sherry purchased nine years ago. Since then they and their two cats have cruised extensively. Visit their website at https:// svsoggypaws.com/.

Dave and Sherry received the Water Music Trophy for 2023 (see page 11), an award which recognises ‘a significant contribution ... in terms of providing cruising, navigation or pilotage information’, in their case by explaining how they combine satellite imagery with the open source navigation program OpenCPN – see Using Satellite Imagery with OpenCPN in Flying Fish 2023/2.

All photographs are by the authors.)

Sherry and Dave in the Solomon Islands, April 2019

Located at the far western end of Indonesia’s 17,000 islands, Sumatra is the largest island in Indonesia and the sixth largest in the world. Next east is heavily populated Java, with the capital, Jakarta. Both islands have been populated by various kingdoms for well over one thousand years. Sumatra has over 130 active volcanoes, is one of the most active geological areas in the world, and some of the largest volcanic explosions and tsunamis in history have occurred there. Both islands have several UNESCO World Heritage sites and a number of national parks. Sumatra has recently become a popular surfing destination.

I (Dave) first became aware of Sumatra over 50 years ago as the young navigator on a US Navy World War Two era destroyer, deployed to the western Pacific and making a fast transit of the Straits of Malacca. We were the lead ship in a column of five including the nuclear carrier USS Enterprise, which forced us to steam at 30 knots. Back then, navigation in the Upper Straits was difficult as there were no nearby navigation aids and our paper chart of Sumatra showed many high mountains and volcanoes that would have clouds surrounding the summits. Our air search radar could find them, however, some at more than 100 miles, which gave us the ability to navigate up the Straits with reasonable confidence using our radar and lines of position drawn from the mountain tops.

Accurate navigation wasn’t the only problem in the Straits of Malacca, as it is one of the world’s busiest ship traffic routes. It was a good thing we had plenty of sailors aboard to help with navigation and ship avoidance as we had no GPS or AIS back then. While plotting our course and looking closely at the chart, I noticed a large lake in the jungle highlands of north Sumatra and wondered what it would be like to go there some day.

Sabang and Banda Aceh

Fast forward 52 years and Sherry and I, with our guest Linda, found ourselves off the coast of northern Sumatra headed for Sabang Harbour on Pulau Weh (pulau means island in Indonesian), where we had been invited to join a small cruising rally. Sabang was the starting point for a trip of over a thousand miles down the west coast of Sumatra to the Sunda Strait. There was also to be a Marine Festival that included cultural events, a boat parade, dancing and of course food.

A World War Two era Japanese bunker on Pulau Weh’s north coast

Just 20 years ago Sabang, and Banda Aceh next to it, were the nearest population centres to a deadly event. At 8am on 26th December 2004 a major seafloor earthquake with a magnitude of 9∙3 and an epicentre only 100 miles south, occurred off the west coast of northern Sumatra. Less than 20 minutes later a massive tsunami with waves up to 30m high started to devastate communities along the nearby coasts and eventually across the whole Indian Ocean. It turned into one of the deadliest natural disasters in recorded history, killing at least 228,000 people in 14 countries.

Before the marine festivities in Sabang commenced, Sherry, Linda and I took a day tour around the island. Included were a host of World War Two sites, including big guns and relics from the 3½-year Japanese occupation, earlier Dutch buildings, local temples and other cultural attractions, coastal views, a volcano with hot sulphur vents, a nice waterfall and the imposing Kilometer 0 monument at Indonesia’s furthest northwest point.

The Sumatran Highlands

Since we had arrived almost a week early, Linda and I decided to go see the nearby Sumatran highlands, which included orangutans in the wild and Lake Toba, the lake I had seen on a chart 50 years previously. Sherry stayed with the boat and cats and enjoyed some down time.

Gunung Leuser National Park: A day’s travel took us from Sabang to Banda Aceh by ferry and, after a visit to the Tsunami Museum, by air to Medan on the east coast. Putra, the owner of the very basic but entirely adequate Fun Family Guest House in Bukit Lawang, picked us up at the airport. He was our exceptional guide for two amazing days in the jungle seeing many animals, including monkeys and, of course, orangutans close up at a waterfall and twice at our riverside campsite. Even the food was outstanding, produced by our own camp chef. From there, instead of hiking back to Bukit, we took Putra’s hour-long ‘local transport’ river trip. I can’t imagine there being a better, more enthusiastic guide.

Mama and baby orangutan at Gunung Leuser National Park

Lake Toba: After three days in Bukit, Putra’s cousin drove us to Lake Toba, stopping along the way at viewpoints and to drop off a fellow traveller to do a volcano hike. Lake Toba is the 100km by 30km by 500m deep caldera of one of the world’s largest supervolcanoes. It was formed by a massive volcanic eruption about 73,000 years ago, the largest explosive volcanic eruption the Earth has experienced in the past 25 million years. It triggered global climate change and had a major impact on early human populations worldwide, killing most humans alive at the time. Fortunately it didn’t erupt again while we were there!

A short ferry ride took us to Samosir island in the middle of the lake, where we stayed at a guest house and ate at a restaurant on the water, both of which Putra had recommended. Nearby, a tenstorey hotel was being built, evidence that Lake Toba has been ‘discovered’ and is no longer the remote destination it was 50 years ago. We took a private day tour around Samosir island to see the usual tourist cultural sites – a market and an old local village and homestead – then over to the western shore to a waterfall and hot springs. The waterfall is impressive, the hot springs and restaurant are not. Other highlights for younger explorers with more time might include a boat trip on Lake Toba, a climb to the rim of the volcano for sunrise and a multi-day trek into the jungle.

The drive back to Medan in a local van took us via a rural road over the far less populated centre of the island and into the countryside. Along the way there were spectacular views, small lakes, forests, few locals and no tourists. From Medan a reversal of our outward journey got us back to the boat in a long day. After the festival, fuelling, provisioning and a few dives at nearby Pulau Rubiah, we were ready to head south.

The boat parade at the start of the Sabang Marine Festival

Lake Toba in the Sumatran Highlands

‘Must haves’ for cruising Sumatra’s offshore islands

Satellite charts with OpenCPN, a bottom-profiling depth sounder, a good reliable engine and a big fuel tank are highly recommended. Starlink is really helpful since mobile/cell coverage is spotty at best. In March and April the conditions are generally sunny with light southerly winds and a long, slow southwesterly swell. This is not great if headed southbound, as we were, but pleasant conditions if you don’t mind motor-sailing. Many boats cruise this route northward in the southeast trades months (June–September) and report good sailing conditions.

The Offshore Islands

There follows a summary of the western Sumatran islands which we visited on our way south to the Sunda Strait. A waypoint list, with greater details and the lat/longs of all our anchorages, available in both PDF and gpx format, can be downloaded from https://svsoggypaws.com/ SatCharts/index.htm#Indo. After sailing from Sabang down to Calang, a sheltered harbour about 80 miles down the coast, we headed for the north end of Pulau Simeulue approximately 120 miles further south. We delayed our departure for a few hours so as not to reach Pulau Simeulue too early next day, but the 2-knot adverse current slackened somewhat as we approached and we made it in well before dark.

Pulau Simeulue: We cruised along the southwest coast of Pulau Simuelue because of the attractive islets and beaches along this stretch, and chose anchorages protected from the southwest swell even if they were exposed to wind coming from a different direction.

Pulau Lekon: We anchored in 6m at the northeast end of this small island, out of the swell and off a nice beach. On leaving we went through the cut (clockwise from our anchorage). Our commercial charts indicated very shallow depths but we found that, by using satellite imagery, we could pick our way through and never saw less than 5–7m. There are two anchorable bays on the east coast and a nice surf break a little further out.

Pulau Simcut: 15 miles further down we tucked in behind the hook of sand on the north coast of Pulau Simcut in 6–7m over sand. We were surprised to find an army camp on the island, consisting of 32 men who maintain a military presence in the area. Despite looking good on the satellite image the snorkelling was only mediocre.

Soggy Paws at anchor at Palau Simcut

A ribbon

eel seen on our dive at Pulau Rubiah

Teluk Gosong/Pantai Busung: There are several possible anchoring spots in this bay, all out of the swell. The staff at Ranu Surf Lodge on the northern point of the bay are welcoming to yachts and can arrange for a meal and transport for provisions (frozen meat, fruit and veggies ... even beer!). Ranu picked us up from the causeway to the small island on the south side of the bay and took us to his surf resort for a nice meal. Snorkelling is not worthwhile in the area due to the nearby surf.

Pulau Lasia: This spot was one of our favourites, with nice sand, very clear water and no bugs. All four rally boats stayed for an extra day and had a barbecue on the beach. It is a privately funded park, with water so clear that sand areas 5m down look like they are 1m. The coral and fish life were mediocre, however, and the mobile/cell coverage very weak.

The Banyak Islands

Banyak Town: There are ten or so islands in the small Banyak group. The largest, Banyak Barat or Tuangku, provides a nice wave break for all the scattered reefs and islands to the northeast. We anchored off Pulau Lamun, where there was a beach and a good reef for snorkelling. Banyak Town, on the eastern island of Pulau Baleh, is a good-sized town with a decent market where fuelling is also possible. We anchored on the west side of Pulau Baleh in 20m. Dinghy landing is possible on both the west and east sides of town.

Kimo Resort: Two miles east of Banyak Town, on Pulau Panjang, is a nice small resort that serves lunch, dinner and cold beer. Riska, the manager, arranged a boat to take us to a turtle sanctuary. On our way south from Kimo we stopped at Pulau Rangit Kecil to climb to the top of the lighthouse for a worthwhile view of the islands.

Teluk Mariabah: Our final stop in the Banyaks was at a small, enclosed bay at the southeastern tip of Pulau Tuangku/Banyak Barat. We anchored there in 13m and took our dinghies west through the small channel to see the famous surfing hotspot, Bay of Plenty. On our way back we found a fisherman with mud crabs to sell.

The Nias Islands

Lahewa Town: The next island group heading south is the Nias Islands. We made landfall at the town of Lahewa, in a cul-de-sac at the north end of Pulau Nias. It has a thriving street of shops

Negotiating for mud crabs at Teluk Mariabah

A Bawomataluo Stone Jumping exhibition. The traditional buildings in the background are designed to withstand earthquakes

with a few vegetable stalls, an Indomaret1 , warung restaurants and a tiny fish market under the trees. From there we opted to travel south down the west side of the island, making a day stop at Pulau Wunga to snorkel and spending the night at Afulu lagoon, which has good protection from the southwesterly swell, a small town and a shallow river you can explore by dinghy.

Pulau Asu and Pulau Hinako: This island group lies about halfway down the coast of Pulau Nias. Asu’s deep anchorage was compensated for by a small resort that gladly served us a nice meal and cold beer. Mama Silvi’s restaurant (62 812 8869 5798) is legendary in the area!

Teluk Dalam: Anchoring here was challenging because our arrival coincided with a large southeasterly swell. The town anchorage was amazingly calm, however, as the bay narrows down and there’s enough protection to knock down the swell. The town has all the services that cruisers require including laundry, ATM, beer, fresh provisions, cooking gas and diesel fuel.

Our rally sponsor arranged several tours for us. The best was the visit to Bawomataluo Village, a traditional settlement located high in a hilly area inland. It is said to have been established in the 18th century when people moved inland from the coast to avoid the Dutch incursion. While at the village we were treated to several cultural dances as well as the famous ‘stone jumping’2 . Just south of Teluk Dalam we crossed the equator for the 12th time in our travels.

1. Indomaret (short for Indonesia Market Retail) is Indonesia’s largest chain of convenience stores with nearly 22,000 outlets across 32 provinces. Warung restaurants are small, usually family-owned businesses, typically serving unfussy, local food.

2. Visit https://discover.silversea.com/to-the-curious/behind-the-lens/stone-jumping-indonesia/ to learn more about this unique and potentially dangerous ritual.

The Mentawi Islands

The Ments, as they are popularly called, are the southernmost 100 islands off the west coast of Sumatra. They claim to be the best surfing destination in the world and, as such, there are surf resorts and tourist infrastructure everywhere.

Pulau Siberut: We opted to sail down the east side of Siberut and, using our satellite charts on OpenCPN, had no problem finding anchorages in small deep bays. One of these bays had a small river on the satellite chart which we were able to dinghy up over a mile before we had to turn around.

There is much to see and do inland on this large island, including an allday expedition into the mountains to visit a remote traditional village, but we were on a fairly tight schedule to get to the Sunda Strait, still 500 miles upwind, before the southeast trades really started blowing in midMay.

Pulau Sipora:

Capital of the Mentawais is Tua Pejat, on Pulau Sipora. It has a completely enclosed harbour, with the possibility of restocking with fuel, water, cooking gas and food, and would be a good place to leave a boat while exploring Pulau Siberut, just a ferry ride away. Tua Pejat also boasts a Kiwi-owned waterfront restaurant called The Bakery offering cold beer, pizza, hamburgers and a very nice sunset view. Our group stopped there for several days!

Continuing south, we day-hopped down the west coast of Pulau Pagai-utara and then east to the small town of Sikakap on the channel between Pulau Pagai-utara and Pulau Pagai-selatan.

Enjoying pizzas, burgers and cold beer at The Bakery in Tua

Pejat

Dinghy exploration up a river at Siberut Island

Our explorations at Pulau Taitaitanopo (Teluk Tinopo)

It is a one street waterfront affair where the supply of fruit and vegetables was limited, though gasoline and maybe diesel could be had for a high price. We overnighted there, then headed down the east coast of Pagai-selatan to Pulau Taitaitanopo (Teluk Tinopo), where we planned to wait for the weather for the last push into the Sunda Strait.

Pulau Taitaitanopo: We had to wait out several days of blustery, rainy weather here, and spent one day exploring an interesting waterway that we could see on a satellite image, to check depths and for possible anchorages. It was completely navigable with many very well protected anchorage possibilities.

Pulau Sanding: When the weather cleared we set out on a day-hop to Sanding Island, just 22 miles away. We managed to find a good anchoring spot in 5m over sand close to the beach and out of the swell. The protection was good enough to spend two nights in this gorgeous reef-bound anchorage.

The passage to Sunda Strait

It was now 20th April and we were facing two long passages to reach the Sunda Strait, which separates Sumatra from Java. The forecast was for light southeast winds for the next week, but the long range forecast said that then the southeast winds would pick up giving squally weather, so we opted to go in less than perfect conditions.

Pulau Enggano: The first hop, an uneventful passage of 168 miles, took us to a small town on a protected bay at the southeast end of Pulua Enggano where we spent one night and did not go ashore. The second, of 186 miles to Pulau Panaitan off the western tip of Java, was overnight and in squally weather. We were thankful for our new digital radar to help us dodge the worst of the thunderstorms.

Anchorages in the Sunda Strait

Teluk Legon Kadam: We reached our anchorage at the northwest end of Pulau Panaitan in the Sunda Strait just before sunset the next day. Since it is open to the northwest and the bottom shoals gradually – we chose a spot in 8m over sand – with our satellite imagery it would have been possible to anchor in safety even had we not arrived in daylight. There is no cell/mobile coverage here.

Pulau Peucang: 20 miles further south, Peucang is part of the Ujung Kulon National Park. We did a nice guided walk through primary forest with a spectacular viewpoint on the western shore. Along the way we saw wild deer, pigs and more birds than we had seen or heard in months. There is a modest anchoring fee and a small per-person fee to go ashore, plus a weak Telkomsel signal.

Tanjung Lesung: After two nights at the Pulau Peucang anchorage, we moved 30 miles northeast to Tanjung Lesung on ‘mainland’ Java where the bottom is mixed coral and mud in

about 5–7m. The west side of the bay is coral, the east side is softer. Both can be rolly. Ashore is a small protected harbour with dinghy landing ramp and huge resort with pool, nice restaurant with beer, rental vehicles and an ATM. In the villages nearby we found the usual assortment of small shops, warungs and markets, with a huge assortment of fishing craft anchored offshore. There are Indomarets nearby, but not within walking distance, and the nearest true supermarket is in Jakarta, three hours away by car.

Krakatoa volcano: The main reason for stopping at Tanjung Lesung was access to the Krakatoa archipelago, about 25 miles to the north-northwest. The archipelago, now comprising four islands, has been a well-known navigation aid for many centuries. At some point in prehistory a massive caldera-forming eruption occurred, leaving the four-island archipelago behind. It has erupted numerous times over the past 1500 years but famously exploded, after several months’ warning, on 27th August 1883. This caused a massive 30m tsunami that, along with the pyroclastic flows and ash, killed at least 36,000 people, mostly in the nearby villages and islands. Some sources put the death toll from its effects at about 120,000 worldwide. It is recognised as one of the most violent volcanic events in recorded history, and was the first natural disaster whose effects were felt worldwide and whose cause was known. It produced the loudest sound ever heard on Earth, approaching 300db nearby, and was audible at Rodrigues more than 3000 miles away in the western Indian Ocean. Krakatoa island itself disappeared during the eruption, but starting in 1927 Anak Krakatau or ‘Son of Krakatoa’ began to break the surface. It is still growing and erupts violently from time to time.

Despite this, our group decided to take a day tour by power boat from Lesung in order to see the islands and have lunch on the beach, though we couldn’t go ashore on Anak Krakatoa due to its active status. Instead we circled it for photos and had lunch and a short walk on one of the other islands nearby. Later, on our way north in our own boat, we tempted fate again and took Soggy Paws through the archipelago to take drone photos. Again, I am really glad that it was mindful of our presence and did not erupt while we were being tourists.

Northern Java

The 1000 Islands: We had a couple of days to kill before our reservation started at Batavia Marina so that Sherry could fly back to the US, so we went up to explore the ‘1000 Islands’ northwest of Jakarta and clean the hulls. The islands are nice, but very crowded with small resorts and Jakarta tourists. However, both air and water are somewhat cleaner than in Jakarta. As with many populated Indonesian islands, shoreline trash is a huge problem.

Soggy Paws in the original Krakatoa Caldera with ‘Son of Krakatoa’ smoking in the background

Jakarta and Batavia Marina: The entrance to the marina is shallow with a couple of turns and requires a bit of local knowledge, best obtained from Abbas, the marina manager, prior to arrival. Contact information is at BataviaMarina.com – they do not monitor VHF. Transient space is limited so it is necessary to reserve early and good fendering is required due to the deteriorated docks. The marina can accommodate longer stays, or boats left for some time. Water and fuel are available and work, including bottom cleaning, can be carried out either by the marina staff or via outside marine contractors. It is a popular venue for large social events so has a large restaurant. Travel into the nearby city is best done by relatively inexpensive taxi.

During the month we spent in Batavia Marina we visited a number of huge malls with supermarkets, great restaurants (including our favourite, Café Batavia), interesting museums, street markets, antique shopping arcades, a huge mosque, a cathedral and beautiful parks. Almost anything you might want, including some marine supplies, is available here. Visit the Glodok Mall and Plaza for an amazing assortment of mechanical and electrical equipment for sale from small stalls on multiple floors.

As in most large cities there is plenty to see and do, and recommended museums include the Mandala Military History Museum, Bahari Maritime Museum, Jakarta Sejarah History Museum, Bank of Indonesia Museum and the huge Jelajah Cerita Park with a number of different displays/ museums including a bird and reptile zoo.

From Jakarta we took a five-hour luxury train southeast to visit a couple of early UNESCO World Heritage temple complexes and a big aviation museum in Yogyakarta. The train is air conditioned, very comfortable and provides scenic views of the countryside. There are many places to stay in Yogyakarta, and we’d suggest renting a car with a driver as the most convenient way to see the sights.

Borobudur, about 40km northwest of Yogyakarta, is the largest Buddhist temple in the world and ranks with Angkor Wat in Cambodia as one of the two great archaeological sites in South East Asia. It dates from the early 8th century and was abandoned in the 14th, but was rediscovered in 1815 by Sir Thomas Raffles of Singapore fame. Buy tickets online a couple weeks ahead and be sure to pay the extra to go inside the temple itself.

Prambanan, about 17km northeast of Yogyakarta, is the largest Hindu temple complex in Indonesia and one of the most beautiful in South East Asia. It was built in the 9th century and consists of over 450 separate structures situated in a large gated park area. Don’t miss the famous night show. Renting an electric scooter or bicycle makes touring around the complex much quicker and easier for us old folks.

Batavia Marina from the upper floor of the Batavia Building

Close east of Yogyakarta, and very near the main airport, is the Dirgantara Aviation Museum, the largest in Indonesia. Numerous historic planes are displayed both inside and outside the main building, including a couple of Japanese World War Two planes which came from their huge and remote airfield at Babo, West Papua. Visit early for fewer tourists.

In addition to these main tourist attractions, Yogyakarta and its surrounding area have a number of other museums and sites worth visiting. These include the cool mountain areas around Gunung Merapi and the nearby Montero Motorcycle Museum, Kereta Carriage Museum, Museum Sonobudoyo, Royal Palace, Sultan’s Pool, Istana Museum, Kantor Museum and the interesting night market. Unfortunately the large downtown Benteng Vredeburg fort complex and much of the Royal Palace was closed for refurbishment while we were there.

In summary, our cruise from Sabang, North Sumatra, down the island’s west side among its many islands, the trips we made to the interior highlands, as well as visiting Jakarta and Java’s ancient UNESCO World Heritage sites, was like no other that we have done. Very few cruisers take the time to cruise this area as it is somewhat remote and not on the usual westerly route through southern Indonesia. These days surfers have found the islands and some hardy backpackers have discovered the attractions of Sumatra’s highlands, and of course there is no lack of local tourists in Java. Alas, I should have visited in the 1970s while it was still really remote!

A SHIPMAN was ther, woning fer by weste: For aught I woot, he was of Dertemouthe. ...

But of his craft to rekene wel his tydes, His stremes and his daungers him bisydes. His herberwe and his mone, his lodemenage, Ther was noon swich from Hulle to Cartage. Hardy he was, and wys to undertake; With many a tempest hadde his berd been shake. He knew wel alle the havenes, as they were, From Gootlond to the cape of Finistere, And every cryke in Britayne and in Spayne; His barge y-cleped was the Maudelayne

Geoffrey Chaucer Prologue to the Canterbury Tales – The Shipman

Written in Middle English between 1387 and 1400. Visit http://www.librarius.com/canttran/ genpro/genpro390-412.htm for the full text and a ‘translation’ into modern English.

EXPEDITION TO GREENLAND

Luke Franklin

(All photos by Rhys Walters except where credited.)

Looking back on the journey I have just completed, I struggle to think of where to begin, what to include and what to leave out. There’s so much to say about what the three of us experienced and what we did. The first thing I want to say, though, is that it was a privilege to sail with Rhys Walters (who suggested I apply to the OCC for Youth Sponsorship) and Navigator/First Mate Mark Barr, two very skilled and experienced sailors who taught me a lot and who are now lifetime friends.

As a child I messed around on boats with my older brother and my best friend, mostly learning from our mistakes, and as I got older I got involved with racing and deliveries. I’ve been fortunate that sailing has allowed me to travel, taking me to places such as Valencia, Cowes, Antigua and even Newport, RI. But this has never included an ocean passage, the closest being passages across the Bay of Biscay. So when the opportunity arose to join Rhys for the tail end of his Atlantic circuit and experience high-latitude sailing, visiting Canada and the magnificent fjords of Greenland and maybe Iceland as well, it was a no-brainer. These seven weeks taught me more than just about cruising – about the importance of being self-reliant at sea and in life generally. It also taught me about people and who I aspire to be. It showed me that ordinary people can do extraordinary things, including accessing remote parts of the world. I think it could be said that this trip may have changed how I view sailing and the trajectory of my life.

To give some background about my connection to Rhys, I first met him through our parents at things like Pony Club and rugby, where his father was my coach. To be honest, I can’t really remember him as I was only five when I last saw him. The next time I met him was when Mark and I got off the plane in St John’s, Newfoundland. Of course I’d followed his and Niamh’s adventures aboard Zora via our parents, and as I got older and more interested in sailing and travel I started to follow more closely.

I was sitting in Cologne airport back in January, en route to see my cousin in Germany, when I learned that Rhys was in search of crew. I realised that going on a trip like this would line up perfectly with finishing my Environmental Management degree and allow me to see parts of the world which I had never seen before. It also seemed an ideal way to add to my sailing experience while also seeing the wildlife and geography which I had spent the last four years studying. So I got in contact and it all fell into place, leading up to a Zoom meeting with Rhys and Mark when I was interviewed and accepted. This was the first of many Zoom calls and exchanges of messages!

Zora under sail in Scotland towards the end of the voyage

The Greenland crew (l to r: Rhys, Luke and Mark), all OCC members

The trip truly felt real when I reached Dublin airport where I met Mark Barr for the first time and he became a real person, not just someone online. He completed a solo circuit of the Atlantic last year and later demonstrated an almost superhuman ability to swim in freezing cold water! Like me he couldn’t say no to the opportunity. We flew from Dublin to Halifax, Nova Scotia and then, after a nine-hour layover, to St John’s, Newfoundland. This taught me my first lesson of the trip, to avoid such long layovers! We reached St John’s late that night and were warmly welcomed by Rhys and made at home on Zora, a very sturdy sailing yacht as well as the most homely boat I have ever sailed on. I knew I was on the right boat for the trip and that she would look after us.

Mark and I helped with the finishing touches to get ready, even though Rhys had everything in order before we arrived. We also saw a few of the local sights and helped get the final rations aboard. We even had the local equivalent of a Sunday roast as our ‘last supper’ before setting out next morning from the Royal Newfoundland Yacht Club.

The voyage started out by cruising the Canadian coastline while we waited for a good weather window to cross to Greenland. From St John’s we sailed round to Conception Bay South and up to Bay de Verde before going to Fogo Island (one of the four corners of the world, according to the Flat Earth Society), before continuing to St Lewis, Labrador. There was great excitement when we saw our first iceberg beached on the Canadian coastline eight miles away. Even at that distance it looked huge. While we were in St Lewis a good weather window arrived for crossing the Labrador Sea to Qaqortoq ... or some would say to

Rhys adjusting and checking the windvane prior to departure.

Photo Luke Franklin

sail off the edge of the world!

A thought that crossed my mind was the bravery of the men who, back in the day, used to sail off into the unknown. We were sailing into what we knew or could be predicted –the wind, waves and ice – but which they probably couldn’t even imagine. All I could think of was just how terrifying it must have been for them.

Our first close encounter with an iceberg

The passage to Greenland took six days. Even though we had had about a week to get used to Zora and each other, this was our first longer sail together and my first time properly offshore. I found the watch system of three hours on and six off took a bit of getting used to. I had to force myself to sleep or I’d find myself fighting off sleep on my watch, especially during the night, but it became easier as I got used to it. My biggest fear was of being seasick, as it runs in the family. On this passage I escaped it, though that isn’t to say I would escape it for the entire trip.

Before arriving in Greenland, one of the big firsts for me was slowing down the night before to avoid entering the ice zone in the dark. This was something I had never had to do before when it had always been about speed. A memory that I will never forget is seeing an iceberg in the distance as the dark lifted during my 0300 to 0600 watch. Soon more had dotted the horizon ... and then came the growlers. As we entered the ice zone a heavy fog fell, which required all of us to be on lookout. I was stationed high on Zora’s stern, spotting growlers that didn’t appear on the radar and telling Rhys, who was on the helm, where they were. Meanwhile Mark was mostly below keeping an eye on the radar to spot large icebergs hidden in the fog, sometimes popping his head up to spot with me. I don’t know how long it went on for, but it was freezing cold and we felt as if we were getting close to Greenland. When the fog lifted there were icebergs towering in the distance, some were even ice shelves, it seemed really out of this world. Greenland had been described to us by a guy in St Lewis as Middle Earth and we had to agree.

Zora passing the same iceberg

We reached Qatortoq on the evening of 28th June after a nice photo shoot with a less intimidating iceberg than the ones we’d just sailed through. We spent five days there, recovering for a few days and then exploring, before heading to the hot springs at Uunartoq, then on to Nanortalik and up the Tasermiut fjord before making our way to Aappilattoq. The route we took allowed us to experience culture within Greenland while also allowing us plenty of time in remote anchorages. All that, plus amazing hiking, hidden waterfalls and plenty of fishing. It taught me a lot, as ice is something I had never considered before, but if I’m in high latitudes in the future I know that anchorages at river mouths provide protection from ice due to the river pushing it away. Previously that would never have crossed my mind.

The wildlife on this trip was like nothing I had ever seen and changed with each country. Off Newfoundland it was rare if a day went by without seeing humpback whales breaching, while crossing the Labrador Sea the number of seabirds was quite incredible. The puffins often made us laugh as they would come up from a dive, see us, and slap their way across the water surface like a penguin on ice. We would get schools of dolphin as well as of minke and pilot whales, which would surf the waves with Zora as if she were their leader.

Investigating small icebergs in a Greenland fjord

The fishing was something else. I had never seen such an array of fish. The seas close to Newfoundland were full of fish and you could usually catch one within five minutes of dropping a line. We were told that if you didn’t have a bite within that time just move on. Fishing also allowed us to interact with the locals by asking for their advice. In Newfoundland this once led to us having locals on board cooking cod in their traditional way. There was a guy called Morley or Moco Moco who I will never forget. He seemed like a friend you’d known your whole life. We had a great evening. In Greenland the rivers were full of Arctic char and we chose anchorages at the mouths of rivers which looked good for char but also had enough current to keep ice away. Mark and I found that the fjords away from the river mouths were mostly full of sculpin – we jokingly came up with the rule

A humpback whale breaching off Newfoundland. Photo Luke Franklin

of thumb that if you caught two sculpin it was time to give up for the day as they seemed to be everywhere. What made me most proud was hooking the first and last cod that we caught during our two weeks in Greenland, right next to an iceberg!

The locals were great and as interested in our culture as we were in theirs. I loved the evenings when we had people on board to have some drinks and just talk and laugh. They were even forthcoming with local knowledge like where to fish. There was one time when we went looking for showers in a hostel. We got them, but ended up having a language and history lesson as well. This country just kept on giving! We met some incredible people doing the same things as us, including Swedish OCC members Marcus and Emmy aboard Linnea and Svein and Signe from Norway aboard Nebu. It was great to hear their stories and share ours.

In Greenland the mountains beside the fjords rise straight from sea level, some being over 1500m tall. It was only when another boat sailed right up to one of them that we could appreciate their size. As we meandered for miles up these fjords we found anchorages with even more amazing hidden waterfalls and rivers. The glaciers we saw in Prins Christianssund almost looked fake they were so large, like something from a sci-fi film. We passed them as we were leaving Greenland ... the icing on the cake.

Luke checking out an iceberg that we spent some time fishing near

Luke on the bow near our first close encounter with a glacier in Prins Christianssund

We left Aappilattoq at 0500 on 13th July for the 800-mile passage to Vestmannaeyjar, a small volcanic island off the southwest coast of Iceland. This leg of the trip became the most eventful and was when my fears of being seasick came true. For about six hours along Prins Christianssund it was calm and smooth, but when we hit the swell outside it turned my stomach! Fortunately I overcame it after a day or two.

On the second night, just after recovering from my seasickness, we got a riding turn on our genoa furler drum while rolling it up in a squall. It got all tangled and stuck and of course it was 0300 and pitch black. We spent what seemed like hours trying to sort it out, and it was during this time that I realised how large the ocean is and how insignificant you are in respect to it. I was very glad to be on a boat with two such skilled and experienced sailors. This was followed by getting a line around the prop, which further exacerbated our situation. We managed to get the genoa under control by using a stick and rope to furl it in manually, allowing us to get through the night and deal with it in daylight, when everything was untangled.

The prop was something which we couldn’t sort ourselves, especially in the sea state at the time, but after a day or so of not being able to use the engine I received a very memorable 23rd birthday present of a calm, sunny day which gave Mark the best conditions to dive and cut us free. This was the greatest birthday present I could have received. It became quite rough again as we approached Iceland, with the current against us, strong winds and big waves, one of which broke over the deck and ripped the sprayhood off so that for a few hours we had water coming down the companionway every time a wave broke on deck. By this time we were all ready to get in, but even so we were amazed by the cliffs and stacks of rock as we approached and by the sheer number of birds flying around. At the last moment, when we were only about a boat’s length from the marina, we were hit by a small waterspout – all we could do was laugh.

A sail change at sunrise on passage between Greenland and Iceland

Even though this was quite a tough passage I believe it was one of the best I will ever do, because I learnt so much. It tested the resilience of all of us and showed me the importance of being self-reliant. I think all three of us were proud to have overcome our problems together. By the time we finally reached Vestmannaeyjar we had been at sea for about 10 hours less than a week, but it felt like a lifetime we were so tired. Friends we had cruised with in Greenland welcomed us with pizza and beers and even a foghorn. A hot tub has never felt as good as the ones on Vestmannaeyjar and I don’t think ever will again!

We had expected to stay in there for about a week waiting for the next good weather window, so we cleaned the boat from top to bottom the day after we got in, to get it all done and out of the way before enjoying the beautiful landscape. Which we did, to an extent, until the next morning when we saw that a great weather window had formed all the way to Scotland. We would have loved to spend longer than a day or two on Vestmannaeyjar but we had to carry on. I think we all plan to return at some point.

The next passage ended up being the best of them all with the wind behind us all the way. I haven’t done many passages to compare it with, but Mark and Rhys said that it was as about good as they get. Everything went so well it was blissful! We sighted the Butt of Lewis lighthouse on the Isle of Harris at about 0200 on the morning of Tuesday 27th July and were in Stornoway by lunchtime. Even though this wasn’t the end of the journey, it signified a big moment for me, my first transatlantic passage, west to east. After spending the last three years in Scotland at university it felt like coming home, even though there was more still to come and more cruising life to experience before Zora was back in Ireland.

Zora alongside a pontoon in Vestmannaeyjar, Iceland

I want to say a big thank you to the Ocean Cruising Club for accepting me on the Youth Sponsorship Programme which helped pay for the flights, insurance and sailing gear which I would not otherwise have been able to afford having just left university. The trip allowed me to leap into the sailing world and get experience which will benefit me for a lifetime, not just in contacts but in experience for the RYA Yachtmaster exams and to help me towards making sailing not just a hobby but a career.

The memories of this trip are something I will never forget, and even though there were a few tough times on passage, such as our incident between Greenland and Iceland, thinking back I can only smile and laugh about them with Rhys and Mark. The voyage allowed me to meet and talk to other people doing the same thing and make contacts with whom I will keep in touch. I hope to join to another boat soon and continue having great adventures.

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Commodore Fi Jones models the Ladies So Shell Body Warmer

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THE OTHER SAN BLAS Meredith Green

(Herman Koempel and Meredith Green had sailed in the sounds of Washington State and British Columbia. Then, in 2020, they bought Tieton, a 43ft (13m) Wauquiez Pilothouse cutter with the goal of circumnavigating. In 2022 they helped deliver a Pacific Cup race yacht from Hawaii to San Francisco to gain bluewater experience, citing it as their qualifying voyage when they joined the OCC the following year.

In September 2023 they began cruising full-time with their departure from Puget Sound, reaching San Francisco six days later. For the remainder of 2023 they made their way down the coast of California, then spent until April 2024 in Mexico where we join them. They’re capturing memories and sharing their adventures at www.sailingtieton.com.)

Meredith and Herman, with Tieton in the background

After enjoying Carnaval in La Paz on the Mexican tip of the Baja California peninsula, we had a slow crossing to the mainland calling at Isla Isabela en route. We were heading for San Blas, where we planned to haul Tieton out while we flew back to Seattle for a three-week visit.

Crossing the bar into the shallow San Blas river was an adventure, to say the least. It was late February and, though we knew we were coming into the boatyard at low tide, we hadn’t thought that would be a problem. The shoal outside the dock thought differently and we

briefly ran aground before retreating across the river to anchor and await high tide. A few hours later, we made it to the dock, where we stayed the next two nights. Marinas and boatyards are swamped with cruisers delayed by Covid and middle-class Mexicans who can now afford boats. Fortunately Scott, my ex-husband and a multi-season expatriate, had made arrangements with the boatyard. Local relationships do help!

At the statue of José María Mercado Luna, a hero of the Mexican War of Independence, in the Fuerte de la Contaduria

The new Catholic church on the updated town square

San Blas has a long beach with a river running into it and many in the community make a living on the water. The wealth/ investment progresses as one moves down the river – river net fishing, river boat fishing, panga* tours to see mangroves and crocodiles upriver, panga fishing/guiding, long-line fishing. It is a distinctly Mexican destination and, aided by an influx of government money, has an updated town square, a remodelled arts and cultural centre originally built in the 1500s, plus the Mexican Navy is rebuilding its base there. It used to be a popular hippie surfing destination but has lost favour over the last few decades.

With the favourable tide on Wednesday 21st February, Tieton was safely craned out into the guarded boatyard. When hauling out in the States we’re asked to leave the boat once Tieton is secured in the slings, but in San Blas we stayed on board while she was lifted out and parked in the boatyard. Then we climbed down the extension ladder, Herman handed Tieton’s keys to Scott and we caught our ride to the airport. When we returned in mid March Tieton was still on the hard without power or water, so Herman and I rented a room with Scott’s friends Pancho and Laura Muro. My son Jefferson visited for a few days and got to spend time with his dad Scott, plus Herman and me. Scott, Jefferson and I decided to hire a boat and two guides to take us ocean fishing for the day while Herman worked on the boat – I wanted to learn more about ocean fishing techniques from a professional so that I can provide more food for us! We had a delightful day and caught (and released) several crevalle jack, which are not great table fare. We saw many turtles, some of which had birds riding on their backs! Who knew?

* Latin American Spanish for a barge, lighter or small ferry.

Landing to hitch a ride on a turtle

My son Jefferson with ‘his’ dorado. The grin says it all!

We spent several hours moving from one group of fishing birds to another. Finally, as we returned, Captain Ricardo spotted a dorado, which we hooked and Jefferson hauled in. Our guide filleted it, much to the delight of some dockside cats, and we took it back to our rental. Laura offered to cook for us the next day, plus allow me to cook the fish and empanadas* with her! For me, cooking with Laura was one of my favourite experiences of San Blas and the results were delicious. The following day I got a tortilla press for Tieton and it has been used regularly. Recipes for Laura’s ‘Wallpaper Fish’ and empanadas can be found on the website – see page 3 of this issue.

We toured San Blas’s historic Fuerte de la Contaduria (fort of the counting house) which was built in 1770. The fort protected the critical access to Mexico City and the surrounding wood-rich forests, while the counting house kept track of trade between Mexico and East Asia. The fort was captured in 1810 during the Mexican war of independence against the Spanish colonial government, after which the city lost its importance. It has shrunk significantly since then.

Herman and I spent two weeks mainly working on the boat, interspersed with fun stuff. We cleaned and repainted the bottom, finished an extension between the dodger and bimini, refilled the freezer and refrigerator and did other little chores in preparation for our planned crossing to French Polynesia. Daily walks back and forth to our rental and into the town centre provided an opportunity to observe the daily life of local people, most of whom are Mexican. A few observations:

 Virtually everyone was friendly, and pleased to discover that I spoke better Spanish than most of them spoke English.

 Most people were polite and helpful. For example, I was at a supermarket with one item and the person in front of me told me to go ahead. Then he provided change for a 500 peso note (about US $25) because the cashier didn’t have it.

 Most people commute by foot, bicycle or motorcycle. It wasn’t unusual to see four people on a motorcycle, including babes in arms, plus a toddler riding in front. Occasionally we’d see five people on a motorcycle.

 The side streets are primarily cobblestones or unsurfaced.

* A pastry turnover filled with a variety of savoury ingredients, then baked or fried.

Fresh bottom paint!

 There are stray cats and dogs everywhere. Many ‘street dogs’ provide neighbourhoods with an alert when strangers enter. Sometimes horses and cows also wander.

 People are generous and responsive. Just outside the marina I got into an argument with the sidewalk and faceplanted on my forehead (Sidewalk 1, Meredith 0). The workers came running and, when I asked for ice, one guy hopped on his motorcycle and rushed to buy a bag while another ran to the office and came back with a shirt full. And all they would accept were my thanks. (As an aside, my iPhone didn’t recognise me when my nose and cheeks were swollen, but did recognise me when all I had were black eyes!)

animals getting into garbage bags by hanging the bags from poles, from which sanitation workers retrieve them.

 When trying to cross a line of traffic, it works best to keep moving even when on foot. If we stopped to allow a bicycle or motorcycle to pass in front of us, they’d stop too. Just step out and they go behind!

 Families stick together. Older kids help hold their younger siblings on motorcycles – they’re not in the back seat looking at their cellphones or watching a video. It wasn’t unusual to see two or three generations travelling together, whether it was on foot, motorcycle – as on the left – or by car.

 They may not have much but they make the most of what they have. A little bit of rope and a broken plastic chair allows grandpa to make a baby swing like the one below to hang outside the mother’s place of work.

 San Blas solves the problem of stray

Cows (and bullocks) often roam free

Next stop after San Blas was La Cruz de Huanacaxtle, to wait for our visas for French Polynesia to arrive and for our friends/guests/crew Jean Bowden and Chris Campbell to join us. La Cruz is nestled in the north end of Banderas Bay and a short 69-mile sail from San Blas, so we decided to make two overnight stops along the way. Proving that we learn from our experiences, we left San Blas at high tide and had an easy sail to Chacala, which we’d read was the quintessential Mexican anchorage. It might have been ... if the ocean had been calmer and it hadn’t been Semana Santa (Holy Week). Mexican families flock to the coast to celebrate Easter and the end of Lent, which they do with gusto and very loud music that we could hear from the boat into the small hours.

Our next stop was a short 8 miles to the lovely Isla Peña in the bay outside Rincón de Guayabitos. My family spent a delightful week there when the kids were young and it was fun to see it from the water, plus once again we got to observe frigate birds soaring overhead. After a restful day and night we headed south on a windless day for a leisurely motor to La Cruz, which gave me a chance to throw out a fishing line ... and I caught a mahi mahi using my own gear that I’d set up! Yay! The next skill I need to develop is filleting a fish, because it took me about ten times as long as a professional. Of course it might be easier when I’m not balancing on a swim step on a rocking boat. The ceviche and fish tacos were delicious and it was so satisfying to have my own catch on the table. We also put a few meals’ worth into the freezer.

We pulled into Marina Riviera Nayarit in La Cruz on Good Friday afternoon. The office was closed through the holiday weekend and in the town Semana Santa was in full swing, including music blasting until 0500 on Easter Sunday followed by early morning church bells. We had arrived in time for the ‘Last Chance to Dance’ beach party for cruisers departing for French Polynesia in the coming weather window. Many people spend months in La Cruz readying boats for the crossing and veterans/ wannabees support them. Educational sessions had been taking place over the previous few months covering weather, provisioning, water-making, the culture of the different islands etc. We’d been able to view some of sessions via Zoom and it was nice to be there to meet the people in person.

Preparing food for the ‘Last Chance to Dance’ beach party

Herman viewing the eclipse through his sextant

The eclipse on 8th April was at about 95% in La Cruz. Many people headed north to Mazatlán to experience the totality, but we saw plenty of cruisers in La Cruz watching it through their sextants, as Herman did. The sky darkened to dusk and the temperature decreased significantly.

We had a great time in La Cruz. The marina was built in 2001 and has developed quite an expatriate community, while the town itself maintains its Mexican character with a town square, mostly cobblestone or dirt streets, lovely roadside restaurants, street vendors and a few small grocery stores. Most days live music is playing somewhere.

We twice delayed our departure to French Polynesia while we waited in vain for our long-stay visas to arrive, which meant Jean and Chris rescheduling their flights to join us. We finally decided to go without visas and departed on 24th April for the 3000-mile passage to the Marquesas. Of course our visas arrived at our home address the day after we set off, but we were able to upload photos which were accepted on our arrival in French Polynesia. Our original passports and visas finally caught up with us in Nuku Hiva.

Sunset over Marina Riviera Nayarit, La Cruz

AN AMERICAN IN EUROPEAN WATERS

Jerry Brecher

(In lieu of retirement, for the past ten years Jerry has been sailing Sirach, his 1982-built Sabre 38 Mk I centreboard sloop, along the New England coast and in the Chesapeake Bay. In 2023 he sailed Sirach from her home port of Gloucester, Massachusetts to the Azores. He intends to sail back to New England during the summer of 2025.)

I can’t speak for all Americans of course, but I have a feeling that I’m not that different from many of my compatriots when it comes to travelling abroad. We never have enough time and we want to see everything. So we try to cram too much into too little time. This was certainly the case when I spent June and July 2024 on my boat.

one shorter – offshore passages:

 Offshore from Angra do Heroísmo, Azores to Falmouth, UK – 1275 miles in 9½ days.

 Cruising the southwest coast of Cornwall and Devon, calling in at Fowey, Plymouth, the River Yealm and Dittisham/Dartmouth, before heading south to the Channel Islands to visit Guernsey and Jersey.

 Visiting twelve ports in Brittany (St Malo, Paimpol, Trébeurden, Roscoff, L’Aber-Wrac’h, Brest, Morgat, Audierne, Bénodet/SainteMarine,

 Îles de Glénan, Concarneau and Lorient)

The lone American yacht

Sirach on the pontoon at Angra do Heroísmo, Terceira

Over the 62 days from 4th June, when I left my home near Boston, and my return home on 4th August, we covered about 2,400 miles. Coastal cruising on both sides of the English Channel plus Brittany was sandwiched between two – one longer and

 Sailing 715 miles to visit those 18 ports and harbours, in 31 days.

 Crossing the Bay of Biscay from Lorient, France to A Coruña, Spain – 340 miles in 2½ days.

 Handing over Sirach to the marina in A Coruña for storage, refit, etc, the plan for next summer being to sail home to New England.

It was curious, to me at least, that in the course of this entire cruise, I never once saw another American-flagged vessel. Not in the Azores, not in England, not in the Channel Islands, not in Brittany (which may account for the inordinate attention paid to my boat by the Douane Française, about which more later) and not in Spain. And although we had many marine mammal sightings and close encounters, we also never saw any of the dreaded, rudder-chewing orcas, even while sailing through or near the Bay of Biscay twice.

The Azores to Falmouth

I rented an apartment in the old city of Angra do Heroísmo, a UNESCO World Heritage site, so that our four-man crew could be well-rested and well-fed before our scheduled departure. All were skilful and highly-experienced – there was excellent chemistry. We organised, stowed, provisioned and familiarised ourselves with the boat and went out for an extensive practice sail, making a point of testing out storm sails, reefing and carrying out MOB drills. As one of the crew commented, it was hard to imagine setting the storm sails in a gale but good to have the practice, just in case. We also caught the floating line from the Lifesling in the rudder, necessitating diving under the boat to free it, proving the value of practising these manoeuvres in order to experience what can –and undoubtedly will – go wrong. I also want to give a shout-out to the team at NauticAzores, who had been taking care of Sirach since I first reached Angra in August 2023. Their work was impeccable (and considerable). I cannot recommend them highly enough.

After formally clearing out with the Portuguese authorities we shoved off at noon on Saturday 8th June, heading more east than north on the advice of our excellent forecast/routeing service (WRI*, Glens Falls, NY) in order to avoid a nasty low pressure system heading toward us from the Irish Sea. With a crew of four the watch bill called for each of us to take three two-hour watches each day with six hours off in between. Civilised.

The most exciting part of this leg was the three days of force 7–8 winds as we began to head more directly toward Falmouth. We ran double-reefed for 2½ days, wing-and-wing with a handkerchief jib on the pole in a consistent 25+ knots of wind occasionally topping 40 knots. Our SOG topped 13 knots once or twice in seas described by the crew as ‘raw and tempestuous’, ‘mountainous’ and ‘taller than a house’. We covered 463 miles in three days with the autopilot performing beautifully throughout, though we did have to climb down into the lazarette and spend a few hours reinstalling the cable when it jumped off the steering quadrant. (The only

* Weather Routing Inc – www.wriwx.com

Key to a successful voyage – great crew!

malfunction of the entire trip.) I doubt if any of us could have held such a good course in those conditions, particularly in the dark.

After all that excitement, a late afternoon log entry on Sunday 16th June noted, ‘Under power. 140 miles to Falmouth. Not much wind’. We sighted Land’s End late the next afternoon and were on a mooring in Falmouth by 0130 on Tuesday the 18th. We drained the bottle of appropriately named Sailor Jerry rum. Later that afternoon we enjoyed some Cornish ale and a celebratory lunch at the venerable Pandora Inn (parts of which date back to the 13th century) and began to go our separate ways. I spent the next few days preparing for the next legs of the summer’s voyaging.

Cornwall to the Channel Islands

I’d had crew from the US lined up for the remaining legs of the trip, but those plans didn’t entirely materialise so I ended up recruiting two guys from a crew-finding website. One was a dotty (Marxist) retired university professor from neighbouring Penryn, the other a dual-citizen English/Egyptian we were to pick up in Plymouth. There’s only so much vetting one can do online even with video-call interviewing, and neither turned out to be as suitable as I had optimistically anticipated. Nonetheless, the dotty Brit did come with considerable local knowledge, so not entirely unhelpful. These two stayed with me until we reached St Malo.

We sailed out of Falmouth on Saturday 22nd June and spent the next two nights in Fowey, a charming town, though contending with strong winds and current proved quite challenging when picking up a mooring that evening. (No pick-up sticks such as we are used to in New England.) We were towing our 9ft hard dinghy along the coast, so naturally in the commotion (and the dark) the floating painter wrapped around the propeller. Once again, some diving was in order.

After Plymouth, local knowledge suggested we stop in the River Yealm, at the remarkably scenic Newton Ferrers. What a treat! It turned out that the Yealm Yacht Club was celebrating its annual race to their twin town of Trébeurden in North Brittany and 12 French boats had come over for the race. I had never heard of Trébeurden, but having met a number of the French sailors I decided to stop there on my way along the Brittany coast. The Yealm YC put on a wonderful barbecue accompanied by a lusty sea shanty performance by the Noss Wailers from the adjacent town of Noss Mayo.

After stopping for a night in Dittisham on the River Dart we sailed for Guernsey, a lovely island famous for its cows. Taking the ferry over to Sark for a day from Guernsey is also well worthwhile –it’s a gorgeous little island!

St Malo to Brest

Sailing in New England prepares one for fog, chill and occasional dreary weather, but not for 30ft (11m) tides or having to enter a marina via a lock! However, like many French marinas, they send out a small boat to welcome you, guide you to your slip and provide a helpful nudge if needed. St Malo reminded me of Quebec City. Not surprising, I suppose, since the Bretons settled Quebec... and they eat the same pastries! I bade farewell to my erstwhile crew in St Malo and waited out the bad weather. A day-trip up the River Rance to the wonderful medieval town of Dinan was a treat, and what a pleasure it was to attend an outstanding boys choir concert in St Malo Cathedral on my last night there.

Pure serendipity

A French Customs cutter checking out the American yacht Routine inspection!

I had a week of solo sailing ahead of me before I was due to pick up a pal from the States in Brest, so early in the morning of Monday 8th I headed for Paimpol. I had to lock out of the marina, of course, but having gained experience entering it was not a problem even by myself,

particularly since the team running the lock provides skilful assistance. (I would also need to lock in and out at Paimpol where, it turns out, there is no assistance at all.)

It was a bright, sunny day with a really good, northeasterly breeze which pushed the boat along at better than 7 knots. Glancing over the stern I noticed a largish vessel coming up from behind at high speed. As it drew closer I could see that it was a grey, official-looking cutter of some sort. I got out the handheld VHF and, sure enough, they began hailing me in French. “Monsieur”, they said, “We are French Customs and we want to inspect your boat”. “Is there a problem?” I asked. “Non”, they replied, “it’s simply routine”. “Do you want me to stop?” “Non. Hold your course and speed. We’ll send a small boat”. The next thing I knew, four armed Customs Officers pulled alongside in a high-powered RIB. One of them spoke excellent English, and after asking permission to come aboard they climbed onto my boat.

We had a cordial conversation. They didn’t see many American boats in Brittany, so they were curious what I was doing there. Was I carrying weapons? Drugs? They inspected the ship’s papers and asked permission to search the cabin. After poking around – including in the fridge – one of them reappeared in the cockpit with a look of gleeful triumph on his face. Brandishing a plastic bottle of cheap Italian white wine he declaimed, “Aha, Monsieur, now we are going to have to seize your boat! This wine is an offence against France!”. We all started laughing. I signed a form evidencing their inspection, which they told me to show anyone else who made the same request so they’d leave me alone. They bade farewell and away they went in their RIB.

The entrance to Trébeurden at low tide

The Shell Channel Pilot (see page 323 ) helpfully explains that “... a firsttime night entry [into Trébeurden] would need considerable confidence and very quiet conditions”. Fortunately

conditions were indeed ‘very quiet’ and my arrival after midnight coincided with the top of the 10m tide, so my first-time night entry was uneventful. At lower water and in broad daylight perhaps I might not have had such confidence! While I was trying to trouble-shoot and repair a leak in the freshwater system, Didier, one of the French sailors from Trébeurden whom I had met in Newton Ferrers showed up, and together we solved the problem in a trice.

There are any number of ominous, cautionary remarks in the Shell Channel Pilot (and other such publications) about what are supposed to be hazardous, challenging passages along the coast of Brittany, such as the Chenal du Four and the Raz de Sein. The only thing challenging about the day I transited the Chenal du Four (flat water, favourable current,

minimal wind, with the same benign conditions in the Raz de Sein a few days later) was heading into Brest at the height of the International Maritime Festival and having to slalom through all the hundreds of boats tacking back and forth across the harbour!

Exploring these seacaves by dinghy was a highlight of the cruise

Coney Island in Morgat, Brittany!

Morgat

Of all the harbours we visited along the coast of Brittany, Morgat is probably my favourite. I would not have even known about Morgat except for the suggestion from a French sailor we met in Brest. Spectacular craggy coastline, moonlit beaches and a wonderfully gaudy fried seafood and ice cream stand! And to top it off, fabulous sea-caves to explore by our dinghy.

Flying the Stars and Stripes must be a magnet for French Customs as when we left Morgat, heading for Audierne, they once again stopped us! This time I simply handed them the form I had been given previously by their confrères and they did not even board us, departing disappointed, no doubt...

Quimper

Many of the harbours in Brittany lie at the mouths of rivers. The River Odet separates the twin ports of Bénodet and Sainte-Marine and is navigable almost all the way up to the fascinating city of Quimper. It passes some impressive real estate... We got as far

Waterside real estate –Château de Kéraudren on the way upriver to Quimper

Cathédrale SaintCorentin de Quimper

up the river as possible before the water ran out, tying up to the pier at Corniguel which is ordinarily used by tour boats and sand barges. From there we took the dinghy right into the heart of Quimper, where I finally managed to get a haircut!

Glénan, Concarneau and Lorient

Les Îles de Glénan are often described as the Caribbean of Brittany, although it was not exactly tropical when we sailed in there for dinner. Nonetheless, dinner on this remote island was certainly notable. ‘ Vaut le voyage ’, as Michelin would say!

Concarneau encompasses a heavily-touristed medieval walled city as well as a French Navy boneyard. And while we were there the 266ft sailing cargo vessel Anemos was completing her fitting out. Her first destination was to be New York, carrying 1000 tons of champagne and cognac. Before the next-leg crew arrived in Lorient (one from the US, two from France) I treated myself to some tasty bivalves – as local as they can get!

A Coruña

Across the Bay of Biscay to A Coruña, and once again this reputedly fearsome body of water turned out to be quite tame. Just 62 hours after we shoved off from Lorient we arrived in A Coruña and amazingly, even at 0400, the marina staff were there to lead us into our berth!

SV Anemos, the world’s largest sailing cargo ship completing her fit-out in Concarneau

The walled city of Concarneau

Pre-dawn arrival in A Coruña

Author’s note: In addition to high-quality paper charts, three books are indispensable resources for cruising the English Channel and the coast of Brittany: Reeds Nautical Almanac , published annually by Reeds, a part of Bloomsbury Publishing plc; The Shell Channel Pilot , author Tom Cunliffe, published annually by Imray Laurie Norie & Wilson; and Atlantic France , author Nick Chavasse, published by Imray Laurie Norie & Wilson / the Royal Cruising Club Pilotage Foundation.

The end of a successful voyage. Sirach and her crew on the pontoon at Angra do Heroísmo, Terceira

THE MARSHALL ISLANDS ~ A Pacific Cyclone Season Alternative

Carla Gregory and Alex Helbig

(In July 2014 Carla and Alex left Portsmouth in their 1986-built Trintella 45 Ari B. They cruised the eastern Atlantic Islands and the Caribbean – see The South Coast of Cuba and Haiti’s Île-àVache in Flying Fish 2018/1 – before entering the Pacific in March 2019. The following two years were spent exploring French Polynesia during Covid, before they headed to New Zealand via Fiji for an 18-month refit. Visit their blog at www.sy-arib.com.)

The majority of boats, having made it to the western Pacific, head to New Zealand or Australia for the cyclone season, leaving only a scattering of boats to brave the season out in the western Pacific islands. Having completed an extensive 18-month refit in New Zealand and a successful shakedown season cruising Tonga and Fiji, Ari B was in good shape so we started to look for an alternative cyclone season destination.

We like remote places and really enjoyed our time in the Tuamotus in French Polynesia, so the string of atolls stretching north to

Ari B under sail

Alex and Carla in French Polynesia

the Republic of the Marshall Islands ticked all our boxes. We initially thought we would be able to ‘hop’ north from atoll to atoll in Tuvalu and Kiribati but further investigation put a damper on that. In Tuvalu clearance is only possible in Funafuti and in Kiribati, so Tarawa is the only option. Nevertheless, the lure of one of the few remaining remote, unspoilt Pacific archipelagos was impossible to resist.

The first leg, at the beginning of November, was from Savusavu, Fiji to Funafuti, Tuvalu, approximately 540 miles. With an inactive SPCZ* and mainly good easterly winds, we had a great passage arriving four days later. Tuvalu consists of six low-lying atolls and three reef islands, each with elevations of only a few metres, which stretch in a chain from northwest to southeast over approximately 420 miles. It has a total land area of just 10 square miles. The harsh reality of climate change and rising sea levels is clearly evident, and many will have seen newspaper headlines reading Tuvalu is Sinking. Funafuti is the capital and, with its narrowest point just 20m across, it is increasingly susceptible to flooding with rising tide levels and storms. We arrived late in the afternoon and stayed at anchor under our Q flag until next morning. Clearance was straightforward, despite customs being at one end of the town and immigration and biosecurity at the other – a good stretch of the legs after a few days on board. Tuvalu uses the Australian dollar (AUD) and there are no ATMs, although the one small bank will exchange currency at a cost. Should you ever get there, go upstairs to change money rather than queuing for 30 minutes downstairs, to then get told to go upstairs...

The town has one main street, with a couple of reasonably stocked supermarkets and several Chinese restaurants all serving the same fare, plus an airstrip that doubles as a recreation ground in the late afternoon. Whilst the town anchorage offers great protection in the normal easterly winds, unfortunately during our stay the first cyclone of the season developed at 5°S and passed to the west of us en route to Fiji. The storm played havoc with the wind and waves, resulting in unsettled, squally weather and westerly swells that ran into the atoll virtually unchecked. Uncomfortable at times, to say the least! We felt pretty exposed and not particularly safe, so along with five other boats left on 17th November for the 700-mile sail to Tarawa, Kiribati (pronounced Kiribass).

Unfortunately the light southeasterly winds that were forecast turned out to be southwesterlies, and this level of accuracy continued for the rest of the trans-equatorial passage. We experienced a variety of conditions on our way to the Equator, but luckily the thunderstorms were behind us and we were pleased to be able to sail a good bit of the time. We crossed the Equator for the second time at 1405 on 22nd November, duly celebrating with tots of rum for both Neptune and ourselves.

* The South Pacific Convergence Zone (SPCZ) is a band of persistent cloudiness and storms between 110 and 220 miles wide, stretching from Southeast Asia to French Polynesia and the Cook Islands.

Protection against rising sea levels at Funafuti, Tuvalu

The fishing in this part of the Pacific is exceptionally good and we passed huge shoals of tuna and other fish with clouds of birds swooping from above. Within a short time of putting the lines in we were always rewarded with a mahi-mahi or a tuna – it was almost like going to the fish market! We tried to stay east of the rhumb line as we expected to encounter fresh northeast trades as we headed north and, having 100 miles of easting in hand this led to a decision to abandon the stop in Tarawa and go directly to Majuro, capital of the Republic of the Marshall Islands.

By then we had been motoring for over 60 hours and were relying on the wind kicking in before running low on fuel, so a tense couple of days followed when the promised wind didn’t arrive on time. We had been at sea for a week, had used 400 of our 650 litres of fuel and really wanted to keep enough in hand to be certain we could navigate the pass into the atoll under engine. The wind finally kicked in a full 24 hours and 120 miles after it was forecast, but at least it was from the right direction so our saved easting worked out perfectly. Taking the enhanced trades on the beam we arrived in Majuro at 1300 on 26th November after 9 days at sea, having covered 1123 miles with no breakages. On arrival we called on Channel 71 and a Mieco Beach Yacht Club member directed us to one of several moorings to the east of the main port which are available to yachts for a minimal fee. It does pay to inspect the mooring, however, as they vary in quality. We chose to run a second line down.

Having arrived on a Sunday we did not expect clearance until the next morning, but to our surprise the authorities turned up an hour later. They wanted to come alongside our freshly painted hull in their full-size pilot vessel, without fenders, but Alex said a resolute ‘NO’ and made them clamber into our dinghy and then aboard. They were eager to clear us in order to collect their overtime fee for weekend work but they were very pleasant and we were happy to be in port.

The Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI) comprises more than 1200 islands and islets in 29 atolls split between two parallel chains, the Ratak (sunrise) to the east, and the Ralik (sunset) to the west. The

A good day for washing at Uliga

The town mooring field at Uliga, Majuro atoll

A huge sea wall has been built at Uliga to protect against rising sea levels and is being filled with anything metal

chains lie about 125 miles apart and extend some 800 miles from northwest to southeast and 700 miles from west to east. Majuro is a fairly typical Pacific island capital with ships coming and going constantly, but what stands out is the enormous number of purse seine fishing vessels – rusty old things equipped with flashy helicopters. No wonder the fish stocks are collapsing.

We joined the friendly Mieco Beach Yacht Club, whose members organise a weekly dinner ashore rotating between the various hostelries. Membership also gave us discounts in some shops and access to free moorings at two beautiful mooring fields, Enemanit and Eneko, approximately 5 miles out of town. Both are excellently maintained, have great protection from the prevailing winds and offer superb snorkelling and diving. In Enemanit you can even snorkel or dive on a World War Two DC-3 aeroplane and a 1950s Huey helicopter.

As Austrian/British citizens we could either be granted three-month visas on arrival or apply immediately for a 12-month cruising visa. We opted for the latter, which involved a full medical check (at a flat rate of US $20 including a TB X-ray) and a police report for the whole four days we had been in the country! The 12-month visa is not guaranteed, however, and at one point in the process we were told we should have applied before we arrived. It’s also a single-entry visa, so is cancelled if you need to fly out of the country and is only replaced by a three-month visa when you return.

RMI, though independent since 1986, is closely affiliated with the USA and US citizens do not require visas. This is largely due to the post World War Two atomic testing which took place on Bikini atoll, 300 miles north of Majuro, for which the US is still paying compensation. Majuro even has a US postcode and USPS treats packages as domestic mail. We thought our refit-dented bank balance might have time to recover, but Amazon beckoned – no customs fees

Snorkelling on a World War Two DC-3 at Enemanit

Beautiful handicrafts at Happy Hands Handicrafts

It takes this lady at Majuro’s Happy Hands Handicrafts

two days to make a handbag

and fast, inexpensive postage make it a great place to stock up on spare parts. There are no haul-out facilities or yacht services, however, just a commercial shipping area where you may be able to get assistance with engines, machining, fabrication etc.

After New Year, with our permits for the outer islands issued, we started to look for a decent weather window and to provision the boat for three months. There are no shops in the outer islands so we needed to be self-sufficient for an extended period in a remote area. We stocked up on the essentials – fuel, beer, wine and rum – and then bottled some meat to maximise the space we have in our small freezer. Fruit and vegetables were a challenge as virtually everything was imported, chilled and frightfully expensive. Nevertheless, we managed to get some local tomatoes and bananas and were lucky to hit the supermarket just after the twice-weekly flight from Guam. We were so excited to find snake beans* and cucumber!

The northeast tradewinds blow constantly during the winter months so we were looking for a weather window with 15 knots of easterly wind for this passage. At last a weather window appeared – 15–20 knots from east-northeast – but we were desperate to leave so took it. It actually worked out well, as we left in the late afternoon and, under starry skies with no squalls, were able to lay a direct course, sailing the 105 miles close-hauled to our first stop, Maloelap tt.

As most atolls in the RMI have several wide channels, entry is much easier than in the Tuamotus and in normal conditions timing is not critical. For passing through the channels and moving inside the atoll we used a combination of Navionics charts, satellite imagery on OpenCPN to plot a course and the good old eyeball at the bow to look for bommies (isolated shallow coral). We found Navionics to be extremely accurate, with every shallow on the 12 miles

* Also known as Yard Long Beans, Asparagus Beans or Chinese Long Beans, the pods are long, thin and round with a slightly sweet, asparagus-like flavour. They are widely grown in Southeast Asia and can be eaten raw or used in many recipes including stir fries.

Arih, the policeman, took us on a tour around Tarowa island, Maloelap atoll and its World War Two relics

across to Tarowa island charted. We dropped our hook at the northern end of the island in 8m over a sandy bottom and only a few scattered bommies, so no need to buoy the chain. We were the only yacht in the atoll – in fact the nearest yacht was some 60 miles north in Wotje atoll and the only other two boats were in the outer islands in the Ralik chain to the west.

Whilst enjoying the obligatory arrival beverage on the foredeck, local policeman Arih stopped by on his way to go fishing to check our permits, then offered us a tour around the island which has an incredible World War Two history. The Japanese secretly turned Tarowa into what was effectively a fortified bunker, and many of their concrete structures still stand. When the Americans discovered it they blasted it with 4300 tons of explosives, destroying virtually all the vegetation. Hundreds of Japanese soldiers were killed or left to starve to death. Today the island is lush again and the vegetation has grown over the many artefacts and ruins. The villagers have even made homes out of some of the buildings. We walked through an aeroplane graveyard, propellers pointing towards the sky, scrambled

War Two artillery on Tarowa island

through the jungle into underground bunkers, explored massive, reinforcedconcrete ammunition stores and walked along the shore which we found strewn with huge, rusty artillery pieces

At one point, a man approached us, using Arih as a

This World War Two bunker forms part of Arih’s home

World

Carla donned a traditional Marshallese dress for lunch with Anderson and his family on Tarowa island

translator. Anderson was having trouble with his generator and couldn’t run his freezer. It transpired that he had filled a 4-stroke genset with 2-stroke mixture, so Alex returned next day with his toolset and set about cleaning the carburettor, the wider fuel system and the exhaust, which was clogged up from the smoky fumes of 2-stroke mix. There was a tense moment ... then it purred into life. It’s difficult to say who was happier, Anderson or Alex, who was over the moon at being able to use his skills to help this remote community! As a thank you we were invited for lunch the next day, with Anderson’s daughter, the local schoolteacher, acting as translator. Lunch consisted of fresh fish, a breadfruit dish that could also have been used as filler in a renovation project and fresh coconut water to wash it down. It tasted great though and we left with full bellies, arms laden with limes, drinking and eating coconuts, new friends and wonderful memories.

We spent a few more days in this surprisingly well-protected anchorage and enjoyed snorkelling the Japanese shipwreck in the lagoon, which would also make a great scuba dive. Ground Fijian kava proved to be quite popular, together with fishing tackle, and we were able to trade for a couple of delicious coconut crabs for dinner.

Our next stop was Tar, an uninhabited island approximately 12 miles north of Tarowa. We anchored in 10m on a sandy bottom and, as there were quite a few bommies at the anchorage, floated the chain with our salvaged pearl-farm buoys from the Tuamotus, both to protect the coral and to make sure the chain didn’t get snagged.

Tar is beautiful and at low tide it is possible to walk all the way round the island. There is a nice sand spit at the southern end which we took advantage of to make a sunset fire, burn some rubbish and enjoy a few sundowners. Surprisingly there were no mosquitoes or sand flies! A couple of families were spending two weeks on the island

making copra, which is still a big source of income in these remote atolls, and we were able to observe the process. Carla made some muffins that we shared with them, together with some lollies for the children and a few fish-hooks. The next day we were presented with a big sack of drinking coconuts and more plantains than we could eat.

We could have stayed longer on Maloelap atoll, but after three days there was a weather window too good to pass up for an overnight sail to Ailuk atoll, our selected destination to hang out for a couple of months and relax. Ailuk was attractive to us due to its remoteness and the orientation of the atoll, which gives good protection from the northeast trades that blow at a constant 20 knots or more. If the wind changes, because it’s only 14 miles long it’s not too far to a better anchorage.

We set off late morning, exiting the atoll via the straightforward Dollap channel, and had a pleasant close-hauled/close-reach sail in 15 knots of wind to arrive outside Ailuk the next morning. The fishing lines were out while we waited for the sun to rise higher and aid visibility entering the atoll, and we caught two more mahi-mahi. That made a total of three on this short overnighter, reminiscent of our Atlantic crossing back in 2015 where it was mahi-mahi virtually on demand.

We entered via the Erappu channel, again straightforward, with the Navionics charts spot-on while the OpenCPN CM93 charts had us north of the channel on land. We crossed to the east side of the atoll and followed the chain of islands down to Ailuk village in the southeast corner of the atoll. The anchorage wasn’t particularly well-protected in the prevalent wind, so with the northeasterly winds strengthening we didn’t hang around. We made a quick stop, presented our permit, paid the US $50 fee, gave a mahi-mahi as a present and made a promise to return with more gifts in a few weeks’ time. Laden with a big sack of drinking coconuts we made our way north to Enijabro island in the northeast corner of the atoll, where we anchored in 8m over sand with the bommies far enough away that we didn’t need to buoy the chain.

An abundance of mahi-mahi

Copra processing at Tar island, Maloelap atoll

Ailuk village, Ailuk atoll

The whole family gets involved in building a traditional proa in Ailuk village

Ailuk didn’t disappoint. The anchorage in the northeast corner was extremely well protected, drop-dead gorgeous, had three nice islands in close proximity to walk around, good fishing and amazing snorkelling. Heaven. There used to be a village on adjacent Enejelar island but we found it abandoned and only had the occasional overnight visitor from one of the nearby islands to collect copra or ‘harvest’ a pig. We spent our days relaxing, snorkelling, exploring the islands, walking the reefs, doing artwork and reading books ... plus the occasional boat job, of course. Part of

our daily routine was to feed coconuts to the 30-strong population of abandoned pigs on the island that we ‘adopted’, half of which were tiny little things and cute as buttons. Carla decided to name a few of them Tiny, Foxy and Hazel, so Alex had to as well – Crackling, Schnitzel and Caraway. Due to the enhanced northeast trades it was only possible to dive inside the lagoon on the large bommies which drop to a depth of around 20m. The corals and the multitude of fish were amazing. If you are a serious diver you need your own compressor, and from May to October the wind is reportedly lighter and varied, opening up the untouched, pristine dive sites on the outside reef and through the passes.

The terrain around the islands varies from ‘icing sugar’ fine pink sand to shells, rocks and reef flats that stretches out to the breaking waves of the outside reef. At low tide, long sand spits appear right to the edge of the shallows, where the water drops over a steep shelf to 15m or more. The colours are just stunning. On our beachcombing walks we found glass fishing buoys and saw

Some of our ‘adopted’ pigs enjoy a bath, Enijabro island, Ailuk atoll

had a bottle of coconut water in the fridge. We also discovered the pandanus fruit, a staple in the area – we pressure cooked it for 30 minutes before squeezing out the fruity pulp. Delicious. You can eat the fruit raw but it’s like chewing a brush – good if you’re short of dental floss!

After two weeks of being the only boat in the atoll another yacht arrived and was kind enough to bring a few fresh vegetables to replenish our stocks. The wind was calm so we met them at Ailuk

Bigen island, Ailuk atoll

fresh turtle tracks. We also saw fresh pig tracks and holes where they had tried to dig up the eggs! The human impact on our planet was evident and we saw generations of plastic rubbish, flip flops and plastic bottles being the most common. We even found the hull of a 4m blue skiff which we later discovered had washed up four years previously full of cocaine.

There was no shortage of coconuts for both drinking and eating and we always

The pandanus tree (below) is also known as the ‘divine tree’ in the Marshall Islands due to its importance in everyday life

a

It’s

long walk back to the dinghy, just visible anchored at the end of the Bigen island sands

village. As in all remote Pacific islands, trading is popular. A supply ship typically comes only every four months and we found the local people very keen to trade for fish-hooks and line, WD40, coffee, kava, sewing needles and fuel. There was a lot of activity as a new mayor had been elected and dignitaries from Majuro were arriving in a few days – we were distressed to see a live turtle on its back being kept ‘fresh’ for the celebratory lunch. Most families have no solar power or refrigeration so, whilst some methods appear barbaric to us, the people live in harmony with nature and local methods and customs have remained unchanged for generations. They seem to be largely unimpacted by technology and SSB radio is still the most reliable means of communication between the islands and atolls. Starlink is already established in some atolls, however, and it will be interesting to see how this affects these remote outposts in the future.

Marshallese handicrafts are unique and considered to be the finest in the Pacific, playing an important part in the economy of the Marshall Islands. The weavers use predominantly pandanus leaf and we were gifted two beautifully-woven turtle wall hangings. Ailuk is also famous for the building of traditional sailing proas, which are used up and down the atoll to transport copra and also for fishing. There is an annual race, and as we enjoyed a sundowner on the foredeck we watched the youngsters race their model boats in the shallows of the lagoon. It’s no wonder Ailuk wins the race every year!

Sunset over Ailuk atoll

View from the masthead at Enijabro island, where our friends aboard SV Pinocchio shared the anchorage for a few days

Carla upcycled a pearl-farm buoy into a cockpit light decorated with Polynesian symbols

With the wind again blowing a hooley from the northeast we left Ailuk village laden with limes, coconuts and enough plantains to feed an army and returned to beautifullyprotected Enijabro island. Carla resumed her artwork and, sitting ashore in the relaxing company of the pigs, upcycled a pearl buoy into a cockpit light decorated with Polynesian tattoo symbols depicting our life on the ocean. With the offshore breeze we were able to take long dinghy trips to the various islands to the south, hugging the shallows to stay in calm water. Having another boat in the atoll gave us some security in case of engine failure!

When the wind lessened we took the opportunity to explore another anchorage, at Ajiddik island to the south. Here we anchored in 10m over sand, floating the chain, with a huge coral bommie about 100m in diameter behind us. We could swim to it from the boat and it was spectacular to snorkel – pristine corals and an abundance of curious fish. Ashore, the three islands were separated by river-like cuts that became fabulous swimming pools at low tide, and on one of the nearby islands we found a good supply of sustainable land crabs (not to be confused with coconut crabs) and purslane, a superfood weed that can be cooked or eaten raw as a salad and is delicious.

Our final anchorage before heading back to Majuro was at Baojan island which offered great snorkelling on the reef to the north, easily accessible directly from the boat. Its anchorage, as at Ajiddik island, shallows a long way out so there is a fetch of approximately 400m. This made it a bit bouncy in stronger winds and at high tide, whereas in Enijabro the fetch is only 160m.

We exited via the same pass through which we had arrived, leaving at first light so that we could cover the 224 miles with just one overnight passage and Carla could maximise fishing time! We had a fabulous close-reach in 15 knots of east-northeasterly breeze, arriving after 34 hours and having caught four mahi-mahi and one wahoo which we shared with the other boats. The passage was topped off by a pod of dolphins playing around Ari’s bow in the approach to the atoll. Back in Majuro it was time to catch up with the other boats, collect our Amazon deliveries, enjoy meals ashore and have a few beers in an air-conditioned bar. And Alex just had to cook a roast pork belly!

We had spent a fabulous 2½ months in one of the most remote areas of the Pacific, an unspoilt archipelago almost lost in time. We were mostly alone and totally self-sufficient, yet having Starlink gave us the comfort of being able to keep in touch with the rest of the world. It’s quite unusual, almost unique, to know of every boat in a country. This season fewer than twenty boats arrived in the Marshall Islands, some en route to Micronesia, some to Japan and some, like us, just for the cyclone season before heading south again. We saw a further ten or so boats, some of which had been there since before Covid and a few of which look abandoned and unlikely ever to leave. That’s a total of around thirty boats to approximately 560,000 square miles of Pacific Ocean. Now that’s remote!

Visit https://www.infomarshallislands.com/ for more information about the archipelago.

at Boajan island, Ailuk atoll

OBITUARIES & APPRECIATIONS

Andrew Edsor

Andrew WD Edsor, a lifelong adventurer, a kind soul and a cherished friend to many, passed away peacefully in August 2024 at the age of 80. His life was a tapestry of daring exploits, genuine kindness and deep connections with people from all walks of life. He leaves behind a legacy defined by his adventurous spirit, his remarkable ability to connect with others and his unwavering zest for life.

Andrew was born on 7th June 1944, just one day after D-Day. His early life was marked by the narrowest of escapes from the dangers of World War Two, including a near miss during the Blitz just before he was born. He grew up in Mitcham and this early brush with fate seemed to foreshadow the adventurous spirit that would shape his life.

At Sandhurst in 1963

Andrew’s academic journey began at Welbeck College, a military-focused institution that prepared him for a life of service and adventure. From 18 he attended the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst where he honed the discipline and leadership skills that would serve him throughout his life. His education continued with a degree in electrical engineering, groundwork for his future contributions to the British Army.

One of Andrew’s most notable achievements was organising a collaboration between the Army and the Wellcome Foundation for an expedition to Patagonia during his summer holidays. This expedition showcased his leadership and innovative thinking, blending his love of adventure with his professional life. It was a testament to his resourcefulness and talent for creating opportunities for exploration, as well as his uncanny ability to convince someone else to pay for his adventures!

Andrew’s military career was as distinguished as it was diverse. He served in key deployments to Germany, Northern Ireland and Hong Kong and played a critical role in the Ministry of Defence’s procurement efforts, particularly in the acquisition of the Apache helicopter. His work in these areas was marked by a dedication to excellence and a commitment to improving the capabilities of the British Armed Forces.

Andrew’s enthusiasm for the sea started in his youth, sailing and racing aboard vessels ranging from Folkboats to tall ships, as well as windsurfing in Hong Kong and diving in the Philippines. He joined the Ocean Cruising Club in 1970 following a passage from the UK to Tenerife aboard the 47ft Zulu. For Andrew, sailing wasn’t just a pastime, it was the embodiment of his adventurous spirit and desire for freedom. He was instrumental in organising the British Army’s entry into the first Whitbread Round the World Race in 1973/4, during which he served as chief engineer aboard British Soldier. His technical expertise was crucial to the success of the crew as they navigated the challenging Sydney to Rio leg of the race. This achievement qualified him as a member of the prestigious International Association of Cape Horners and established him as a key figure in military sailing. Andrew was a proud lifetime member of the IACH and served on the committee for 18 years.

Andrew’s passions weren’t limited to the sea, however. He had a deep love of motoring and particularly for Alfa Romeo Alfasuds which he drove around Europe to visit his friends with the same zest he brought to his other pursuits. His prized Motobloc*, passed down from his father, was a reflection of his appreciation for unique and classic vehicles. For Andrew, driving was a way to explore new landscapes and embrace the freedom of the open road.

Towards the end of Andrew’s military career he channelled his energy into refurbishing a derelict cottage in East Witton, North Yorkshire. This project was a labour of love, turning the space into a warm and inviting home that welcomed friends and strangers alike. His ability to transform a house into a home mirrored his approach to life – always ready to offer kindness and hospitality.

In addition to his adventurous pursuits, Andrew demonstrated immense compassion and dedication in caring for his parents during their final years. His deep sense of duty and love was evident as he devoted himself to ensuring their comfort and well-being. This act of kindness and commitment was reciprocated by his much-loved nephew Jake, who cared for

Andrew in his later years, providing the same love and support Andrew had once shown his parents.

Although Andrew never married and had no children, he was surrounded by a close-knit group of friends who became his chosen family. His nephew Jake, along with his many friends, formed the core of his life’s adventures and were the recipients of his generosity. Andrew had a unique ability to make everyone he met feel valued and appreciated, creating lasting bonds that spanned the globe.

Andrew’s life was a remarkable blend of adventure, kindness and deep connections with others. His legacy lives on through the stories of his explorations, particularly those at sea, the lives he touched and the friendships he enriched. Embarking on his final journey, he left behind a world that was better for having known him. May he rest in peace, comforted by the knowledge that his adventurous spirit and generous heart will continue to inspire those he left behind.

Fair winds and following seas, Major Edsor. Your journey continues.

Zak Macro

* Motobloc was a French automobile manufacturer based in Bordeaux and in business from 1902 until 1931. Visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Motobloc to learn more.

At the helm of British Soldier

Andrew at an International Association of Cape Horners dinner

James Anthony ‘Tony’ Davies

After his many voyages and expeditions Tony always returned to Sheffield, the city of his birth in 1933, and it was there that he died peacefully surrounded by his large and loving family. Like many Yorkshiremen, Tony was proud of his home city and its industrial heritage. When visiting friends he would seldom miss an opportunity to inspect the cutlery looking for the prestigious ‘Made in Sheffield’ stamp and would always nod approvingly if he judged the silverware to be the right mix of steel, chromium and nickel.

Tony was a smart kid who thrived at school and went on to study pharmacy before becoming a retail chemist in his home city. He was married to his pharmacist wife Alison for 64 years and between them they raised three children and an army of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Both being shrewd Yorkshiremen, Tony and Alison took advantage of their shop’s half-day closing to marry on a Thursday afternoon.

All his life Tony indulged his passions for sailing, skiing, hiking and mountaineering. He joined the Ocean Cruising Club in 1978 following a passage from Gran Canaria to Antigua aboard the 31ft Kate of Tortola, the first of his three Atlantic crossings navigating by sextant alone. Later, with his daughter Helen as crew, he explored the Mediterranean and Caribbean aboard Vanessa, the 35ft Maxi built for him in Sweden.

He travelled the world, attending OCC events in British Columbia, Horta and, more recently, Scotland. It was at a Southampton Boat Show that he met the Flying Fish editor and was recruited as a proof-reader, his pharmaceutical knowledge proving very useful on occasion. He gave of his time generously and spent a decade assiduously dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.

On turning 50 Tony stepped away from his professional career to spend more time travelling, socialising, sailing, adventuring and supporting his growing family. It was at that time that I met him, when he served as pharmacist on the successful 1994 British Mount Everest Medical Expedition, researching the physiology of adaptation to high altitude. Tony supplied the expedition and its many members with copious quantities of pharmaceuticals that he had procured from his many contacts in the trade. All the drugs were meticulously packaged in a variety of industrial blue plastic barrels sourced from the factories of his beloved home city.

Tony aboard Shimshal en route to the Lofoten Islands in 2007

Preparing potatoes aboard Shimshal in 2013

Walking on Loch Tarbert, Jura in 2013

One of his lifelong ambitions had been to visit Everest and the other was to sail to the Lofoten Islands in northern Norway. In 2007 we were delighted to offer him a berth aboard Shimshal for the long and chilly passage from Orkney to the Arctic and beyond. For his return voyage he hitched a ride from Bergen to Scotland aboard Priscilla Travis’ Nomad.

Even as he grew frail, Tony would always make the effort to drive the length and breadth of the UK (and beyond) in his trusty van, which was also his home away from home. More ‘white van’ than fully-fitted camper, it had no luxuries but it suited Tony’s needs perfectly. It had a place to perch a stove, put on a brew and roll out a sleeping bag.

Party time aboard Shimshal at Craighouse on Jura, with Tony at far left

Tony’s funeral was attended by a large throng of family and friends, all of whom fondly remembered a man who loved his family and thrived on adventure. An intelligent man who was unfailingly kind, generous and interested in others, he will be missed.

Simon Currin

Postscript

Not only was Tony a valued member of the Flying Fish proof-reading team for more than a decade, but in early 2024 he offered his collection of Newsletters to the Club Archives. This generous gesture was very much appreciated and, thanks to Tony, the Archives now hold a complete run of Newsletters from the late 1980s onwards, including many duplicates. Anne

Lady Denise Evans

What a woman or, to use her correct title, what a Lady! One of indomitable will.

Denise, wife of the late Sir Charles Evans, was indeed a lady, both by name and by nature, though she shunned use of the title as she did any form of self-promotion for her outstanding exploits. She was a pioneering explorer and adventurer on both land and sea and an expert in many spheres, whose example provides an enduring inspiration to all who endeavour to follow in her formidable wake.

Denise was born in Paris in 1931 to accomplished mountaineers Nea and Jean Morin, consequently becoming a highly proficient Alpinist and rock climber herself. During wartime Denise, her mother and her brother moved from Paris to Wales after her father joined the Free French, working for De Gaulle before losing his life in 1943 when his plane was shot down returning from Gibraltar.

Denise on her honeymoon in Scotland in 1957

From childhood Denise demonstrated a rebellious streak, bunking off church on Sundays to climb alone on the steep limestone cliffs towering above her school in North Wales. It was there that she met Charles, a surgeon working in Liverpool and deputy leader of the successful 1953 Mount Everest expedition. They enjoyed a shared passion for mountains, married in 1957 and spent their first honeymoon cruising the Scottish Isles in a borrowed boat, Crystal II, which kindled her interest in sailing. They followed this by spending a second honeymoon trekking in the Himalayas.

Their climbing partnership was tragically cut short when Charles developed multiple sclerosis, making sailing more feasible than mountaineering. They bought Triune of Troy, a 38ft Laurent Giles cutter, voyaging for many years between the Shetlands, Norway and Spain. When Charles became more infirm it was with great sadness that they sold Triune, but Charles encouraged Denise to pursue her love of sailing and in 1983 she bought her own boat, Dunlin of Wessex, a 33ft Tradewind which she skippered with their three growing sons as crew. As she gained in confidence her ambition broadened and she sailed Dunlin extensively along the west coast of Europe, including the Atlantic islands, and in 1988 skippered her first transatlantic passage. Two years later she made a challenging clockwise circumnavigation of South America – see In Tillman’s Wake, Flying Fish 1991/2 and 1992/1 – returning just in time for their eldest son Chuck’s wedding. By the time of Charles’ death in 1995 her adventurous spirit had led to her pioneering voyages to Greenland and Arctic waters, including a rounding of Spitzbergen and forays to Disco Island and Scoresby Sund. Her sailing

Sailing her Tradewind 33 Dunlin of Wessex into Evighedsfjord, Iceland in 1994

Denise sailing Dunlin back to her mooring on the Menai Straits in 2017. Photo Stephanie Connor

ventures continued until 2016 when her 85 years forced retirement and the sale of Dunlin. During those years she introduced and mentored countless budding seafarers, young and old alike. I was one of the latter, for which I am truly grateful. She didn’t teach, preach or lecture but passed on her expertise by example and pure grit. One of my abiding memories of our shared Dunlin days was during a crew change off the Hebridean island of Barra – the vision of a doggedly determined Denise, alone, rowing herself back to Dunlin in a choppy anchorage ... aged 82! Many of her protégés progressed to sail their own boats and fulfil their own notable sailing ambitions.

Denise excelled in all she set herself to. She was a ground-breaking pioneer both on and off the water, ascending Greenland’s 2190m Mount Attar in 1956, joining the all-female Himalayan Expedition to Jagdula in 1962 and, in 1986, becoming the only female President of the Alpine Club. Although primarily renowned as an intrepid sailor and an expert, bold mountaineer/rock climber, she had many other skills which are less well-known, perhaps due to her modesty and aversion to publicity. She was a skilled artist, illustrating her sailing logs with detailed sketches, a landscape painter and an accomplished and stylish skier, making her last ski trip with her family aged 85.

She was also a classical pianist who enjoyed playing her grand piano on the landing of her Snowdonia home, she spoke fluent French and at one time worked as a literary translator as well as being an author in her own right. Finally, she was a fast driver! Once, when pulled in for speeding by a young police officer, she avoided a fine by recruiting him to crew aboard Dunlin.

Tough, resolute, humble, kind, generous, full of fun, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye and a cheerful, nonconformist sense of humour, Denise is sorely missed by all who knew her. A formidably determined woman, she led a full and happy family life filled with bold adventure, albeit not without adversity due to Charles’ illness and the loss in 2016 of her eldest son from cancer.

A traditionalist at heart, having mastered celestial navigation, Denise moved with the times to embrace technology. Her handbag was cluttered with marine chart sim cards and in her 90s she was to be found glued to her computer typing up her memoirs, completing Waypoints to Eternity in February 2023. Only 75 copies were printed, which Denise gave to family and friends, but some Denise relaxing in Dunlin’s cockpit in her mid 80s... and in her element!

Denise in early 2023 after completing her memoir ‘Waypoints to Eternity’, recently published as ‘Reaching Beyond’

of those friends recognised that embedded within Denise’s 222,000-word memoir was an enthralling autobiography which would be appreciated by a much wider audience. Having been abridged to a more readable 99,000 words, and with many more photographs, paintings and maps, it has recently been published as Reaching Beyond: The Mountains and Voyages of Denise Evans, and is available from www.delfrynpublications.co.uk and https://www.cordee.co.uk . Look out for a review in Flying Fish 2025.

Denise died aged 92, peacefully in her own bed in her home nestled amongst her cherished Snowdonia mountains, surrounded by family. She is survived by her sons Robin, who works at Plas y Brenin, the Welsh National Mountain Centre where Denise and Charles first met, and Peter, who sails his Gallant 53ft sloop Mymlen in Arctic waters – like mother like son – four grandchildren and a great-granddaughter.

Peter Barton

Stephanie Connor

In 1934, shortly after Jessie Barton gave birth to twins Peter and Patricia in Northern Ireland, the family moved to Lymington where their father Humphrey had been offered a job with Laurent Giles and Partners Ltd. This thriving and innovative yacht design practice was making a name for itself, and Humphrey was soon in the thick of it. The first of the Vertue class, Andrillot, emerged shortly afterwards alongside Eric Hiscock’s Wanderer II and many other outstanding cruising and racing yachts.

In Lymington Peter went to school and learnt to sail. Leaving at 18, he took up a technical apprenticeship with John Thorneycroft & Co, gaining an HNC in Naval Architecture at Southampton College of Technology. By then he was racing his own Firefly dinghy, which was replaced by one of the very demanding Olympic, singlehanded Finns. His father had become famous after sailing the 35th Vertue to New York and racing back aboard the aluminium Gulvain, one of Jack Giles’s most innovative designs (see page 106). He then spent a lot of time and energy on another project, which was to become the Ocean Cruising Club.

Peter and Rozy with sons Robbie, Jack and Nigel

Typically, Peter saw National Service in 1960 as an opportunity to learn to fly and spent his two years in the Fleet Air Arm flying Supermarine Sea Fires and Sea Furies, marine versions of Spitfires and Hurricanes. Flying remained a hobby for the rest of his life. With his design and technical background Peter landed a job with Ian Proctor, the prolific dinghy and metal mast designer. There he met and married Rozanne, always known as Rozy, with whom he had three sons, Nigel, Rob and Jack.

Peter and Rozy were both regular crew aboard Admiral’s Cup team yachts and in 1970 Peter joined Camper & Nicholsons. But even this wasn’t challenge enough and, when Peter heard about a boatyard management job on the island of Tarawa in the western Pacific, now capital of Kiribati but then part of the Gilbert and Ellice islands, he jumped at it. Instead of packing some home comforts and perhaps some books, he took a Bell Woodworking kit for a fast, 17ft 6in Osprey dinghy ... and a sextant, just in case. The Osprey was duly built but had a hard time keeping up with the stunningly fast local outrigger canoes. The sextant was soon found to be essential.

At about this time David Lewis was well into his ground-breaking research into traditional Pacific Ocean navigation techniques, making and recording voyages with native navigators before their skills were lost for ever. Another adventurous New Zealander, Jim Siers, arrived in Tarawa looking to build and sail a traditional voyaging canoe 1000 miles south to Fiji, to prove that these traditional craft could make such a voyage against the prevailing southeast trade wind and demonstrate that the earliest Pacific islanders could have settled the region from Indonesia in the west.

Peter and Rozy became seriously involved with the project and it is clear from Jim Siers’s book that Peter’s contribution became essential to its success. Jim later persuaded Peter to contribute a fascinating chapter explaining the design philosophy behind this type of voyaging canoe. While the materials for the 76ft baurua voyaging canoe were being assembled in the waterside village of Taratai, Peter worked with local canoe builders on the construction detailing. Eventually the elegant baurua was launched and Taratai set sail for Fiji, stopping at the island of Abemama for rig repairs. While Jim Siers was in command and local men demonstrated traditional sailing techniques, Peter’s navigational ability kept them safe as they continued south. His sextant enabled them to fix their position regularly and complemented the traditional navigation techniques of bird sightings, swell directions and constant observation of the heavenly bodies. After several stops at intermediate atolls they reached Fiji. This completely unsupported voyage was the first such offshore passage in modern times to be made by a Pacific voyaging canoe and Peter’s expert design and technical knowledge, as well as his navigation skills, were essential to the Taratai project’s success.

Even Pacific ‘paradise’ islands have their limitations, and when Peter was offered a job at Marine Projects in Plymouth they returned to the UK to live in a farmhouse on the edge of Dartmoor. But the children grew up, Peter’s father had died in 1980 and their ‘roving spirit could not be denied’. In 1987 they bought a 15-year-old Nicholson 35 and set off on a nineyear circumnavigation, joining the OCC the following year. Rose Rambler of Devon sailed a

The baurua voyaging canoe Taratai

conventional route to Panama, spent years in the Pacific, especially in New Zealand, and returned to England via the Red Sea and Mediterranean. So much adventure in just one sentence!

After this, the prospect of life in Devon was too tame, so they bought a house on the Spanish bank of the Río Guadiana. They spent the winters sailing and tending their garden, but couldn’t forget their old friends in New Zealand including Tony and Nina Kiff, or the beauty and lifestyle of the Bay of Islands. So in 2013 they emigrated and lived life to the full. Peter was 79 but

Rose Rambler of Devon in which Peter and Rozy circumnavigated, with twin granddaughters Rebecca and Zoe in the foreground

A happy couple!

that didn’t stop him renewing his pilot’s licence, nor from joining both the gliding club and the coastguard, and they also sailed their Davidson 28, Red Baron , in the Bay of Islands. Peter regularly ‘buzzed’ friends and family in their little plane, egged on as ever by Rozy, but when she died in 2022 a vital spark was extinguished in his life and he passed away peacefully just after Christmas 2023.

Roger Robinson

Peter flying over the Bay of Islands, taken by Rozy

Cormac McHenry

Cormac McHenry of Dun Laoghaire, Ireland, who died on 22nd December 2023 at the age of 87, was a highly regarded sailing enthusiast with a particular interest in short-handed long-distance cruising. His boyhood as the oldest of four children was in Dublin and he acquired his lifelong love of rugby at Terenure College, but by the time he was taking Electrical Engineering in University College Dublin he was into motorcycling and car rallying, the latter usually as a navigator.

After further training with General Electric in England he went on to several postings in Ireland with major companies. This involved a peripatetic lifestyle for his already expanding young family, for in UCD he’d taken the first steps towards a long and happy marriage of 67 years to Barbara Nevin, daughter of the UCD Professor of Physics. They had five daughters, whose earliest childhood memories include living near Drogheda in County Louth, where their father – having decided that high speed cars were dangerously inappropriate for a young husband with a growing family – was to build himself an Enterprise dinghy. This was followed by an International Finn, in which he represented Ireland at Finn regattas across western Europe.

By the time Cormac took up a position in Waterford his interest in sailing had developed into what became a lifelong enthusiasm for cruising and voyaging, and in due course he launched his 6-ton Kerry Class cruiser Ring of Kerry into the river in the heart of the city. He had finished her himself from a bare hull to a notably high standard, but while he was to make many sailing friends in Waterford sailing’s focal point in Dunmore East, a further career change brought him back to Dublin. Despite his

Cormac’s home-completed Kerry Class 6-tonner Ring of Kerry at an Irish Cruising Club rally at Port Dinorwic in North Wales.

Photo Ronan Beirne

engineering qualifications, he developed a particular interest in labour relations and the resolution of workplace disputes and by the time he retired had become a much-respected Member of the Irish Labour Court.

Meanwhile he was drawn to the sail training ideal and was one of the few who, in recent years, could still look back to a long connection with the original Asgard in her sail training role from 1968. He then became involved with her successor, the ketch Creidne and, most rewardingly, with the 84ft Sail Training Brigantine Asgard II from 1981 onwards.

In the course of time Ring of Kerry was replaced by the Nicholson 31 Erquy (named for the Breton port in which he and Barbara had spent their honeymoon), and latterly by a remarkably comfortable Island Packet 40, which he named Island Life and which proved the perfect boat for his later years when he and Barbara spent several seasons based at Portosin on Spain’s Galician coast.

Game for adventure – Cormac and Barbara in expedition mode in 2011

Cormac joined the Ocean Cruising Club in 1990 following a singlehanded passage from Ireland to the Azores aboard Ring of Kerry the previous year and was elected to the Royal Cruising Club nine years later, but his main allegiance was to the Irish Cruising Club. His 43year membership included serving as a Committee Member, then going on to become Honorary Secretary, Rear Commodore, Vice Commodore and finally Commodore. In 1996/7 he made a solo Atlantic circuit aboard Erquy, with further ocean voyaging aboard Island Life before, like many senior Irish cruising folk, he and Barbara were drawn to the attractions of northwest Spain.

Back home the new generation was coming along in Dun Laoghaire, with his daughter Susan – now Susan Spain – moving through the ranks of The National Yacht Club to become Honorary Sailing Secretary. Many of the club’s large membership were unaware that she was the daughter of Cormac McHenry, who had joined the NYC in 1967 and, in his mature years, served for a long time as a NYC Trustee.

This relationship was demonstrated in style, however, when Susan commissioned and launched her new Dublin Bay Water Wag at the NYC in September 2023. Classically built by a master craftsman in West Cork, this latest manifestation of a class dating back to 1887 was to be named Cormac, and it was the man himself who made one of his last appearances when asked to perform the naming ceremony in traditional style. Typically, and with appreciation of the workmanship involved, Cormac flatly refused to smash the bottle over the stemhead. Instead, he poured some of the champagne with gentle and loving care over a small area of the immaculate varnishwork, leaving everyone with an abiding final memory of a great sailor and a skilled technician and craftsman who, when asked, was always generous with practical and sound advice, particularly when it was something to do with boats and sailing and the people who go with them.

Winkie Nixon

William ‘Bill’ Joseph Salvo

In the wee hours of the morning of 5th November 2023, lying peacefully in the aft cabin of his Grand Banks 36 trawler, Bill Salvo shoved off from the dock in Marina di Ragusa, Sicily and set sail into the unknown. His loving wife and cruising partner Nancy Hearne and two of his four children were with him as he slipped his lines and headed out of harbour.

Island Life in Galicia, northwest Spain

Bill and Nancy at their son’s wedding in Seattle, Washington State, in 2006

Born in the seaside community of Fairfield, Connecticut to an Italian family, Bill learned to sail as a teenager in a Lightning which his father purchased for the family. Thus began a lifelong love-affair with boats. Starting out his adult life as a pharmacist, Bill got a job in Bermuda where he raced International 14s, later relocating to Marblehead, Massachusetts where he raced 505s. The 505 community was where Bill forged many of his lifelong friendships. Eventually he became a yacht broker, working for Alden Yachts in Boston for over 20 years. As he got older he moved on from dinghy sailing, racing J-24s for a while before giving over completely to the cruising lifestyle. For a time he owned a J-30, followed by a C&C 36 named Cascade in which he took his family on numerous memorable cruising adventures. Mid-way through their liveaboard years Bill and Nancy bought a Jeanneau Sun Legend 41 and finally a Grand Banks 36.

On retirement Bill and Nancy sold their home, sold or gave away nearly all their possessions and moved aboard Cascade full time. They left Salem harbour on 1st September 1998 and headed south, sailing down the Eastern Seaboard and through the Intracoastal Waterway to the Bahamas, the Caribbean and South America. That was when Bill joined the OCC, citing a passage from St Maarten to Bermuda aboard the 46ft Lark made five years previously as his qualifying voyage. After enjoying wonderful diving and sailing in those lower latitudes for five years they crossed the pond, squeezed in amongst dozens of yachts many, many times their size on the deck of a container ship, making the crossing together with Cascade.

Untold adventure followed Bill and Nancy across the Med. Over the course of more than 20 years they journeyed from Spain to Turkey, visiting everywhere in between. But the centre of their travels was always Italy. Bill had begun reconnecting with his Italian heritage in the 1980s, taking Italian language classes after work in Boston’s North End and learning to cook Italian meals, including a family favourite –pasta carbonara whipped up while waiting for the tide to change on the Cape Cod Canal.

On arriving in the Med, Italy was the hub for all their travels.

Bill and Nancy aboard their C&C 36 Cascade in Croatia in 2004

Always extremely generous with his time, Bill’s infectious personality inspired countless people with his enthusiasm for travel, passion for Italian food and, of course, sailing. He believed with his whole being that whatever he was into at that moment was the ‘best there ever was’. From his local pizzeria to the harbour’s canvas repair guy, his connection to the place he was in at any given moment was always superlative. We could all use a touch of that myopic bliss.

Bill and Nancy in Croatia

Bill and Nancy would winter in the same location for a few years at a time, becoming beloved members of every community in which they docked, from Cartagena to Alanya to Gelves, on to Bari, Trapani and Syracusa and finally to Marina di Ragusa, Sicily in 2017. Along the way, they traded up to the Jeanneau 41 and eventually to the Grand Banks trawler that would be easier for them to manage in their ‘dotage’.

Bill in his happy place, at the helm of his C&C 36 Cascade

Bill lived life his way. He had always dreamed of moving aboard and cruising full-time. The fact that he was able to live out that dream for 25 years is truly remarkable. Strong willed to the end, Bill rejected the seemingly sensible advice of his children and insisted that he wanted to die on his boat. In the end his choice proved the right one, for he managed to tack on all the headers, bore off in the puffs and sailed a tremendously clean course for the windward mark. When it was his time to round it he did so with grace and ease. His ashes were scattered at sea off Sicily, where he will forever remain near his beloved adopted homeland.

Bill is survived by his wife Nancy Hearne, children Susan, Natasha, Jason and Tyler, and grandchildren Simon, Felix, Beatrice, Costa and Birdie Bay.

Jason Salvo

Bill wrote numerous pieces for Flying Fish between 2005 and 2018, articles and letters as well as sharing many delicious recipes. Visit https://oceancruisingclub.org/Flying-Fish-Archive and search ‘Salvo’ to access them.

John D ‘Jack’ Myles

Jack was born on 9th July 1939 in New Jersey and passed away on 7th November 2023 after a swift decline with a blood disease. He grew up in Nutley and Pompton Plains, NJ but, as a great lover of the outdoors, gravitated to Maine where he built a log home on an island downeast in Pleasant Bay, Washington County. He attended the University of Maine at Orono and from there he was offered a commission in a special aviation cadet programme in the US Air Force. He received his wings in 14 months, served five years flying during the Cold War and continued his flying career as Captain with American Airlines, which is how we met.

Jack with a fish caught as we came on soundings approaching Venezuela

Initially Jack and I cruised the coasts of Maine and Nova Scotia, but eventually turned south to the Florida Keys, the Bahamas and the Caribbean. Then the decision was made – let’s circumnavigate! Airlia transited the Panama Canal and sailed west into the Pacific, taking 30 days to cover the 4000 miles to the Marquesas. We both cited this 1991 passage when we joined the OCC ten years later. From the Marquesas we sailed the yellow brick road through French Polynesia to Tonga, Fiji, New Zealand, Australia, New Caledonia and beyond. Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand and Sri Lanka were next and then the slog up the Red

Jack at the helm of Airlia

He was introduced to dinghy sailing while living in Portsmouth, New Hampshire and, despite capsizing first time out, was truly bitten by the bug. His first boat was a Bullseye, which is now moored in Stonington, but then he started a search for a cruising boat. He bought a Reliance 44 hull and spent five years fitting her out and designing a ketch rig. He named her Airlia, a Greek woman’s name meaning ‘of the air’. While building, one night he didn’t come in for supper and the boys went looking for him. They found him glassed in as he worked the inside transom area. They had to cut him out of his clothes and pull him out!

Sea. Reaching Egypt, we passed through the Suez Canal into the Mediterranean and thence to Cyprus. It took days to get the red dust from the Sahara off the rig and the boat.

One of our favourite countries was Turkey. History and antiquities are all around, the people are friendly and the food is delicious. Airlia visited many places in the Mediterranean as we worked our way towards Gibraltar, where she was reprovisioned for the passage to the Canaries and on across the pond. The Atlantic crossing was rough, with significant winds and following seas keeping the cockpit wet and salted, but crossing our outbound path of almost 11 years earlier Airlia entered English Harbour in Antigua. In addition to the OCC, Jack was a member of the Cruising Club of America, the Portsmouth Yacht Club and the Vero Beach Yacht Club.

In closing, I would like to say Jack was a steadfast worker, a very prudent sailor, a wonderful mate and, above all, a gracious and humble man. He is survived by wife Diane, three sons (one a serious racer), eight grandchildren and many other loving family members. Oh my, how we miss him!

Larry Bailey

Diane Morrow Myles

Larry and Maxine Bailey were both born in Seattle in 1932, and married in 1954. After a stint as a US Navy fighter pilot, as an airline pilot Larry flew everything from DC-3s to 747s. Maxine became a dental hygienist and was a leader in dental hygiene organisations in Seattle.

In 1992 at age 60 they ‘graduated’ to begin a unique 90,000 mile, 15-year circumnavigation aboard their Sceptre 43 Shingebiss II. It began at the turnaround point of a cruise that summer, the next-to-last island of the Aleutian chain. From there they returned to Seattle, secured their Lake Union floating townhouse and continued south with a few stops along the coasts of North and South America, into the Chilean inner passage, out to the Galapagos, Easter Island and then south to almost touch Antarctica. Entering their first Antarctic anchorage their transmission failed so they chose to turn and sail to the Falklands, spending many months there.

From the Falklands they sailed north via the eastern Atlantic islands to the Mediterranean, where they spent three years. Heading northward again they wintered in London, sailed to Scandinavia and crossed the Atlantic by the northern route. We met them in 2001 at the Annapolis Seven Seas Cruising Association Gam*, between morning talks and an evening dinner. Over several hours, gradually little comments made us aware of their remarkable accomplishments. (Later, a Scottish geologist and sailor friend met them in Australia and described them as ‘presenting an air of quiet accomplishment’, which fitted them well.)

* The term ‘gam’ originally described a meeting between two or more whaling ships while at sea, during which social visits would be exchanged. It is now used more widely, particularly in North America.

Shingebiss II at anchor in Baranof Island, Alaska in 2007, with Larry Bailey in the foreground, following a complex circumnavigation of more than 90,000 miles.

Photo Gus Wilson

Larry and Maxine in the cockpit of Shingebiss II, drifting amongst the ice in Tracy Arm on a windless day in 2007. Photo

Gus Wilson

In Bermuda the following May we learned that in the intervening months they had visited Cuba and Haiti. They then sailed to the Azores, Madeira and the Canaries and from there made a 49-day passage to Cape Town, where they spent a year. Another long passage took them to Perth and a year in Australia. Up to that point they said they had never really experienced true heavy weather, but sailing east between Tasmania and New Zealand they weathered two full storms. After those storms, a year in New Zealand and approaching age 74 in 2006, they decided it was time to go north for a grand finale. They briefly stopped in Fiji, Funafuti, Tarawa and the Marshall Islands and then sailed non-stop to tie their 90,000 mile ‘zigzag loop’ around the world where it began, the easternmost and then the next island of the Aleutians. They then returned to Seattle via the inside passage.

Becoming OCC members in 2001, they shared their voyage in eight Flying Fish articles between 2003/1 and 2007/1, all still available at https://oceancruisingclub.org/Flying-Fish-Archive. They were awarded the OCC’s Barton Cup for 2006 and, also in 2006, the Cruising Club of America’s Far Horizons Award.

In summer 2007 they sailed back to Alaska. By chance in August we too were in Alaska but on land. On the spur of the moment they invited us to sail with them from Sitka to Juneau around the south end of Baranof Island. For us that was a priceless gift, with bears on the shoreline, ice and glaciers in Tracy Arm, often being in the midst of humpbacks feeding and once a pod of orcas. Best of all we heard many more of their stories. Larry and Maxine had been keen observers in their travels and had formed strong and varied insightful opinions along the way. But they also listened to others and, despite their strong opinions, were very open-minded and willing to hear and consider the thoughts of others. Maxine died in 2015, Larry in 2022. They are survived by son Mark and daughter Ann.

Mike Cobbe

Gus Wilson

Mike was born in 1948 and brought up in Leigh on Sea, Essex. He had many boyhood interests amongst which were flying and aeroplanes. He soon earned his pilot’s licence to fly light planes, but after a few years he realised that every penny he was earning was being spent on this pastime and reluctantly decided he would have to give it up, or not eat. He retained the interest, however, and could recognise the type of light plane flying overhead by its engine noise alone.

At this stage his only foray into sailing had been when he and a friend bought a secondhand

catamaran. They launched it onto the Thames knowing nothing about what they were doing, and travelled a fair distance downriver on what was, to all intents and purposes, a wild ride before working out how to turn the vessel around and get back to where they started. They thought it was fun.

His main hobbies during the 1970s and ’80s were skydiving and, latterly, base jumping. This brought him, for a short time, the accolade of having jumped from the lowest building in Europe and he was part of a successful work competition team, completing 899 jumps.

Sailing re-entered his life when it became clear that it was one of the few holiday activities he and I could agree on. We both had a little experience but wanted to do more. Beginning with a flotilla holiday in Greece in the mid 1980s we then spent almost 20 years bareboat chartering all over the Mediterranean, Caribbean, the Seychelles and Bahamas. On our travels we saw a lot of boats sitting at quays, unchartered. This started a train of thought that, in conjunction with a yacht sales company we were familiar with, resulted in 1999 in the establishment of LateSail Ltd. The company specialised in late-availability bareboat charters worldwide. Mike handled the website and posted daily updates to it each evening after finishing his day job.

We loved sailing but, based in London and with busy careers, at that stage saw no point in buying our own boat. In the meantime, however, Mike was reading everything he could about cruising boats. He was dreaming of, one day, setting off with our own boat. In 2001 we bought Kelly’s Eye. She was only the third boat we saw, but she fitted Mike’s brief perfectly – 38ft, steel, long keel and a ketch. Dutch built and round-bilged it was hard to spot she was steel. She had only recently returned from the Caribbean and was well fitted out for cruising.

We based her in Burnham on Crouch for two years while we got used to sailing her and prepared to leave our jobs and house in London. We left the UK in May 2004, spending that summer exploring the Atlantic coasts of Spain and Portugal before heading to the Canaries. Our Atlantic crossing to the Caribbean (which was also our OCC qualifying passage) was slow due to lack of wind, but the fishing was good, much to Mike’s delight.

For the next five years we explored the Caribbean islands and spent time in Trinidad, Venezuela and the ABC islands. We stored away memories such as motor-sailing down the path of the setting moon on a flat

Mike in front of Angel Falls, Venezuela

Kelly’s Eye in Virgin Gorda, British Virgin Islands

calm night, schools of dolphins off Finisterre after a stormy night crossing Biscay, the sheer number of stars visible in the middle of the Atlantic, an evening watching newly-hatched baby turtles making their way to the sea in Trinidad. In Puerto Rico we had manatees swimming past the boat. In Venezuela there were pink dolphins on the Orinoco River. On one occasion in Venezuela we found an iguana on deck and on another a bullet! We learnt to dive in Bonaire, something Mike was delighted about as he hadn’t been sure his ears, which he’d had trouble with, would cope with diving. We met many cruising folk and always kept an eye out for other OCC boats.

We decided not to go further west as the boat was slow, plus we both had parents of advanced age in the UK. We returned to England in 2010 and moved to Emsworth, Hampshire, selling Kelly’s Eye to someone else who wanted to go cruising, which was what we wanted. Mike and I would often talk about our time sailing, remembering places we had been and people we had met. We didn’t achieve a circumnavigation or a voyage to Antarctica, but we had our small adventure. It was memorable, it was interesting, it was at times, as Mike quoted the familiar phrase, just boat maintenance in exotic places.

Mike threw himself wholeheartedly into everything he did. He was very sociable, funny and nearly always had a positive attitude. He was very serious about safety, however, whether skydiving or sailing. I was very lucky to share his life for nearly 40 years.

Jane O’Hara

Barry Wilmshurst

Barry caught the sailing bug in 1947 at the age of nine, during a two-week family holiday in Salcombe. To entertain their two sons, his parents rented a sailing dinghy for the fortnight and Barry spent as much time as he could on it. He was hooked! Family sailing holidays continued in Salcombe, Falmouth and later on the Norfolk Broads. In the late 1950s Barry joined the Island Cruising Club in Salcombe, where he learnt many of his cruising skills. He went on to skipper two of the ICC’s boats, Irina and Nicolette.

For many years he shared a boat with his brother and a friend. This arrangement worked extremely well and only came to an end when retirement was on the horizon and the possibility of spending more time afloat with his wife Mags meant that it would be preferable to own their own boat. JJ Moon was bought, a 43ft Contest, which they took into the Mediterranean. They enjoyed exploring Greek and Turkish waters, and a highlight one year was doing the East Mediterranean Yacht Rally.

Sailing around the world had never been on the agenda. In summer 2005 Mags and Barry had wondered whether they wanted to go further but decided that they loved what they were currently doing. That year they took the boat up to Venice, and in the last few weeks of the passage joined a small cruise-in-company organised by the Cruising Association and the Little Ship Club. On it they met three couples who were just completing circumnavigations, were

Mike in Bonaire

captivated by their stories and were inspired by their examples. They changed their minds. If nothing else, they would give the Atlantic a go. The passage from the Canaries to St Lucia enabled both to join the OCC.

Before setting off across the Atlantic, Barry invested in a satellite phone bought from Ed Wildgoose. This came with e-mail compression software and the MailASail blog feature. Barry’s writing skills now came to the fore. He really enjoyed writing a blog and was surprised but very appreciative to receive e-mails from friends, friends of friends and distant relatives who read and enjoyed it.

Barry wasn’t really a traveller, at least not in the touristy sense. On early sailing holidays, when a nice long hike to a local castle was suggested he would invariably discover the need for some essential boat maintenance. Even further afield, a visit to the chandlery was more appealing than a Buddhist temple! It was the messing about in boats that he really enjoyed.

Our seven-year trip around the world was a tremendous retirement project and Barry had all the skills needed to make it possible: equipping the boat, capable engineering (although not his forte), excellent navigation ... a cool, calm, capable skipper, sorely missed by the mate.

Alan Teale

Mags Wilmshurst

Alan, who was born in September 1947, always showed a voracious appetite for learning and sports and spent an active, happy youth in Wolverhampton and the nearby village of Penkridge. Exhibiting a great affinity towards animals, he was mentored by Eddie Straiton, known nationally as ‘the TV Vet’, and in due course gained his Degree of Veterinary Medicine from Cambridge University.

Alan’s home regularly included rescue animals or the struggling runt of a litter. His concern for the living world extended to insects and plants and he especially loved nurturing trees. Out on a long run, he once noticed an ash seedling growing precariously in an old stone bridge. It survives as a mature specimen in our garden. And on his last Christmas Day he planted a crab-apple tree.

After a few years in clinical practice, Alan went on to earn his PhD from the University of Edinburgh. This involved fieldwork in Kenya. He continued his research at Nairobi’s International Laboratory for Research in Animal Diseases for 18 years, and went on to establish a programme in molecular immunogenetics studying innate disease resistance of select African cattle breeds. Widely published and highly regarded, Alan mentored many young scientists in his lab.

We met in December 1987 in Nairobi. Alan teased me endlessly for the implausible excuses I offered before accepting a dinner date. Four months later, as we drove across

Relaxing after a day of diving on coral reefs, Watamu Beach, Kenya

Dancing to our own tune in the British Virgin Islands

the Serengeti savanna in his prized Land Rover Defender 110, there was no hesitation when Alan proposed marriage: I’d met the man with whom I wanted to share my life. So began countless adventures, dubbed ‘Teale’s Tours’. Exciting inland and coastal safaris created indelible memories for his three children, who joined us from England during their school holidays.

Intuitive, curious, diligent and never idle, Alan always had a project on the go. In mid-life, he took up sailing which flourished into a passion. He raced dinghies at Naivasha Yacht Club, where sailors share the lake with exotic wildlife, and I became an enthusiastic learner under his tutelage. We registered for RYA courses, gaining practical experience on bareboat charters, explored the coastlines of Devon and Cornwall, visited the Scilly Isles, crossed the Channel to France and Spain and discovered Scotland’s Western Isles. Further afield, we spent unhurried weeks in the Caribbean and British Virgin Islands. On the west coast of Canada we had a magical cruise with whales, salmon, bears, eagles, stunning scenery and challenging currents in the narrows.

Alan qualified as an RYA Yachtmaster Ocean following our first Atlantic crossing in 1998, a raucous passage from Mystic, Connecticut to Falmouth, Cornwall aboard Tom and Ros Cunliffe’s gaff-rigged Westernman. That year we moved to Scotland, where Alan was appointed Professor of Molecular Genetics at the University of Stirling.

We continued chartering and raced our Wayfarer in Scottish lochs until 2002, when Alan purchased our first keelboat, Montaraz, a 1971-built Nicholson 35. From the Hamble, she adopted Scotland’s west coast as her home waters and carried us offshore to Ireland, the Orkney Islands and to Norway via the Caledonian Canal. In 2007 we competed in the Azores and Back Race, our qualifying passage for OCC membership.

Retiring later that year, Alan concentrated on achieving his longheld dream to build a seaworthy vessel for an ambitious voyage tracing the travels of the Beagle. His ship would be a 14m Van de Stadt Madeira design in aluminium. Alan focused his prodigious energies on the venture, selecting all the materials and

Passage planning aboard Montaraz

recruiting expert craftsmen. He named the yacht Kiviuq after the wandering hero of Inuit legends. He was impatient to finish, as though he had a premonition that time was short.

Then Alan learned he’d acquired an illness, not imminently lifethreatening but causing enormous fatigue. With courage and grace, he modified our itinerary to fit around treatments. Kiviuq ’s maiden voyage in spring 2015 started from Inverness to Loch Eriboll, north to the Faroes, around the top of Iceland and back to the Clyde. The following year we began an Atlantic circuit, visiting Ireland, Madeira, the Canaries, the Caribbean, Bermuda, New England and the Canadian Maritimes. At sea, Alan was irrepressibly happy, immersing himself in running the boat and reporting our experiences in Kiviuq’s blog. He was justifiably proud of her performance and reliability on the water and quietly pleased when she attracted compliments in harbour.

Kiviuq’s sail trials, Inverness Firth

Wherever we sailed, Alan indulged a special interest observing birdlife. When in port, he was captivated by the round-the-clock activity of coastal communities. On reaching our various destinations we looked forward to the kind assistance of OCC port officers and Alan made a habit of scanning rigs for the flying fish burgee, striking up conversations to exchange travel tales or top tips. He valued the friendships which sprouted from these encounters.

Welcome aboard Kiviuq, grilled salmon steak for dinner, Front Street Shipyard, Belfast, Maine

We left Kiviuq in Nova Scotia in October 2019, expecting to sail her back to Scotland the following summer. But the pandemic intervened and in 2022 post-surgical recovery meant a very short season with Kiviuq Our hopes for a better 2023 did not come to pass as Alan died suddenly in the spring.

A sci-fi buff, Alan often quoted a line from the 1982 film Blade Runner, ‘The light that shines twice as bright burns half as long’. He had no way of knowing that, in fact, his brilliance would never be dimmed and continues to guide those of us he leaves behind.

Marilou Kosseim

ADVERTISERS IN FLYING FISH

Adlard Coles Nautical (nautical almanacs, books and guides) ...........................................

Alcaidesa Marina (full service marina nd boatyard at the gateway to the Med) .. .............. OBC

Astilleros Lagos (full service boatyard in NW Spain) ............................................................87

Berthon International (international yacht brokers) ..........................................................

Bruntons Propellers (feathering propellers for sailing yachts) ............................................

Epifanes Yacht Coatings (manufacturer of yacht paints and varnishes) ...................................... IFC

Evolution Sailmakers by Latell & Ailsworth (sailmakers in Chesapeake Bay) ...................250

Haven Knox Johnston (specialist boat insurance) .............................................................. 261

Hydrovane Self Steering (wind vane self-steering systems) ..................................................

Konpira Consulting (supports cruisers and organises yacht charters in Japan) ......................217

Mactra Marine Equipment (watermakers, Superwind turbines and solar panels) ...................165

MailASail (e-mail and satellite communications) ..............................................................

Marion to Bermuda Race (an ocean race exclusively for cruising yachts) .........................

Mid Atlantic Yacht Services (service and chandlery for yachts in the Azores) ..................

Reeds Almanac (annual compendium of navigational data for Atlantic coastal waters)

RCN Portosín (yacht club and marina in Galicia, Spain) ..................................................

Royal Newfoundland Yacht Club (50 ton lift, clubhouse, gasoline and dockage) ..................... 289

Sailors for the Sea (ocean conservation organisation) .........................................................183

Sails (sailmakers, upholstery and covers) ................................................................

Sevenstar Yacht Transport (yacht transport by sea) ........................................................... IBC

Sonic (marine propulsion specialists and custom engineering) ..............................

St Katharine Docks Marina (moorings in central London) ................................................

Topsail (specialists in marine insurance, for a range of sailing, boating & travel insurance needs) .... 4

Wanderlust Education (bespoke education packages for any child, anywhere in the world) ...79

World Cruising Club (sailing rally specialists, including ARC, ARC+, World ARC) ....... 151

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.

ADVERTISING OPPORTUNITIES WITH THE OCEAN CRUISING CLUB

We invite businesses, clubs and individuals to advertise with us in one or more of our three Club publications:

 Flying Fish (annual)

 Members’ Handbook (annual)

 Newsletter (quarterly)

These publications reach over 3500 of our international members, the majority of whom are boat owners and actively cruising around the world or aspiring to do so. Publications are circulated in either printed form and/or digitally via the OCC website and the OCC App.

We are always keen to hear from businesses or individuals who would like to sponsor OCC gatherings, rallies, speakers, seminars or boat show stands at key international locations where ocean sailors meet up.

Businesses and clubs can also offer special deals or discounts to our members. These are listed on the OCC website and are searchable by category. Submissions may include links to websites, a description of the business and the business logo.

To discuss advertising opportunities, contact advertising@oceancruisingclub.org.

FLYING FISH ADVERTISING RATES

 Full tt: £300*

 Half page: £200*

 Cover (inside front/back cover and outside cover): Price on Application

 (subject to availability, priority is given to existing advertisers who are invited to renew)

* A 10% discount is available to OCC members

FLYING FISH ADVERTISEMENT FORMAT

Advertisements should be supplied as PDF, JPEG or EPS files at a resolution of 300 dpi (118 dpcm) at finished size. Advertisers should expect the file size to be approx 2MB.

 Full page (portrait): bleed 240mm x 160mm (with an additional 2mm bleed on all sides); non-bleed 216mm x 135mm

 Half page (landscape): bleed 115mm x 160mm (with an additional 2mm bleed on all sides); non-bleed 103mm x 135mm

Adobe inDesign templates can be supplied on request.

FLYING FISH ADVERTISEMENT DEADLINE – 1st September

2025

www.carbonbalancedprint.com

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

SANDER

SANDER

SANDER

+31 6 432 400 8

+31 6 432 400 8 s.speet@sevenstar.nl

+31 6 432 400 8 s.speet@sevenstar.nl

SANNE VAN DEN HEUVEL

+31 6 899 317 60 s.van.den.heuvel@sevenstar.nl