30 December 2002
We started off with one bit of really bad luck. On the 31st of December, our second day into the journey, George the autopilot died. Mike spent hours working on it, cleaning and oiling the bits, but to no real avail. It would work for a minute or two and then stick. Effectively, we had to steer every minute of every day for the rest of the trip. Our new batteries were a disappointment and never seemed to hold a charge. The solar panels could not provide enough power to feed the autopilot as well as the GPS, VHF and lights. Mike didn’t like to run his engine, but even when he did, no juice seemed to go into the batteries (we discovered later that the alternator wasn’t working properly). Eventually, we had to sail without lights at night, which scared me witless initially until I got used to it. Our rationale was that, in theory, the only other vessels that might travel without lights would be sailing yachts and in those strong trade winds they would have to be going in the same direction as us. As there was always one of us on watch we would spot any other craft long before they got anywhere near us and then we’d put our lights on.
Personally, I hated the whole thing. Someone had told me, I don’t remember who, that the waves in the Atlantic were long and smooth, not short and choppy like the Med. The Med, they said, was the worst and everything gets better after that. Well, they were right that the storms in the Med were the worst we ever came across, but they lied about the waves. They were awful – long maybe, but nothing smooth about them. The sea was rolly and uncomfortable – it always is rolly when you go downwind actually. Surprisingly I didn’t get seasick. Neither of us slept well at all. Getting anything done, like cooking or washing up was a nightmare. Much as I hate tinned food, I was glad when the fresh food ran out and all I had to do was open a couple of tins of something. On New Year’s Day, we broke our alcohol rule and celebrated with a tepid beer each.
As the days passed, the north east trade winds increased, always at our rear. We goose-winged, with the poled-out genoa on one side, the stay sail on the other side and a reefed mainsail. Huge waves would come roaring up behind the boat, lifting the stern right up, pass under the boat and then we would shoot down the back of the wave at a truly scary speed, the surf breaking all around us. If a wave caught us wrong the boat would swing uncontrollably sideways in the trough at the bottom and the next wave could catch us broadside-on pushing the boat over at a terrifying angle. Those moments were hair-raising and dreadfully exciting.
I had a horror of experiencing a ‘knock-down’ which is when the boat gets pushed right over onto her side, or worse still flips right over. I had studied the mechanics of this and was reassured to read that the buoyancy of the Hallberg Rassy would force it to right itself immediately. However, in that interim period, the boat would fill with loads of water, damaging almost everything, sails and rigging would probably be lost and the crew (me!!) would either be swept overboard or suffer serious injury. Nice.
Actually, it wasn’t all bad. As we went further south and west, it got warmer and sunnier. We both got very brown and Mike’s hair went almost blonde. His hair was getting very long and he refused to comb it or cut it so the dreadlock knots increased - providing an endless source of amusement, irritation or entertainment to friends and acquaintances (depending on their temperament). He also grew a beard, which was quite cute.
Personally, I hated the whole thing. Someone had told me, I don’t remember who, that the waves in the Atlantic were long and smooth, not short and choppy like the Med. The Med, they said, was the worst and everything gets better after that. Well, they were right that the storms in the Med were the worst we ever came across, but they lied about the waves. They were awful – long maybe, but nothing smooth about them. The sea was rolly and uncomfortable – it always is rolly when you go downwind actually. Surprisingly I didn’t get seasick. Neither of us slept well at all. Getting anything done, like cooking or washing up was a nightmare. Much as I hate tinned food, I was glad when the fresh food ran out and all I had to do was open a couple of tins of something. On New Year’s Day, we broke our alcohol rule and celebrated with a tepid beer each.
As the days passed, the north east trade winds increased, always at our rear. We goose-winged, with the poled-out genoa on one side, the stay sail on the other side and a reefed mainsail. Huge waves would come roaring up behind the boat, lifting the stern right up, pass under the boat and then we would shoot down the back of the wave at a truly scary speed, the surf breaking all around us. If a wave caught us wrong the boat would swing uncontrollably sideways in the trough at the bottom and the next wave could catch us broadside-on pushing the boat over at a terrifying angle. Those moments were hair-raising and dreadfully exciting.
I had a horror of experiencing a ‘knock-down’ which is when the boat gets pushed right over onto her side, or worse still flips right over. I had studied the mechanics of this and was reassured to read that the buoyancy of the Hallberg Rassy would force it to right itself immediately. However, in that interim period, the boat would fill with loads of water, damaging almost everything, sails and rigging would probably be lost and the crew (me!!) would either be swept overboard or suffer serious injury. Nice.
Actually, it wasn’t all bad. As we went further south and west, it got warmer and sunnier. We both got very brown and Mike’s hair went almost blonde. His hair was getting very long and he refused to comb it or cut it so the dreadlock knots increased - providing an endless source of amusement, irritation or entertainment to friends and acquaintances (depending on their temperament). He also grew a beard, which was quite cute.
.
Day 8
Day 14
Day 24We saw hardly any ships, though we did see quite a bit of bird life which surprised me so far out to sea. There were plenty of dolphins and also a few whales who swam along companionably with us. On day 20 one lovely big whale about 25 foot long, grey with a white belly, joined our boat for three days, simply swimming along with us, occasionally diving slowly under our keel and up the other side. It seemed lonely and we wondered if it thought Forever was another whale. I loved the flying fish – they would come hurtling out of the water, spurt frantically across the waves and then belly flop back in again. Occasionally one would land on deck, always too small to eat, and we would throw them back.
We’d bought a large bag of onions and one of potatoes, all of which lasted well for the entire journey, as did our eggs. Back in Palma we had bought a full shoulder of Parma ham which we’d hung in a string bag in the fore cabin and thin slices of ham were one of our greatest delights on the trip. Like the onions and spuds it lasted right into Trinidad. We saw lots of beautiful Dorado fish, two of which Mike caught and we ate. He also caught a couple of good mackerel. But, basically, neither of us was ever really hungry and we simply ate because we had to. We neither put on weight nor did we lose any.
We listened to the radio and to our own music. I kept up with my Spanish tapes from time to time. We played chess and backgammon, read dozens of books, studied the stars and practiced celestial navigation. Mike had been given a sextant by his good friend Nuel, an American sailor with whom he had sailed that first summer whilst I was running the pub.
Night watches remained a mixed bag for me. The night sky could be so beautiful and the sea immense, menacing and mysterious – so much more so than during the day. Staring out at the sometimes bizarre shapes formed by clouds, the rising moon or the stars and the dramatic effects they can produce on the sea, I could understand why early sailors were such a superstitious bunch. I loved being out there on my own, experiencing periods of quiet contemplation or moments of high exhilaration. But, almost always, they ended in weary boredom, and finally exhaustion.
The problem of sleeping for me got worse and worse. Mike’s antics on deck whilst I was trying to sleep – changing tack, accidentally jibing whilst tending his fishing line, putting the autopilot on and then not hearing the alarm when it (inevitably) went off-course – were driving me mad. I finally threw a complete tantrum and threatened, deadly serious, to abandon ship the moment we hit land. “I won’t even take a line ashore to tie the boat up,” I snarled, frothing at the mouth. He feigned astonishment, but things improved remarkably thereafter.
We’d bought a large bag of onions and one of potatoes, all of which lasted well for the entire journey, as did our eggs. Back in Palma we had bought a full shoulder of Parma ham which we’d hung in a string bag in the fore cabin and thin slices of ham were one of our greatest delights on the trip. Like the onions and spuds it lasted right into Trinidad. We saw lots of beautiful Dorado fish, two of which Mike caught and we ate. He also caught a couple of good mackerel. But, basically, neither of us was ever really hungry and we simply ate because we had to. We neither put on weight nor did we lose any.
We listened to the radio and to our own music. I kept up with my Spanish tapes from time to time. We played chess and backgammon, read dozens of books, studied the stars and practiced celestial navigation. Mike had been given a sextant by his good friend Nuel, an American sailor with whom he had sailed that first summer whilst I was running the pub.
Night watches remained a mixed bag for me. The night sky could be so beautiful and the sea immense, menacing and mysterious – so much more so than during the day. Staring out at the sometimes bizarre shapes formed by clouds, the rising moon or the stars and the dramatic effects they can produce on the sea, I could understand why early sailors were such a superstitious bunch. I loved being out there on my own, experiencing periods of quiet contemplation or moments of high exhilaration. But, almost always, they ended in weary boredom, and finally exhaustion.
The problem of sleeping for me got worse and worse. Mike’s antics on deck whilst I was trying to sleep – changing tack, accidentally jibing whilst tending his fishing line, putting the autopilot on and then not hearing the alarm when it (inevitably) went off-course – were driving me mad. I finally threw a complete tantrum and threatened, deadly serious, to abandon ship the moment we hit land. “I won’t even take a line ashore to tie the boat up,” I snarled, frothing at the mouth. He feigned astonishment, but things improved remarkably thereafter.
On day 21 we got plenty of rain and were able to wash the salty decks as well as our fairly manky bodies. We had been a bit neurotic about wasting water as we were afraid of running out and still weren’t totally sure of our tanks. As it happened we had plenty. However, I learned to cook rice, potatoes and vegetables in a mixture of half sea and half fresh water and they tasted fine. I washed the dishes in salt water, and when we did bathe (not often) we lathered up in salt water and then rinsed off in fresh warm water from a solar shower that lay tied in the sun to the deck.
We averaged 120 miles per day until the 22nd day and were convinced we were going to make landfall on day 23 or 24 when, to my deep sorrow, the wind began to die off. We had been warned not to arrive at Trinidad over a weekend as one would have to pay overtime fees to the Customs and Immigration officials and, according to the GPS, our projected arrival time in Trinidad was going to be sometime during the night of Friday the 24th of January . Ever cautious of spending money needlessly, and rather desperate to just STOP sailing for a bit, we made grateful landfall at Scarborough in Tobago on the afternoon of Thursday the 23rd of January 2003. We had been at sea for 25 days and had sailed a further 2960 nautical miles, bringing our new total to 7143 nm. Here is the map of our journey.
We averaged 120 miles per day until the 22nd day and were convinced we were going to make landfall on day 23 or 24 when, to my deep sorrow, the wind began to die off. We had been warned not to arrive at Trinidad over a weekend as one would have to pay overtime fees to the Customs and Immigration officials and, according to the GPS, our projected arrival time in Trinidad was going to be sometime during the night of Friday the 24th of January . Ever cautious of spending money needlessly, and rather desperate to just STOP sailing for a bit, we made grateful landfall at Scarborough in Tobago on the afternoon of Thursday the 23rd of January 2003. We had been at sea for 25 days and had sailed a further 2960 nautical miles, bringing our new total to 7143 nm. Here is the map of our journey.
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