I find it difficult to believe that, sailing from the Tropics, across the North Atlantic Ocean, in the middle of summer, to England where you are experiencing the driest April on record, and a beautiful summer too, that here it has been so grey, so cold, so wet.
One day out from Antigua the sun hid behind a cloud, and has been rarely seen since. It's been damp, or drizzly, or it's rained - torrential at times. If that wasn't enough the sea has had its moments too with water flying everywhere. Together they have penetrated the deepest recesses of the boat. Everything has that sticky, salty, feel. Never have I worn my foul weather gear so much.
Today though, the sun is shining. Things are drying out. So do I care?
It has been an highly unusual season. Herb, the weather guru, said he can't remember a season like it. Propagation on the SSB radio has been so poor that at times communication as not been possible. But we've had it good. Compared with others we have had the "better" weather. We have been able to sail around the storms. We've seen, but missed the thunder and lightening, the 38kt winds, and even more rain.
Even now as we approach the Azores another low is tracking across, bringing with it more wind, more rain, but for now….I'll enjoy the sunshine - even if I do have a fleece on!
It was one of those quiet days. A hazy sun was warming the cockpit as Scott sat quietly on watch. I was looking at the charts. It didn't matter which way I did th sums, it was still a long way to go.
We heard it together. That low mournfull cry. Looking over the side as I rushed into the cockpity Scott cried "Whale". There, alongside the starboard quarter, was a Minkie whale. Its calls clearly audible. Silently it turned and with barely a flip of its tail, was gone. What a moment.
Fourteen days, and 1689 miles, out from Antigua and we have still not tacked. There is another gale sweeping in to the north of us that will bring us first south-westerly winds then, as the front passes through, we might have to gybe to make our final run into Flores, the most western of the Azores archipelago. I can almost taste that beer….
There was no discernible difference between the inky black sea and the star-studded sky. Up above it was wall-to-wall stars. The Southern Cross, enticing us south, The Plough pointing to home. Below Avocette rode to the wind, her bows lifting to each wave before plunging down to part the next in an explosion of bio luminescence. Waves lit-up like car headlights on a distant hill. Spray landed like individual diamonds cast down on the sea - a fortune for Neptune to collect.
Things were on the change. Herb our weather forecaster and routing expert, had advised us of a low that was forming. Keep south he said, keep clear. The Tropical Wave we ran into yesterday reinforced his message. The sea changed, the sky changed, the wind intensified. Two reefs in the mainsail, roll the headsail, up with the staysail, as thirty-three knots whistled through the rigging. Then came the rain - and didn't it! Carly (the Hydrovane self-steering system) coped with it all. Well almost. Emerging from the torrent we had an horizon again, but steering only to the feel of the wind, we had been turned through one hundred and eighty degrees - we were heading for Antigua - our first "tack" since we left!
The Low-pressure system gave birth to a secondary low. The lightning display last night was spectacular. We kept south. We are now using precious diesel motoring East, looking for the high pressure and easterly winds that will lift us to the Azores.
Sailing these kinds of distance, gear failure is inevitable. Daily walks around the deck enable many potential problems to be spotted early, and action taken.
Even so some things can't be foreseen and you have to take action when it goes wrong.
With a bang the port jib sheet car exploded. Not a spare I carry - pity, it's a vital piece of deck gear. Luckily the tracks on the side deck have exactly the same cars. A quick swop - problem resolved.
They say things come in threes. Leaks into the forecabin, broken jib cars, what next?
Sadly not all problems are as easy to overcome. One critical failure last night resulted in serious debate. Should we return to Antigua or St Maartin for a replacement? We broke the potato peeler!!!
Barely a ripple disturbed the surface of Hermitage Bay, but the sun was already warming the day as we weighed anchor, and hoisted the main. The Australian, at anchor alongside, raised his mug of tea in a farewell salute as we headed out to sea.
Farewell Antigua.
Puffle by puffle, the wind filled in. We hardened-up, and pointed for the Azores, 6kts, 6.5kts - none too shabby!
Slowly we settled into our daily routine of three 4hr watches from 0600 - 1800, four 3hr watches from 1800 - 0600. At 1930hrs UTC, I called in to Herb on the SSB radio for the weather. Good forecast, 10-15kt winds from the E or ESE til the weekend. Thanks Herb - good copy.
Day two started grey and overcast, and stayed that way throwing in the odd shower for good measure. The bad news was that thw waves breaking over the bow had entered the anchor locker, trickled through the hatch into the forward cabin and soaked my bunk. Problem sorted, but I'm in the saloon for the next few days!
Three day's into the voyage, we are making good speed, in the right direction, and the suns shining, so am I bovvered?
Scott returned from his two month trip into South America with girlfriend Caroline, we "did the Tot", weighed anchor, and headed out of English Harbour. It was tough saying good-bye to so many friends.
We didn't go too far - but tied up in Jolly Harbour. Caroline headed for the airport. I headed for Epicurian (Antigua's equivalelent to Waitrose).
Shopping done. Rig check done. Lights all working - stern light connections re-made. Now all we need is the weather. Looks like we go tuesday..........then maybe Wednesday would be better... or.....
Cruising, means different things to each of us. The reality is that it is sailing the world, to stop in the most beautiful anchorages, then repair, and work on your boat, while you source spares, and wait patiently for their arrival. Occasionally you get time to explore the countryside too.
I plan my day to ensure I keep up with it all, polish the stainless and the GRP, clean the boat, and do routine maintenance. By mid-afternoon, I feel I have earned a break and head off in the dinghy for the reef under The Pillars of Hercules, at the entrance to English Harbour.
It’s always interesting, but this week has been magical. Not only have I watched the huge shoals of both sergeant, and surgeon fish as they patrol the reef, big multi-coloured parrot fish grazing the corals, Green and Hawksbill turtles, and all the usual suspects swimming to and fro, but I have witnessed several firsts: An octopus hunting and feeding. Squid, the chameleons of the sea patrolling the shallows, and a school of big Barracuda, cruising the surface as we swum side-by-side just a few feet apart.
There have been dramas too. A 4ft Moray eel took an exception to my accidentally sticking my fin into his lair. He came shooting out, mouth wide open, to display his needle-sharp teeth and displeasure, before returning to his lair to watch me with his beady-black eye.
Giant Trevally (similar to tuna) over 3 feet long, hunting in pairs, with mouths agape, as they tore through the water at astonishing speed, twisting and turning as the jacks they were hunting tried desperately to escape.
But the best was swimming with sharks. I had tied the dinghy to one of the buoys beside the reef. Jim and I donned our fins, masks and snorkels, dropped over the side, and there they were, slowly cruising the seabed under our feet. Eight feet long and dusty brown, we watched in awe as the Nurse sharks mooched around.
How I wish I had an underwater camera!
The cruising crowd is now thinning out. Each day more boats leave. Soon the harbours will be empty. Some have headed west, bound for the Panama Canal and the Pacific. Others have headed north to the US eastern seaboard. Many have moved on to the islands further north, St Barts, St Maartin, and the BVI, before starting back across the Atlantic.
I am waiting for my crew Scott to return. He is in S America, having spent the last two months exploring there with his girlfriend. Then I shall follow the others out into the Atlantic. I’ll head for the Azores, where hopefully, many of us will meet again to swop tales, enjoy a beer or two, and explore the Islands.
Race week came with wind and sunshine. The start line was short, and we were late. The big 150% jib took a lot of winching! Tacking up the island shore we overtook one boat, then another, and another. Coming into the windward mark we were lying second. Tack. Crisis - tack back - too late! The jib had caught on the radar and it ripped - big time.
It was Easter Sunday and the sailmakers were closed until the afternoon. In Antigua, to Lime, means to take life easy. The sun was shining. We limed.
Race 2: Out to the start, unroll the main, unroll the jib - good repair. Why's the main falling down? To our frustration and dismay the roller swivel at the head had taken this moment to have a terminal failure. We limed.
Races three and four, I was on "Sunshine", built in 1958, in GRP with a long keel, she was an old lady. We had two great races, 25+kts, fluffy tradewind clouds and sunshine it did. Sadly though we cracked the boom, so yet again it was no more racing.
Race week is not a patch on Classic Week. Yes, the parties are bigger, with good bands, and last into the small hours each night, but its very commercial. Everyone wants your money. The best bit is all the shacks that appear overnight in the carparks. The locals set up their BBQ's, and sell good local food (at a price). It's a great opportunity to try Conch Chowder, Goat Water, Jerk Chicken, and Fish Roti, all server with pigeon pea rice, plantain, and fresh mango sauce.
I'll stick to Classics, with its beautiful boats, free champagne, beer and canapes!
