Flying Fish 2013-2 - Ocean Cruising Club

flying fish
2013/2
The Journal of the Ocean Cruising Club
1
2
OCC
officers
ADMIRAL
COMMODORE
VICE COMMODORE
REAR COMMODORES
REGIONAL REAR COMMODORES
IRELAND
AUSTRALIA
NEW ZEALAND
USA NORTH EAST
USA SOUTH EAST
WEST COAST NORTH AMERICA
ROVING REAR COMMODORES
PAST COMMODORES
1954-1960
1960-1968
1968-1975
1975-1982
1982-1988
1988-1994
1994-1998
1998-2002
2002-2006
2006-2009
2009-2012
FOUNDED 1954
Mary Barton
John Franklin
Peter Whatley
Mark Holbrook
Dick Guckel
John Bourke
Dinah Eagle
Nina Kiff
Doug and Dale Bruce
Sid and Rebecca Shaw
Tony and Coryn Gooch
Graham and Avril Johnson, Rosemarie and Alfred
Alecio, David Caukill, David and Susie Baggaley,
Simon Fraser and Janet Gayler, Chris Cromey
and Suzanne Hills, Scott and Kitty Kuhner, John
and Christine Lytle, Martin and Elizabeth Bevan,
Rick and Julie Palm
Humphrey Barton
Tim Heywood
Brian Stewart
Peter Carter-Ruck
John Foot
Mary Barton
Tony Vasey
Mike Pocock
Alan Taylor
Martin Thomas
Bill McLaren
SECRETARY Richard Anderton,
Secretary, Ocean Cruising Club Ltd
10 Carlisle Road, Hampton
Middlesex TW12 2UL, UK
Tel: (UK) +44 20 7099 2678; (USA) +1 360 519 5401
Fax: (UK) +44 20 3397 0076
e-mail: [email protected]
EDITOR, FLYING FISH Anne Hammick
Falmouth Marina, North Parade
Falmouth, Cornwall TR11 2TD, UK
Tel: +44 1326 212857
e-mail: [email protected]
OCC ADVERTISING Simon Williams – contact details page 228
WEBSITE www.oceancruisingclub.org
1
CONTENTS
PAGE
Editorial
3
The Commodore’s Column
4
Following the Volga Vikings
7
How to Tame your Storm Jib 21
What, Who, Where and When 27
Small Boat, Big Adventure 31
Dirty Fuel Tanks 43
Kava, Cakes and Sewing Machines 50
A Voyage to the West Indies, Part 2 59
Rescue at Sea 68
The Fun of Sailing On and
Off the Anchor 77
Collecting the New Dinghy 79
‘The Origins Cruise’ –
Circumnavigation 2009-2012 86
Where on Earth am I? 99
A Plague of Gremlins 107
Book reviews 117
No Big Deal
Back to Paraffin:
Fettler’s Retro Galley Upgrade
From the galley of ...
Stewart Island
The OCC Endurance Award
Panama Canal Transit –
Things I wish I’d known!
Single Malt’s Circumnavigation –
The Last Leg
An Unusual Voyage
What do you think of it so far?
Letters
Sailing South to the Sunshine
Falkland Islands Camp Cruise
Obituaries and Appreciations
Advertisers in Flying Fish
Advertising Rates and Deadlines
John Vallentine
Chris Wilkie and Margaret Beasley
Emma Buckels
Pat Manley and Gareth King
Katie Thomsen
Cdr Vernon Nicholson
Dan Alonso
Suzanne Hills and Chris Cromey
Rosemarie Smart-Alecio
Fergus and Kay Quinlan
Mike Bickell
Barry Fuller
The Trade Wind Foodie; Rambling under
Sail; Sixty Years of Sport; Secrets of Sailboat Fishing; Knots in Use; How Not to
Build a Boat; Sailing Directions for the
South and West Coasts of Ireland; Sailing
Close to the Wind; The Knot Bible
124
Linda Lane Thornton
131
135
137
150
Sonja and Jim Brodie
Scott and Mary Flanders
157
Cath Bridgen
166
177
181
188
189
198
210
227
228
Almuth Otterstedt and Edi Keck
Bill Marden
David Caukill
Mike Bickell
Neil Matson
Suzanne Hills and Chris Cromey
HEALTH WARNING
The information in this publication is not to be used for navigation. It is largely
anecdotal, while the views expressed are those of the individual contributors and are
not necessarily shared nor endorsed by the OCC or its members. The material in
this journal may be inaccurate or out-of-date – you rely upon it at your own risk.
2
First an apology.
Why, you may wonder, when I have such a excellent team
of proof-readers, is Flying Fish still littered with stray letters – most often V, T and
H? Unfortunately they infiltrate the pages after the proof-reading stage, while the issue
is being laid out (ie. when the text, pictures and captions are being placed on the page).
The program I use for this is called InDesign, and InDesign mainly employs three ‘tools’
... a pointer tool to move photos etc around on the page; a text tool for when one wants
to type; and a hand tool for moving from one part of the document to another. Many
other programs use similar systems. With InDesign, to change from one tool to another
you hit V, T and H respectively – but if you’re not pretty careful you don’t get the ‘tool’
but the letter, and if that falls amongst its brethren on the page it can be very difficult to
spot! I’m hoping some knowledgeable member will be able to tell me how to overcome
this problem, but in the meantime all I can do is apologise.
Another plea, though less technical. Most Flying Fish contain at least one page
of advice about submitting articles to the Fish, and sometimes to the club’s other
publications as well. In this issue, What, Who, Where and When appears on page 27. The
idea behind it really is to smooth the passage of your submission into print, by ensuring
that we all receive suitable material – subject, length, illustrations etc – well before
our various deadlines. I hate having to tell a member that his or her article is unusable
because it’s half again too long, or that I can’t select which dozen photos I might use
from the 86 non-captioned thumbnails which came with it, or simply that it’s missed
the deadline by a week ... or for any other reason, really. And of course if you’re about
to set off across an ocean and be out of touch for a while it’s even more important to
get it right first time. Finally, if you’re sending your message via Sailmail, Winlink or
similar, please ensure it will accept a reply. Bounces can be really frustrating!
And now for some praise! Once again I’ve been amazed and impressed by many of
the photographs submitted for this issue. I started to make a list of the pieces which,
for me, really stand out visually, but where do you stop? Suffice to say that Scott and
Mary Flanders’ Stewart Island (page 137) headed it, with Suzanne Hills and Chris
Cromey’s Falkland Islands Camp Cruise (page 198), Katie Thomsen’s Kava, Cakes and
Sewing Machines (page 50), John Vallentine’s Following the Volga Vikings (page 7) and
Almuth Otterstedt and Edi Keck’s Single Malt’s Circumnavigation – The Last Leg (page
166) all in close pursuit. And I’m sure to have left several out...
Finally, the usual reminder: the DEADLINE for Flying Fish 2014/1 is Saturday 1
February, though as I already have several pieces which simply wouldn’t fit into this
issue you’d be wise to get your submission to me – or at least drop me an e-mail to warn
me it’s happening – as soon as you put (virtual) pen to paper. Meanwhile, happy reading!
FRONT COVER: Amorosa off the Portuguese coast. See ‘Small Boat, Big
Adventure’ page 31. Photo Fiona and Iain Lewis aboard Ruffian
3
THE COMMODORE’S COLUMN
This summer Jenny and I sailed 4200 miles, attended OCC events in Beaulieu, Nova
Scotia, the Azores, Kinsale, Falmouth, Southampton, Dorset and Glasgow. We visited
ten Port Officers in post, sailed with two and met many others; in the six months from
June to November we physically met over 450 OCC members and discovered anew
just what an incredible club we have! There is no shortage of characters in the OCC,
and it has been exciting and memorable to touch base with so many of them recently.
Thanks to all of you who both organised the events and participated in them, we have
had a most enjoyable summer.
With Al Shaheen hauled out, it is now time to get down to winter work and as always
there is a lot to do. Here are a couple of topics emanating from the Committee.
OCC 60th Anniversary 2014
Next year is the sixtieth anniversary of the founding of the OCC by Humphrey Barton
in 1954. In recognition of this, the Committee is planning a series of ambitious rallies
and publications:
• A Baltic rally visiting nine countries and culminating with a visit to St Petersburg
• An eastern Atlantic rally extending from Atlantic Spain and Portugal to Madeira
and the Canaries, and including Alfredo Lagos’s Spanish Rías Rally
• An eastern Caribbean rally
• A Pacific Northwest rally
• Frances Rennie is producing an OCC Anniversary Cook Book for ocean sailors,
and would be glad to receive contributions at [email protected]
• There will be a special anniversary edition of Flying Fish containing a supplement
prepared by Club Historian Bill McLaren, an update covering the ten years since
Tony Vasey wrote The First 50 Years in 2004. He needs your material so please send
it to him at [email protected]
• Regular annual events in the UK, Ireland and the USA which will have a special
60th anniversary endorsement.
Details of all these rallies and events should be published by the time you read this.
Next year will be a very exciting year for the OCC, so please start your planning now
to make your 2014 a special and memorable year.
Recognition
Perhaps the most important intangible benefit of OCC membership is the one of
recognition – that all full members have completed a 1000+ mile port-to-port passage
in order to qualify as members. That is the only qualification for membership, and that
is what binds us all together.
A very high proportion of OCC members sail as a couple with their spouse or
partner, and therefore both have the passage requirements to qualify for membership.
However, many of these couples enrol only one person, as a single member. Sure, it is
slightly cheaper and he/she receives the same deliverables as members who have signed
4
up in a joint subscription, but it means the other qualified spouse or partner is not a
member and does not get the recognition from their colleagues and peers that they
have earned. Naturally, and rightly, members want their spouse/partner included when
they attend OCC functions and they are very welcome. However, the fact that these
non-members are included and treated as members is seen by some as a devaluation
of membership. The hard financial reality is also that when a couple takes out joint
membership that the Club’s administrative and publishing costs are covered; a single
subscription at the current fee barely does this.
So, may I suggest that you give your qualified spouse or partner the recognition they
merit and enrol them as a member under the joint subscription offer? That way they
gain the recognition they deserve, they pay their way as members, they help the Club
financially – and, with no additional joining fees applicable, the annual cost is still
about the same as a good dinner out!
John Franklin
[email protected]
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6
FOLLOWING THE VOLGA VIKINGS
John Vallentine
(The author, a retired doctor, left his native Australia in 2006 and is halfway through ‘the
world’s slowest circumnavigation’ – a contrast to his previous Sydney-Hobart racing days
in ‘a fast 1 Tonner’. In his mid sixties, he admits to ‘feeling much older during long night
watches in bad weather’.
Tainui is his fifth offshore yacht and, he says, he ‘cannot imagine a better cruising vessel.’
A 1973-built Peterson 46, she is ‘heavily built and comfortable – GRP with timber deck and
centre cockpit’. John’s priorities are clearly correct, with a good galley and excellent music
system, albeit no hot showers and barely adequate heating.
On leaving Sydney in 2006 Tainui sailed down to the sub-Antarctic islands – Macquarie,
Campbell, Aucklands etc – and then via New Zealand and the Chatham Islands to
Patagonia for two seasons. A slow passage up the east coast of the Americas led eventually
to Newfoundland and Labrador, where again they spent two seasons, before crossing the
North Atlantic via Iceland, the Faroes and the Shetlands to Scotland. After a summer spent
exploring the Baltic, Tainui was hauled out for the winter at Tromsø in Norway, prior to
the passage round North Cape to the Barents and White Seas.
John’s future plans are fluid, though he intends to sail Tainui home to Australia over the
next six or seven years, preferably via South Georgia and the Kerguelen Islands. Follow their
progress at http://www.tainui.org.)
The author
7
For anyone contemplating entry
into Russia’s inland waterways the
seminal works are the detailed
contributions to Flying Fish by the
late Alan Logan, Wallace Clark’s
Sailing Round Russia, the account
of his son Miles’ 1992 journey in
Wild Goose (published in 1999 and
currently out of print), and Barry
Woodhouse’s essay in the Royal
Cruising Club’s Roving Commissions
about the Aenigma voyage in 2000.
All of them are essential reading,
but things have changed and will
continue to do so, and I hope these
comments will be of assistance to
those who plan to follow in the
footsteps of the Volga Vikings.
As far as I can tell, Tainui was the
first foreign-flagged yacht allowed
into the Volga River system in the
last century, as both Wild Goose and
Aenigma carried Russian flags. We
8
feel very privileged. Miles Clark’s
trip was truly ground-breaking,
and it is readily apparent to
us that both the bureaucratic
processes and the practicalities
are very much easier now. I do
not pretend for a moment that
we are explorers as was he. But
that is Tainui’s way – we let
others do all the hard work and
simply cling to their coat tails
and enjoy the ride. Patagonia,
Labrador, Arctic Norway and
Svalbard were all like that for us.
It is one of the privileges of being
old and a bit timid, I suppose.
While Tainui enjoyed a
well-earned rest in Tromsø
last winter, I tended to the
cruising yachtsman’s inevitable
mortgage bloat, working back in
Australia. There I spent about
eight months trying to organise
permission for the journey. The
main problem we faced with
our Russian respondents was
silence. I think our plans were
too far into left field for the
Maxine Maters, my secret weapon
bureaucracy to cope with – and
this despite a formal decree by Prime Minister Medvedev in May 2012 announcing
the freeing up of regulations governing foreign vessels entering the Russian waterway
system. The main problem is that there is an immense gulf between senior level
intention and the practical expression of it by workers at the coal face.
The first requirement for foreign skippers and crew is a three-month business visa,
and there is just no mechanism allowing easy attainment of this. The list of hotels
we planned to stay in, the towns we intended to visit, the dates and means by which
we were travelling couldn’t be put into the rigid visa application. Purpose of travel?
Cruising doesn’t make sense to the authorities. And of course you can’t get a visa
without a formal invitation from a prescribed organisation inside Russia. The way I got
round this was not entirely dishonest. I formed a company called ‘Maritime Research’,
and my stated intention was to research a book on marine transport on the inland
waterways. I do intend to produce a simple guide for those who wish to follow, so I did
not feel I was being deceptive. I said I was interested in the exploits of the Vikings on
the Volga in the 10th century, and that is not entirely untrue either.
HVI dutifully listed all the ports we planned to visit and the dates as accurately as
we could guess them. Off went the application and .... silence. New applications were
9
The Russian chart-books are excellent
submitted, enlisting the dubious assistance of the Russian Yachting Federation and
a government organisation called Rusarc, which organises local cruising between St
Petersburg and Archangel’sk. Still silence.
I then brought out my secret weapon, Maxine Maters. She is a gem of a person.
A Dutch lawyer who has lived and worked in Moscow for two decades, Maxine had
expressed interest in joining Tainui for the trip. For eight months, while I bit my
nails, she cajoled, wheeler-dealed and probed the back alleys of Russian bureaucracy,
mounting a raft of robust arguments as to why Russia really had no choice but to grant
the necessary permissions. Ultimately I was granted an invitation from the Ministry of
the Interior to apply for a business visa and the visa was granted me in Sydney without
demur. Maxine lives in Moscow and didn’t need one. My worry all along had been
that nowhere in my application was there any mention of our planned mode of travel
– Tainui. I worried about that right up until we found ourselves well inside territorial
waters, with the apparent blessing of all the right people.
There are a couple of important rules. First, you must have a fluent Russian-speaker
on board. It would not even be possible to manage the huge, busy locks without an
interpreter. And of course there are the endless negotiations in Russian which take
place almost hourly about getting fuel, entering canals, agreeing the necessary canal
fees, establishing yacht bona fides, getting permission to visit so-called forbidden
places ... the list goes on.
Second, you must have adequate certification. What the authorities really want to
see is a Russian inland waterways licence. We could not provide one, because foreigners
are not allowed to apply for them and my commercial certificates, ICC, CEVNI and
RYA tickets did not impress. I am not sure how, but Maxine finally convinced them
that we had adequate experience and should be granted indulgence. It is a delight to
10
watch her with stodgy bureaucrats. She is by turns a bully, a seductress and a QC. During
these discussions – which always ended up with a bottle of vodka on the table – I had
no idea what was being said about the boat and our trip. After 40 years of voyaging as
sole owner and decision-maker I found this difficult at first, but I eventually learned to
let Max make the running while I sat in respectful, bemused silence and tippled. We
always seemed to get what we wanted, ending up drinking large amounts of vodka and
promising eternal fraternal bonds before departing, merrier than we should be, with
much mutual back-slapping. It is time-consuming but a delight, really.
The next requirement is adequate charting. There is a series of excellent, very
expensive chart books covering the waterways from Archangel’sk right down to the
Black Sea. You must have them. First you have to find them, and I will be happy to
advise anyone who needs them. Next you need a Russian VHF transceiver, as all their
channels are different from anyone else’s. These units can be located, with difficulty,
in Moscow, like almost everything. We also had electronic charts on board, and they
were very useful. iSailor for iPad has accurate and detailed charts (downloadable for
a price), and Navionics has just released inland waterways charts too, cheap enough
for iPad but for Notebook the price is hellish. We had the Navionics files as backup,
but prefered the iSailor interface. The waterways themselves are busy commercial
highways and are very well buoyed and lit.
Finally, you need to have a shipping agent and informal contacts on the ground.
Vladimir Ivankiv in St Petersburg was his usual patient and helpful self, Alex Galitsky
in Archangel’sk is a mine of local information, and shipping agent Yury Klyutvin
supervised all our customs and immigration formalities there. Konstantin Tymoynin,
Captain of the Belomorsk Canal, is a master mariner and he was understanding, helpful
and very generous with his time.
Our floating crane arrives
11
Tainui was an object of curiosity wherever we went. Local folk dropped by with the
obligatory bottle of vodka and an armload of fruit so often that we found we could not
arrive in a new town or village without a major cockpit tipplefest ensuing.
Yachts sailing from Archangel’sk to St Petersburg do not need to remove their masts.
Unfortunately, if you want to enter the Volga/Don river systems, after Lake Onega the
limiting height for southbound vessels is around 15m so our mast had to come down
in Vytegra. This was a worrying experience for me. Our crane (Volga-Balt Floating
Crane Number 83) had a 250 tonne capacity and the huge hook had a 1 tonne weight
attached. The crane’s clutch was faulty and the lifts were really 1m snatch-and-jerks.
The wake from passing traffic didn’t help, and I was relieved indeed when we were
done. Tony Gooch had given me very helpful advice and I had pre-fashioned three
robust cross-frames, through bolted and lashed.
Tainui ex mast
Other cruising necessities are straightforward. Fuel can be obtained from local service
stations in towns along the way, using the tedious jerry can / taxi method. Fresh water is
a bit of a worry and we were advised not to drink hose town water unboiled. I regularly
broke that rule without ill effect, but bottled water is readily available for purists. As an
aside I should mention that Lake Onega, about 150 miles into the system, has pristine
water and we filled our tanks direct from the lake using our galley salt water pump.
Barry Woodhouse put me onto this.
Once you get onto the Volga there is good internet coverage almost continuously.
You need a local SIM card which your Russian crew will have to buy for you (foreigners
have difficulty obtaining them directly), after which it is simply a matter of topping up
at one of the ubiquitous machines which can be found in all supermarkets. Provisioning
is not a problem as the supermarkets are well-stocked and essentials like vodka and
rum are very cheap. How things have changed since the bleak days of perestroika!
12
Yarowslavl monastery
And what about the journey itself? I can only say it was wonderful. After a lifetime’s
cruising it takes a bit to make this old man’s eyes goggle, but they did. The Volga is a
grand waterway, by turns densely forested and pastoral. Stately churches appear suddenly
after river bends and their golden domes sparkle in the sun. Huge, abandoned, Soviet
factories are slowly being subsumed into the vegetation. We swam every day, and at
anchor luxuriated in the soft evening light.
Before reaching Kazan we saw just three cruising yachts, all of them Russian. Near
Kineshma we passed a smart, home-built Russian sailing boat from Kazan bound for
Yaroslavl. Shortly after we passed Credo they called us up on VHF and asked if they
could return and lie alongside us for a celebratory toast, it being the day of national
celebration for all mariners on Russia’s inland waterways. Maxine had mentioned
earlier that in Slavic languages VHF communications between commercial shipping
Abandoned Soviet-era factories
13
often included fraternal greetings and expressions of goodwill, so after a nanosecond’s
consideration we acceded to their request, rafted up and drifted with the current.
A cheerful group of sailors brought on board with them a bottle of rum, glasses made
of real glass, and fresh oranges spiced with cinnamon. There followed one of those
occasions which make cruising worthwhile. The easy and immediate intimacy between
folk with so much common ground, doing the same stupid things, saw large volumes
of rum disappear in barely five toasts. With much back slapping we bade each other
14
A riot of domes at Kazan
farewell and went on our separate ways, I thought never to meet again but friends
forever. In point of fact, two weeks later Credo came out to guide us into the little
harbour at Kazan and the hospitable crew made our stop there quite unforgettable.
Anchoring on the Volga is easy, if messy, in soft mud with good holding. The average
depth is only around 8m and the water shoals rapidly towards the sides, so we often
found it necessary to use a stern anchor, to lie outside the channel but not aground.
By the time we reached the latitude of Moscow the days were warm and the winds
gentle. There was a steady 1–2 knot current most of the way down the river and I was
glad we were doing this trip from north to south rather than vice versa.
The Volga trip is long. At 0500 one morning, alone in the cockpit with my first
morning coffee and an impossibly beautiful sunrise over glassy water, I pondered the
enormity of this voyage. We were approaching Kazan, meeting place of Orthodox
and Islamic cultures and something of a milestone for dear old Tainui. But after two
months, ahead of her still lay another thousand miles until Istanbul. I wouldn’t have
missed all this for the world but crikey, what an undertaking. The Volga just goes
on and on. Time dilates and a hypnotic sameness threatens to stop individual days
defining themselves. Except yesterday, for example, when around a river bend there
loomed Makarieff Monastery (below). Totally unexpected, its huge ramparts and
massed golden onion domes glistened in the afternoon light. We stopped to visit the
peaceful cloistered gardens and dark, brooding chapels. Unforgettable.
15
So, are the days really all the same? Of course not. An experience like Makarieff seemed
to come our way every few days, reminding us why we were there, demarcating the
endless miles far more effectively than any clock or calendar. As if we needed reminding!
But it is the people who make this voyage so memorable. Let me give but one example
– in Nizhniy Novgorod, after a week’s R&R in Moscow, I needed to refuel. I asked young
Dima, working on an adjacent boat at the dock, if he could call me a taxi so I could start
the tedious jerry can transfer routine. Ten minutes later Dima came on board Tainui,
took the seven jerry cans, and did two trips to a local service station to refill them for
me, refusing my offer to at least assist him. That evening he came back and asked if his
girlfriend Gerda could come to see Tainui. To cut a long story short, there followed a
wonderful evening in company with these two 25-year-olds. They arrived bearing whisky
and juices of various sorts – of course – together with a copy of Volume 5 of the Russian
Waterways charts which they had inscribed and dedicated to Tainui.
Gerda, a poet and music lover, has excellent English. She talked about Pushkin, her
other love besides Dima. We listened to Taj Mahal and Rachmaninov while musing
about life’s infinite possibilities, and she told me about her childhood and their hopes
and aspirations together. The following day, Dima insisted on driving me into Nizhniy
to pick up Maxine and Lieve. He had started work at 0600, and I suspect he started early
so he could take the time off to be our chauffeur. How do you repay such kindness? I
ended that evening listening to Heifitz playing the Tchaikovsky fiddle concerto. I must
say, his beats the Joshua Bell performance I had heard at the Moscow Conservatoire
a week earlier, despite the wonderful setting of the latter.
Like so many other young Russians I have met, these two wonderful people (Dima
and Gerda, not Heifitz and Bell) will succeed, whatever they do. I invited them to
join Tainui for two weeks – they accepted, and were the most wonderful addition to
our crew. ‘The Children’, we called them. Dima navigated, Gerda cooked, and we all
laughed together. It was an honour to be able to show them some of their own huge
country from a vantage point they could never otherwise have had access to.
Gerda ...
16
... and Dima
South of Saratov
we were well towards
the end of this huge
journey. A couple of
days earlier we had
passed Marx and
tucked into a little
marina at Engels,
opposite Saratov. Like
many other places we
had been, this was an
old commercial ship
basin, slowly dying.
As in Samara, it is
being taken over by the fast plastic boat industry. For now, the mix of old and new
is touching – and something of a metaphor, because this was where we said goodbye
to Dima and Gerda. They would be missed.
Readers will know Engels as the home of Engels Trumpet Factory, now a major
producer of tubes and piping. Engels seems still to be emerging from the tribulations
of perestroika. Along the rutted dirt road from the marina are tiny stalls with meagre
displays of fruit and vegetables, clusters of picturesque timber dwellings sit among
the trees, and little old ladies with head scarves toil in small garden plots. Life does
not seem easy for these folk.
But change is apparent and proceeding apace – smart cars are driven by blinged
young things and on the water there are pristine gin palaces and jet skis. The grand
bridge across to Saratov is raddled with concrete cancer but upgrading is under way.
It boasts some fine old architecture and some dreadful new stuff, a warm and summery
ambience, and a splendid art gallery which should not be bypassed by visitors.
Traditional home of the Volga Germans who were sent packing during World War
II, Saratov has preserved their cultural and architectural influence, which is apparent
everywhere. Long closed to foreigners because of its importance as an air base and
centre of military manufacturing, Saratov is at last coming alive. After Saratov we
had fresh northerlies with a 200 mile open fetch down to Volgograd (Stalingrad).
What a great spinnaker run that leg would have made!
At Volgograd we bid sad goodbyes to the grand Volga and entered Stalin’s triumph,
the Volga-Don Canal. It included 16 of our journey’s total of 56 locks, and being
the only commercial connection between Caspian, Black and Baltic waters it is
busy, with 5,000 ton bulk carriers, oil tankers and barges plying their way through
the narrow, tortuous canal day and night. We became quite blasé about slipping
past them with sometimes only 5m between us ... and at night. Their skippers are
remarkably competent seamen, and watching them negotiate tight bends and enter
and exit locks with only a metre either side is a real delight.
The Don River is lovely. For two long days we meandered through mixed deciduous
17
The entrance to Stalin’s pride
– the Volga-Don Canal
forest, sandbars and reeded islets, aided by a steady 2 knot current. With so many blind
corners shipping is choreographed here – sometimes five ships at a time would pass us in
line. Then, twelve hours later, another batch would come from the opposite direction.
At Obhukovka the mast went back up, a small, very professional boatyard doing
the job seamlessly. We were the second foreign yacht they had done, the first being
Aenigma, twelve years earlier! Our epic two-hour trip downriver from there to
Azov was a delight. We just couldn’t get used to the clear decks, the mast above
us, shrouds and stays where they are supposed to be, and above all the gentle and
proper motion of a balanced yacht.
The lovely Don
18
Tainui’s last berth on the Don
In a short inlet in the commercial port of Azov we tied up at our bespoke wharf. The
water was glassy. Boatmen shovelled gravel into flour sacks, friendly dogs waited patiently
for food scraps, adolescents sat idly in boom-box Ladas, old men sat immobile with fishing
lines equally immobile, and an endless parade of ships passed sedately by our stern.
But getting out of Russia was even harder than getting in – Tainui was such a rarity
that there was just no precedent, no mechanism which the maritime authorities could
use. They deal with thousands of commercial ships each year, but despite the best
will in the world they had great trouble finding the right forms, the correct protocols.
Finally, after three days of rigorous and tiring negotiation and four hours of paperwork
on board, the Port Captain and officers from the departments of Immigration and
Customs gave us clearance to leave Russia. Again, Maxine was the hero of the day.
From Azov, motoring down the Don in the late afternoon sun with a light headwind
and bright blue skies and the sea just three miles ahead, we both felt quite flat.
After 200 fast miles across the Sea of Azov to Kerch in Ukraine, we turned south across
the Black Sea to Sinop in Turkey. As I write, the evening call to prayer is echoing around
the hills and pretty fishing boats are reflected in the glassy waters of the little harbour.
It will take time before this rich experience can be viewed in some sort of perspective.
I can say, however, that for me it has been a real adventure, a wonderful way to fill a
summer. A long trip, but highly recommended for those with masts less than 14m above
the water. I suppose the limiting factor with the White Sea to Black Sea transit is getting
to Arctic Norway and then 500 miles to windward through the Barents Sea and down to
Archangel’sk. You just have to do it, unless you take a short cut and enter the system
from St Petersburg. But we were entranced by the Solovetskiy Islands and the
Belomorsk Canal and we would not have missed those northern waters for the world.
19
Which will be YOUR PERFECT TENDER?
Rows, sails & motors
well, stows in the
smallest of spaces...
stable...and she’s
great fun to use.
SAILING
TODAY
Nestaway 8ft
Pram Dinghy
She made decent headway to windward (not
always the case with
sailing inflatables)...
a true all-rounder...
The two-section
Nestaway Pram is
a useful 8ft 2” long
when assembled,
yet can be stored in
a deck space of just
4ft8” by 4ft2”. Very
quick to assemble
(just do up four
bolts, no need for
tools), a delight to
row and lots of fun
to sail. The glassibre hull with oiled
teak trim is easy to
maintain/repair.
Price from £1850
(rowing boat) to
£3500 (high-spec
sailing tender).
SAILING
TODAY
Dinghy Go Sailing Inlatables
The DinghyGos were designed to take sailing rigs
from the start, so they have a daggerboard case
built-in (not leeboards) and a very solid mast step
for the freestanding rig. They are also great quality
inlatables for everyday use,
with huge carrying capacity
and the ability to plane using
motors up to 8hp. Two sizes,
220 and 270cm, with prices
(including rigs) from £2449.
Nautiraid Skin-on-frame Coracles
These skin-on-frame dinghies have very compact
folded dimensions and are notably lightweight: the
smallest of the three (6, 8 & 10ft models) has a hull
weight of just 22 lbs. They are good to row and
eficient under motor, with
sail options on 8 & 10ft
versions. Tough Hypalon
skins with subtle integral
buoyancy tubes, and wood
frames. Prices from
£1450 (6ft rowing model)
to £4350 (10ft sailing).
FoldAway Fold-lat Dinghies
Highly practical. Where
they really score is their
light weight. PBO
Tough, economically-priced folding boats made
from precision-machined plastic panels, riveted
together. They won’t win beauty contests but are
amazingly good to row (due to the low drag, doubleended hull) and can be abused - dragged over rocks
etc - in ways that no other boat can, folding or not.
Quick, tool-free assembly. Price from £950.
All available from the Portable Boat Specialists:
Nestaway Boats Ltd, Christchurch, UK
07768 600595 / 01202 423094
20
www.nestawayboats.com
HOW TO TAME YOUR STORM JIB
Chris Wilkie and Margaret Beasley
(Chris and Margie have been cruising out of their home port of Hobart, Tasmania for eleven
years aboard their 40ft Alan Payne-designed Skookum, Storm Bay of Hobart, covering
over 45,000 miles in that time. They have taken the course least travelled, sailing via New
Zealand and Micronesia to Japan, where they cruised for 18 months before heading northeast
along the Aleutians to winter on Kodiak Island, Alaska.
They are currently in Chile, where they hope to spend a couple of seasons, after a summer
in Mexico and a passage via the Galapagos and Easter Island.)
The crew of Storm Bay of Hobart discovered that deploying a storm jib safely under adverse
sea conditions and high winds requires some forward planning and plenty of practice.
Trying to pick favourable weather prior to commencing an ocean passage of more
than a few days is not easy. We believe that anyone who sails offshore enhances
their safety and that of the boat by carrying a storm jib and a storm trysail. Since the
introduction of roller furling, sail handling has become very easy if you want to deploy
or douse a sail. However, the practice of relying on a partially furled headsail in heavy
weather often leads to a poorly balanced rig, and places significant stress on the exposed
portion of the sail. The net result is the sail becomes stretched and rendered less efficient
when next used under normal wind conditions. Cruising headsails are generally made
from fabric that has a weight factor ranging between 4 and 8 ounces, depending on the
displacement of the vessel. Our storm
sails are constructed from 10∙2 ounce
material and are heavily reinforced
in all corners. In heavy weather the
average headsail is no substitute for a
purpose built storm jib.
The first time we launched our
storm jib we were safely tied up at our
home port yacht club in Hobart. On
that day there was no wind and the
sky was sunny and clear. We had just
taken delivery of a new set of sails for
our 40ft cutter Storm Bay of Hobart, in
preparation for a cruise to the South
Pacific and beyond. When I looked
at the storm jib two things occurred
to me: first, what a tiny sail, (just over
3 sq.m); and second, if we did need
to set it, wearing sunshades would be
compulsory due to its bright orange
Storm Bay’s storm jib looking
bright and diminutive
21
colour. Since the events of the 1998 Sydney to Hobart Race, maritime safety authorities
have urged boat owners to equip their vessels with bright orange storm sails. These are
more visible against the backdrop of the white crested seas that tend to accompany
the need for their use.
The second time we launched our storm jib was a very different experience. We
had spent our first offshore cruising season in New Caledonia and Vanuatu, in the
South Pacific. With the approach of the southern hemisphere cyclone season we
departed Vanuatu early in November and headed south for New Zealand in a light
northwesterly. Around midnight on our second day out the wind backed to the
southeast and increased to 20–25 knots. We were down to double-reefed main and
staysail, beating into a short steep sea and struggling to point high enough to maintain
our rhumb line for New Zealand.
Over the next few hours the wind increased significantly, the seas grew steeper and
closer together, and when Storm Bay stuck her bow out into fresh air on the back of
a particularly nasty sea, then dropped like a stone into a black void, we decided it
was time to turn and run. Sensing our plight, the wind gods increased their efforts
to a frightening howl that had us running under bare poles. Storm Bay is a heavy
displacement craft with a full keel, and the wind drove us along at better than 7 knots.
This gives some idea of the forces at play.
The Loyalty Islands lie to the north east of New Caledonia and were to the east of
our current course. Margie, who is the ship’s navigator, established that if we could
slide sideways across the direction of the storm, we might slip behind a headland into
a sheltered bay on one of the islands. Her proposed track involved a reach/run, which
under the existing conditions would require a small amount of sail, so I retrieved the
storm jib from the cockpit locker. I should add here that, after hoisting the storm jib
at our yacht club some two years earlier, I had folded it neatly and put it away in the
sail bag provided and forgotten about it until now. Not particularly seamanlike I know,
but then we are executive members of ‘WOW’ which stands for ‘wimps on water’ and
a primary rule is to avoid any weather above 25 knots unless it is going with you!
A cutter rig has many advantages when cruising offshore, one of which is that it provides
an inner forestay that keeps the centre of effort of any sail set on it close to the centre of
lateral resistance. This, combined with a full-length keel, means that Storm Bay is well
balanced with a staysail alone, or in this case a storm jib, and tracks very well.
So back to setting the storm jib... Judging from the sea state the wind was around
force 9 (we don’t have wind speed instruments, but when facing the wind it was almost
impossible to breathe – a bit like sticking your head out of the car window on the open
road). In addition to the high wind, we were burying our bow into the backs of steep
seas and taking a lot of green water over the foredeck. With harness on and safety tether
attached to the jack-line I took hold of the storm jib bag and, loaded with adrenaline,
started crawling forward along the deck. The fun started when I reached the foredeck
in a prone position. Along with the violent plunging and rearing and unbreathable
air, there was a serious jacuzzi effect as the ocean climbed onto the foredeck causing
me to float and slide around. A diving weight-belt, goggles and a snorkel would have
been useful just then!
The first challenge came when I opened the sail bag, which immediately billowed
and made like a hot air balloon. At this point I realised there was no way to attach the
22
bag to anything and it would be lost if I didn’t keep hold of it! Where was that third
arm? The next challenge came when I grabbed the tack tether thinking I should secure
the sail to the deck fitting at the base of the forestay, and, uh oh, there’s a shackle to
be dealt with! Now I really do need more hands! Did I mention that it was still dark
and of course I hadn’t thought to bring along a shackle key or a head torch?
Eventually, with the foot of the sail secured, I started to hank it on – another twohanded operation as it has piston hanks … oh boy! At this stage I was wondering
what happened to the notion of ‘one hand for the ship and one hand for you’, because
between holding on to the sail bag, securing the piston hanks, and trying to keep my
body from sliding around the foredeck I was definitely short handed! Thankfully the
water was warm.
With the sail flapping crazily and trying to climb up the stay I fought to get the sheets
attached to the clew – which was attempting to smack me around the head – and get
the halyard on. Finally when all was done I scarpered back to the safety of the cockpit
feeling like I was escaping from a monster.
Hauled up and sheeted in, the storm jib set like a board, drove Storm Bay forward,
and gave us back the helm control needed to head for shelter. It took five hours to
reach the bay Margie had set course for, which proved a true haven with a daylight
arrival, white sand beach, aqua green water and not a hint of what was ripping past
the headland behind us. I had plenty of time to reflect on a better system for deploying
the storm jib, without repeating the drama had I just been through, and to reduce the
safety risk of needing two hands to secure the sail.
Lessons learnt:
• The sail must be stowed in the bag in such
a way that the bulk of the sail remains in
the bag while the head, tack and clew
are attached to their various lines and
the hanks are secured to the stay. This is
achievable with a standard top-opening
sail bag provided some care is taken to fold
and stow the sail so the attachment points,
including the luff with hanks exposed, are
positioned at the open end of the bag.
The bagged storm jib with attachment
points clearly marked and to hand
• The bag needs a tether and snap hook
so it can be secured to the safety line
or similar and forgotten. This frees
up one hand and several body parts.
A tether and clip ensures
the bag doesn’t blow away
23
Securing a shackle and pin (left)
requires two hands and a shackle key,
not to mention that ‘Murphy’ could
send that pin over the side in a flash!
A snap shackle (below) can be
closed one-handed, and should
be left open when stowed
• The shackle and pin at the tack/
foot end of the tether need to
be replaced with a snap shackle.
This should be left in the open
position when the sail is stowed
so it can be closed on the anchor
point one handed.
• The hanks should be of the torsion spring style
and not the piston type because the former
can be snapped on the stay with one hand.
The functional difference between a
torsion hank (above left) and a piston
hank (above right) is self-evident
Opening a piston hank (above)
requires two hands
A torsion spring hank (right)
can be secured with one hand
24
• Finally, only after everything
is securely attached should the
bulk of the sail be exposed to
the wind, and even then the
person on the foredeck needs
to get clear quickly to avoid
being struck by a flailing sheet
or the metal ring in the clew.
For cruising boats not equipped
with an inner forestay which carry
their headsail on a furler, there are
With the sail still contained in the bag it is
systems which allow a storm sail to
possible to attach all lines and hanks
be attached to the forestay without
removing the furled headsail. This leaves the centre of effort of the storm sail close to
the bow and well forward of the centre of lateral resistance, however, which is likely to
create lee helm at a time when the boat most needs a balanced rig. With the development
of non-stretch ropes it is relatively straightforward to install a deck fitting (or make up
a strop that fits around the anchor windlass), and place a mast fitting (usually close to
the first spreaders and inner shroud attachment point), which together allow a storm jib
to be hoisted free standing. This removes the challenge of a hanked sail and brings the
centre of effort closer to the centre of lateral resistance.
As I mentioned earlier, the crew of Storm Bay prefer to sail in nothing over 25 knots,
but having cruised from 42°S to 60°N over the past ten years we have encountered the
occasional piece of dirty weather. Knowing we have the right sails and the confidence
Chris and Margie, the crew of Storm Bay
25
to deploy them gives us a certain level of security when the inevitable happens on a
long passage. To us it makes sense that any serious offshore sailors would carry storm
sails and practice the procedures for attaching and deploying them. This need for
practice is true for all safety equipment, bearing in mind that the serious use of such
equipment occurs under the least favourable conditions.
WHAT, WHO, WHERE AND WHEN
OCC members are the club’s lifeblood, and we rely on you for contributions to all our
publications, both paper and electronic. With nine separate inboxes, however, it can
be difficult to know where and to whom your submission should be sent, and when
the deadline falls for the next issue – always assuming there is a deadline.
We hope the following will be useful, but if your submission isn’t easily pigeonholed
please send it to the publication which looks closest and we’ll take it from there. If sending
to more than one publication please inform all concerned of the duplication.
General club business – initial contact, subscription and membership matters,
committee and flag office nominations, deaths etc – should be directed to our Secretary,
Richard Anderton, at secretary@oceancruising club.org (snailmail address on the first
page of each Flying Fish and Newsletter). Brief details of forthcoming events should also
go to Richard, with copies to the Newsletter at [email protected], and
the e-Bulletin at [email protected]. Nominations for club awards should
be sent to Awards Nominations at awardsnominations@ oceancruisingclub.org.
Many thanks, and we all look forward to hearing from you!
FLYING FISH (twice a year)
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Editor – Anne Hammick
E-mail – [email protected] or [email protected] (not both, please)
Snailmail – address on the first page of each issue
Subject matter – cruise and liveaboard accounts (including humour), technical
articles, recipes, letters, book reviews, obituaries. Please make contact prior to
submitting the latter two
Length – articles usually between 1000 and 3500 words, though longer pieces are
sometimes accepted. Length as required for other items
Illustrations – up to 20 captioned photographs per article (high resolution, though
thumbnails or embedded pics are fine on initial submission). Also professional
standard drawings and cartoons. See the Guidelines for Contributors (in recent issues,
on the website or on request from the editor) for further details
Chartlets – please include a rough chartlet if relevant, for professional re-drawing
Cover photo – eye-catching, upright photographs of high resolution and quality,
preferably with fairly plain areas top and bottom to take the wording
Deadlines – 1st February for June publication and 1st October for December/ January
publication, though an issue may be closed earlier if it becomes full
26
NEWSLETTER (quarterly)
• Editor – Colin Jarman
• E-mail – [email protected]
• Subject matter – news from members: cruise progress, cruise plans, meetings with
fellow members, snippets of news. Event reports, whether large organised rallies
or three boats getting together: short report plus photos. News from Port Officers:
members passing through, changes to your area (berthing, regulations, navigation
etc). Details of future events, including dates, venue and contact information
• Length – from as few as 50 up to ±800 words for members’ news. Event reports up
to ±500 words, news from POs up to 800 words according to content
• Illustrations – High resolution and/or large size photographs, as nearly ‘straight
from the camera’ as possible, with captions identifying who, what, where, when
and why. Send as e-mail attachments (probably over multiple e-mails), never in
the body of the e-mail
• Deadlines – 20th of month: January, April, July, November
E-BULLETIN (monthly)
• Editor – Dick Guckel
• E-mail – [email protected] or [email protected]
• Subject matter – urgent announcements, notification of events, requests from
Committee members, website tips and updates, Port Officer update information,
welcome to new members, names of recently deceased members, contact details
for club officers and officials, items for sale and wanted, advertising for the Forum
and the OCC Facebook group
• The e-Bulletin does NOT include – communications from the Commodore except
in special circumstances, technical articles, full-length obituaries, Facebook-type
information (who’s where, etc), commercial advertisements
• Length – generally less than 200 words
• Illustrations – generally NO
• Deadlines – 22nd of month from May to September inclusive, 24th of month from
October to April inclusive, for publication at the end of that month
WEBSITE – Homepage
•
•
•
•
Editor – Jenny Crickmore-Thompson
Web address – www.oceancruisingclub.org
E-mail – [email protected]
Subject matter – pointers to new items/articles within the website, general items of
interest, brief stories of members, news items (changes in country regulations, docking
facilities etc), short notes on recent achievements and/or accomplishments, upcoming
topical news, requests (for crew, info, assistance etc), comments on club events not
covered in the Newsletter or Flying Fish, and anything that doesn’t fit elsewhere!
• Length – any length. The Home page shows only the first few lines, often with a
photo, and provides a link to the full article
• Illustrations – one or two good photographs
• Deadlines – none. New articles are normally posted at least once a month but there
is no formal deadline
27
WEBSITE – Forum
• Moderator – Simon Currin
• E-mail – [email protected]
• Data Entry – any member can post messages directly to the Forum by logging on
with their usual log-in details
• Subject Matter – a wide range of topics are actively discussed, and more will be
added if any member has further suggestions. Current topics include: chart and book
exchange, crew exchange, various technical issues, radio nets and member’s blog sites
• Length – no formal restriction, but for a lengthy submission it may be better to
post a short introductory text and then attach a PDF. Links can be inserted to
other websites
• Illustrations – image files can be either attached or inserted into a post. A single
post can accommodate multiple images
WEBSITE – Cruising Information Community
• Web address – http://cic.oceancruisingclub.org
• E-mail – [email protected]
• Data Entry – the site uses similar technology to Wikipedia. You must log in to enter
data, either via the Club site and follow Cruising Information links, or via http://
cic.oceancruisingclub.org with your OCC username and password. Alternatively
e-mail your entry to the address above
• Subject Matter – any information of use to those planning to visit the same area. In
particular, recommended online and paper cruising guides, local regulations, local
privileges for OCC members, out-of-the-way anchorages and places where yachts
can be left for a period of time. Your own web log may of great value to others –
please e-mail the above address to discuss how best to present this on the CIC site
• Length – one sentence to a few paragraphs
• Illustrations & attached files – follow the instructions at the foot of the data entry page
• Deadlines – none. Post as soon as the information is available
WEBSITE – All other aspects
• Project Manager – Dick Guckel
• E-mail – [email protected]
FACEBOOK
• Administrators – Frances Rennie and Jenny Crickmore-Thompson
• E-mail – [email protected]
• Subject matter – anything of interest to other members, queries requiring a quick
response, short (very short) sailing comments with photos
ADVERTISEMENTS
• Advertising – Simon Williams
• E-mail – [email protected]
• Flying Fish – about 30 pages of commercial advertisements are carried in Flying
Fish. Details of rates, page sizes, deadlines etc will be found at the back of each issue
or can be obtained from Simon Williams
28
• Newsletter – Members wishing to sell yachts or used cruising equipment should
contact the editor, Colin Jarman. Advertisements are normally quarter page or smaller,
and there is no charge. Members wishing to sell items commercially, or to promote
books, seminars etc, will be charged and should contact Simon to discuss rates etc
• E-Bulletin – no advertising is carried in the monthly e-Bulletin other than the (free)
‘for sale’ and ‘wanted’ listings – contact the editor, Dick Guckel
PRESS RELEASES
• PR Officer – Daria Blackwell
• E-mail – [email protected]
• Subject matter – member achievements or activities that would be considered
newsworthy to sailors globally. Please note that all press releases about the OCC
must be centrally approved by the PR officer. Please forward clippings about the
OCC appearing in regional publications, preferably by e-mail attachment, otherwise
in hard copy to Daria Blackwell, Port Aleria, Rosnakilly, Kilmeena, Westport,
County Mayo, Ireland
And men go about to wonder at the heights of the
mountains, and the mighty waves of the sea, and the
wide sweep of rivers, and the circuit of the ocean, and the
revolution of the stars, but themselves they consider not.
Petrach, quoting from The Confessions of St Augustine
29
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30
SMALL BOAT, BIG ADVENTURE
Emma Buckels
(A photo of Amorosa off the Portuguese coast, taken by Fiona and Iain Lewis aboard Ruffian,
appears on the front cover of this issue.)
I first came into contact with the OCC via the internet. I was planning an Atlantic
circuit on my own and was nervous about the mixed reports I’d heard of the Caribbean.
Reading the website, the Port Officers seemed a great asset and I contacted the club to
see whether it would be possible for me to join and receive the youth bursary. Although
I didn’t satisfy the criterion that I’d be crewing for an OCC skipper, I would be sailing
a qualifying passage, I’m 23, and would that count?
I was working at the time for the Marine Society and the Sea Cadets skippering
TS Vigilant, a Tradewind 35. I had worked for the Sea Cadets for two years, sailing all
over the UK delivering adventurous training to cadets and RYA training to adults.
I also occasionally took a few stints on TS Royalist, a square-rigged brig, when they
needed a third watchkeeper.
I had begun ‘big boat’ sailing when I was 14 and had a week’s trip with Ocean Youth
Trust Northwest aboard their 72ft gaff-rigged ketch sailing out of Liverpool. It was
the best week ever and I was addicted. I started sailing with them then as bosun, and
once I left school I became an ‘ASTO’ (Association of Sail Training Organisations)
cadet. It was a tough year during which we completed our RYA qualifications, but
more importantly we gained contacts and experience sailing all over the place with
different skippers and crews, in different roles and on many different vessels. When
my year was up I declined my university place and took a job as first mate on Spirit of
Fairbridge, a 92ft schooner working with inner city youth on the west coast of Scotland.
When I finished aboard Fairbridge I worked as a freelance instructor for a year before
beginning the Tradewind job. (I include my background to give an idea of my sailing
experience, as perhaps it was an important factor in receiving the bursary.)
Early on in my application I received a lot of support from Rear Commodore Mark
Holbrook, who suggested I join as an associate member and contact John Whyte about
the mentoring scheme. It was great to hear from positive people rather than a lot of
friends and relatives who couldn’t quite see why I’d want to leave a good job and cross
an ocean on a little boat. Surely I could just do it as a job? I gained confidence from my
mentor, Kari Blackmore, and was told that as my request for the youth bursary wasn’t
quite in the guidelines it would be taken to the AGM ... but hey, it wasn’t a no ... and the
outcome was £1000 towards my trip. An invaluable amount of money, plus cash support
from people who have actually crossed oceans in small boats gave a lot of reassurance.
I finished work in March and launched into work on Amorosa, my Sadler 25. Kari’s
advice was invaluable just then as it’s amazing how much stuff you decide you don’t
need, then in the panicking final stages start to think you will need, but really you don’t.
Amorosa had been new to me in the previous November and I did a lot of work on her,
in the process meeting an Atlantic Spars rigger, Stuart. By this point I was beginning
to have doubts about going on my own. The sailing didn’t bother me, but I’d had a few
nights alone in a pub nursing a pint while I tried to charge my phone feeling very, very,
31
very lonely. Some people
you just click with. Stuart
had always dreamed of
going sailing but it had
never been quite the time;
I was feeling nervous
about actually, actually
going alone, so we decided
‘why not go together?’ We
did a quick delivery back
from France to check we
both had the same sort of
sailing mentality, and all
Stuart and Emma
was good.
Why a Sadler 25? Well
originally I had been going to sail in a 23ft Westerly Pageant, but she had no kit with
her so I went to look at Amorosa to make an offer on the kit she was advertised with.
When I saw her I could see she was a far better boat, so I bought her and sold the
Pageant. Amorosa’s first owner had sailed her to Spain (possibly hence the name?) and
her second owner, Adrian, had had her for twelve years and cruised her singlehanded all
over the English Channel. She came with a Neptune self-steering gear (very similar to a
Windpilot), electric autopilot, chart plotter, solar panel, VHF and radar. She had mainly
been a race machine in her last few years so the interior was ... disgusting! But she had
great headsails (Adrian was a sailmaker), a clean hull and two-bladed prop. I added a
second inner forestay (for strength, and to make it easier to fly twin headsails) and – as I
had been going to go singlehanded – an Echomax active radar reflector and AIS.
I didn’t have the time to fully rewire Amorosa, so I got Kev at Marine-Tec in Portland
to complete the job. He was great and showed me everything as he did it, so I learned
a lot. He had so much secondhand gear, which he sold me for virtually nothing, that
his services probably saved me money! I went for three batteries, a Rutland 913 wind
generator, some fans and better lighting. He also fitted a new throttle and Morse cables.
I had the anchor roller beefed up, serviced the seacocks, replaced all the non-Taylor
through-hull fittings and a lot of the pipework, re-bedded the two windows and the
forward hatch and cleaned, scrubbed and painted.
As I was flagging Stuart took over and I did some freelance jobs to boost the
plundered budget. Stuart
fitted a full-size Admiralty
chart table, with drawers
so the charts could all be
stored flat. It has a Formica
top, so doubles as a decent
work surface for cooking
as well as for navigation.
I had removed the cooker
Building the chart table
32
and bought a two burner
alcohol stove (for insurance
purposes) so he fitted that,
building easy-access tool
drawers beneath. Then he
fitted a heads (I had been
planning on using a bucket)
and built a holding tank into
the space behind it. He fitted
a windlass, and together we
reinforced deck cleats, eyes,
etc, as well as making Perspex
storm boards for the windows
and the forward hatch. The
last few weeks could mildly
be described as chaos (right),
and when my Dad visited he
was horrified!
We left Gosport in June 2012,
heading to Falmouth then
onto La Coruña. It was my
first offshore trip on my own
boat and I got nervous off
Brest – we weren’t able to pick up anything on our SSB receiver and there seemed to
be nasty little lows rattling across every six days or so – so decided to head in. It was a
good decision as yes, one low did cross that would have got us halfway across Biscay,
plus we were there for the Brest Festival which was brilliant.
After an uneventful Biscay crossing we headed south through
the rías and along the Portuguese coast – friendly
people, history and architecture, fog
dodging and beer at 24
cents a can. Our
best visits ashore
were to Santiago de
Compostela, Porto –
for the port tasting –
the Lisbon peninsula
and Lisbon itself. As
we travelled south we
started meeting OCC
people who were all
really encouraging and
Porto, and Emma
discovers rosé port....
33
Amorosa sailing in the Algarve, with
Kari’s Zahlia in the background
friendly, notably Dick and Moira
Bentzel in Equinox and Phil and Sara
Smith in Lochmarin. Having left full
of confidence, this began to wane
somewhere along the Portuguese coast.
We always seemed to have the smallest
boat, and sometimes the swells in the
Portuguese trades were pretty big.
When we left for Madeira there was
an uncomfortable large swell pattern
and, roughly 60 miles off, with deep unhappiness on my part, we turned around and
headed to the Algarve. Dolphins followed us into the anchorage at Sagres and departed
once the anchor was down.
The Algarve was much nicer than we’d expected and we had a really good time
cruising there. The beaches were deserted as it was out of season, and again we met
really encouraging OCC people, including Bruce and Pam, Kari Blackmore and Mark
Holbrook in the flesh rather than via email, and Commodore John Franklin.
We left mainland Europe for a second time, this time heading for the Canaries, and hit
bad weather – unbelievable amounts of driving rain and 30 knots from the south – around
100 miles out. We turned round (again) and spent a depressing few weeks in Portimão,
cuddling a fan heater and
waiting for a weather
window, but with renewed
confidence in Amorosa who
had been brilliant. There
wasn’t a gap coming, so we
decided to head south along
the Moroccan coast stopping
at Rabat and Safi, which
was really interesting. Rabat
marina is extremely well
sheltered, but the entrance
isn’t and we were there for
three weeks before we could
get back out again. We spent
a lot of time absorbing the
culture, visiting the medina,
and admiring the impressive
buildings. A highlight was
A very large sniffer-dog
for a very small boat on
arrival in Rabat
34
visiting Chellah, an old Roman
city, and wandering the ruins.
We visited Safi, despite reading
Noonsite’s warnings against it,
because it was Christmas Day, we
were beating into a headwind, the
forecast was for strong winds and I
was horribly seasick.
Safi is a dirty industrial port,
but we were made welcome by
the port captain who allowed
me to use his shower because
Stuart gave him a ‘present’ of a
bottle of Jack Daniels. We had
no problems tied alongside their
fisheries school boat, and only
had to move a few times for a
dredger. We were the only yacht
and got lots of waves and shouts of
welcome. We didn’t see much of
Safi because I didn’t want to leave
Amorosa for too long, but I felt it
was an auspicious place after the
port captain proudly showed us
ASDA Value Cava on dawn arrival at Isla
the plaque to Thor Heyerdahl who
Graciosa – we’d finally crossed a bit of ocean!
had left from there on Ra. Shane
Acton of Shrimpy, whom I have long admired, also left from Safi for the Canaries.
We finally left and reached Isla Graciosa in time for a fantastic New Year’s Eve
party. We felt it was a massive achievement. We met up with lots of friends, some
of whom were running late like us and had decided not to cross but stay and cruise
the Canaries. We were tempted – I had thought the Canaries would be mass tourism
and not very us, but we really enjoyed walking on Isla Graciosa and felt very happy
there. From there we had great sailing to Las Palmas for final preparations, where
my mum visited and waved us off.
Amorosa achieved remarkable passage speeds on the way to the Cape Verdes,
including surging down a wave at 11∙4 knots! We did the 800-ish mile passage in
seven days and were mightily impressed with her – and she was very comfortable,
running downwind with two poled-out headsails. We sheered the plastic bolts in
the self-steering gear rudder, but were able to replace them with stainless bolts and
get the Neptune back to work. We reached São Vicente at night, cautiously picking
our way into the anchorage at Mindelo with radar and the pilot book but having
to wait until morning to see the place we’d heard so many mixed reports about.
Mindelo was brilliant! Windy, welcoming and wonderfully musical. While we were
there the Cape Verdes football team got through the first round of the African Cup
of Nations and the island exploded into a party. When we make the trip again we’ll
allow far more time to see the Verdes and possibly Senegal.
35
By 30th January 2013 we were ready to cross the Atlantic. We left in a sort of flotilla,
Limbo at 27ft leaving two days before us, Lochmarin at 55ft leaving the same morning,
and Amorosa leaving in company with Tara Tari – a Bangladeshi fishing boat which
looks rather like a canoe – and her French owners. We decided to stick with them as
best as we could, at least to clear the wind shadows of the Verdes, but said goodbye
on the second evening as they averaged a knot less than us, and from then on we saw
only three ships.
Many readers of Flying Fish will have experienced a tradewind passage so I won’t give a
blow by blow account. Ours was, I think, typical. We had poor weather on days
5 and 6 (30 knots, 4m swells on the beam and driving rain
– rain always being our biggest problem!)
but the rest of the time
apart from the odd
squall it was blue
skies, blue seas and
sunshine sailing. We
tanned, read books and
ate and ate. Our selfsteering gear steered and
we averaged 5 knots most
days under twin headsails,
using the main on lighter
days. The main chafed
through towards the end,
but we patched it and on
arrival borrowed Lochmarin’s
sewing machine to repair
it properly. Each evening
Lochmarin
broadcast an update of their
position and a weather forecast
on SSB, which was great, and
we heard them about 50 percent of the time. It
was great to hear another voice. We tuned into the BBC World Service, only to hear
an announcement saying ‘this service is no longer
operating, please go to www......’.
We were surprised to see birds every day, and
Stuart caught seven fish, landing five – three
scrumptious dorado and two wahoo. I banned
him from fishing for about five days in the middle
because we had a 2m shark swimming lazily
around us for an afternoon! The last wahoo was
hooked on day 19 as we closed with Barbados,
after we had cleaned both Amorosa and ourselves
really thoroughly – including washing our bedding
– in preparation for landfall, so Stuart got a second
shower. On arrival we were put on the customs
Making our Bajan courtesy flag
36
berth and told to remain on board until the
morning, but they couldn’t see a problem
with us barbecuing our wahoo, which was
absolutely delicious and a great way to
celebrate our first ocean passage.
I didn’t particularly enjoy Barbados
– among other things, the Carlisle Bay
anchorage was infested with jet skis which
came much too close to the yachts – and
was happy to sail downwind to Martinique
and the beautiful bay at Grande Anse where
the snorkelling was sublime with turtles,
corals and even a seahorse. Fort de France
afforded some culture and cheap vittels
though our favourite spot was St Pierre. St
Pierre, known as ‘the Paris of the Antilles’,
was destroyed by a volcano in 1902 and we
enjoyed exploring the well-preserved ruins.
After Martinique we headed to Dominica.
Dominica was actually the only place I had
Wahoo!!
wanted to visit in the Caribbean, and I hoped
I wouldn’t be disappointed. I wasn’t. As we sailed in we saw two sperm whales and a
humpback. We picked up one of Sea Cat’s moorings off Roseau and spent our first few
days exploring on the bus network. Everywhere you go in Dominica you see breathtaking
beauty. We visited Trafalgar Falls – two stunning waterfalls surrounded by jungle where
you can laze in hot sulphur springs or cool fresh water. We saw the botanical gardens,
the parrot aviary and shopped for gorgeous fresh produce in the market. We hiked
the Boiling Lake (without a guide) and turned around because we got nervous in the
Valley of Desolation, but we still saw the steam rising in the jungle, the pools of mud,
the geysers. We had walked through jungle so awesome you had to pinch yourself to
believe it was real. At the bottom of the hike we swam in Titou Gorge (it’s in Pirates
of the Caribbean) which was cooling and had a waterfall at one end. We walked back to
the bus stop and waited in the boiling heat, but buses are not too regular in Dominica
so we tried hitching. The first car stopped, despite being full of fruit and vegetables, and
we were squeezed in. The couple driving were so friendly they insisted on giving us a
mini tour and dropping us at our
dinghy with a big bag of grapefruit.
We were persuaded by some
Americans to go walking with Sea
Cat (a person, not a company)
and wow are we glad we did. Sea
Cat’s tours are much more than
walking – he piles everyone in his
minibus and drives all over the
Messing about in the jungle
37
Stunning
Dominica
island, constantly stopping to give you fruits to taste, to explain how things are done,
to drink moonshine... We started at Moses’ ‘rastarant’ at the base of Middleham Falls.
The walk wasn’t too difficult, sort of a gorge walk, with a beautiful waterfall roaring
at the top. We swam in the plunge-pool and he took us under the falls two at a time.
It was difficult with the water roaring and you had to just trust him to grab you. You
came up desperate for air with the water pounding in your ears, screaming and laughing.
Awesome. Then back to Moses’ for lunch. It’s a kind of community in their valley, they
grow all their own food and herbs and it’s very peaceful and happy. The rastas are very
proud of their valley and have no interest in finding Zion because they have everything
so believe they’ve already found it. We thought they might be right and were sad to
be dragged away to see the windward shores, and the Emerald Pool. Our day with Sea
Cat was one of the best of the trip.
Next day we took a bus to the Champagne Reef. It was a bit too rough to see the
bubbles or the reef, but the back of the beach was lined with iguanas and we also
saw a snake. It was time to leave Dominica and head north to Iles des Saintes, but
as we left we were surrounded by spinner dolphins and I couldn’t resist jumping
in and swimming with them. It seemed that everyone else was in the Saintes too,
because it was difficult to find space in the anchorage and nobody was particularly
welcoming ... apart from some bottlenose dolphins which swam through the moorings
and which we swam with several times.
We were losing enthusiasm for heading north and couldn’t get over Dominica, so we
went right back to Sea Cat who made us feel like we had come home! International
cricket was on in the stadium and Stuart dragged me to it. It was brilliant! Everybody
was there, with music, dancing, great food and lots of beer. The West Indies beat
Zimbabwe so we partied hard. Next day I dragged Stuart back and it was all over
38
before we’d even had a beer – I don’t really understand cricket. This time we visited
Soufrière and enjoyed the hot springs and snorkelled through hot bubbles. We still
had more we wanted to do, but strong winds were coming and our mooring fee was
mounting so we left to sail down to Martinique.
Stuart celebrated his birthday in St Anne, and we were adopted by some very
friendly Americans who treated us to a fabulous creole lobster meal on the beach.
We then moved to Marin to look for work, but were put off by the scale of the place
and the mosquitoes. Continuing south we visited St Lucia, where we were saddened
by the Soufrière marine park which seemed to have an unhealthy relationship with
tourism, and were glad to move on to Bequia, the Grenadines and the Tobago Cays.
Here we had no hassles at all from local people, made friends, sunbathed on beaches,
finally slung our hammock between palm trees, and snorkelled for hours with many
more turtles, fish and manta rays.
We reached Union Island in the last week in April with cracks starting to show. We
were completely strapped for cash and were split by the constant worry about what to do
next. Work was not proving a problem for me, but the thought of skippering in the tropical
heat was too much and I was beginning to miss home quite badly. I was in the sail home
camp, Stuart in the stay camp. However he had big concerns about splits in the rigging,
the patches upon patches on the mainsail, and the growth on Amorosa’s hull – she really
needed a refit. We started to
look into shipping her back
to the UK, and though the
cost seemed quite reasonable
the ship left from the US
Virgin Islands eleven days
later and we didn’t have
visas. Then a very nice man
who had seen our OCC flag
came over in his dinghy,
and it turned out he knew
everything – he gave us the
name of a broker, told us
how to obtain visa waivers
... everything. Thank you so
much – I’m so sorry I didn’t
get your name.
On 2nd May – my birthday
– we booked passage to
Southampton for Amorosa
for £4500, and I booked
work in the UK so at least
I’d be earning. We dashed
Relaxing Caribbean
style, with Amorosa
just in view on the left
39
Limbo waits to be hoisted aboard the yacht transport ship
around in the heat and fuelled up (we’d used 30 litres of diesel since Las Palmas),
watered up and enjoyed the Queen Show and May Day festivities. The sail to the
British Virgin Islands was painful – very hot and very little wind, and in 48 hours we
only managed 80 miles. We followed the island chain because if we’d had to motor
all the way we’d have needed to stop for fuel. We arrived in the BVI in company with
Limbo who had made the same decision. We got the ferry to St Thomas to get our
passports stamped, then returned to collect Amorosa and Limbo. The BVIs and USVIs
seemed nice enough, but we didn’t have a lot of time to explore.
The shipping company seemed to be rather disorganised with poor communication
– first we were told there wasn’t space, then that there was – and after working nonstop to get Amorosa ready (including dropping her mast at anchor as she doesn’t have
a tabernacle), we had to hang around for four hours in the heat, circling next to the
ship with no acknowledgement, before she was lifted aboard. I was working by the time
Amorosa arrived back in the UK, so Stuart met her and put her back together.
We’re very proud of Amorosa, and have learned so much during this last year. There
are so many benefits to having a smaller boat that we wouldn’t change her, and she
truly is our home on the
Home in the UK and Amorosa’s mast goes back up
water. With both of us
working – Stuart is now a
shipwright at Berthon in
Lymington – we’ll finally
be able to spend some
money on her and are
already starting to plan our
next cruise, to somewhere
slightly less hot – we think
the Baltic looks good.
Finally, thank you very
much to the OCC for
the help on all levels –
financial aid, motivational
aid and really useful
information. Amorosa flies
her burgee with pride.
40
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42
W W W. H Y D R O VA N E . C O M
WHAT IF...
DIRTY FUEL TANKS
Pat Manley and Gareth King
(Pat Manley is the author of numerous books and articles on subjects ranging from diesel engines
and boat electrics through to radar and navigation. All the photos which follow are also his.
Gareth King, together with his wife Annie, were regular contributors to Flying Fish between
1992 and 2009 while cruising the Caribbean and the eastern seaboard of North America
aboard their 38ft French-built sloop Merlin of St Peter Port.
After some fifteen years of cruising in Merlin, and having filled her tanks from Turkey
to Alaska and all points in between, I decided it was time to take a good look inside
the fuel tank. The last time I had the tank cleaned
and the fuel polished was in Canada in 2004, using
a filter-only system, and on that occasion the
operator got through four filters before he gave up.
I don’t use any fuel additives, but I do use a ‘Baja’
filter to remove dirt and water when refuelling.
Merlin has a very large tank (1000 mile range),
so in addition to water and bugs developing, the
fuel gets stale.
When I removed the tank’s two access panels
the results were sobering – there was severe
contamination with diesel bug. I am fortunate
to have as my neighbour Pat Manley, a regular
contributor to Practical Boat Owner magazine on
diesel engines, and after consultation with him
decided to have the fuel ‘polished’. Access to my
berth is restricted, so I employed Diesel Bug Busters
to attend with their very portable equipment.
What came out of the tank was quite alarming!
Typical ‘diesel bug’ growth in a
How (and why) diesel bugs develop
jar containing fuel and water.
Recent changes in the UK/EU regulations
The bug can be seen growing at
regarding the supply of fuel have made it more
the fuel/water interface and the
likely that we will suffer fuel contamination of
‘dead bodies’ dropping down to
our diesel fuel and fuel tanks. In the past, our
the bottom of the jar
marine diesel has basically been ‘central heating’
oil which, although it has good storage properties, doesn’t contain the performanceenhancing additives of ‘road fuel’. The new legislation requires the supply of low-sulphur
diesel fuel where it is to be used on ‘inland waterways’ – a definition which includes
estuarial waters such as The Solent. Low-sulphur diesel presents no threat in itself,
provided that the refineries have added a lubricity enhancer, which they will have done.
The most cost-effective way for fuel distributors to supply marine diesel to refuelling
stations is to bring in road diesel fuel. At first sight this seems a good thing, because
this fuel probably has all the additives that make our cars run well. However, current
43
UK/EU legislation requires all road fuel to have at least 5 percent bio-fuel content,
a figure which is set to rise and which in some cases has already reached 7 percent.
As far as marine users are concerned this blend of bio-diesel presents a problem – the
fuel deteriorates quite rapidly in storage and it is hygroscopic (ie. attracts moisture).
Normally the advice has been to keep our fuel tanks full, especially before laying up
for the winter, to minimise the amount of air in the tank. Thus when the outside
temperature falls, little moisture can condense out of it. The new fuel doesn’t keep
very well, however, so we shouldn’t refuel until we need to because the fuel will go
stale .... BUT the more air there is in the tank the more water will accumulate – a
Catch 22 situation.
Because water is heavier than diesel it collects at the bottom of the tank. Then
bacteria and fungi can start to grow – all they need is diesel fuel and oxygen, and they
can get the latter from the water. The bugs grow at the interface between the oxygen
and the water, and the problem is worse when the boat is static for long periods of time.
Fuel contaminated by ‘diesel bug’ can block fuel filters rapidly enough to stop engines
when underway. Also, some variants produce sulphuric acid which can seriously harm
the fuel system. Additionally, bio-fuel (ethanol) is a solvent. This will have the effect
of dissolving old deposits in the fuel system, causing blockages, and also the resins of a
GRP fuel tank, causing leaks or worse. It can also cause failure of rubber components
in old engines. So what can we do?
Prevention
• Prevent water collecting in the fuel tank. This entails refuelling at known, reliable
sources, ensuring that the fuel tank filler seal is in perfect condition, and keeping
the tanks topped up, especially in the winter. In some areas of the world fuel may
contain both dirt and water, so a filter that removes both should be used when
refuelling. However, this slows down the refuelling rate and will not be popular
with the seller or waiting customers.
Remember that diesel bugs can’t grow without water. You could use an additive
which takes the water into suspension, passing it through the engine and into the
exhaust. These are used successfully in the road haulage industry, but I personally
have reservations about using them where the engine is used infrequently, as in
many boats, as water is left in suspension in the injection pump and injectors for
long periods at a time. An Aqua Sock from A.S.A.P. Supplies Ltd [http://www.
asap-supplies.com] can be suspended in your tank for 24 hours to remove water.
Finally, ensure that the air inside the tank is dry, especially when the boat is laid up.
This could be achieved, DIY, by attaching a closed plastic bag containing desiccant
(hygroscopic silica gel) to the tank’s breather pipe.
• Prevent the fuel from becoming stale. Don’t use bio-blend fuel if you can avoid
it. In the UK, Premier and MDL marina groups have an arrangement with their
suppliers to provide only non-blended diesel fuel. Otherwise use an additive which
will help alleviate the effects of using blended fuel, available in the UK from Soltron
IW Ltd [http://www.soltroniw.co.uk] and Millers Oils [http://www.millersoils.co.uk].
• Prevent a diesel bug from becoming established. If there’s no water, the bug can’t
grow. You don’t need a biocide as a regular additive.
44
How do you know if the tank is dirty?
The first sign you may have is that the engine will stop. If your primary filter has a
transparent bowl, then you will see dirt and water in this when you check it. Some
filter elements, such as Racor, do not allow water to pass through. However, because
the fuel take-up pipe is several centimetres above the bottom of the tank (to prevent
picking up muck from the bottom) you can have a contaminated tank long before the
contamination becomes visible. Where tank access hatches are provided, their removal
will allow the tank walls and bottom to be inspected. You could try sucking out some
fuel from the bottom of the tank via the fuel filler pipe, but this may be impracticable.
Some laboratories will analyse fuel samples and a DIY test kit is available, although I
have no knowledge of its effectiveness.
What if your tank has the bug?
• Kill the bug. This is the time to use a biocide, but the biocide won’t get rid of the
dead bodies. When individual bugs die, as they do all the time, they fall to the bottom
of the tank and this is the visible sign of an infection and is what blocks the filters.
An enzyme additive, such as Soltron will remove this type of tank contamination
and is indeed used for this purpose in large fuel installations. This type of additive
is used at each refuelling to keep the tanks clean and also imparts, over a period of
time, immunity from infection. Unlike biocides, it poses no health and safety risk.
• Clean the tank. This can pose a big problem for owners. To clean the tank you
need to be able reach all the inside surfaces, and many tanks these days have no
inspection hatches, and neither can they be removed for cleaning or replacement.*
Even with an inspection hatch, tank baffles may prevent all the surfaces from being
A wand being used
through an access
hatch to ‘sweep’ the
bottom of the tank
reached.
Tank cleaning and fuel
polishing specialists
There are a number of
companies which will
come to your boat, clean
the tank and polish the
fuel, removing both
solid contaminants
and water. (‘Polishing’
implies returning your
dirty, stale fuel to a
* An article by Bill Salvo about fitting a fuel tank inspection hatch a will appear in
Flying Fish 2014/1. Sadly pressure of space prevented its inclusion in this issue.
45
clean, fresh condition.) In the UK they usually use locally franchised operators.
A powerful mains-electric pump is used to suck the fuel from the tank, pass it through
a filtration system and return it to the tank via a second pipe. If there is a tank access
hatch, a wand attached to the suction hose should be used to sweep the bottom of
the tank to remove accumulated sludge and dirt. In the case of aluminium tanks this
wand must be non-metallic. Once the bottom of the tank has been swept, the delivery
and return pipes should be positioned to give maximum turbulence inside the tank to
ensure all the contamination is removed. Where no tank access panels are available
thorough cleaning is more difficult. Other than the contaminants themselves, all the
fuel is returned to the boat’s tanks.
I have observed two different systems in use in the UK, both requiring a 240 volt
mains electrical supply:
• The first was at Darthaven Marina, using equipment made by Expresslube (UK) Ltd.
This is a fairly large unit, mounted on four wheels and positioned on the dockside
or pontoon – provided there is sufficient access. It uses a turbine centrifuge prior to
the filter, to separate the sludge and coarse contamination from the fuel. A vacuum
gauge indicates how dirty the filter is becoming.
• The second, operated by Diesel Bug Busters, is a much smaller unit which can be
carried on to the pontoon, so access is not a problem. If the tank is very dirty the
machine’s filter will quickly become blocked, and as these filter elements cost around
Diesel Bug Busters draining off dirty fuel from one of the transparent bowls
46
£80 each the used a metal 50 micron washable filter for the first passes through
the machine. The fuel flows through transparent bowls where some of the sludge is
deposited prior to reaching the filter, and these bowls need regular emptying. After
a number of passes through the system the fuel will be free of major contamination,
and the metal filter element can be replaced by a disposable 30 micron element to
fully clean the fuel. If this is done too soon, this expensive filter will quickly become
blocked and must be replaced by a new one at the boat owner’s expense.
Dirt and debris
collecting in the
transparent bowl
of Diesel Bug
Busters’ rig
‘Diesel bug’ removed
from the transparent bowl
The boat owner needs to discuss with
the operator what the service will
provide according to the design of the
fuel tanks, and whether the boat will
have to be moved first. Generally a
boat’s primary fuel filter will have a
30 micron mesh size, though some are
smaller. The polishing will need to clean
the fuel to at least 30 microns to prevent
premature blockage of the boat’s filter.
DIY fuel polishing
Once the tank has been thoroughly cleaned you can install your own fuel polishing
system – particularly worthwhile on larger boats. This can be a permanently installed
system that recirculates fuel from the tank, through the polishing system, and back
to the tank independently of the engine’s normal fuel system. It can, if required, run
all the time the engine is running. Alternatively, for smaller boats, owners can use a
portable system once or twice a season.
What you can expect to pay
• Darthaven Marina [http://www.darthaven.co.uk], using Expresslube equipment,
work on their own premises and charge* £60 + VAT per hour, so the cost will
depend on the amount of fuel to be cleaned and how dirty it is.
• Diesel Bug Busters [http://www.dieselbugbusters.co.uk] charged £450 with no VAT
47
payable, to attend and clean a 120 gallon tank and polish the fuel. If more than one
replaceable filter is needed they will charge an additional £80 for each filter. They
take several hours (as long as necessary) to achieve the required result.
• Expresslube (UK) Ltd [http://www.expresslube.co.uk] say that: ‘Every boat has its
own complications, so the price per job tends to fluctuate accordingly due to the
amount of work required in gaining the required access to the tank. A typical (no
dramas) job costs from £400 + VAT for a single tank on a yacht or small motorboat
in The Solent area, and can filter down to 5 or 10 microns with extra passes if
required at no extra charge for filter changes.’ Expresslube will travel to most parts
of the UK and Europe. Their two largest units are fixed within vans, the third can
be manoeuvred down the pontoon to the boat.
• A.S.A.P. Supplies Ltd [http://www.asap-supplies.com] will sell you the parts to
make up a portable polishing system for less than £200, depending on the fuel flow
required. A fully installed system will cost quite a lot more, again depending on the
fuel flow required. These will polish the fuel but not clean the tank.
* Prices correct as of May 2013
Goes With Anywhere
Tel: 01326 574402
www.Tilley.com
48
Marine
Ampair hybrid system combines the Aquair towed water
turbine with the powerful Ampair 300 wind turbine
which will achieve 200 amp/hrs per day at 12V
15% discount to
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49
Contact
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[email protected]
www.ampair.com
KAVA, CAKES AND SEWING MACHINES
Katie Thomsen
(Having returned to her ex-pat home in Antwerp, Belgium from a liveaboard kayaking trip in
British Columbia, Katie announced, ‘I could live on a boat’. Seven years and 35,000 miles
later she and husband Jim have sailed halfway round the world enjoying a simple but exciting
life visiting exotic places, parking their home in beautiful bays, and delving deeply into new
lands, waters and cultures aboard Tenaya, their 2006 Hallberg-Rassy sloop.
Jim and Katie received the Rambler Medal for 2012 in recognition both of their cruising
among the islands of Vanuatu and their positive actions once ashore, some of which are
described below. Katie chronicles their adventures at www.tenayatravels.com.)
It all came together in Vanuatu. Eighty-three steep, forested islands are scattered
in the warm South Pacific like a big Y running north to south. Aneityum, the
southernmost island, is about eight sailing days north of New Zealand. That’s about
1000 miles. Tenaya was anchored in Anelacuahat Bay at Aneityum and I was sitting
on the beach with a jar of bubbles. As the glistening orbs floated on the wind, the kids
playing nearby cautiously approached with wide eyes. Soon they were taking turns
blowing bubbles and squealing with delight. Captivated, my husband Jim pulled out
his camera. Our hearts began to open.
The following year we returned with an Epson 4x6 photo printer. The lady at the bank
suggested I give the album of bubble-blowing kids to Seralyne, because the girl on the
cover was her granddaughter. Seralyne was thrilled! People on this remote island seldom
have pictures of themselves or loved ones. Along with hugs and happiness, I received
two delicious grapefruit and made a new friend. A few days later her son Jonah brought
Seralyne and a boatload of kids out to Tenaya. It was their first time on a sailboat, ever.
Seralyne’s family visits Tenaya
50
Across the
lagoon, Mystery
Island receives
thousands of cruise
ship passengers
each year. People
make a decent living
selling trinkets
and tours to the
mostly Australian
tourists. We thought
postcards might be a
hit, so made some
‘Primrose welcomes
you to Vanuatu’ – one
of the postcards we
made for Seralyne to
sell at her stall on
Mystery Island
It was their first
time on a boat,
ever, for Seralyne
and her family
All kids love bubbles!
for Seralyne to sell from her stall. We
also printed photos for Keith and Natu
to advertise their cultural tours. We ask
permission before photographing people and
find most enjoy seeing themselves on the
camera’s display. Because they rarely have
them, local people are delighted to be given
photos of themselves and their families.
Stanley paddled up in his hand-hewn
outrigger canoe shortly after we anchored
in Port Resolution, and welcomed us to
Tanna with a broad smile. A few days
later he politely asked if we would charge
his mobile phone as his village has no
electricity, and of course we were happy to
51
Jim takes a portrait of Patrick’s family
help. Ashore, broken things found their way into Jim’s
backpack. He was able to fix Esther’s speaker, Marie’s
solar powered light, Sam’s underwater flashlight,
Stanley’s DVD player and several mobile phones.
Carolyn asked if he would have a look at the village
water pump which had stopped working and Charlie
wondered if Leah’s sewing machine could be repaired
They had asked the right man – 40 years ago Jim and
his brother decided they could make backpacks, so
Tenaya at
anchor in
Port Resolution
Kally looks at a photo of himself
52
Stanley visits Tenaya. He is the
yachtie liaison for Tanna Island
they purchased an industrial sewing
machine. It wasn’t long before
something broke and, unable to
afford a professional mechanic,
they began taking it apart. After
many attempts they learned how
a sewing machine worked and
figured out how to fix it.
Leah is a mother and widow who
earns money making skirts. Her
Singer hand-crank sewing machine
had not worked for months and no
one had been able to fix it until
Jim came along – it took him three
hours and drew quite a crowd. As
he got up to leave, two women
cradling broken machines emerged
from the onlookers. Back to work he went. The next day Elsie, Jenna and two others
asked him to look at their inoperable Singers. He was able to repair all but Jenna’s.
The beaming smiles and heartfelt thanks were payment enough, but the ladies gave
him baskets of food as well.
Jim repairs the village water pump
at Port Resolution on Tanna Island
53
Jim fixes Elsie’s
sewing machine
As she and I walked
out of the village
along the rutted dirt
road into the dense
bush, Marie described
the different types of
fruit and vegetables
grown in the
gardens. Eventually
she stepped off the
road onto a barely
perceptible path of
slightly trampled
vegetation. She
glided effortlessly
over and under green,
sometimes prickly,
often substantial, obstacles while I followed clumsily behind. I tried not to step on
anything with a leaf until she pointed out that I was waltzing around weeds.
All her corn had been eaten by a cow, and Marie was so upset on hearing the news from
her mother that she did not want to see the devastation with her own eyes. She had not
been back until now. After a few moments of quiet contemplation she took me through
Leah, thrilled that her sewing machine works again
54
Marie makes a
chocolate cake ...
her garden and
then to those of
her family. She
dug tubers out
of the soft, dark
soil with her bare
hands, put them in
an empty rice bag
and topped it off
with a papaya from
her mother’s tree.
On the way
back to her village
I asked if there was
anything Marie
would like from
me. “I want you to
make me a cake,” she said with a smile. “Okay, banana, white or chocolate?” I asked.
“Chocolate” she declared. I’d gone my entire life without making a chocolate cake
from scratch, but now I was inspired
to avoid boxes. The following week
David asked Jim if he could spare some
rope to tie his cow to a tree. I urged
him to give up some old climbing rope.
Perhaps this was the errant creature
that ate Marie’s corn.
When we returned the following
year I brought along sturdy, reusable
containers and plenty of cocoa.
Carolyn asked me to bake a cake for
her nephew’s circumcision ceremony
in Yakupen, and Meriam requested
a cake for her son Ron’s ceremony
in Manuapen. These are important
traditional ceremonies held each year
in villages across Tanna. When Marie
wanted a cake for her son’s second
birthday, I invited her out to Tenaya
to help. She was amazed by the electric
mixer and cheerfully agreed to lick the
bowl to help conserve water.
... and Ron chooses it at his
circumcision ceremony
55
A man prepares for a passport photo
Soccer players must have ID cards with a passport-sized photo if they wish to compete
on other islands. Four of these photos cost 1500 vatu, about US $15, a month’s earnings
for a guide. When word spread that Jim would both take and print passport photos we
were swamped! The two teams from the John Frum village at Sulfur Bay brought baskets,
feathers, kava and a lovely woven mat. Others gave us fruit, vegetables and herbs.
Then Werry, the manager of the Port Resolution Yacht Club, asked us to make signs
requesting yachts keep their rubbish on board, not to leave it on the island, burn it on
shore, or toss bottles or cans overboard in the bay. We did and hope it helps.
Local people are keen to visit the boats anchored in their bay, and one day we
had 26 kids out in two dinghy loads, girls first, then boys. We usually send them
home with a National Geographic or two. Twice we have given local people rides.
Anthony sailed with us from Aneityum to Tanna; then Chief Molsas, a paramount
chief, and his daughter, her husband and their infant son joined us for the trip up the
Printing
photos
aboard
Tenaya
56
coast of Pentecost so the young man
could receive medical treatment. For
thanks we were given a special kava
ceremony. We like kava.
Jim and I have finally figured it
out. For us, this journey is not simply
about seeing new places and spending
time with cruising friends – it is about
weaving ourselves into the local
tapestry, learning from those living
in the places we visit, and sharing
our knowledge and resources with
them. Our floating home is a veritable
workshop. We have skills, tools, bits
and parts and can offer things and
services not usually available on
remote islands. In return, we receive
unconditional friendships, handmade
treasures, enlightened perspectives
and a bounty of sustenance. By
opening our hearts and minds, offering
our expertise and inviting locals onto
our boat, we open the door for each to
peek inside the other’s world.
Chief Molsas and his
family aboard Tenaya
Our kayak
is full of gifts
57
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Organising the
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held in London March/April 2014
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[email protected] +44(0) 845 2575004
58
A VOYAGE TO THE WEST INDIES, PART II
– The Atlantic Crossing
Commander Vernon Nicholson
(Flying Fish 2013/1 carried the first part of the Nicholson family’s passage from Ireland to
the West Indies aboard the 70ft auxiliary schooner Mollihawk, made in 1948/49. This was
entirely due to the generosity and thoughtfulness of Dr Myles Bowen, an old friend of the
Nicholson family, who forwarded me a scan of the account which Cdr Nicholson had sent
his father shortly after completing the passage.
Myles very sadly died in early June this year, just before Flying Fish 2013/1 was published
– his obituary appears on page 217 of this issue – and I would again like to record my thanks
to him for allowing us this glimpse into ocean cruising more than 60 years ago.
To return to the voyage – after 18 days in Santa Cruz de la Palma and with Mollihawk
fuelled, watered and provisioned, she was ready to continue on her way...)
Wednesday 8th December: We had been 18 days in Santa Cruz, much longer than we
intended, but finally all was ready. We had collected our sea stores and filled with water, so
at 1010 we slipped our moorings and were off. Once clear of the harbour we found very light
easterly winds, course
southwest, hoisted fore
and aft canvas, and ran
the engine until 2200
that evening, when
we were well clear of
the land. By 1900 we
were off the end of the
island, with the peak
of Tenerife completely
unobscured by cloud. I
wonder if we will see it
in the morning and, if
not, when next we will
see land, and where.
Thursday 9th December: 1800, wind more easterly, so hoisted square canvas, also
trysail to act as a steadying sai1. With this we felt that we were really off, though the
wind was still very light. We had decided to steer towards the Cape Verde Islands at
the beginning, so as to get as far south into the heart of the Trades as soon as possible.
A squaresail and raffee, especially in a schooner, are not a very large sail area, so
we tried all kinds of combinations of sails. Rolling at times became a nightmare –
we sheeted the trysail flat aft and it certainly reduced the rolling tendency quite
appreciably. Steered a zig-zag course to keep the wind on the quarter, but we gybed
continuously when the helmsman was off his course, which was often.
Every day the great argument was ... how to increase the day’s run. All have ideas,
the best one being to sheet in the burgee. We used the spinnaker boom with a jib at
59
its end as a stunsail*, way out beyond the weather squaresail clew, and found it most
effective as a balancing sail, to counteract the unbalancing push of the trysail.
On the whole the weather was kind all the way across, wind force 4 to 5, sometimes
less, and large swell with small breaking crests. No rain or squalls until well over halfway,
when the equatorial current I think upset things a bit, and even then they were nothing
to write home about – in fact we welcomed the squalls to gain more speed.
Monday 13th December At dawn we found one flying fish in the cockpit, the first to
come aboard, and from now on we are continually disturbing shoals of these creatures.
At 1330 a steamer passed on opposite course away to port – we are still on the route
between the Cape Verdes and the Canary Islands. Noon observed position 21°51’N
23°07’W. Logged 525 miles.
Wednesday 15th December: Wind increasing, speed now 6 knots. Wave tops slopping
on board occasionally, much to the indignation of the kitten. Several flying fish on
board this morning and the cats have had a good feed. Noon observed position 20°05’N
26°25’W. Logged 761 miles. We are beginning to find the heart of the Trades.
This day we definitely
decided to miss the Cape
Verde Islands, which are
now about 190 miles to
the southard, and the
nearest they will get. We
have plenty of water and
are running very easily.
Altered course to westby-north to cross over.
Put the clocks back 15
minutes, a formality
which from now on will
often be necessary.
Our anxiety now is the
kitten. It has reached the playful stage so we have made a collar to keep it on a spun
yarn lead, and it is Emmie’s duty to take it for a walk fore and aft, several times a day.
The cats live mostly in the chart house and cockpit, and their sandbox is on deck near
by. It is the funniest thing to watch them using this box. We took a photograph but it
doesn’t show the bracing against the rolling and pitching of the ship.
Thursday 16th December: Emmie’s birthday. Opened a tinned Dundee cake, very
good. 1700, Clew of raffee topsail chafed through and blew out. Handed topsail and
squaresail, cockbilled the yard to secure topsail sheet and stitch on roping. 2200,
Completed repairs and re-hoisted sails. We noticed that this sail is a grand anti-rolling
* According to our good friend Wikipedia, ‘A studdingsail, studsail or stunsail
(traditionally pronounced stuns’l) is a sail used to increase the sail area of a squarerigged vessel in light winds. It is ... hoisted alongside a square-rigged sail on an
extension of its yardarm.’
60
device. Incidentally this raffee topsail, which had been made in Dublin, was in the
form of two jibs hanked to the topmast forestay, and sheeted to the yard ends. This
proved a grand lifting and steadying sail, of a larger area than would otherwise be
possible, owing to the foot overlapping the square yard by about 10ft or more. Its only
vice being that on a weather roll the weather leech was inclined to lift.
Saturday 18th December: 10th day out. Ship rolling heavily. Seven flying fish on board
this morning, which we cooked for lunch and were excellent. Bread getting very stale
and musty – tried re-baking
which revived the bread but
did not eliminate the musty
flavour. Broached a tin of
biscuits, and Emmie made a
loaf of soda bread with much
success. During the next few
days we threw overboard
our remaining loaves, about
eight in number, and relied
on biscuits and soda bread,
and very nice too. Our boats
were full of fresh fruit and
vegetables, which lasted
well, and it was only during
the last few days that we had to rely entirely on tinned food. Our salt beef was very
good. Noon observed position 18°05’N 32°16’W. Logged 1115 miles. Distance to go,
1635 miles. Retarded clocks 15 minutes.
Sunday 19th December: Rodney’s birthday. Opened another cake. Clouded over in
the afternoon and rained, the first we had seen for many weeks.
Monday 20th December: We find the seams of the sails very inclined to chafe; in
the case of the trysail against the runners and in the case of the squaresail against
the forestay. Today at 1800 a seam of the squaresail burst for about half of its length.
Lowered and re-stitched, repairs completed at 1915.
Tuesday 21st December, 13th day out: 0600, approximately half way. Logged 1410
miles, about another 1400 mi1es to go. Overcast sky with rain squalls of considerable
duration, but in the early hours only. Noon observed position 15°14’N 36°56’W,
logged 1438 miles. Aired mainsail and foresail, and stowed under respective covers.
Emmie made another batch of soda bread, also a large plum cake, with almond paste
and icing, in preparation for Xmas Day.
Thursday 23rd December: Wind falling very light, it is now that the water question
looms large. Cloudy dawn, speed only 1 knot. 1045, started main engine to boost morale
and please the missus. 1700, stopped the engine, tired of the noise, and it has served
its purpose.... 1930, flaming red sunset, practically becalmed, great banked masses of
c1ouds all round the horizon.
61
Friday 24th December: 0345, breeze from the east, very sudden and welcome, and
increasing. Clear dawn with trade wind clouds reforming. Very hot day.
Saturday 25th December, CHRISTMAS DAY and our 17th day out
Good winds, 5 to 6 knots. Noon observed position 14°00’N 43°40’W, logged 1802 miles.
Distance to go 938 miles. Little celebrations were offered this Xmas Day, but we did all
we could. Consumed plum cake and mince pies, but unfortunately the beef tub which
we opened today was one that had been on board since Ireland, and was slightly off.
We didn’t discover the mistake until the joint had been cooked. Consumed quantities
of a Marsala, given to us at Santa Cruz specially for this day, it had a kick.
We are feeling the lack of exercise. With the violent rolling of the ship there is always
much noise within – blocks rattling, sheets hitting the deck with a resounding thwack,
pots and pans, and a hundred and one other things, all of which are most annoying
and tend to keep one awake at night so that one has too much rest and not enough
sleep, the resulting bodily effect is highly uncomfortable. This evening we identified
the Southern Cross for the first time.
Sunday 26th December: Wind freshened, resulting in a record day’s run of 147
miles. Grand sailing day. We have probably reached the Equatorial current as the
sea temperature has suddenly risen to 80°F. Phenomenal swell started. Desmond is
our scientific expert (amateur) and has kept a very complete record of air and sea
temperatures, wind, sky, bird and fish life. Plankton is his great study – he has made a
plankton net and with the help of a microscope has made a careful record of plankton
life in mid Atlantic.
Tuesday 28th December: Cloudy dawn, stars not visible. Sunny day, but again at
1730 it clouded over, rain c1ouds driving up astern. Sea very rough, frightful rolling.
1930, violent rain storm passed over ship. 2030, squall passed. Stars visible, wind eased
off, very dark night.
Thursday 30th December, 22nd day out: Little wind, much sail flogging. Tropical rain
showers passed over during the day. Noon position by observation 13°08’N 54°13’W.
Logged 2404 miles, and only about another 316 miles to go – that is, if we are where
we think we are. Ran the engine for 5 hours today to please the missus ... I think she
is just a bit anxious, wondering if we are ever going to see land again.
Saturday 1st January 1949, 24th day out: Good sailing. Noon position by observation
13°40’N 58°00’W. Logged 2614 miles. We are heading much too far to the north, but
will run on longer as we plan to approach land on a converging course. Also we would
like to get within visible range of the light in the early hours, just before daylight,
so that it can be identified easily, and this northerly course enables us to adjust our
speed to bring this about. 1500, altered course to west-southwest heading for where
we think Barbados is. 2100, estimate we are 70 miles from Bridgetown, and expect to
sight Ragged Point light at about 0400 tomorrow morning.
Sunday 2nd January, 25th day out ... DAY OF ARRIVAL
0200, centre seam of squaresail split for most of its length. It would today of all days, but
will leave set – we must keep to our timetable if possible. 0340, sighted and identified
62
Ragged Point light, bearing 260°M, about 20 miles off. Dawn disclosed a tropical island
away to starboard, a very welcome sight indeed. 0900, hands to breakfast. 0930, lowered
all square canvas and hoisted fore-and-aft sails. 0945, South Point lighthouse abeam to
starboard, 3 miles off. The island looks grand, our first sight of land for 25 days. 1125,
came to starboard anchor off Bridgetown, Barbados, close alongside Panda who gave us a
great welcome, including some fresh bread, and all yachtsmen know how welcome this is.
DISTANCES LOGGED
Queenstown to Cascais .................................. 945 miles
Cascais to Gibraltar ........................................ 394 miles
Gibraltar to Tangier ......................................... 36 miles
Tangier to Santa Cruz de Tenerife ................ 665 miles
Santa Cruz de Tenerife to Barbados ............ 2709 miles
–––––––––
TOTAL logged ....................................... 4749 miles
–––––––––
We stayed three weeks in Barbados and, having arrived on our cruising ground, the next
few months were occupied with leisurely trips among the many islands of the West Indies.
At Antigua we found a very lovely haven, English Harbour, the home of a relic of
Nelson’s days, in the form of an old sailing ship dockyard, now completely deserted.
Careening
a ship in
English
Harbour in
the late
18th century
For the time being at any rate our voyage has ended, the hurricane season is
approaching, and it is here that we intend to harbour our vessel until the sailing days
are with us again.
METEOROLOGICAL CONDITIONS
These notes are intended for those who might be making a passage to the West Indies
in a sailing vessel. The skipper and crew of the Mollihawk were always curious to know
what conditions were to be found ahead across the Atlantic, so we are anxious to
inform others who may be making the passage for the first time.
63
WIND
The wind started about 40 miles south of the Canary Islands, although a light northeast
wind was experienced north of these islands.
Direction: Generally the wind was dead aft of our proper course, thus it blew northeast
for the first half of the crossing and east for the second half, making the problem of
minimising rolling difficult.
Change of direction: The wind frequently backed about a point at dawn.
Strength: Average force 4. The strongest winds were met at latitude 20°N and were
force 5, and lasted to mid Atlantic where, for a short time, little wind was experienced.
Becalmed for one night.
DAYS’ RUNS
On the average it blew harder by day, more miles were covered by day than by night, 16
times to 8. Mileage from 0600 to 0600 by log as follows: 118, 113, 103, 107, 102 106,
129, 123, 108, 104, 105 110, 109, 99, 60, 97, 117, 147, 110, 124, 114, 94, 104, 112.
AVERAGE .................... 105 miles per day
MAXIMUM.................. 147 miles per day
MINIMUM ..................... 60 miles per day
TEMPERATURE
Noon MAXIMUM AIR temp (in shade)
85°F
Noon MINIMUM AIR temp (in shade)
73°F
Noon MAXIMUM SEA temp
Noon MINIMUM SEA temp
80°F Isotherm recorded at 14°N 46°W
Average variation was 3∙5°F
80°F
70°F
found 300 miles east
of Barbados
found 300 miles off
the Canary Islands
found furthest west
found furthest east
BAROMETER
Range was between 30∙00 and 30∙25 inches. Lower pressure west. Diurnal variation
was always in evidence. Range was 6∙05 inches.
SKY
The sky was cloudless for the first few days, then elongated cumulus clouds were
common. Many beautiful formations were seen.
RAIN SQUALLS
Squalls were evident west of 36°W, growing larger and of longer duration to the
westward, but never reaching an alarming force.
SWELL
There was a very noticeable increase about 600 miles east of Barbados. Captain H
V Hudson, RN rtd, of the yacht Palmosi, remarked on the phenomenal swell he had
seen there several times before. This is probably due to the meeting of the North and
South Atlantic drifts.
64
ZOOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS
BIRDS
Were first noticed about 500 miles west of Cape Blanco.
Stormy Petrels: These small sooty black birds with their white breasts were seen
nearly every day, dipping and circling right over the ship. They often dived at the
binnacle light at night.
Frigatebirds: With their long forked tails, these were first seen 1020 miles east of
Barbados, and up to a short distance off the island, but never actually over the coastline.
They were often seen to dive for fish.
Other birds of one or two unidentified species were observed occasionally.
FISH
Flying fish: The first ones seen were around the Canary Islands, when arriving there
in a sea temperature of 71°F. Thence none were seen until 500 miles southwest of the
islands, when the sea temperature suddenly rose from 72°F to 74°F. The first – two
of the two-winged species – fell on deck during the night of the 13th December at
22°N. After that they were seen every day, but fell on deck only at night, and then
only when fairly rough. They were not known to have ever hit the sails, but might
have done. Three species were identified from the deck:
Two-winged flying fish (Halocypselus obusirostris)
Atlantic flying fish (Cypselurus heteruris)
Black-winged flying fish (Exonautes rondeletia)
Unidentified type with a high dorsal fin
(possibly Sailfin flying fish, Parexocoetus brachypterus)
All these fish proved to be of excellent eating qualities, but the ship’s cat usually
found them first, except when they actually flew into the helmsman, which they did
on several occasions.
Other fish seen:
1. Large fish seen jumping, 7th day out
2. Pilot fish under counter, 11th day out
3. Brown 4ft fish seen 100 yards off, 12th day out
4. Breathing heard at night, believed porpoises
5. Four 2ft fish seen alongside under floodlights when becalmed, 15th day out
FISHING
Only one fish was caught, although we fished often. This fish was a dolphin, and caught
within sight of Tenerife. Dolphin is a confusing name. There are two types – one the
popular aquatic mammal, a porpoise with a beak; the other a fish with a yellow tail
and many beautiful colours over the body, so noticeable, out of the water. It was of
the last type that we caught, and often saw whilst cruising in the West Indies. They
can be caught with any type of spoon, or even a piece of canvas tied to a hook, but a
wire trace should be used. Dolphin is very delicious to eat provided it is boiled first,
65
then fried for serving up. Pilot fish are easily caught with a small mackerel spinner,
and were often seen following close astern.
MISCELLANEOUS ORGANISMS
Portuguese Men of War: Two were seen 780 miles east of Barbados. Several small
specimens seen a day or two before, probably from the Equatorial current.
Goose barnacles: The ship’s bottom was clear of weed on leaving Tenerife. Goose
barnacles soon grew, starting under the counter, but did not spread to any extent. A
certain type of barnacle was found to have grown on the patent log line, when taken
in at the end of the voyage.
Nelson’s Dockyard, English Harbour, in the early 1960s
If you perhaps have the notion to give up all and cross an ocean,
Act now ere urge that’s vital passes, work is the curse of the cruising classes.
Just sell your farm and go to sea, the life is healthy, wind is free.
Learn navigation, use your hands, explore the world, see foreign lands.
On distant shores find rich rewards with memories your log records,
But if enthusiasm wanes, take heart, there may be other gains.
Your motivation may increase when you find your taxes cease.
Anon
66
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67
RESCUE AT SEA
Dan Alonso
(Dan and his girlfriend Kathy have owned Halcyon, a Hallberg Rassy 49, for nearly up four
years and have covered 15,000 miles in that time – despite living in Cheyenne, Wyoming!
As Dan remarks, ‘We fly as much as we sail’. Halcyon is berthed in Newport, Rhode Island
in the summer and Charleston, South Carolina in the winter, and moving her up and down
the coast has brought them plenty of adventure.
Their first race with Halcyon was the 2011 Charleston to Bermuda Race, and their ‘summer
of races’ in 2013 was Kathy’s 50th birthday present to Dan – three months aboard Halcyon,
four ocean races and 3400 miles of sailing. Quite some birthday present! An ex-wrestler,
Dan decided to use the races as motivation to get back into top physical condition, and to
challenge himself by doing the races back to back, with the passages in between – Charleston
to Bermuda, Bermuda to Newport, Newport to Bermuda, Bermuda to Newport, Newport
to Marblehead, Marblehead to Halifax and Halifax to Portland, Maine.
The rescue described in the next few pages took place on the outward leg of the Bermuda 1-2
Race, organised by the Newport Yacht Club. The first leg is sailed singlehanded, the return
with a crew of two, hence the name. Dan’s crew on the second leg was, of course, Kathy.
While being inspected for the Charleston to Bermuda race, Dan relates how he was talking
to the official about being ready for anything the sea might throw at him, adding that he wanted
not only to be able to sail through a storm but to do it well enough to help others if necessary.
In Dan’s words: ‘Quickly and sternly, the inspector replied “No you don’t”. Be careful of
what you wish for, right?’)
Halcyon sails herself before the start of the race,
while Dan goes forward to adjust the leech line. Photo Billy Black
68
The calm before the storm. I thought flying Halcyon’s 1900 sq.ft spinnaker alone,
without a sock, was quite something. I had no idea what challenges lay ahead
The race is on. Day one the winds are enough to get Halcyon moving, the second day they
shut down – doldrums. Fortunately it’s not billed to last, and when the wind returns it’s
due to change direction and make this a reaching race. The router shows the wind will be
around 18 knots out of the south for days. I’m hoping it’ll be enough, but more would be
better. Halcyon can take a lot and I need enough to shut down the other boats.
Heading to the entry point in the Gulf Stream, the wind continues to build. Halcyon
Dan and Halcyon
heading off to the
start of the 2013
Bermuda 1-2
Race. Photo
Billy Black
69
Dousing the mainsail
is starting to go. Out in front of me are two boats, Bent and Kontradiction; Bent is in
my class. They are far away but good targets. The wind is getting strong but I’m under
nearly full sail, just a small reef in the main, and I can feel Halcyon pushing forward.
The water is a steady sound now, a crushing wave being pushed off Halcyon’s bow. It
is ‘go’ time, and Halcyon is a raging bull just driving through the building sea. After
a few years of trying to race this North Sea cruiser and getting killed in light air, we
finally have the race conditions Halcyon thrives in – big winds and nasty sea state.
Since entering the Stream, Halcyon has not dropped below 11 knots over the bottom
and is often in the 12s. We spent over US $5000 getting the autopilot repaired just
days before the race, but now I’m listening to the motor overworking and I feel sick.
I’ve just sailed from Charleston to Bermuda, and then Bermuda to Newport solo with
a constantly failing autopilot – 1400 miles of offshore sailing without a pilot – I just
can’t bear the emotional stress of a failing pilot again. Halcyon is no longer keeping
her course. It’s happening again, no pilot. The backup plan for this summer of racing
was to use ‘Hydi’, the Hydrovane windvane self-steering that we installed just before
the Charleston to Bermuda race. At the start of that race and just a few hours before
entering into the Gulf Stream, Hydi broke off the stern. I was barely able to wrestle it
back aboard. Hydi is now reinstalled but completely untested. I’m not sure if it’s big
enough to steer the boat or if the seas will tear it off the stern again. Fortunately the
wind is on the nose and it’s likely to remain a close reach for the entire race. If both
pilots fail, I take comfort in knowing I can lock the wheel and balance the helm and
get close enough to hand steer into Bermuda.
There’s no stopping Halcyon. Pilot or no, she’s crushing the ocean. I feel like I’m
70
standing on a freight train and we’re reeling in Bent and Kontradiction fast. I finally pass
them and start looking for more. Who’s next? A day later I’m hearing VHF transmissions
from boats in the class above. I thought they would be long gone. Am I doing that
well? Maybe this could be my race. Neither pilot is able to steer the boat on its own
so I’m using them together – Hydi takes the load off and auto steers the rest. My pilots
are a team. It’s working, and if I can hold it for a few days I’ll finally have my race.
Then the call comes. Halcyon is being hailed – someone’s requesting assistance. He’s
got an accent ... I think it’s Kontradiction. Are you kidding me? This is my time and the
race I’ve been hoping for. I’m sick of getting beaten in light winds. I’m pretty sure I’m
the only boat in my class doing 9+ knots in these conditions. I’ve got no dependable
autopilot, but it’s working and I have to stop?
I think: Assistance – what does that mean? We’re 250 miles from Bermuda in the
middle of the ocean. There’s another boat on its way, but I’m closer. The sun will set
shortly. He wants to know if I can help. The other boat is at the back of his class – he
can’t win. Why stop my race? Why me? I can win, Halcyon’s killing it. Why me? He’s
17 miles away and I’m 5 – what’s the big deal? It takes a moment, but it then settles
in – assistance! This guy is leaving his boat! You don’t not give assistance in this crap.
It’s blowing and the seas are big. It’s freaking bad out here. This is an abandon ship
... he needs to leave his boat. Something bad has happened and he’s leaving his boat.
This guy needs help. My race is done.
I douse the genoa and put away the main, and hail Mike aboard Kontradiction. He
has a strong accent and sounds just like the guy who was asking for assistance. I was
sure it was him, but he hails back saying he’s fine. He doesn’t know what I’m talking
about. I was just talking to this guy – he told me he’s losing his keel and needs help, he’s
abandoning ship. I quit the race and he’s fine? What the @#$ ? Am I losing my mind?
Did I imagine it? What’s going on here? I hail back to the distressed boat. He responds
– the vessel’s name is Solid Air, it’s not Kontradiction. It is real, and it’s a glimpse into
my potentially fragile emotional state that I actually thought I might have imagined it.
Solid Air before the
start of the race.
Photo Billy
Black
71
A 12ft trailing sea off Halcyon’s stern. She carries a good 5ft of freeboard
Solid Air communicates his lat/long. Just writing it down is a task – every time I
leave the helm to communicate or work the plotter Halcyon broaches, leaning over a
good 30–40°. In these seas and without the pilot everything is crazy hard, and now I’m
broaching every fifth wave. I finally create a waypoint and get going. He’s downwind
and it looks like it will take about 45 minutes to get there. I’ve got to hand steer.
I’m sailing with the small wheel and the steering is stiff – just turning the wheel is a
workout. I’ve got the auxiliary on and just the storm sail up. The seas are about 8 to
12 feet, and though I’m running with the wind I’m seeing 30–35 knots.
Halcyon is surfing down each wave. It’s hard to keep her straight – she wants to veer
off. How the hell am I going to get this guy aboard? I know the life-sling drill, but
really? In this shit? After about 20 minutes I hail the skipper to work out our plan.
He’s thinking of putting out a few fenders, he says. Right! I hail back, ‘Skipper, you’re
going to get wet’. The tension is building. I know I’ve got to get him but I’ve got no
pilot, can’t steer the boat with any accuracy and it’s really, really awful out. I’m getting
closer so I call to update his lat/long and he gives me different co-ordinates. I’m not
talking drifting a half mile different – he says he’s 8 miles upwind, back where I just
came from. The sun’s going down and he says he’s 8 miles upwind – an hour and a
half’s ride? What the @#$ ? Solid Air, where are you?
Mike on Kontradiction is listening and also takes the lat/long. Mike is a comforting voice,
and another mind working on this feels good. I’m terrified of wasting more time motoring
to a new position where he is not. Dousing the storm jib, I realise it’s windy, really windy.
The sail lifts me off the deck with ease. The drive upwind is nuts. The waves are now
pushing 15 feet. The bow is launching into the sky. Things that have never fallen in the
cabin in years of storm sailing are flying about. With no canvas and big seas Halcyon is
72
lurching, badly, in all directions. Steering is far beyond difficult, nearly impossible.
I start thinking it’s beyond me, that I can’t do it. After years of being proud as ‘Mr
Bad-Ass-Ocean-Storm-Sailor’ I can’t do this – I just can’t do it. I still don’t know
where he is. What if this new location is also wrong? The sun’s on the horizon now and
I’m an hour and a half downwind. Are you kidding me? I’m broken. This should be a
job for helicopters, but we’re too far offshore. As a wrestler, you could break my arm
and I wouldn’t quit but this is too much, just steering is a monumental task. It takes
all my focus and energy. Mike offered help and I had turned it down – how was that
going to help? Two boats are more boats to crash into each other, but I’m suddenly
overwhelmed with the consideration that I simply will not be able to find Solid Air.
Here I am terrified of the pickup and I can’t find him. I ask Mike to stick around – two
sets of eyes are better than one.
I request a flare – I’m hoping for something visual – but Solid Air feels we’re too far
apart to see the flare and wants to wait. That makes sense, so we wait. In Mike’s effort
to join the rescue he loses his jib while dousing it and wraps a sheet around his prop.
I’m already being pushed beyond what I’m able to handle, and now this is going to
turn into two rescues? Solid Air hails. He’s using AIS to try to get a heading. He tells
me I need to head 135°. This makes no sense ... it’s not in the right direction ... it’s at
least 100°. Where is he? I’m just sick, getting my ass kicked heading upwind, the sun’s
down and I still don’t know where he is.
While Mike is trying to recover, Solid Air fires a flare. I see it. Thank God, I see
it. What a beautiful thing, a SOLAS rocket flare hanging in the sky. I look at the
compass – it’s about 180° but too dark to read it properly. I realise that I need to turn
on the compass light for the next flare. When I leave the helm, the boat falls off
and is slammed by a wave. More crap flying around the cabin. I’m cold, soaked and
struggle to climb the companionway to get the boat back upwind. Another flare. This
one is closer and now at 220°. I request he put all lights on so he’ll be easier to see.
As I approach, I finally get visual contact. I need to get near enough to evaluate this
carefully. It could be really bad if we collide.
I come around and approach from upwind. I don’t want him getting blown down on
me and fouling our rigs. I’m really close, 200 feet. Each wave is a heaving nightmare.
All of a sudden he’s gone. He was right in front of me and now he’s gone, lost in the
dark. I climb out of the cockpit to try and see him. Having left the helm, Halcyon is
veering out of control again. I think I’m about to hit him ... he’s right here somewhere
and I can’t see him. The seas are huge and Halcyon will crush him if we collide. Maybe
he’s turned downwind and his lights are faced away? (Jan told me later that he’d turned
the boat away from me, secured the cabin and switched off the lights at my approach.)
I finally see him again and climb back to the helm. With all my might, I’m straining
to keep him in sight. I can’t lose him now.
Solid Air is leaning oddly. Her stern is to the wind and she’s lurching strangely. Halcyon
is wanting to surf each wave. It’s just too much. Docking a 27 ton boat, healing 35°,
while surfing at 10 knots? This is just insane. I had decided earlier to use the sling on
a spinnaker sheet – I wanted the heavier line for winching and more mass to throw.
Also, the line that comes with the sling floats and the spinnaker sheet does not. I’m
risking a prop wrap if I miss and that just CANNOT happen. The line is carefully
coiled and sitting on the stern quarter.
73
It’s time. I head towards Solid Air, Halcyon charging at her stern quarter. At about 40
feet from collision I turn the helm to port. I know she will fall off like a broach and, as
she does, I run for the sling. I’m now about 20 feet away from him but heading away.
I throw the sling and it hits Jan in the chest. I scurry back to the helm to back down
on the auxiliary and ditch as much speed as I can. Jan has his arm thought the sling. I
run the line to the winch and, with a power drill, begin hauling. Halcyon’s momentum
launches him from Solid Air’s stern and he’s skipping across the water.
I got him – thank God, I got him. I knew this had to fly first shot – a second try
would be in total darkness and he would be impossible to find. As he approaches the
rail, the drill’s battery quits. I try to lift him but it’s not going to happen. I go to the
winch and start to crank by hand, but it’s taking too long. He’s being slammed under
Halcyon’s hull with each wave. I suddenly think of the boarding ladder – quickly I dig
it out and put it on the rail, but it’s too high. I continue to winch, just a little higher...
Jan is finally able to reach it, I lean over and together, with a last effort, he is aboard.
Halcyon is still bare-poled and out of control. I raise the storm jib and put out some
mainsail then, with her helm balanced, I can lock the wheel and get us under control.
I am back underway, but hardly at racing clip. I am wet and miserable. Jan calls the race
committee to update them while I shower. How crazy – still in a storm, just completed a
rescue, and all I want is to be showered and dry. I guess I’m trying to wash off the trauma.
Jan showers next and I give him dry clothes. We eat a paella I had made the day
before. Then I get him into a bunk and turn Halcyon back towards Bermuda. Pulling
an e-mail from the sat phone I discover that Aggressive, the leading boat, is in front of
me. I want to race but I’m struggling to find the drive, the courage, to sail aggressively.
I have smaller sails up. Balancing the helm with a bigger sail area and autopilot issues is
too much ... not now. I’m still freaked out and feeling timid. Before the rescue, Halcyon
was cranking along at 9∙5 knots in what was approaching gale conditions. We are now
comfortable and going at 6∙5 knots so I set my alarms and sleep.
Photo Billy Black
74
Dan with Jan (left) at the Bermuda Dinghy Club
Waking, I find that Bent is in front of me but beatable. Jan explains to me that I’ll
be given back the lost time from rescue, so once again it’s ‘go’ time. I tell Halcyon
‘Bent’s in front of you’, and like an excited puppy she lights up as we go after him. I pop
the genoa, unfurl the main, and she is powered up again. At 9∙5 knots she is quickly
closing the gap. I know the dream of winning first in class is not likely – I just want
to cross the line ahead of Bent. I need to find the racer in me, something stronger
than the broken rescuer. The winds are blowing 28 knots and Halcyon’s loving it, but
there’s a problem – without an autopilot I can’t come off the wind. It’s still too far to
hand-steer, but I’m closing Bermuda and need another 30° to avoid hitting the reefs.
I’m catching up quickly, but I’m going the wrong way. If I reef I may be able to come
off the wind and get my heading, but I’ll lose boat-speed. With only a few miles to go
I reef. Halcyon loses speed and I know it’s done. With a few tacks the race is over. My
battle with Bent is done and it’s time to stop.
Arriving in Customs I’m greeted by Jan’s wife. She is crying, hysterical. Barely able
to make words, she’s crying “thank you”, calling me a hero. “Thank you for saving
my husband”. I don’t even understand, I’m so blown away by her. This moment is a
powerful shift – it cracks open my emotions. It was more than just picking up another
racer. In the harbour, alone again, anchor finally down, I lie on the foredeck and just
lose it ... just cry and cry. Everything had gone fine but I’m emotionally destroyed.
The guy just needed assistance, right? What is assistance, 500 miles offshore? It’s not
bringing a guy a fan belt. It’s one scary thing that leaves you depleted, damaged and
grateful to have pushed through when you thought you could not.
On corrected time Halcyon finished second in class and fourth in the fleet after her
little detour. Dan received the Newport Yacht Club’s Crystal Catfish Trophy for the
rescue, as well as the Goat Island Yacht Club Commodore’s Cup for the best
corrected time by a first-time entrant.

75
76
THE FUN OF SAILING
ON AND OFF THE ANCHOR
Suzanne Hills and Chris Cromey,
Roving Rear Commodores
(Continuing the ‘fun of’ series started by David Blackburn in Flying Fish 2012/1 with The
Fun of Reefing. Suzanne and Chris are long-term cruisers aboard their 42ft cutter, Whanake.
At the time of writing they were in the Falklands – see page 198.)
Whenever possible we sail on and off the anchor – not so much because we are purists
– we just find it easier, and fun too. Also, as we are trying to make our funds last as long
as possible so we can keep cruising, eliminating thirty minutes of engine use every time
we anchor really does add up. It also gives us a great deal of confidence to know that, if
necessary, we could get ourselves in or out of a close quarters situation without an engine.
Having sailed on and off the anchor hundreds of times and in all sorts of different
situations (the most ‘interesting’ was amongst 200+ ram-jam moorings in Crookhaven,
Ireland) we have several ways of making it near fail-proof, even with a short-handed
crew. Sailing on the anchor is the easier, and really it just amounts to close quarters
sailing – short tacks to get to the required position, approaching on a close reach with
a reduced headsail to cut speed. When the desired anchor position is reached, we furl
the headsail, luff up into the wind and then immediately pull all the mainsheet free
so the mainsail is totally depowered – making sure the loose mainsheet doesn’t catch
on anything causing the main to power up again. When she has stopped, we let go
the anchor. If the wind is light and stern-way is needed, we back the main by pushing
and holding the boom forward, which also works nicely for digging in the anchor. In
moderate or strong winds, the wind will do the work. Then we use a transit ashore
to make sure the anchor is dug in. Not until Whanake is safely anchored do we lower
and stow the mainsail.
When sailing off the anchor we almost always do so with the mainsail hoisted – and
again, success depends on the mainsail being totally depowered with all the mainsheet
free. The headsail is also prepared by pulling free some of the furling line and tightening
the headsail sheets so the clew is just showing – both help the headsail unfurl quickly,
when needed, by simply pulling on the required sheet. Then we haul in the anchor.
If Whanake is on the correct tack when the anchor breaks out we just bring in the
windward sheet to back the headsail – sheeting hard so the clew is well to windward
of the centreline – causing her to turn in a small turning circle. The mainsail is left
with all the sheet free, so the sail spills and does not counteract the turn. We leave
the headsail backed and the mainsail unsheeted until she’s completed the turn, then
sheet in as needed and she’s away.
The key when sailing off the anchor is to get off on the correct tack – to avoid
other anchored vessels, shallow areas etc. To do this, we shorten up the chain until
the anchor is starting to partly break out – but not quite to the point of the chain
being straight up and down – then wait until she swings onto the wrong tack and at
that moment quickly bring in the anchor chain. That pulls her round onto the right
77
tack, and as the chain is straight up and down the anchor breaks out – on the correct
tack! Most of the time it works.
If, despite the above, Whanake is not on the correct tack when the anchor breaks
out, there are two main options depending on sea room. The first is to sheet in the
main and headsail to get forward way on, and then, as soon as we have enough speed,
tack and bear away – we always tack rather than gybe to clear an approaching danger,
as a tack takes much less sea room. The other option is to back both the mainsail and
headsail to reverse out. As soon as the anchor is up we back both main and headsail
to windward, pushing the boom forward on the same side as the backed headsail.
Backing the main gives sternway, and combined with turning power from the backed
headsail Whanake will turn in a very small turning circle – almost on the spot. We’ve
got ourselves safely out of several tight situations using this technique. Backing the
main also works to break out the anchor when it’s so well dug in that it needs some
help. After shortening up the anchor chain until it’s straight up and down, we back
the main to get sternway on and this normally breaks it out.
Sailing off the anchor is a satisfyingly fast getaway – once the anchor is up, it’s a
simple matter of adjusting the sheets and off she goes. Sailing on the anchor is just so
easy, and after a good day of sailing and enjoying nature’s sounds, the last thing we want
to do is turn on a rattling engine. Of course that rattling engine is worth everything
when it’s really needed – but when it’s really needed, it’s probably no longer fun.
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78
COLLECTING THE NEW DINGHY
Rosemarie Smart-Alecio
Roving Rear Commodore
(Rosemarie is a regular contributor to Flying Fish. After nearly two decades of cruising
worldwide, for the past few years she and husband Alfred have based their 38ft steel gaff
cutter Ironhorse in Thailand.)
For a couple of years we had been debating the replacement of our 12-year-old Caribe
dinghy, which was showing distinct signs of tiredness after rendering devoted service
ever since we had bought it in the Caribbean. Having said goodbye to it our spare, an
old 9ft Avon (carried in case the Caribe might be stolen – always a real possibility)
was out of its locker for the first time in at least 14 years and we were on our way to
collect the new one. Ironhorse was anchored in a small, quiet spot away from Ao*
Chalong, the busy main harbour in Phuket Island, Thailand (ao means ‘bay’ in the
Thai language). The new dinghy was to be delivered to Ao Chalong’s main slipway,
about five miles across the expanse of the bay. Rather than go by road, a much greater
distance, we opted to use the Avon, as we had done several times before to go shopping.
We would then tow it back to Ironhorse.
Twenty minutes later, just 200 metres from the delivery slipway and within sight
of our new aluminium RIB, our Yamaha 5hp outboard cut out, having over-heated.
Alfred’s efforts to revive it failed, and we rowed the rest of the way to take delivery, with
both of us already wondering how we would cope on the return without an outboard
and, now, TWO dinghies to get back across that relatively huge (to row!) distance.
We completed the finalities of purchase, after which the salesman, realising our plight,
kindly offered to drive Alfred and outboard to a nearby mechanic. I waited with both
dinghies and, realising that whatever the outcome with the outboard, we were in for
a long wait, cursed the fact that I had no book to read! But the slipway was offering
good entertainment – one after the other, boats arrived or left, and things, including
passengers, were taken on or off before they moved away once more.
Alfred returned to report that the mechanics had checked our engine and confirmed,
as we suspected, that the impeller needed replacement. Not a difficult job, and we had
spares on Ironhorse, but she was miles away! Without one in stock they would have
to bring one from suppliers some 7½ miles away. If all went well it would be, perhaps,
a three or four hour wait. There being nothing we could do, unless we were prepared
to row, we settled in for a long wait during which we even discussed the possibility of
rowing back. What if they could not repair the outboard? And, after all, we did have
access to a friend’s small van in which we would be able to drive round to collect the
outboard later. We both knew, however, that rowing that distance was something we’d
prefer not to have to do. Neither of us had rowed that much for many years. And with
no gloves to protect them our hands would be very tender!
Suddenly we were distracted by the arrival, on the road, of a small motorboat being
towed by a vehicle clearly not properly set up for secure towing. Instead of a tow-bar
fixture, the trailer was attached – rather precariously, we judged – to the rear bumper
79
Our entertainment arrives
bar, by the doubling of rather thin line. This arrangement in itself made it awkward
to manoeuvre the trailer precisely onto the top of the narrow slipway leading to the
beach, on the side wall of which we were sitting.
We worried each time one of the ‘team’ stood on the acutely sloping slipway
behind the trailer to guide whichever way the whole contraption should be moved
into the best position. We both also anticipated a range of possibilities around the
area if/when something went wrong. We looked at each other, both thinking the
same, then moved swiftly down to the dinghies to move them well way from the
slipway – checking all the time that we were clear ourselves of any danger – before
returning to our safe, grandstand view.
Already the road traffic on this fairly busy corner was being held up, as the whole road
was blocked by the numerous failed attempts at manoeuvring the trailer into place at
the top of the slipway. More was to come, but with everything now more or less in place
in preparation for the vehicle to reverse down to the beach to launch, we noticed with
horror that the bumper bar to which the trailer was tied had modified its configuration
dramatically.
N o b o d y
seemed to have
noticed that,
as the driver
reversed so
that the trailer
was inclining
backwards onto
the acutely
angled slipway,
Not looking
good...
80
Thank goodness we moved them!
the bumper bar had bent and almost broken under the strain. Before I could shout a
warning the trailer, complete with small sports boat, parted company with the vehicle
and hurtled down the slip with the bumper bar bouncing after it, sending the local
population of tiny fiddler crabs racing away in all directions! Thankfully its acceleration
was reduced rapidly by its entry into the water, where it immediately stopped dead.
Stunned silence was broken by relieved smiles from the ‘team’, as their horror at the
realisation of what might have happened transferred to relief.
Now, with a rapidly receding tide, they set about floating the boat off the trailer, the
whole contraption having sunk quite deeply into the muddy bottom. As usual in Thailand,
there was no shouting. Also, as is common in Thailand, the muscle power of many strong
young men combined to execute a task which might have beaten many westerners.
The sea bed now levelling out and rocks obviously protruding, the skipper got himself
into the cockpit as the boys manhandled the craft into just sufficient depth for it to
float. Seconds passed whilst the engine refused to start, but then it burst into life as
the increasing onshore breeze threatened to blow it into the shallows once more. More
by good luck than good judgement, the skipper moved his craft through a minefield
of almost dried out moorings and took off ‘into the sunset’ with his young lady, now
also on board thanks to those strong young men and, we were certain, having no idea
just how close they’d come to disaster. Thus the next episode commenced, with the
scouring of the tide mark for appropriately strong lengths of rope for securing (?) the
trailer back onto the 4x4 and preparing it to drive away.
Several irregular lengths of line of questionable quality later saw the efforts of three
guys, one after the other, failing to link it all successfully. Finally it seemed that the
driver was satisfied and prepared to hit the innocent streets of Phuket – with Alfred
and me thanking our stars that we were not going to be on the highways that day, and
wondering just what adventures they (and others on the road) would have before the
citizens of Phuket could relax again!
81
Can you help, please? Yes, two dinghies, my wife and me,
ALL the way across the bay...
But what about our dinghies? We were still hours away from the return of our outboard
and it was decision time. Just as we were discussing the pros and cons once more, a large
longtail arrived to drop off a family and their luggage from a nearby holiday island.
Once more our minds were on the same wavelength ... would this skipper consider
Alfred and Captain load the new RIB
82
All safely
loaded and
ready to go
taking us and our dinghies back to Ironhorse – for a price, of course? Carrying tourists
probably meant he had some English, but in any case, we could probably make ourselves
understood. Alfred dropped down onto the beach and approached him.
As I watched the body language, it soon became clear that we had a deal. However,
he had to wait for his wife to bring his lunch, which duly arrived, his lady and toddler
delivering it by motorbike. During the wait we tried to work out just how our two
dinks could be attached without damage, since the longtail is named after an extended
propeller shaft sticking well out over the stern. Perhaps they could be lashed, one each
side? But neither of us had reckoned on our skipper, who had no problem with it at all
... our dinks would travel ON his boat!
Manoeuvring the ‘long-tail’ several
And so it was.
metres behind the stern ...
Minutes later, with
we’re almost on
both dinks hoisted
our way
onto the longtail,
we were enjoying a
most exhilarating
ride across the bay.
We h a d o f t e n
watched these
guys handling
their craft so
e x p e r t l y, b u t
had never been
so close to the
experience.
What a treat
to witness the
strength and
skills at close
quarters – my camera
83
Back on Ironhorse, new dink
in commission and the old Avon packed
ready to stow again
never stopped clicking. Noisy (by their
very nature) as these longtails are, one
could not enter the anchorage area
unnoticed and, immediately, we had an
audience, as one yacht’s crew after another
appeared on deck.
Skilfully, our longtail was brought to a
standstill close to Ironhorse. Alfred and I
lifted one of our dinks over the side, and
I dropped into it and rowed to Ironhorse
while the skipper assisted Alfred with the
other one. Having checked we had no
further problems, he took off again across
the bay – we had certainly had our £20’s
worth. When collecting the outboard later,
by road, we were pleased not to have
an encounter with a loose trailer!
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85
‘THE ORIGINS CRUISE’ –
CIRCUMNAVIGATION 2009-2012
Fergus and Kay Quinlan
(‘The Origins’ cruise was named to take cognisance of the 150th anniversary of the publication
of The Origin of Species by Charles Darwin. It was achieved aboard Pylades, the 12m van
de Stadt-designed cutter which Fergus and Kay built themselves, in steel, and launched in 1997.
Their intention from the outset was to leave Kinvara on Ireland’s Galway Bay, circumnavigate,
and return to base in
three years. During
that time they logged
40,486 miles. Fergus
and Kay received the
OCC Award for 2012
for their achievement.)
Where it all began in 1994
Pylades taking shape
6th June 2009: All is quiet
in Kinvara at 0430, no one
stirs in the town, there is a
cold sharp wind from the
northeast and a hint of
dawn. We unbolt the leg
that allowed Pylades to lie
safely against the pier. The
tide is flooding fast as we
86
Almost there
Launching Pylades, 1997
let go the final warps and
with mixed feelings we
commence our adventure.
For ten days we meander
the coast south as far as
Castletownbere. On Friday
19th with a surfeit of wind
we fly across Biscay to the
great Spanish city of La
Coruña. For months we
enjoy the many harbours of
Iberia, slowly working our
way towards Cadiz. After
Porto Santo, Madeira and a bunch of the Canaries we push on for the Cape Verdes.
11th November 2009: To Beethoven’s 7th, with the islands washed by a magnificent
sunset, we sweep into Mindelo on São Vicente. Following a week of music and wine,
course is set for Barbados. A new moon turns the sea to gold.
4th December 2009: Cooking becomes challenging in the conditions, but Kay persists
with the baking and it turns up trumps every time. For days the trades continue at 25–30
knots, together with a 2–3m sea – a bit more than required. A gust of 46 knots lays us
over despite the modest amount of sail. We run off in the rain squall and benefit from a
vigorous fresh water shower. The SSB net reports that yacht Pelican has been abandoned
northwest of Cape Verde with rigging failure, and that a 60ft yacht taking part in the
ARC was also abandoned, with rudder failure. We begin to sail more conservatively!
9th December 2009: Landfall at Barbados, where we anchor in Carlisle Bay, then
on to Bequia. At the approach the wind is a steady 35 knots, the seas disturbed and
irregular, then we gybe and broach. Again water pours through the galley port as we
lie over. Either this is becoming a habit or we are becoming careless. Southwest to
Bonaire, the wind has built back to the usual 20–25 knots. The mainsail is stowed,
now just full staysail and reefed headsail. On Thursday 24th we round the south tip of
87
88
Bonaire, singing ‘We saw three ships come sailing in on Christmas Day in the morning’.
After a friendly check-in we rush to the shops, which are just closing, and stock up
with festive fare. The toilet blocks up, a perfect job for the mid-winter festival, but
with repairs carried out we pop bubbly and relax.
Next day the town of Kralendijk is ideal for Christmas shopping as every shop is
closed. Our meal aboard is excellent – champagne and the best steaks ever. In the
evenings we attend ‘Little Havana’, with its mix of classical and jazz music combined
with superb sunsets and good conversation. The year climaxes as thousands of rockets
fill the night and welcome 2010.
3rd January 2010: Passing Curaçao and Aruba the wind picks up and the sea roughens
considerably. The radio speaks of a yacht in sustained 60 knots for three days, three boats
with their windvane self-steerings bent and one sinking. All had taken the advice to
keep 200 miles off the coast, but we keep well in. Out of the haze appears the outline
of Cartagena – we fly through the marked gap in the submerged wall into calm waters.
It is a throbbing, colourful, multicultural metropolis in the setting of an old Spanish
walled city. We are greeted by an extremely energetic dancing group who celebrate
life and its replication in amazing undress to the pounding rhythms of Colombia; it
takes our breath away. On our final evening in Plaza de San Pedro we attend an open
air concert of massed choirs and a symphony orchestra playing Mozart’s Requiem. The
setting and the piece are truly fantastic – a fitting farewell to Cartagena.
Days later we arrive at Kuna Yala, a vast archipelago on Panama’s Caribbean coast
composed of over 340 islands and home to the Kuna Indians. The islands themselves
are picture postcard – white sand, palm trees overhanging and all only a metre or two
over the water level – if the sea levels should rise it will be the end of island living
for the Kuna. Preparing for the Panama Canal at Shelter Bay Marina, we do our own
customs/immigration and transit check-in, an amazing paper chase around Colon
city dashing on foot and by taxi from one decrepit unmarked office to the next. The
passage through the canal is a joy, however, and goes like clockwork.
At the Las Perlas islands we land on the island of Ampon, a street of desperate shacks
at the end of which is a tiny, dishevelled church without door or window and with old
pallets serving as tables, everything infused with a foreboding sense of poverty. We feel
shame for humanity, that the wealth of the world is so very poorly distributed. On our
way to the Equator eagle rays leap into the air – they are about 1∙5m across and hit
the water with a mighty crash. After a few contrary days we break through the ITCZ.
The sea is calm, the sky is blue, the breeze is just perfect, Pylades is holding just under
7 knots and every twelve hours or so the sheets can be freed a tad. In the night sky is
the Southern Cross – this is sailing as it should be.
20th March 2010 – Wreck Bay, Isla San Cristóbal, Galápagos: We are delighted to
be here in the wake of the Beagle with Charles Darwin on board. The Origin of Species
was hugely inspired by his findings and observations during his stay in the islands. His
arguments were detailed and precise for he knew this book would shake the world and
its belief systems to the core.
Tony Castro comes to visit us on board; he lives and works both on the island and
the mainland and is a wealth of information. He tells of the very high level of AIDS
89
on the island and the corruption. He
also confirms that, despite the work of
Darwin and his Origin of Species, they
still teach the children ‘creationism’ on
the island. The art of reason does indeed
have a long road to travel.
5th April 2010: We leave for the 3000
miles to the French Marquesas – this is
likely to be the most remote point either
of us will ever be from civilisation.
Conditions are perfect. The watch
system is divided into three hour slots,
with time together during the day. The
night sky is glorious with the waxing
moon, and the complexity, depth and
the brilliance of the starscape makes
the night watches stunning. Shooting
stars flash across the sky as another
piece of galactic debris incinerates in
our atmosphere. The rim of our galaxy,
the Milky Way, glows so bright that its
reflection is caught by the sea.
Me and Mr Darwin in the Galapagos
26th April 2010 – Hiva Oa, French Marquesas: Tiredness vanishes as we take in
the soaring hills swept with mist in the early morning. The smell of the trees pervades
our senses – after our time on the ocean the effect is stunning. We spend almost a
month in these glorious islands, then call at Manihi and Rangiroa in the Tuamotus.
Sad we are to leave the glorious atolls, but water is running low and the fleshpots
of Tahiti are
calling. Two
Snorkelling in Moorea
nights and a
day of idyllic
sailing in light
wind and no sea
and we arrive
at Papeete
harbour. That
night we dine
in a street café,
excellent food,
setting and
characters,
such as the two
girls from Paris
90
who dance barefoot most beautifully, worthy of a Toulouse-Lautrec painting, and
we too dance under the night sky of Tahiti in the streets of Papeete. In the Society
Islands one of our projects is to climb the twin peaks of Bora Bora, over seven hours
to the top and back and full on from the moment go. We return covered in mud
and smiles – it is, perhaps, the highlight of our visit. Our month in these islands is
indeed glorious, but we push west.
21st August 2010 – Palmerston Atoll: A boat approaches and a man who introduces
himself as Bob Marsters shows us a mooring to pick up. As we do so, an adjacent whale
blows and a turtle swims past. In his aluminium skiff we whiz towards the breaking surf
and zigzag through the pass, skimming coral heads by inches, then swing across the
lagoon to a most beautiful beach. We are introduced to his wife, daughters and son.
The table, which is outdoors, is piled with a magnificent array of fish, chicken and
accompanying dishes. No payment of any kind is requested for this hospitality, but
having been informed previously that no supply ship had called in seven months we
had arrived with bags of staples like flour, pasta and popcorn, as well as rum, petrol,
cleaning utensils and books. If one did nothing else in the Pacific except spend time
with the people of Palmerston Atoll the journey would be worth it – we will certainly
never forget our visit.
26th August 2010 – Niue: As we pick up a mooring a humpback whale breaches
seaward of us in a cloud of spray – is this a standard Pacific greeting? The sea water is
astonishingly clear. Snorkelling from the boat to the shore there is a feeling of flying as
the seabed 17m
below is bathed
in light. There
A sea-cave in Niue
are sea snakes
galore – about
0∙75m long
and with very
distinctive
black and white
banding. Their
bite is to be
avoided.
After a week
the wind swings
from the ocean
into our mooring
area, the swells
increase and,
with the reef
thundering 40m
behind us, at 0300 our nerves crack and we run to sea. We sail to the east of the
island and hide, jilling around under very short canvas. Poking our nose out twelve
hours later we find the wind has gone south and we lay course for Tonga.
91
3rd September 2010
– Tonga: During our
stay we sail from one
idyllic anchorage
to the next but the
following leg, the 450
miles from Tonga to
Fiji, is complicated
and dangerous
due to underwater
activity pushing up
over sixty new shoals
and dangerous areas
since the last charts
were published. To
make matters more
Port Mourelle, Tonga
interesting, on the
way we have the mother and father of an electrical storm for six hours, some strikes
so close that we can feel the blast of hot air on our faces from the discharge. As the
storm moves off the wind
comes – lots of it – and for
Pylades revelling in the Pacific
the next 24 hours we have a
gale, horribly confused seas
and rain squalls. We can both
think of better places to be.
11th October 2010: The
wind and seas ease back,
the sun appears, out of blitz
comes bliss – a perfect day’s
sailing to Suva, Fiji’s main
town. We call the authorities
at 0700 but it is 1600 before
five officials pour over the
side festooned with forms,
which we fill in at breakneck
speed while they talk on their
mobile phones (an item we
have not used since Spain).
10th November 2010: As
we exit the Nebula pass for
New Zealand it is blowing
25+ knots from the southsoutheast with predictions to
continue, and every second
92
Relaunching at Auckland
wave bursts over the boat. Rattled and despondent we turn back. Six days later we leave
again, and for six days we run down the line. The next few days are best forgotten as the
wind and swell goes on the nose, but out of the southern swells an albatross comes soaring
around our tossing ship, lifting our spirits – pure magnificence on a 3∙5m wingspan.
It is dark when we secure at Opua, New Zealand. There we spend over five very
enjoyable months exploring, camping and boat caring, and attend a very pleasant OCC
gathering at Nina Kiff’s house at the Bay of Islands. The shocking news of the deaths
aboard MV Quest and the capture by Somali pirates of SY ING with Jan, Marie and
the children dramatically changes our plans. We decide to return via South Africa
rather than the Red Sea, adding 7000 miles to our route.
16th May 2011: Exiting for New Caledonia with a favourable 25 knot wind, a
residual northeast sea battles with the new southwesterly one. Clearing the top of
North Island a 6m swell stirred up by a previous storm in the Tasman joins in the
melee, making the seas frankly ridiculous!
23rd May 2011 – Amadee Light, New Caledonia: The 20 miles to Noumea is well
lit and our marina stay a very social affair. The first night out the sea turns glassy
calm – regarding wind, it’s either a feast or a famine. A million water fairies dance
beneath the waves in the footlights of phosphorescence; a million stars mirrored in
the undulating surface complete the illusion that we are a ship of the cosmos slowly
motoring through deep space. A green meteorite enters and applauds and we gaze
in awe at the riches of it all.
93
10th June 2011: The Australian authorities at Bundaberg are welcoming but charge
$330 (on a weekend it would have been $660). Sailing north with 15 knot southeasterly
winds, clear blue skies and breathtaking sunsets, the coastline is studded with hundreds
of islands which are barren but picturesque with long, deserted beaches. We observe
very few yachts or vessels of any kind. After a particularly boisterous passage we tie up
at Mackay where Kay takes a fall and breaks two fingers. The next day is spent with the
friendliest staff in Mackay Base Hospital, where X-rays determine a full anaesthetic and
a resetting in the operating theatre. Thankfully, Australia and Ireland have reciprocal
health care agreements and all medical costs are covered. A direct result, one can
argue, of the Bolshevik Revolution!
18th June 2011: Rounding Cape York into the Torres Straits we bid farewell to
the Pacific, which will for the remainder of our lives provide images and dreams to
dwell in the deepest recesses of our beings. Darwin is 33°C under a hot blue sky,
all sunshades are rigged. Several days of supermarket shopping and lugging supplies
follow as Pylades is provisioned.
11th August 2011 – Kupang, Timor: After sundowners and dinner we sleep – until
0400, that is, when an unearthly wailing fills the air. The mosque is calling the
faithful, and everyone else, to prayer – at megawatts. We have great sailing through
many of the islands before we depart from Bali.
8th September 2011: We anchor in the lee of Direction Island in the Cocos Keeling
group. Snorkelling the rip is amazing – this is an opening where the rich water of
the ocean pours through the outer reef into the lagoon at about 5 knots. The trick is
to get as close as possible and jump into the centre of the rip; you are then whisked
through the chasm filled with myriads of large fish species and a fabulous background
of coral. It is amazing, the skipper does it thrice. We celebrate both our birthdays
with a fire on the beach, guitars and boxes are played, food and wine is quaffed – a
most memorable 65th for the skipper? Also fêted is news of the release of Jan, Marie,
their children and the other crew of sailing boat ING, who had been held by Somali
pirates for seven months.
The run to Mauritius is rough. As the easterly trades battle with a swell from the
southwest we roll horribly in the melee and are regularly swept. For days the cockpit
is uninhabitable and below is, to put it mildly, uncomfortable. Below decks we read,
popping our heads up every 15 minutes like marine moles. However we enjoy our time
in both Port Louis, Mauritius and Le Port, Reunion. Passing south of Madagascar we
receive shocking news over the SSB – Wizard of Africa, which was ahead of us, has
gone down after hitting a drifting container at night. Their EPIRB worked and all five
were picked up from their liferaft by a freighter.
11th November 2011: Approaching Richards Bay, South Africa, we are over canvassed
– the self-steering cannot cope and the skipper hand-steers the last few, very quick,
miles. Elation grips us as Pylades sweeps through the entrance in sheets of spray. We are
ecstatic to have crossed the Indian Ocean. Monkeys gambol about on the dockside, and
we are overwhelmed by welcomes from local people and fellow sailors already in. We love
94
High in Reunion
SA – even with all its
tensions, its people are
terrific. We hop down
the coast stopping
at East London,
Port Elizabeth and
Mossel Bay. Finally,
on Wednesday 23rd
December, we round
the much-feared Cape
Agulhas and are back
in the Atlantic.
A freshening wind
sweeps us around the
Cape of Good Hope.
At 0300 on the 25th, once again singing ‘We saw a ship come sailing in, on Christmas
Day in the morning’, we pick up a mooring outside the Royal Cape Yacht Club’s boat
basin. Here we find much to explore and enjoy besides the multifarious repairs to
our ship. On New Year’s Eve we dine at the yacht club, celebrating midnight with
a bottle of bubbly, swamped by the deafening blast of the ships in the harbour, their
sirens echoing between the bastions of Table Mountain. We speculate on the coming
year and our voyage home with a degree of nervous excitement.
28th January 2012: Time to set sail for St Helena, 1700 miles to the northwest. After
a bumpy start, for the next twelve days Pylades runs through easy blue-sky days with full
canvas, the nights a brilliant star-field dimmed only by the passage of a full moon which
nightly wanes. The 4000+ people of St Helena must rank as the world’s friendliest; it is
now a little piece of Cornwall in the south, despite once being a major slave-trading post.
29th February 2012 – Cabedelo, Brazil: For a full ten days we’ve rested, slipped and
cleaned the hull. Pushing north again, the cloud-clear nights bring a new vision of
Cape Town, as seen from Robben Island
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Mud at Cabedelo, Brazil
the Plough and its pointers as they rise higher every night, directing our gaze at the
northern horizon where, still hidden, lurks Polaris. Passing through the ITCZ we have
a lot of sail alterations and periods of motoring with wind coming and going as violent
lightning storms pass over, with swell from all directions ... the doldrums, for sure.
Having sighted no vessels for over a week we have a very close encounter with a trawler
on passage – through an odoriferous cloud of fish and burning diesel we pass about 5m
apart. The skipper thinks hard about going back on the fags. Next day we cross the
course line made two years and ninety-nine days earlier – we have circumnavigated.
24th March 2012: Sweeping into Rodney Bay, St Lucia, our isolation is well and truly
over – there are at least sixty boats at anchor. In the Caribbean, which is as good as
ever, we call at Martinique, Montserrat and Antigua before pushing north to Bermuda,
a fast wet, reaching ride.
22nd May 2012: At 0400 the lights and outline of Bermuda emerge through driving
drizzle. Jumping over the side next morning we find the sea fresher than the Caribbean
but perfect for waking. On the run back east Kay checks in with Herb daily – he
advises us to stay on an east heading to avoid, as he puts it, the ‘storm fields’ to the
north. Tropical storm Beryl develops and we heed his advice. The wind blows from
the southwest and maintains a steady 15–20 knots.
14th June 2012: Entering Horta we clear in with the well-organised and courteous
authorities, and are assigned a berth inside the main wall where we lay twelve years
ago. We are euphoric to have got to here with such easy conditions, mainly due to
Herb’s directions. In the Azores we call at Velas and Angra do Heroísmo – the Azores
just get better and better.
96
Try that with a live one! Angra
do Heroísmo in the Azores
5th July 2012: The call of family,
friends and the beauty of the Burren
hills is finally acknowledged, and
under a leaden sky and sea, with
contrary winds for the first five
days, we track slowly north. The
wind has an Arctic feel to it and
layers of long-forgotten clothes
are piled on as latitudes increase.
After ten days we tie up at a very
quiet Dingle Marina and celebrate.
A further ten days and
we arrive from whence
we started, Kinvara, to
the welcoming faces of
family and friends.
It has been a fantastic
three years, a key
element being our love
and companionship
throughout, for
adventures and
pleasures shared are
much enriched. We
secure our great ship
Pylades on her winter
mooring and, with a
touch of sadness in our
eyes, turn to the land.
Kinvara, and the
end of the odyssey
97
98
WHERE ON EARTH AM I?
Mike Bickell
I wrote this article about twelve months ago, but the abundance of material submitted
to Flying Fish has meant that it has had to wait to see the light of day. There have been
a number of developments in the intervening period.
Flying Fish 2013/1 contained two very relevant items – notification of the Water
Music Award to John Kirkus, and Avril Johnson’s excellent Silver Surfer rides New
Wave. Both Avril’s article and John’s site contain pictures of yacht tracks recorded by
GPS readings superimposed on charts and satellite photographs, and show the dramatic
differences that sometimes arise between them. This article attempts to explain
why these differences arise, why GPS readings are more compatible with satellite
photographs than with charts, and why it is still safe to use most old charts provided
they are interpreted through distance and bearing rather than latitude and longitude.
Note that in this article the words ‘maps’ and ‘charts’ are used interchangeably.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The idea for this article sprang from e-mails exchanged with another member who, like
me, has been exploring ways of using modern computing power to create navigational
information in an easily absorbed visual form. I’ve referred in the past to my own efforts
to present useful and easily assimilated information via my Google Maps (now most
easily accessed through ‘Grandpa’s Voyages’ on my new blog). This might be described
as a ‘discrete’ approach since I have pinpointed single positions on the earth’s surface.
My correspondent had the idea of displaying what one might call a ‘continuous’
approach by superimposing the track of a yacht’s approach to a marina or anchorage
on an image of the earth’s surface, and by doing so for several places create a library
of information to which others could refer.
When such a track, generated electronically by a continuous recording of the
yacht’s GPS position, is superimposed on Google Maps or, given sufficient computing
power, on Google Earth, no problems arise since there is relatively little difference
between a position determined by bouncing signals off one group of satellites
and photographs taken from another. When tracks are superimposed on other
representations of the earth’s surface, such as
nautical charts, things get more complicated.
Modelling the shape of the earth,
and mapping before satellites
Most people who lived before about 600 BC
thought the earth was flat, and today’s Flat
Earth Society, founded in 1956, has many
members who still celebrate the ideas and
experiments of their 19th century predecessors.
When Barry Goldwater ran for US President
in 1964 his opponents said: ‘He’d take a World
Tour if he wasn’t frightened of falling off the
edge’ – perhaps he’d seen this picture.
99
The flat earth model works pretty well for objects within sight of an observer at
sea level, so ancient maps and charts based on it can usually be used for navigation
provided you don’t try to relate them to more distant places.
In the 5th century BC the Greeks realised that things looked different when they
climbed mountains and travelled farther than usual from their homes. For example, when
they went to Egypt they noticed they could no longer see some of the stars they were
used to in Greece, but new ones had appeared. Clearly that couldn’t happen if the earth
was flat, so they postulated instead that it was a sphere with all points on the surface
equidistant from the centre. Pythagoras is credited by many with first proposing this idea,
though others sometimes attribute it to one or other of his contemporaries.
In any event, around 200 BC Eratosthenes was told that at noon on the longest day
– the summer solstice – the sun shone directly on the water in a deep well in Upper
Egypt (in Aswan of dam fame, and close to what we now call the Tropic of Cancer).
But he noticed that on the same day an upright stick in Alexandria cast a shadow. By
measuring distances and angles – legend claims this included having someone walk
from Alexandria to Aswan counting the paces – he pretty well confirmed the spherical
theory. Despite a number of second order observational weaknesses, his estimate of the
earth’s circumference converted to modern units was the remarkably accurate figure
of 25,000 miles.
From reports by
sailors and members
of Alexander the
Great’s campaigns
Eratosthenes drew
the map on the left,
incorporating for
the first time lines
of parallels and
meridians and thus
creating what we
now call latitude
and longitude.
Very soon after
Pythagoras proposed that the earth was spherical his successors confronted the problem
of how to represent points on its surface when trying to map them on a plane (a flat, twodimensional surface). They realised they couldn’t do it without a distortion of one type
or another, but appreciated that one way of tackling the problem would be to imagine
lines from the centre of the sphere being extended beyond the surface until they met a
tangent plane (a flat surface that just touches the sphere at a single point).
When a map or chart is produced in this way the region around the central point
of the projection (ie. the place where the tangent plane touches the earth’s surface) is
represented pretty accurately in all respects – it is near enough a ‘Flat Earth’ map. But
more and more distortion occurs the farther one moves from the central point.
In modern parlance this is a gnomonic projection and it has some advantages even
today – in particular, all great circles are represented by straight lines (hence the term
‘plane sailing’), and since seismic shocks and meteors tend to travel along great circles
100
gnomonic maps are used by workers in these fields. More generally, when a different
point of projection is used instead of the spherical centre – eg. a space-station – such
modern projections are called azimuthal.
Moving on a few centuries it was realised that the surface of a sphere could usefully
be projected onto the surface of a tangent cylinder that enclosed it (ie. a cylinder that
touches the sphere around the latter’s circumference), and in the middle of the 16th
century (1569) Mercator did just that, using the centre of the sphere as the point
of projection and
a cylinder with its
axis identical to the
north-south axis of
the earth. He then
imagined that if he
cut the cylinder from
top to bottom along
a line parallel to its
axis he could unroll
it until it lay flat
without creating any
further distortions to
the points and shapes
depicted on it. This
became known as the
Mercator projection
and is the one most
commonly seen today.
Many other projections have been proposed over the years and some are still in
regular use by specialist groups – for example aeroplane pilots like maps produced
using a conical projection in which the projection point is the apex of a cone that is
tangent to the earth around a complete circle. This can also be unwrapped without
further distortion, though various changes of particular types have already occurred.
Mercator’s projection has the properties that:
• Meridians and parallels are perpendicular to one another;
• Straight (rhumb) lines intersect all meridians at the same angle;
• The projection is conformal – ie. the local angle between any two intersecting lines
on the map and the sphere are the same;
• Scale varies from point to point as one moves away from the equator, so distances
and areas cannot be measured directly and increasing distortion of shape occurs
as the poles are approached (they can never be reached since the projecting line
from the centre of the sphere only ‘meets’ the surface of the cylinder at infinity).
Navigators prized the conformal nature of the maps highly, since a course could be
set and bearings on the map used at sea (within the limitations of available survey
information and accuracy). Since they didn’t sail all that quickly, didn’t go near the
poles, and weren’t bothered about the overall shape of land masses, they could ignore
101
the projection’s disadvantages. This was indeed Mercator’s intention and the name
he gave his map specifically says ‘.... for the use of sailors’.
Mercator’s method would stand the test of time but the data used in his maps would
not. The most sophisticated survey instrument in common use at the same time was
the astrolabe. This too had been invented by the Greeks, and had been improved
over the centuries as knowledge and technology developed. By the 16th century,
batch production of metal instruments had overtaken individual carving of wooden
ones, with a simplified version known as the mariner’s astrolabe used at sea because
the land-based variety was extremely difficult to handle on the deck of a moving ship.
Even the mariner’s version was difficult to keep vertical, and furthermore any observer
who tried to measure the sun’s altitude was likely to go blind fairly quickly as the object
had to be sighted directly.
During the 17th century earlier ideas about the shape of the earth were changed by
the work of Newton and Huygens, whose theories predicted that the earth is an oblate
ellipsoid and not a sphere after all. (An oblate ellipsoid is defined as: ‘a rotationally
symmetric ellipsoid having a polar axis shorter than the diameter of the equatorial
circle whose plane bisects it’ ... but it’s a great deal simpler to say ‘tangerine-shaped’.)
Mercator’s method of relating points on the earth’s surface to points on a map could
still be used, though the calculations to decide exactly where they should be placed
became more complex and their latitude and longitude was different from that
previously determined.
The same is true for many later refinements to the ‘geoid’ – one formal definition
of which is: ‘That equipotential surface which would coincide with the mean ocean
surface of the earth, if the oceans and atmosphere were in equilibrium, at rest relative
to the rotating earth, and extended through the continents (such as with very narrow
canals)’. (A less formal one might be: ‘the shape the surface of the oceans would
take under the influence of
Earth’s gravity and rotation
alone, in the absence of other
influences such as winds and
tides’). Allowing myself a
temporary deviation from the
historical sequence, it’s worth
pointing out that ‘mean sea
level’ has no universal and
fixed meaning. It’s not been
1. Ocean
measured near the poles, and
2. Reference ellipsoid
if global warming is a real
3. Local plumb line
phenomenon and sea levels
4. Continent
change then we’ll need a new
5. Geoid
geoid and new charts!
Further models of the earth’s shape were developed by Halley (1656–1742) of comet
fame; Gauss (1777–1852) who, amongst many other accomplishments, created the
term geoid; Airy (1801–1892) whose Stress Function has been so useful in structural
design, and many others. When used in the preparation of maps and charts, each
new model changed the previously determined latitude and longitude of objects on
102
the surface of the earth. In addition, local observations of distance and angle were
also changing as new instruments reduced the inaccuracies of earlier observations.
In 1731 the quadrant was invented, succeeding the astrolabe, and after 1757 the
sextant began to replace the quadrant.
Those famed navigators and surveyors Captain Cook (1728–1799) and Captain
Bligh (1774–1817) both used sextants to take thousands of latitude observations, and
included the results in huge numbers of charts which remain remarkably accurate at
local level even today. The same instruments were used by their successors right up to
the development of satellites, save for a brief period when radio direction finding and
radar provided improved accuracy where they were applied.
It is well known that for a long time determination of longitude by use of the sextant
represented a greater obstacle to accurate mapping than determination of latitude
(the fictional Captain Aubrey’s enthusiasm for Jupiter’s moons notwithstanding).
Eventually the invention by John Harrison (1693–1776) of a clock that could keep
accurate time over long periods and distances permitted the calculation of longitude
based on the time difference between a reference and an observation position – but
even with improved time-keeping, different results could be obtained depending
on which geoid was used. So the accuracy of longitude on charts remained more
uncertain than that for latitude.
The longitude number also depended on which reference meridian was used, and
there was considerable international competition between national capitals before
Greenwich was finally accepted as the world standard. (On a personal note, in 1997
I bought some second-hand charts of the Norwegian coast from a local sailing club,
and was confused as to why my crew member was shouting out figures which made no
sense to me until I realised they displayed longitude in degrees from Oslo.)
Satellites, GPS and electronic charts
Development of these technologies has occurred within the second half of my lifetime
and has dramatically changed our understanding of the world and the tools we use to
cruise around and communicate within it. The pace is ever accelerating, and the rate
at which geoid modelling changes, bringing changes of latitude and longitude in its
wake, vastly exceeds the rate at which new charts and maps can be produced.
The GPS-generated data for latitude and longitude currently uses a standard known
as WGS 84, which stands for World Geodetic System 1984. This uses a standard coordinate frame, a standard reference ellipsoid for altitude, and a standard geoid that
defines nominal sea level. But don’t expect it to remain standard for much longer – the
US National Geodetic Survey has released many updates since then. The most recent
(at the time of writing) was on 11 September 2012 and named Geoid 12A.
The pace at which new marine surveys have been undertaken is much slower in
comparison, and the pace at which new charts, or old ones updated to the WGS
84 standard, have been produced is even slower. The electronic charts which have
become prolifically available are not based on new surveys but on scanned versions
of old paper charts – and this is true whether they are raster charts like those
published by the British Admiralty or the vector charts produced by C-Map and
their competitors. I suspect many members will have had similar experiences to my
own, with occasions when a GPS track has been positioned compatibly with what I
103
could see at one scale but overland at a different one – it all depended on whether
the chart and GPS geoids and datums were the same or not.
I had a minor disagreement with the OCC when I was told I needed to upload lat/
long positions to get my maps onto the club’s website. I argued that lat/long was an
ever-changing feast and that photographic correlation was far superior, but was told
that the club had decided that this was how they were going to organise and present
cruising information and they had set up the website to require lat/long positions. I
accepted force majeure and complied to the degree necessary to load my maps.
So whilst acknowledging that ‘continuous’ information in the form of GPS tracks
superimposed on representations of the earth’s surface provides another string to our
navigational bow, and welcoming this when the superimposition is upon satellite
photograph data, I strongly advise all navigators to confirm that the geoids and datums
used to create the tracks are the same as the ones they are currently using.
Conclusions
The availability of GPS equipment, chart plotters and electronic charts has made
ocean and coastal navigation immeasurably easier than it had been hitherto,
but it would be foolish to rely on complete compatibility between one’s physical
surroundings and one’s position as depicted by a GPS reading superimposed on either
a paper or an electronic chart.
Instead, eyeball and depth navigation, supplemented by the use of either paper or
electronic charts, interpreted through distances and bearings instead of latitude and
longitude, are far more likely to see you safely through the reef or into the anchorage.
This is because most charts, whether paper or electronic, and whether or not updated
to WGS 84, were created from surveys performed by sailors sailing the same waters
and seeing the same landmarks that you see as you make your approach. They were
all ‘Flat Earthers’ – and so are we, at the relevant speeds and distances.
If in doubt, another modern invention can help enormously. Like human eyes, radar
shows ‘what is’ rather than what we think it might be after various mathematical
manipulations. I have successfully used it to approach anchorages in the dark at places
as far apart as Red Bay in Northern Ireland and Waterfall Bay in Fiji. It too has its
limitations, however, since rain or sea clutter, or a strong image from a distant object,
can obscure a weaker one from nearby.
Finally, never forget that oft-quoted phrase: ‘the prudent navigator should use all
available means to determine a safe position and course’.

*
He who loves practice without theory
is like a sailor who boards a ship
without a rudder and compass, and
never knows where he may cast.
Leonardo da Vinci
104
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106
A PLAGUE OF GREMLINS
Barry Fuller
(Barry and Sue moved afloat in 1997, shortly after retirement, initially in Dimidea, a 20ft
Signet, in which they cruised the west coast of the British isles from Kinsale to Shetland in the
summers, spending the winters refitting Crazy Diamond, a Victory 40 ketch. A shakedown
cruise in 2001 took them to Shetland, around the west coast of Ireland, and back to Milford
Haven, while the following years were spent sailing to Norway, Svalbard and Iceland.
In 2007 they headed south, qualifying for OCC membership on the passage from Ireland to
the Azores, before crossing the Atlantic in 2007 and the Pacific in 2008. We join them in Opua,
on New Zealand’s North Island. Follow Crazy Diamond’s route on the plan on page 88.)
It all seemed so easy back in the austral autumn of 2011. After three years of tropical
Pacific islands we had decided it was time to move on, and the destination of choice was
Patagonia. So it was to be a trip back across the Tasman Sea to spend the winter in New
Zealand checking the boat, sails etc prior to the Southern Ocean passage to Chile.
We departed Tasmania in early May with a favourable forecast, bidding farewell to
our friends Guy and Karen in Szél, with whom we had cruised on and off since meeting
in the Azores in 2007. As usual the weather didn’t listen to the forecasts, and an east
coast low developed heading across our route to become stationary mid way to New
Zealand. Our favourite sail plan, especially in strong winds, is to pole out two sails on
furlers and run downwind, and it was a bit of a roundabout route as we headed northwest,
north, northeast and finally east as we tracked around the depression. At least it was
a fast trip to Opua, North Island.
Sunset at Tasman Island as we leave Tasmania
107
Hauled out in Opua, New Zealand
The first job was to replace the chainplate bolts. In Tasmania I’d noticed corrosion
around one of the chainplates and found a bit of crevice corrosion. Whilst checking
through the portlights to see which parts of the interior needed to be taken apart, we
noticed that the deck appeared to be lifting where the plates were bolted through. In
a 40-year-old boat it was not clear if this was recent or not, but the decision was taken
to have stainless knees fabricated to reinforce the hull-deck joint. So we spent several
weeks in chaos, living in a boat with half the interior stripped out, but at least we
would have one less worry when the wind picked up. With new sails ordered, a haulout booked for antifouling, and new anchor chain ordered, we took a short trip back
to the UK to see family, confident that we would be ready to leave early in December.
The gremlins got to work while we were away. The new chain, when it arrived, was
badly galvanised and rusted in overnight rain before it could be loaded on board, so had
to be sent back. There were the usual minor hitches – the half-hour job which takes
a week, etc – but two days before haul-out we awoke to the sound of trickling water.
The stern gland had started leaking and the automatic bilge pump had seized. A bit of
bodging turned the trickle into a drip and a new pump was fitted. Being an old boat,
the veteran of many refits, we had a metric shaft and an imperial stern tube, could not
get a replacement locally, and had to order from the States. We hauled out, antifouled
and replaced anodes, then waited for the stern gland. It only took three days to reach
Auckland, and there it sat for another week awaiting customs clearance. By the time
it arrived, everything was ready to fit it, replace the shaft, and launch.
Launch day arrived and the cradle was manoeuvred round the railway track and
lowered into the water. So far so good, the boat floated, the lines were let off, and I put
the engine in astern. It might have been amusing to watch, but the boat attempting
108
to motor forward, out through the side of the cradle, was not funny. While the stern
gland was being fitted the Morse cable had become detached from the gearbox, leaving
it in forward. At least the only damage was to the wooden toe-rail and to my pride.
We were towed out, and motored back to our mooring.
By now it was well into December, and we were looking for a weather window to leave.
Wrong. A broken tooth, several visits to the dentist, a crown, and three weeks went by.
Was someone trying to tell us something? With January fast disappearing it was decision
time. Leaving now, it would be nearly winter by the time we arrived. Perhaps it would
be more sensible to leave at the end of April and take the northern route, via French
Polynesia and Easter Island? This decision was made for us with a phone call from our
daughter. “Where will you be in June,” she said, “I’m getting married”. So with June to
be spent in the UK, we took another trip across to Tasmania to visit our son and his
family and catch up with Guy and Karen, arriving back in Opua at the end of May. The
only gremlin was our new dinghy’s inflatable floor leaking around a seam. Our new sails
were fine and our new davits worked well – perhaps things were looking up.
A good time was had at the wedding, and we arrived back in Opua in early July ready
to stock up with food and leave. This time we actually got as far as giving the required
four days advance notice to customs. It started as just a slight twinge in my knee, but
after a couple of days I could barely walk. Doctors, X-rays and physiotherapy followed,
but still no real idea of what was causing the problem. It was probably a torn tendon,
but I hadn’t done anything to tear it. One suggestion was that cramped seating on
long haul flights had caused micro-tears that gradually grew until they were painful.
At all events, it was September before I was ready to go. Now it was a little late for
the northern route, but too early for the Southern Ocean. We were not going to wait
Cruising with our son in Tasmania
109
any longer, so as soon as we had a weather window we set sail for the Austral Islands,
some 2000 miles to the northeast, hopefully leaving the gremlins behind.
The plan was to keep below 35°S until we reached about 170°W, then to take the
rhumb line to Raivavae. With 15 knots from the west we set off with twin foresails, the
starboard one poled out, and were going well until 2300 when the spinnaker pole car
broke, after which we were down to just the jib. A new car was fitted at first light and
we were back on track. The winds stayed between northwest and southwest for the next
ten days, mostly 15–25 knots, and our daily runs were between 130 and 150 miles. The
gremlins were quiet, with only minor breakages such as lazy jacks and topping lifts.
Twelve days out from Opua we finally got some easterly winds, varying from northnortheast to south-southeast and rarely as much as 20 knots. We tacked on the wind
shifts, which was about every two days, arriving in Raivavae after 20 days’ sailing. The
entrance through the reef is well marked with leading lines and buoys, and the GPS
was accurate, the only problem was the strong smell of diesel when we started to motor
– close examination revealed an injector squirting almost as much fuel into the bilge
as into the engine. By mid-day we were anchored off the wharf at Raiurua, and cleared
in by the local gendarme. Next day we found a local man, and with his help stripped
down the injector, cleaned and rebuilt it, and so far it has been fine. It was so nice being
back in the tropics – we almost had second thoughts about leaving.
Raivavae is a beautiful, rugged island and we spent ten days exploring it – at 5 miles
long and 1∙5 wide this can easily be done on foot, so our bikes remained in the fore cabin.
Basic supplies were available from several small shops, and fresh bread was delivered daily
to the quay. Fruit and vegetables were in short supply as it was between seasons for local
produce, but we did manage to stock up on carrots and onions when the supply ship came
in, and had left New Zealand full up with oranges and grapefruit from a friend’s garden.
Light winds from between northeast and southeast, mostly only 5–8 knots, were the
norm for the start of the passage to the Gambier islands. At 700 miles due east it was too
far to motor, so we drifted along, only using the engine when the wind dropped below 5
knots. Most days we only managed 60–80 miles, and didn’t manage 100 for over a week.
“Help!” the cry came at about 0200 – gremlins had struck again. The shackle holding
the foresail to the top swivel had parted and our new genoa was in the water. With
the main dropped, we hove-to with the mizzen and spent over an hour rescuing the
Anchored at Raiurua, Raivavae
110
Heading east with the Hydrovane still working
sail from under the boat. No damage appeared to have been done, but it was now a
delicate shade of grey. At least it wouldn’t grow weed if we sank! Typically, by morning
the wind had picked up to 15–20 knots, with too much swell to go up the mast unless
absolutely essential. We continued with the jib and mizzen, as by now we wanted to
slow down a little to arrive in daylight two days later.
It was my turn to suffer that night. I couldn’t get the windvane to steer, no matter
how I trimmed the sails. A trip aft revealed the problem – the pin which held the
Hydrovane rudder on had sheared and the rudder was being dragged along by its safety
rope. It was retrieved, and the autopilot switched on for the rest of the night.
The Gambier is a collection of islands surrounded by a partially submerged reef.
There are no leading lines or buoys for the outer reef, and pilotage requires sailing a
transit of two headlands. Unfortunately our arrival coincided with only our second wet
day at sea since leaving Opua, with squally showers and poor visibility. With only one
headland barely visible, and a sharp eye on the compass and echo sounder, we crept
in. After passing the outer reef coral patches abound, some of which are buoyed – and
some of the buoys were actually in place. A narrow pass through an inner reef is marked
by leading lights, which I had just got in line when another squall came through and
obscured them. By now I was reasonably happy with the accuracy of the GPS and we
followed our track on that, with Sue on the bows looking for coral heads.
With some relief we dropped anchor near the wharf at Rikitea on Mangareva, the
main island. It was not the most comfortable anchorage in easterly winds. The outer
reef stops the ocean swell, but there is a 4 mile fetch through the inner coral patches
to create a chop. Surprisingly, there were five other yachts in there, the first we’d seen
since New Zealand. As usual for a British yacht entering French Polynesia, clearing in
was easy, and we were soon visited by Mario, Esther, and Laura from Mares with a gift
111
of bread, as we were too late for the
baker, who opens at 7am.
After a couple of days of repairs
and maintenance we were ready
to explore. Mangareva is unusual
for French Polynesia in that it
has several marked footpaths and
tracks across the island to various
viewpoints, and we walked most
of them at least twice as we waited
for three weeks for suitable winds
to continue. The local weather
station launched a balloon every
day, and welcomed visitors to
watch and view the incoming
figures. These were transmitted to
France and assisted in forming the
forecasts which came back. As with
The anchorage
and reefs around
Rikitea, Mangareva
Raivavae, fresh local produce
was in short supply but Fritz, who
ran the ‘yacht club’, was always
generous to yachts with gifts of
cabbage, beans and tomatoes. He
also provided showers, laundry
facilities and water by dinghy.
At last suitable weather arrived,
with winds more northeast than
southeast, and we were ready
to go – but by then two wakas,
traditional Polynesian sailing
double canoes made from pairs of
hollowed-out tree trunks, were due
to arrive from New Zealand any
day, so we stayed to see them. They
duly made their entrance, and were
the excuse for much celebration
and traditional Mangarevan
dancing. The Polynesians were
great navigators who settled the
vast area of scattered islands
112
between New Zealand, Hawaii, and Easter Island without even a compass, navigating
by stars and ocean swells. Unfortunately, having settled they seemed to lose the sailing
tradition, and now barely venture out from the reefs. The Maori from New Zealand were
touring the Pacific, hoping to reintroduce these skills while the older generation, who
had learnt them by word of mouth from their forefathers, were still alive.
We finally got under way at the beginning of November, with 1400 miles to go to
Easter Island. As with the previous passage, the first week was marked by light northeasterly winds rarely into double figures, but then we got some westerlies which, though
still light, did allow us to sail in the right direction. Typically, when the wind did pick
up a bit it came out of the southeast, almost on the nose. The gremlins stayed quiet,
and we reached Easter Island after 18 days – a slow trip, but gale and stress free.
Our arrival at the rolly, open anchorage off Hanga Roa, the main town, coincided
with that of a French yacht, Sauvage, on its way from California to Antarctica, and
they won the race to get the best spot (the situation was reversed some ten months
later when we met again in Patagonia). Clearing into Chile was relatively simple – all
the officials come out to the boat, and Sue and I were kept busy filling in forms for half
an hour, then they presented us with a $25 US bill for light dues, and left.
Getting ashore in Hanga Roa is not easy. The smallboat harbour is half a mile from
the anchorage, and the entrance lies between two surf breaks, which can break all the
way across if a big swell is running. There is a harbour at Hanga Piko, a mile further
south, but it is subject to surge, and a pilot is required for entry. We know of one British
yacht that spent several months there when their forestay and furler broke just before
arrival, but the sight of a battered aluminium yacht on the quayside was enough to
deter us. The weather gods who had favoured us all the way across the Pacific still
looked on kindly, and we had light north to northeast winds and very little swell for
the week we were there – probably just as well, as the gremlins got into the outboard
and it would only run at half power.
The wakas arriving
113
Moai awaiting delivery
at Ranu Raruku
Since seeing Kon Tiki as a child I had always wanted to visit Easter Island, Rapa
Nui in the local language, so we hired a car and engaged in some serious tourism. Oral
tradition has the arrival of their Polynesian ancestors in the 4th century, but most
scientists put it later, at 900 to 1200 AD. The island is famed for its large megalithic
statues, or moai. These were carved out of volcanic tuff from the crater at Rano Raraku,
and then transported to ceremonial sites on the shore in front of each tribal village.
The sight when walking up to the crater is amazing, with literally hundreds of heads
emerging from the ground. These are completed moai, waiting for delivery, and over
almost the entire surface of the exposed rock there are partially carved statues, each
slightly different from the next and each apparently representing an individual.
The cult of ancestor worship was still strong at the time of the arrival of Europeans
in 1772, but within a century every statue had been toppled, probably as a result of
tribal warfare. Whether it was a revolt against the vast resources put into carving
and moving statues, or whether over-population coupled with deforestation led to
starvation, with no timber left to build canoes to fish from, or perhaps a combination
of these is not clear, but statue carving ceased and a new god emerged.
Megalithism as political and religious expression was replaced by the god Make-Make,
closely related to spring and fertility. A ceremonial village, Orongo, was constructed on
a narrow strip of land between a volcanic cone and a cliff. Every spring the tribal chiefs
and priests would gather and the chiefs or a servant would prepare for competition.
They would scramble down the cliff and swim out to Motu Nui, an island more than
a mile offshore. There they would await the arrival of sooty terns, the challenge being
to bring back the first egg. The victorious chief would become ‘birdman’ for a year, a
dubious honour as it meant being shaved of all hair and living in total seclusion, but
it brought great benefits to his kinsmen.
114
Motu Nui, just a short
scramble and swim away!
A week of tourism, stocking
up the boat on every trip ashore,
was enough. With north-westerly
winds forecast it was time to leave
as the anchorage would become
untenable. Valdivia lay nearly 2000
miles east-southeast and we had
winds from between southwest and
northwest all the way, rarely more
than 20 knots and mostly dry and
bright. Perhaps the gremlins had
stayed ashore on Easter Island as
we had no problems the entire trip,
tying up at the friendly La Estancia
Marina on 13 December after 17
days – three months and one week
from New Zealand.
We may have been plagued by
gremlins, but the weather gods had
been kind and the strongest gust
on the whole passage was only 34
knots. I don’t know if this was an unusual weather pattern after two La Niñas, but I
would recommend it as a way to sail east across the Pacific. It is also feasible to sail to
Galapagos from Gambier, and from there to Ecuador and Panama, perhaps worthy of
consideration with all the piracy in the Indian Ocean. For us it was now time to relax,
enjoy Christmas, and prepare for our cruise south to Tierra del Fuego.
Crazy Diamond in Marina La Estancia, Valdivia
115
g
‘Flyin
e
t
o
Qu
r Best
o
f
’
h
s
Fi
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116
”
THE TRADE WIND FOODIE – Rod & Lu Heikell. Published in paperback by
Imray Laurie Norie & Wilson [www.imray.com] at £17.95. 296 234mm x 156mm
pages in full colour throughout. ISBN 978-1-8462-3502-3
Only ten pages into this book I was already thinking ‘this guy really has been there,
done that’. Not surprising, as one of the authors in question is OCC member Rod
Heikell, well-known as an expert on Mediterranean cruising and with many pilot
books for that area to his credit. Now he’s turned his hand to food writing, based on
a five year circumnavigation with his wife Lu.
I was very impressed with The Trade Wind Foodie. It’s far more than a collection
of recipes – it starts with a discussion on galleys and their equipment, then goes into
the availability of provisions in a variety of countries, islands and ports along with
masses of useful advice on buying and storing, followed by safety issues (including gas
installation, fish poisoning etc) and fascinating detail on the history of many foods.
Just about every unusual fruit and vegetable is discussed – find something you’ve never
seen before in a distant market, and this book will tell you how to use it.
Yes, Tradewind Foodie is definitely more than your average cookbook. Rod’s direct
and amusing style makes for very entertaining reading, and he has plenty of amusing
anecdotes from all over the world. Just one of many is the description of the fish market
in Puerto Ayora, Galápagos: ‘Even if you don’t want to buy fish, just go to watch the
local customers. There’s a couple of sealions, a pelican or two, and some boobies. They
are not shy about wandering in and nudging the vendors for a morsel or two.’ And so
on... The section on cruising through southeast Asia is particularly fascinating, and
like the rest of the book is illustrated with dozens of evocative photos. You can almost
smell the spices and hear the sounds of the street markets.
Moving on to the recipes, they consist almost entirely of main meals, with a strong
slant towards pasta and rice and detailed information on dealing with fish. Plenty
of the recipes are vegetarian or can be adapted to be. I was pleased to see detailed
instructions on bread-making – well worth the effort, but a bit daunting if you’ve
never done it before and who bothers at home when it’s so easy to buy? Each dish is
pictured, and most are exactly the sort of thing that we’ve all cooked on board – The
Trade Wind Foodie would thus be ideal for the first-time cruiser, but would also bring
fresh inspiration to those of us who thought we hadn’t much more to learn about
cooking at sea. I’m not sure about Rod’s assertion that some dishes can be produced
in Force Eight, but that’s a minor point. This book is an excellent read, and useful
too – highly recommended!
EHMH
117
RAMBLING UNDER SAIL – Steve Pickard (Kindle edition). Available as a
download from Amazon.co.uk at £2-06 and from Amazon.com at US $6.14. 260 pages
(presumably dependent on font size?) plus a dozen or so slightly hazy photographs at
the end. ASIN (Amazon Standard Identification Number): B00BU2CTCO
OCC members will know Steve as a regular contributor to Flying Fish – six articles in
the past eight years – with several notable characteristics. One is that he’s an excellent
writer with a marvellous turn of phrase; the second is that he never takes himself – or the
circumstances in which he finds himself – too seriously; and the third is that every article
has featured a different boat, ranging in size from a Westerly 36 down to a Leisure 17.
Rambling Under Sail – deliberate homage to the Hiscocks there – covers an earlier
period of Steve’s sailing career, from his first boat (a home-rebuilt canoe which,
surprisingly, didn’t sink), through a motley collection of sailing and motor boats which
gradually increase in size and seaworthiness over the years. It includes some fairly hairraising experiences, though only one actual shipwreck – or, as the Amazon product
description (presumably written by Steve) puts it: ‘... is both harrowing and funny as
disaster is so narrowly averted in the search for a better sailing boat and more profound
experiences afloat’. Of course I have an advantage in knowing Steve, so can imagine
him (or his slightly younger self) in many of the situations he describes, but so many
of them could happen to any of us – if we had his courage and initiative.
It really is hard to imagine any sailor not enjoying this book, and though I spotted
a few typos (Rambling Under Sail is self-published) there were no more than in most
commercial productions. I certainly can’t think of a better use for £2.06 (or $6.14
should you buy from Amazon.com) and if it comes out in hard copy, as I very much
hope it will, I’d be willing to pay far more. This is because Rambling would be perfect for
dipping into at random to fill an odd ten minutes – though one might easily find that
an hour had slipped by – and as far as I’m aware this isn’t a facility offered by Kindle.
My only other regret was not discovering the pictures until I reached the end – it’s
worth taking a look at them early on, if only to marvel, or possibly shudder, at a few
of the craft that Steve was willing to take to sea.
Rambling Under Sail stops fairly abruptly – and of course a Kindle gives you no warning
– but ‘The End (for now)’ almost promises a volume two. I’ll be first in the queue!
AOMH
SIXTY YEARS OF SPORT: The Memoirs of J Linton Rigg – Art Ross. Published
in soft covers by SandSPublishing [www.sandspublishing.com] at US $14-97 /
£9-70. 132 215mm x 215mm pages, copiously illustrated with black and white
photographs plus a few chartlets. ISBN 978-1487-3255-9
Subtitled Sailing from the Age of Gatsby to the Grenadine Islands, Sixty Years of Sport is a
gentle jaunt through six decades of yachting starting in 1895. It is written around the
life of J Linton Rigg, OBE, and is mostly restricted to the United States and Caribbean.
Rigg was born in Jamaica but grew up in the States and became a successful East Coast
yacht broker who wrote Bahama Islands, the third edition of which came out in 1959.
118
Later he lived aboard his 43ft ketch while sailing in the warm waters between North
and South America, and many of the stories are told in his own words. It helps to look
at the chartlets of the Caribbean on pages 107, 108 and 110 before reading the book,
unless one is already familiar with this area. (The pages are numbered at the top left
or right corner so some of them have no numbers.)
Clearly Art Ross wrote this book because he loves sailing and the Caribbean. He is
proud to be a member of the OCC, and is a US Coastguard Licenced Captain and a
member of the Coast Guard Auxiliary. His admiration for Linton Rigg is very reasonably
tempered by that man’s human failings. For instance Rigg was partially deaf, but this
disability was selective, and modified according to who was talking ... and how much!
Rigg raced aboard Pinta in the 1928 TransAtlantic Race which was won by that fine
schooner Nina, lost with all hands in the Tasman Sea in early June this year.
IN
SECRETS OF SAILBOAT FISHING – Dick McClary. Published in PDF format
and downloadable from the author’s website [sailboat-cruising.com] at £3.22 or
$4.99. 93 pages, in colour throughout. ISBN 978-0-9576-6151-6
This is the e-book version of the same author’s Fishing Afloat, reviewed in Flying Fish
2010/2. It retains the excellent clear and often humorous presentation of the print
version, and though said to be tailored specifically for the cruising sailor appears almost
identical. So if you already have Fishing Afloat on your boat bookshelf it’s probably
not necessary to buy the e-book version as well. It downloads as a simple PDF – easy
to open and read, but with no ‘hot links’ so it is not possible to find what you want in
the table of contents and then ‘jump’ directly there. Also there are no sidebars to help
navigation – just the native PDF tools. Having said all that, the book is relatively short
and scanning the very clear and well laid-out pages and illustrations is not a problem.
As it happens, this review is being written just after a lunch of tuna in a cream
sauce with leeks and pasta. The fish in question came out of a chilly and windy
Biscay about 100 miles north of La Coruña, and is one that I definitely would not
have caught without Dick McClary’s lessons from Fishing Afloat. Thanks to him I
have graduated from towing a lure for hundreds of miles with nothing other than
the odd suicidal fish attaching itself to the end – I may still have to wait a few hours
for a fish, but it’s rarely more. So if towing a lure until it rusts describes your yacht
fishing then this e-book will sort you out – learn about teasers, muppets and planes
to vary the depth of your offering and reap the rewards.
Every aspect of fishing from a yacht is explored in clear language with excellent
illustrations. I particularly like the explanation of the different lures, together with
their ‘trade names’, so that on going into a tackle shop one is not quite so amazed
by the huge range of shapes and sizes on offer and ends up buying something quite
unsuitable for purpose because it was a nice shade of pink... Even extracting hooks
from unhappy crew is dealt with in excruciating detail (please excuse pun) with the
only lack of pertinent information this reviewer can find being the lack of recipes
in which to serve your prizes.
119
An excellent publication, may tight lines join your fair winds.
MBH
KNOTS IN USE – Colin Jarman, fourth edition. Published in soft covers by Adlard
Coles Nautical [www.adlardcoles.com] at £9.99. 96 214mm x 138mm pages, with
many coloured photos, plus ‘quick response’ codes linking to explanatory videos.
ISBN 978-1-4729-0345-7
Knots in Use has been in print continuously since the first edition was published in 1984,
and it’s easy to see why. As a (relatively) cheap, pocket-sized guide covering all the knots,
bends, splices and whippings likely to be found aboard, it ticks all the boxes. Unlike
The Knot Bible (see page 123 of this issue) Knots in Use has no pretensions to the coffee
table, but at much the same dimensions as Flying Fish it will live happily in the sailing
bookshelf – as my dog-eared copy of the second (2000) edition testifies.
Thirteen years on and Knots in Use exploits modern technology, with QR codes
linking to ten explanatory videos (which can also be accessed via www.youtube.com/
adlardcolesnautical). Had I not once taught sailing to beginners I would question
why most of these are devoted to the very simplest knots (reef knot, clove hitch etc),
but the hard-copy illustrations – a mixture of line drawings and photographs – are
perfectly clear on their own. In any case, something like a braid on braid eyesplice
(the sort of thing with which the most experienced OCC member might appreciate
a little assistance) would require a lot more time to demonstrate than the 20 seconds
or so devoted to the reef knot....
All in all, a great way of encouraging new or younger crew members to learn the
basics of ropework, and a very useful aide memoire for the rest of us.
AOMH
HOW NOT TO BUILD A BOAT – Jill Dickin Schinas. Published in soft covers by
Imperator Publishing [www.imperator-publishing.com] at £15.99 / €18.99 / $24.99.
298 189mm x 246 mm pages, including 67 black-and-white photos and over 110
pen-and-ink drawings and cartoons. ISBN 978-0-9560-7222-1
Ever wanted to build a boat? Then this is the book for you. But it is much more than
that – it is the beautifully written story of a family and their quest for the perfect yacht
on the proverbial shoestring.
It starts with their capsize and dismasting in the Southern Ocean and decision to build
the perfect boat, goes on to their finding a half-built project in South Africa – which
some might see as a disadvantage but they turn into an advantage – rebuilding it on
a farm (with a growing number of children both in its shade and in the boat herself),
launching, fitting-out, and eventually sailing off into the sunset. Multiple obstacles are
thrown at them – discovering their bargain steel boat needs complete re-welding whilst
not (yet) knowing how to weld, for example. Their 18 month project eventually takes
120
some ten years and is a salutary lesson in how ‘not’ to build a boat, but it is written
with humour and illustrated throughout with amusing and well-executed cartoons.
My own favourite in the way the book is put together is the ‘dirty fingerprint’
marking each technical page, and it should be said that How Not to Build a Boat is
a mine of useful information, with clear and comprehensive technical diagrams and
measurements in the style of our own Ian Nicolson.
Jill and her husband Nick have some interesting and thought-provoking ideas about
everything from the ideal cockpit to how to design and make your own portholes, from
the best rig to how to construct your own self-steering gear. How Not to Build a Boat
is an absolute necessity for anyone who wants to build their own boat, particularly
in steel, but would also be very useful to anyone with a penchant for improving their
current boat. All in all it is very practical but immensely readable – enjoy!
KAB
Background about Jill and Nick, their boat, their children, their adventures and much
more will be found at www.yachtmollymawk.com.
SAILING DIRECTIONS FOR THE SOUTH AND WEST COASTS OF
IRELAND – edited by Norman Kean, thirteenth edition. Published in paperback
by Irish Cruising Club Publications Ltd [www.iccsailingbooks.com] at £29.95.
352 296mm x 210mm pages including hundreds of photographs and plans. ISBN
978-0-9558-1994-6
I was fortunate enough to be asked to represent the Commodore of the OCC at the
Irish Cruising Club Dinner earlier this year, and amongst the good cheer of the evening
someone mentioned that the thirteenth edition of the Irish Cruising Club’s Sailing
Directions for the South and West Coast of Ireland had just been published. I casually
leafed through the book next morning and immediately had to have my own copy.
Norman Kean and his team have set the bar high for such a publication, and it well
justifies the title ‘Sailing Directions’ rather than the more usual ‘Cruising Guide’.
Each page contains a chartlet with waypoints marked, photographs of dangers and
leading lines – dangers on a pink background, navigation aids in green, tides in blue and
charts in yellow – interspersed with camera icons referencing the many photographs.
This volume includes 144 aerial and 688 sea level photographs, plus 150 changes to
navigation aids since the previous edition was published in 2008. There are page by
page references to the sister publication Cruising Ireland reviewed in Flying Fish 2012/2.
The two books complement each other and beckon you to cruise this historic and
beautiful coastline.
This is the sort of book that calls one to change one’s cruising plans in order to
explore this intricate and excellently-described coastline. I can only echo the comment
from Cruising magazine printed on the front cover: ‘As Sailing Directions it is well
nigh perfect’.
AGHC
121
SAILING CLOSE TO THE WIND – Philip Beale and Sarah Taylor. Published in
paperback by The Lulworth Press, an imprint of LCP [www.lcp.co.uk] at £9.99.
218 pages 178mm x 127mm pages, including 12 pages of colour photographs.
ISBN 978-1-9089-1304-3
Since the end of the Second World War a tiny handful of seamen have articulated
audacious theories about how humans discovered and populated our oceanic planet,
and sailed replicas of ancient vessels to demonstrate the feasibility of previously
unimaginable voyages. The first hero of this pantheon is of course Thor Heyerdahl,
who in 1947 sailed Kon Tiki from Peru to the Tuamotu Islands. In the next generation,
from the 1970s to the 1990s, Tim Severin, recipient of the OCC Award of Merit for
2012, sailed replicas of an Irish curroch, an Arab boom, a Greek scout rowing galley, a
Chinese junk raft, and Alfred Russell Wallace’s small sailing boat.
The books of these ‘replica pioneers’ set a very high standard: a compelling theory,
preferably drawn from great sailing lore; meticulous care to construct an ‘authentic’
replica vessel; a voyage to press the replica to its limits; and a writing style worthy of
a great sea yarn.
Now comes Philip Beale, inspired by Herodotus, the Father of History, who wrote:
‘These men (the sailors) made a statement which I do not myself believe,
though others may, that as they sailed on a westerly course round the
southern end of Libya (the ancient Greek name for Africa), they had
the sun on their right, to northward of them. This was how Libya was
first discovered by sea.’
Determined to sail around Africa in a Phoenician ship replica, Beale began in 2004
by researching the design. The only Phoenician ship which has been recovered in
modern times is a warship, now in the museum in Trapani, Sicily, near where it sank.
After great effort to develop a plausible design, Beale is honest enough to quote Lionel
Casson, who told him, ‘There is nothing Phoenician about it, nor can there be, since
we have no idea of what a Phoenician seagoing craft looked like’. He was unable to
build the ship in Lebanon, home of the ancient Phoenicians, because the skills and
shipyards have died there, so Phoenicia was built in Arwad, Syria, by a local shipbuilder
who, though accustomed to building fishing boats, successfully constructed the replica
using thousands of pegged mortise and tenon joints.
Phoenicia, initially engineless, was launched in July 2008 and, without proper sea
trials, was towed to the Suez Canal, only to fall into the hands of rapacious Egyptians.
The two steering oars broke repeatedly. Five of the initial eight crew members gave up
and went home. An engine, quickly determined to be essential, was installed in Port
Sudan at vast expenditure of easting, to avoid Somali pirates. Making her way down
the Mozambique Channel, the ship stopped off several times in South Africa before
heading north to St Helena, Ascension and the Azores. Phoenicia finally returned to
Syria in October 2010, after a voyage of two years and two months.
Beale deserves high marks for his determination to push on through extraordinary
difficulties – the voyage was completed, and no one was lost at sea – but it is not clear
what all this proves. Phoenicia doesn’t remotely resemble my image of a Phoenician
merchant ship – she looks like a Syrian fishing boat with a square-sail. Equipped with
122
radar and GPS, Beale made no apparent effort to observe or describe the sun or the
stars, nor does he speculate on how the ancient sailors might have provisioned their
vessel. Most disturbing is the book’s title, which is absurd for a vessel with a single,
square (ie. downwind) sail.
Now back in the UK, Phoenicia is preparing for a new voyage to demonstrate that
the Phoenicians could have sailed to North America. Sailing Close to the Wind is an
engaging story, but it does not belong on the small shelf of the accounts of the great
modern replica voyages.
DRB
THE KNOT BIBLE – Nic Compton. Published in hardback by Adlard Coles
Nautical [www.adlardcoles.com] at £19.99. 288 250mm x 185mm pages, with
multiple coloured photos on every page. ISBN 978-1-4081-5476-2
Despite regarding with suspicion any book which describes itself as The Xxx Bible, and/or
The Complete Guide to Xxxxx, I’m aware that the author is often not responsible for either
title or cover lines, and in this case there’s no denying that Nic Compton has done an
excellent job – as have all the others involved in the production of this handsome book.
Not really one for the sailing bookshelf – it’s too heavy for that – it would more than
earn its place ashore, preferably with a couple of pieces of medium weight line stowed
nearby. (For the ideal book about knots to carry aboard, see page 120).
After a dozen or so pages covering the history of knots, useful tools, and types of
rope (natural and synthetic) and their care, Nic presents his list of the ‘ten most useful
knots’. My suspicion is that if you asked a dozen yachties you’d get a dozen lists, and
indeed his omits one of my favourites (the fisherman’s bend) and includes one I’d never
even heard of (the zeppelin bend), though I fully intend to get acquainted with it.
Such a vast subject needs organisation, achieved by classification into hitches
(when a rope is tied to another object), bends (when two ropes are tied together),
loops, knots, lashings, coils, decorative knots, whippings and seizings and, finally,
splices. Most occupy a page each, some two pages, with four or five captioned
photographs – though occasionally far more – illustrating different stages of tying.
The only (possible) error I spotted was right at the beginning, where I suspect that
a photo of a slipped figure-of-eight has been substituted for the regular variety. Each
knot is given a ‘score’ for strength, security, difficulty tying, difficulty untying (how
sensible!) and usefulness.
A great many of the more specialised knots are fun but unlikely to be in regular use
– it’s a long time since I’ve needed to hitch a camel, for instance, let alone a zeppelin
– but anyone who thinks that a knowledge of knots is passé should study the last few
pages, which cover the Spectra splice and the Dyneema reduction splice, loop and
soft shackle. And of course every OCC member knows how to splice Multiplait, both
to form an eye and onto chain...
No? Well, invest in a copy of The Knot Bible for shoreside study and you’ll not only have
no excuse, but will probably learn a lot and have a good deal of enjoyment in the process.
AOMH
123
NO BIG DEAL
Linda Lane Thornton
(In the introduction to Coromandel Quest : Grenada to Balbao in Flying Fish 2008/2 I
wrote: ‘Linda and Andy bought Coromandel Quest, a 1973-built Nicholson 35, in May
2006 with a view to long-term cruising, and left their home port of Blyth, Northumberland in
June the following year. As of September 2008 they were exploring Ecuador by land, before
heading south to Peru for Christmas. They plan to continue west across the Pacific in 2009’.
Then in Flying Fish 2010/1 Linda described their passage from Ecuador to NZ, and in
Flying Fish 2011/2 shared her view that Everyone gets a bashing in the Indian Ocean.
Now it seems that was just for starters... Follow Coromanel’s route on the plan on page 88.)
We arrived in Chaguaramas, Trinidad, on 18 October having spent 16 days on passage
from Recife, sailing up from Rio de Janeiro with just one stop at Guarapari waiting for
some strong northerlies to die down. Anchored in Chaguaramas we put Coromandel
through her usual end-of-season routine and got back into the Caribbean timeframe –
Mexican Train dominoes, the Cruisers’ Information Net, OCC Port Officer Jesse James’
Taste of Trinidad tour, cool beers, sundowners, meeting up with old friends and making
new ones, getting a new passport for me – a time-consuming process which involved
sending all the documents to the British Embassy in Washington DC – booking our
flights to Cape Town to spend Christmas with brother David and planning what to
do in the next sailing season.
The intrepid circumnavigators
124
I see no ships!
We would tie the
Andy in Biscay
loop on our first
circumnavigation in
Grenada, and at 1500
on 2 February, Andy
hauled up the anchor
in Scotland Bay on
Trinidad’s west coast
and we finally set off
northwards. Well! The
forecast wind of east
10–15 knots turned
into north-northeast
20–25 knots so we
bashed our way towards
Prickly Bay, shipping it
green in great waves over the bows, spray soaking everything in sight, the sky as black
as a bag. If every passage had been like this one, I reflected, I doubt we would have
left England! For a time I pinched the wind endlessly, trying to avoid waking Andy
by having to put in a tack to miss an oil rig – mission accomplished – but he woke up
anyway. Nevertheless at 0600 next morning we dropped anchor in Prickly Bay, quietly
congratulated each other on our first circumnavigation, and had a cup of tea. It wasn’t
until later in the day that I looked through my journals to check when we had left
Grenada – 4 February 2008. Our circumnavigation had taken exactly five years.
Later in the evening I drew in the last little bit of a black line on the inflatable globe
that has accompanied us all the way from Blyth, thus closing the loop. Twirling it in
my hand, it finally dawned on me that we had indeed put ‘a girdle round the earth’,
though not in Puck’s forty hours. A strange, bewildering and humbling feeling swept
through me as I finally appreciated what we had achieved, but in the back of my mind
was the niggling thought, ‘No big deal’.
Modern technology has taken much of the uncertainty out of ocean crossings. GPS
means that we do not have to worry too much if we do not see the sun, moon or stars
for a few days. Satellite phones mean that we can get reasonably reliable weather
forecasts, and can talk to our families whenever we like. Weather forecasting itself is
more reliable and, should any calamity occur, the aforesaid satellite phone and EPIRBs
can summon help quickly. AIS means that we are forewarned of approaching shipping,
although it does not, in my view, negate the necessity of keeping 24 hour watches – I
cannot happily have the two of us asleep at night at the same time, and we have only
done so on a couple of occasions when becalmed.
We do not face the challenges of the pioneers of long passages on small boats –
Eric and Susan Hiscock in their Wanderers III and IV, Beryl and Miles Smeeton
in Tzu Hang, the Swale family in Aneliese and the Lewis family in Rehu Moana.
We are not likely to have to spend 118 days adrift in a liferaft in the Pacific, as did
Maurice and Maralyn Bailey after the loss of Auralyn, nor need to administer turtle
oil enemas as did the Robertsons.
I am not saying that it is easy – there are still storms and calms to face, things
125
A marae in Nuku Hiva
that break, things that stop
working, leaks that appear at
the most inopportune times,
sudden flishes of water that
drench you, worrying things
like ’fridges – yes, a ’fridge!
– floating miles from shore,
fishing nets, fishing boats that
show either no lights at all or a
bewildering variety of different
colours, large structures like
abandoned oil platforms that
are unlit. And can you really
claim to have done an ocean
crossing if you have not been
hit in the face in the middle of
the night by a flying fish?
Yet there is still the same
sense of quiet satisfaction
when an island appears on the
horizon and you realise that the
days at sea are over for a while. There are the memories – of people, places and things;
playing boules in Raiatea with Gillian and Graeme Mulcahy of Kathleen Love, spending
Spot the palangi! With schoolchildren and their teacher in Tonga
126
Fran and I
recognised each
other after
30 years!
Christmas Day
in Ao Chalong
with Marion and
James Stewart of
Balu; celebrating
Di Evans’ 65th
birthday with Steve
and other yachties
as Independent
Freedom and
Coromandel
bobbed in the bay
near Maumere on
Flores in Indonesia; being told by Jonny and Kate Harrison of Newtsville that they had
crossed the Pacific with our web-log as guide; discussing quilting with Freda and John
on Qwyver; seeing the OCC’s flying fish burgee on any yacht, knowing one could row
over, knock on the hull and invariably be invited on board for a gossip.
There are other memories, too. Drumheads in Fatu Hiva have been stretched using
Coromandel’s lazy jacks; a couple of cows in Malua Bay, Vanuatu, are tethered with our
old genoa sheets; a new cow for an orphanage in Bali has been named ‘Linda’ after me
(thanks to Eric and Cathy of Erica). Several generators on Pentecost, Vanuatu, were
given a new lease of life thanks to a box of spares and Andy’s ministrations, while I
127
Maintenance!
Changing the
impeller in the
water pump
Andy with the dancers
in Kalabahi, Indonesia
fixed the sewing machines and mended
Chief Don’s shirts in Malua Bay. And
in a palm-thatched hut in Inca Village,
a young Indonesian couple have a
photo of themselves on their wedding
day with the groom’s parents, Andy
and me – we had been invited as their
honoured guests: priceless.
It is fortunate that the body retains
no memory of pain – as I write this
the sun has risen, the sea is a placid
dark blue, the sky is dotted with
friendly white clouds, we have 900
miles to go to the Azores and we are
beating into a gentle force 3 and have
been discussing where to go on our
second circumnavigation – westabout
through Panama to Hawaii and Alaska,
or eastabout via Cape Town and
Freemantle? What a lucky luxury to be
able to choose. Twelve hours ago it was force 5–6, I was trying to cook supper, Andy
was putting another reef in the genoa and I was wishing I was in heaven with the door
shut! Such is life aboard the good ship Coromandel.
Although our boat may look a mess, come in, sit down, converse.
It doesn’t always look like this: some days it’s even worse!
Piton des Neiges,
La Réunion
128
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Electronic bearing line
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130
BACK TO PARAFFIN: FETTLER’S
RETRO GALLEY UPGRADE
Sonja and Jim Brodie
When we bought Fettler, a 1968 Trintella 29, five years ago, she had a very well-set-up
galley with a varnished teak shelf for eight mugs, a custom-built shelf for crockery, a
cutlery drawer and ample storage for dry goods and other kitchen essentials. The one
thing that let the galley down, from our point of view, was the cooker – its combination
gas stove and oven was not gimballed, and there was no space to change that.
We persevered with it for half a year, never once using the oven and with Sonja
getting scalded when pots came off or pasta water slopped out when cooking at sea.
What we had already suspected turned out to be true – cookers at sea have to be
gimballed, and there should be a fail-safe way to keep pots in place. So we bought and
installed a gimballed two-burner butane gas stove and grill, which was better, but this
left the safety issues concerning gas as a fuel. Sure, gas is convenient, but the bottle
needs to be kept in a locker vented overboard but otherwise airtight. Even then, leaks
have been known to happen and can lead to a gas explosion.
In our case, we discovered that our gas locker left something to be desired. The vent was
a hole through the transom, which on port tack was below the waterline and in sloppy
seas let water in. Once, two days out en route to the Azores, the main cabin flooded so
much that the floorboards were floating (you can imagine the panic before we realised
what had happened). The position of the vent was the best it could be, so we had to put
a wooden bung into it while under way, leaving us with an unsafe gas set-up.
Another potential problem with gas when cruising further afield is refilling. Different
countries have different bottles with different regulators and it may be impossible to get
your cylinder refilled, leading to a forced purchase of new gas bottle(s) and regulator.
These issues, plus our upcoming two-year cruise, prompted a serious stove rethink.
What other fuel options were there? On our previous boat we had had a pressurised
alcohol stove, which was great, but the relatively low heat output of alcohol makes
for long cooking times and the pots were rendered quite sooty. We already carried
paraffin for our heater, so it seemed the natural choice. As with pressurised alcohol,
paraffin burners need to be primed, but they burn very hot and work well even when
outside temperatures are low. Paraffin is still a very popular cooking fuel in developing
countries and is normally easy to find internationally.
The new cooker
The next question was: how many burners do we really need? There are several beautiful
two-or-more-burner paraffin boat stoves available commercially, but at considerable
cost, whereas old-fashioned one-burner Primus-type stoves can be picked up cheaply.
As the main chef aboard, Sonja thought hard about how the stove is used and realised
that most of the time only one burner is needed – to boil water in the kettle, to prepare
a meal in our pressure cooker or to fry eggs, meat or fish in the frying pan. Only when
making pasta with a sauce are both burners used simultaneously, but surely the sauce
could be prepared before the pasta and then quickly reheated afterwards? The green
light was given for a single burner.
131
Jim found a source of beautiful 1960s British-made paraffin stoves online at around
£30 each. New-old stock, these stoves had been sitting in a warehouse somewhere and
had never been used. We bought two, to have a complete spare, and they each came
with their own set of spares.
Now, how do you incorporate one of these into the existing galley? At this point, we
took inspiration from James Baldwin’s Atom website (http://www.atomvoyages.com),
where a host of interesting stove-holding designs and configurations can be found, all
gimballed and with clamps. In the end we went for a slightly different approach, but we
have since encountered
an Atom stove on
another vessel and the
system works very well.
We wanted to create
a gimballed area around
the cooker on which
to put utensils and
ingredients so that they
would stay put when
cooking under way. Our
starting point was an
off-the-shelf aluminium
baking tray that fitted
the dimensions of our
existing cooker area and
could easily be integrated
into our existing gimbal
The pot-holder was designed around our pressure
system. Two pieces of
cooker, which is used almost daily on board
stainless steel bar, each
with a hole in, were riveted onto the baking tray and connected with a threaded
stainless steel rod to the same kind of bar already attached either side of the cooker
slot. Wing nuts on either end of the rods allow the tray to be fixed at various angles.
Alternatively, it can be left to swing with the motion of the boat. (We moused the
wing nuts with a couple of
twist ties so that they don’t
work their way loose).
The new cooker design:
an off-the-shelf aluminium
baking tray with the stove
housing mounted through
it – pot-holder above and
stove compartment below.
Afterwards we increased
the number of vent holes
and painted the stove holder
with special stove paint
132
The paraffin stove in action, below
the baking tray. The vent is to the
left, the pump handle to the right.
A piece of heat-resistant matting
protects the main body of the stove
A local metal workshop made the pot
holder/stove housing insert for us. This
sits in a cut-out in the baking tray and is
held in place by four thumb screws. The
pot holder diameter is based on our biggest
pot on board and the one that sees most
use – the pressure cooker. We then bought
a frying pan with the same maximum
diameter and made insert rings for our
other pots, namely for the kettle and a
small saucepan. These sit on the same
thumbscrews that hold the stove housing
in the tray. The whole can be easily
disassembled for cleaning, maintenance,
or even to take the stove housing out for cooking outdoors in warm weather.
The stove, with its access door, lies underneath the tray, the bottom of its housing
clipped on so that it can easily be removed. We painted the inside of the housing
with stove paint as the shiny cylinder of aluminium turned out to be a bit too
effective at focusing heat back onto the stove itself, and covered the fuel tank with
a soldering mat to further protect it from the heat. Several 1 inch holes around the
housing provide venting.
Tricks and tribulations
A Primus-type stove works by vaporising paraffin in a loop of pipe leading from the
fuel tank at its base to the burner. The burner is primed (pre-heated) with alcohol,
before the stove is pressurised using a small pump on the tank. Liquid paraffin is forced
up through the hot vaporising tubes and emerges as clean-burning vapour at the jet.
Operating the stove takes a little getting used to (for step-by-step instructions, see
box overleaf) so it’s a good idea to familiarise yourself with it at home or in harbour
before trying to use it under way.
Once you’ve got the knack it’s not difficult at all, but initially it takes a bit of practice
to figure out how much priming alcohol to use. Too little and liquid paraffin shoots
out of the jet and may lead to a flare-up. This is what most people seem to remember
about paraffin stoves – setting the curtains alight! We can report that not once has
insufficient priming led to a flare-up on our stove, possibly thanks to the fact that
the stove is completely contained within its housing. It’s obvious if the burner isn’t
properly primed as it burns quite smokily. Not to worry – simply open the valve and
let the flame die down before recommencing the priming process.
Some advocate closing the pressure-release valve during priming. If you get the
amount of priming alcohol just right this is great as the stove becomes self-lighting
133
– the heat from the priming
increases the pressure in the
stove until it starts up on its
own. Add too much primer,
however, and paraffin vapour
will mingle with the burning
alcohol and produce a lot
of sooty smoke. Open the
pressure-release valve (and the
nearest hatch or port light),
then close it again when the
alcohol flame has almost died
down and start pressurising.
You might need to prick the
jet if too much soot has built
Priming the stove with alcohol, made easier
up. We’ve found it’s best to let
by using a container with a long spout.
the primer burn out and then
The priming cup contains some steel wool,
light up manually.
which prevents the liquid from sloshing around
As always, there are tricks
which make life easier. A bit of steel wool around the priming cup prevents the
alcohol from sloshing around and spilling. A good container with a long spout will
make dispensing the alcohol into the priming cup a lot easier. Daily pricking of the
jet avoids clogging and keeps the stove burning cleanly, and buy premium paraffin
if available – it burns more cleanly and is worth the additional expense. Some more
advanced stove models have self-pricking jets, but the simpler models have less to go
wrong and spare parts are a lot cheaper.
As to spares, these should include a number of prickers and relevant washers,
a spare nipple for the jet and an extra pump leather. Pump leathers should last
several years – a bit of vaseline on the leather can improve the action of the pump.
Carrying a complete spare burner is not a bad idea, as it can easily be swapped with
the original if repairs need to be made.
Step by step – how to operate a paraffin stove
1.
Prick the jet of your stove to make sure it’s not clogged up. We do this daily to avoid
sooty smoke in the cabin.
2.
Fill the priming cup with alcohol and light up.
3.
During the latter part of priming, which will take a few minutes, close the vent.
4.
When the alcohol has finished burning, start pumping immediately, with the lighter
poised in position (a long BBQ-type lighter is ideal for this). As the pressure threshold is
reached, vapour will emerge and light. It should give a satisfying roar (unless, of course,
you have the silent type of burner, in which case it gives a subdued roar).
5.
To adjust the flame down, open the vent briefly. To increase the flame, pump some more.
6.
Turn off the stove by opening the vent.
134
After 18 months of pretty much daily use we are very happy with our choice. Our
paraffin consumption works out at about 15 litres per annum – good economy, which
makes it easy to carry enough cooking fuel for a year even on a very small boat. Do
we miss the second burner? Not really. Instead Sonja has become a bit of an expert on
pressure cookery – it’s quite amazing what she can cook and bake with this one pot. As
a final bonus, the cosy roar of the paraffin stove is a very comforting sound on board!

FROM THE GALLEY OF ... Sonja Brodie,
aboard Fettler
Vegetable pilau rice (serves four)
Ingredients •
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
3 tbs vegetable oil
1 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
5 cloves
1 piece of cinnamon bark (about 2 cm), broken into pieces
3 cardamon pods, bruised
2 dried chillies
1 tsp coriander (cilantro)
2 cups basmati rice
1 can mushrooms
1 pepper, cubed
1 courgette (zucchini), sliced
3 cups vegetable stock (bouillon)
Fry the onion and garlic in the oil for two minutes. Add the spices, and continue to
fry for another five minutes. Add vegetables and rice, mix well, and fry briefly before
adding the stock. Bring up to pressure in the pressure cooker and cook under pressure
for 10 to 12 minutes.
..... and .....
Canary Breakfast
Ingredients •
•
•
•
•
•
5 heaped tbs (roasted cereals, a staple food in the Canaries)
1 tbs full-fat milk powder
2 tbs brown sugar
2 tbs raisins
200 ml hot water
1 banana, chopped
Mix all dry ingredients and raisins together and slowly add water. Stir in the
chopped banana.
135

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110 Ton Hauling Capacity • Refit & Repair • Marina & Storage
136
STEWART ISLAND
Scott and Mary Flanders
(Scott and Mary are among the small number of OCC members who cruise under power – in
their case aboard Egret, a 46ft Nordhavn Flybridge Trawler built in 2001. She carries 1000 US
gallons (3800 litres) of fuel, has a single 130hp Lugger main engine (which they say has never
missed a beat in all its 12,845 hours), a 12kW generator and a 27hp Yanmar get-you-home
engine with a V-drive and folding prop, and is fitted with Naiad hydraulic stabilizers backed
up by paravanes. Her average speed at sea is just over 6 knots. She burns little fuel, averaging
around 3 miles per US gallon, but also carries three aircraft-quality fuel bladders for super-long
hauls or to save money by buying inexpensive fuel on the way to expensive fuel.
Scott and Mary describe Egret as ‘a proper little ship which has been our only home for the
past 12 years’. Even so, when they bought her they had ‘no intention of crossing an ocean’
and their only plan after taking early retirement was ‘to spend the first summer in Chesapeake
Bay and winter in the Bahamas’. But ‘one thing led to another’ and in May 2004 they set off
for Gibraltar via Bermuda and the Azores, followed by 2½ years in the Med. After re-crossing
the Atlantic they turned south, ‘ultimately round Cape Horn ... we enjoyed the Deep South
so much we spent 15 months in this austral wonderland’.
Egret ended up by completing a Five Great Cape westabout circumnavigation, the first by
a small powerboat. Her longest single passage was from Fremantle, Australia to Mauritius
– 3365 miles in 23 days. Scott and Mary say that ‘She does very well at sea and only five
times during her travels did we have to change direction; four times on the Argentine coast
during storms and once on the way to Easter Island’. The route of Egret’s circumnavigation
is included on the plan on page 88.)
Since completing their circumnavigation, Scott, Mary and Egret have revisited the Med,
traversed the US East Coast from Florida to Newfoundland and back, and at the time of
writing (September 2013) were wintering in Isafjordur, Iceland having arrived via Nova
Scotia, Newfoundland and Greenland. Follow their travels by clicking the Voyage of Egret
link on http://www.nordhavn.com.)
M/Y Egret, our little white fibreglass ship, completed her circumnavigation early February
2011 in the Canary Islands. The great majority of her time had been spent in the southern
hemisphere, and during these years she took two winter cruises. The first was a delicious
seven weeks spent on the Beagle Channel’s Glacier Loop in southern Chile; the second
was a 4½ month adventure to Stewart Island, New Zealand. Stewart Island is a small island
15 miles south of New Zealand’s South Island, and measures roughly 35 miles north to
south and 18 miles at its widest point. The east coast has two large inland multi-fingered
bays – Paterson Inlet and Port Pegasus – along with a few other east coast anchorages.
The west coast is wild and windswept with a couple of marginal anchorages.
Egret spent 14 months in New Zealand – three months in Opua in northern North
Island, and the balance either in Nelson, on the north coast of South Island or
Stewart Island. From Nelson it is a three day run to Stewart Island – but not in April.
Instead the passage took us 25 days – three under way and 22 waiting. Nineteen of
those days were spent in Port Chalmers, downstream of Dunedin. Even then, Egret
departed Port Chalmers in 10ft residual head seas from the latest storm and 25 knots
137
138
Egret during a moment of calm in Port Chalmers. We were stuck in there for
19 days waiting for a weather window to make the overnighter to Stewart Island
of wind, though with a promise of better weather. It calmed somewhat as forecast,
and next morning Egret made landfall at Oban, Stewart Island’s only settlement (of
390 friendly folks), on the northeast coast of Stewart Island. Much of the rest of the
island is a national park. The cruising guide* said that Honeymoon Harbour in Oban
was a rolly anchorage, and it was right, so at daybreak we moved round the corner to
Golden Bay, within Paterson Inlet.
Paterson Inlet is a large, multi-fingered bay with a number of anchorages, most of which
we explored. Our favourites were Little Glory Bay, Kaipipi Bay, Kidney Fern Arm and
Golden Bay. The majority of early European settlers chose sites near Oban, particularly
around the protection of Paterson Inlet. Little remains of these settlements, second
growth forests having reclaimed the land. An interesting bit of history is to be found at
the Norwegian whaling station near Millar’s Beach, established to maintain whale-chasing
ships working the Ross Sea in Antarctica. What remains are building foundations, the old
steam boiler that powered the railway, a try pot** and ice-damaged propellers lying on the
beach. In one bayside wash near the whaling station Mary found a moa bone sticking out
of a sandbank. The moa is an extinct, flightless bird that resembled a small ostrich, and
the bone appeared to have been cut to use as a fish hook by the ancients. After having
the bone identified back in Nelson we donated it to the small museum in Oban.
* We used the excellent Stewart Island Cruising Guide published by the Mana Cruising
Club, available from the club at PO Box 57–045, Mana, New Zealand, or at http://
www.boatbooks.co.nz/.
** A try pot is a large pot used to remove and render the oil from blubber obtained
from whales and other cetaceans. Thank you Wikipedia!
139
Honeymoon Harbour, Oban, Stewart Island. This is a Chamber of Commerce
calm photograph – the harbour is usually quite rolly
Beautiful DOC – Department of Conservation – trails surround much of Paterson
Inlet, leading through regenerative second-growth forests with fern carpets. Many
follow old logging trails from the 1800s. In difficult to log areas you can still see giant
first-growth rimu and rata trees standing after many hundreds of years. Our favourite
in the northern portion of Stewart Island was a trail near Oban named Fern Valley.
Southern New Zealand has a number of rodent-free islands – ark-type sanctuaries
– for endangered species. Ulva Island within Paterson Inlet is one. A number of very
rare birds live there including the black robin, the rarest of the rare with fewer than
forty left in the world. Mary and I spent a couple of days wandering Ulva Island’s DOC
trails hoping to photograph a black robin, without success. However we did get to see
a number of birds, including the impish little fantails, tui birds with their distinctive
call, and the loudest of them all, the little bellbird. The volume of sound that comes
from this small bird is amazing.
On the subject of birds, we were successful in photographing a number of common
birds, including shore birds, in an area called The Neck which connects two pieces
The seagulls feeding on the half tide rocks
140
The Caped
Marauder. This
little shore bird
was faking sleep
and keeping an
eye on the guy
with the camera
of land together
shaped like an
hourglass. One
little fella we
called the Caped
Marauder, and
the others were simple seagulls feeding on a rock at half tide. As a wave approached
the entire group would hop into the air until it had passed, then drop down quickly
to feed. While at anchor near The Neck, grey-headed albatrosses, or mollymawks,
stopped by to beg for scraps, cormorants passed by from time to time, and black and
pied oystercatchers were ubiquitous.
We were less successful in photographing a
kiwi – of the avian variety – in its native habitat.
We had read that kiwis can occasionally be seen
at night on a remote stretch of sand called Ocean
Beach so, having purchased two fancy camera
lenses, a remote electronic shutter and a small
tripod before arriving in Stewart Island, we gave
it a go. We couldn’t use flash because kiwis are
nocturnal feeders and flash could damage their
eyes. I set up the small tripod and a camera
with the remote release on the beach, behind a
lantern used to attract the kiwi. Mary hid on top
of a small cliff next to me with a long telephoto
lens. On cue after dark, a kiwi strode down the
beach all puffed up to check out this glow of
light invading its territory. I pushed and pushed
In southern Stewart Island,
pied oystercatchers were more
common than the American
or common variety
A family of three oystercatchers
worked the beach in Oban.
The fledgling would follow papa
looking for handouts ... where
have you heard that before?
141
While we were anchored near The
Neck, this grey-headed albatross would
stop by each afternoon in hopes of
handout. It had no fear of the boat and
would float around the transom waiting
for a goodie
the remote shutter and it no ^%#@&*
workee. Mary didn’t have enough light for
her camera to focus, even though it was a
full moon. So in the end we got to see the
kiwi but not photograph it – but it was still
a special night.
After weeks of exploring the Paterson Inlet
area and hiking the DOC trails around
Oban, Egret set off on an east coast march
south.
As you move south down Stewart
Island the topography and foliage change
dramatically. The northeastern section
around Oban and Paterson Inlet has gentle
rolling hills and is heavily forested, with barrier mountains to the west and a dryer
climate. The change is even more dramatic as you leave the North Arm of Port Pegasus
and move the couple of miles to South Arm. Here the west coast mountains give
way to low hills, allowing relentless western quadrant winds to scour the landscape,
and the beautiful, tall trees of the north are replaced by tough manuka trees. As you
move closer to the west coast, where there is even less protection from the wind, the
manuka trees give way to
stunted growth manuka
scrub. Even though the
southern part of Stewart
Island lies at only 47°S it
reminded us of portions
This little fella would
land several times
each morning on
Egret’s bow rail and
preen; then it would
deposit its breakfast
remains on the deck
and fly away. It wasn’t
a big deal because the
weather was crazy wet
in Port Chalmers
142
Higher latitudes can mean higher tides. When we returned from hiking
the dink was sometimes floating. Sand = no problem; rock = problem
of the Chilean Channels – the scrub and windswept areas are similar. We would
describe it as ‘Chilean Channels light’.
Our first anchorage was Abraham’s Bosom in Port Adventure. Here we spent
days exploring the nearby beaches by dinghy and walking the trails. We particularly
enjoyed early morning walks at
low tide, to see what the tide had
brought in. When you have no
schedule and time doesn’t matter,
you have a chance to see interesting
little tidbits of nature you would
ordinarily pass over. Like a little bit
of seaweed on a fine grain whitesand beach, or perhaps simple lines
A simple bit of pleasure on a white
sand beach at low tide. Exploring
the beach at low tide was one of
our favourite pastimes
Lines in the sand –
another simple pleasure
143
Bald Cone is a granite knob rising high out of the Stewart Island scrub
in the sand from the retreating tide. Simple things. They’re wonderful. One small area
over the hill from Abraham’s Bosom has three different beaches, each with a different
type of sand – powdery white, heavier tan and coarse brown.
Further south, the crown jewel of Stewart Island cruising is Port Pegasus, near
the southern end of the southeast coast. Port Pegasus is a two-arm bay, of which the
southernmost is the wildest. Anchoring in Port Pegasus required a different approach.
Previously, Egret had swung on anchor with as much scope as was prudent. At times
this was 10:1, with winds occasionally gusting over 40 knots in the more exposed
anchorages. In Port Pegasus things changed. Every anchorage but one required two
shorelines, not including day anchorages in settled weather. Our favourite anchorages
in Port Pegasus’s North Arm were Waterlily Bay and Cunning Cove. Egret also
day-anchored in settled weather off The Settlement so we could visit Bell Topper
Falls and Smugglers Cove.
Smugglers Cove is a hoot – almost too Disneyesque to be real. The entrance is
dinghy width wide between two high, sheer, rock walls. Once through the colourful
entrance passageway the interior is a keyhole opening perhaps 75ft across. The
white-sand beach is surrounded by nearly vertical walls of vegetation sticking out at
angles from the rock, and tree branches at the top of the cliff form a cupola over the
opening, diffusing the sun.
If you’ve ever wanted to round Cape Horn, this is the place. Between the two
arms of Port Pegasus is a short peninsula named ‘Cape Horn’ on the chart. I will
say the rounding the Horn – a feat that gives you the privilege of wearing a gold
earring in your left ear and eating with your elbows on the table – is a bit easier in
Port Pegasus than off the south coast of Chile.
144
While anchored in North Arm, Canadian powerboat friends wintering in Nelson
choppered in for a visit. The pilot set down on a tiny bit of flat land which had been
the site of an old ice house for the long-gone fishing fleet. Roger, Joan and their
11-year-old daughter Paige spent a week exploring with the Egret crew. Joan and Paige
kept the boat supplied with blue cod caught at will during the day. Their visit was a
welcome change during our cruise.
Of the two arms, we found South Arm the most interesting. Its two highlights were
climbing Bald Cone (twice) and hiking the trails and beaches of Disappointment Cove,
also called Peacehaven. The latter name is more appropriate, given that it is the most
bombproof anchorage in Port Pegasus. No matter what the weather, Peacehaven is
just that. Twice while we were there a cray-fishing boat came in to escape the weather.
They had a heavy line strung across the small bay to an islet and simply motored up to
the line, lifted it over the port side and hitched it to their cleats. No problem.
Bald Cone is a bare granite knob rising high over the lower slopes of the Frasier
Peaks. From the top you can see in all directions and as far as the offshore islands of the
southwest coast. The hike from the dinghy landing to the top takes about 90 minutes,
though there is no definitive trail on the lower part. Fortunately the last bit of steep,
bare rock before the top, called The Chute, has a secured line to aid in the final 300ft
or so. If you enjoy photography the summit is the place to be – it’s breathtaking. The
objective of our second ascent was to photograph in soft evening light, and having
learned from the first return trip’s excessive wandering, this time we left a trail of short
pieces of blue masking tape on the tops of bushes to lead us back to the dinghy in low
light. What a difference a little tape makes.
The inland hikes around Peacehaven are the prettiest we found on Stewart Island.
Looking north across Port Pegasus’s South Arm from Bald Cone
145
We named one special trail Fern Valley South for its sprawling carpet of crown
ferns between low rises, with small streams and waterfalls in the valleys. We also
found a semicircular Pacific side beach littered with bull kelp from recent storms.
The sealions were coming ashore regularly to give birth and mate before heading
back out to sea. One very large male kept a close eye on the ladies – we did not see
another male come ashore.
Mary and I made – and soon lost – a fortune on this beach. We’d recently watched
a short video about a Stewart Island west coast sheep farmer. At one stage the farmer
said that when they were totally out of money the family would comb the beach
looking for ambergris. We tucked that little tidbit away – and then we found ambergris
on Our Beach. Lots of it. We collected the ambergris and heaped it in a pile ... we
wuz rich!! So we put our booty in a large nylon bag that had washed ashore and hid
it in the bushes. As a precaution, we took a couple of small pieces back to the boat
to double-check. I put one piece in a spoon and heated it over the stove – instead of
melting it exploded! I took the second piece and put another spoon on top and tried
it again. That exploded too! So I guess pumice balls aren’t ambergris. End of fortune.
The booty is still there hidden in the bushes for the next opportunist.
Leaving Port Pegasus, Egret rounded the two southern Stewart Island capes to take a
peek at the west coast. We had tough weather coming but really wanted to visit the
coast’s three reasonable anchorages. We monitored the weather constantly, but with
no change in forecast took the
smart way out and ran for the
safety of Golden Bay without
stopping. We arrived in
darkness and horizontal rain,
using electronic charting and
radar to locate the anchorage.
The next morning Mary
and I walked over the hill
to Oban, to re-provision for
the trip north with the first
favourable weather window.
While in town we made a
spur-of-the-moment decision
to take the water taxi up
Freshwater River and hike
the DOC trail to the Mason
Bay hut on the west coast.
Ever since reading local
Waterfalls are ubiquitous in
Stewart Island. This small
fall caught our imagination
because it looked like a
medieval warrior’s helmet
146
Beautiful, constantly shifting sand
dunes at Mason Bay
author Rob Brown’s excellent tabletop book, Rakiura – The Wilderness of Stewart
Island*, Mason Bay had been enticing us. This shallow, semicircular west coast bay
is bordered by the Ruggedy Mountains to the north and the Ernest Islands to the
south. Inland are beautiful, constantly shifting sand dunes capped with tenacious
flax plants, pikao and tussock grass.
The hike to the DOC hut took just under five hours. We were in mud to just below
the tops of our wellies at times and waded through shallow water in other areas.
The deserted hut was clean and had comfortable mattresses and a nice kitchen area,
but unfortunately the firewood bin was empty. We had brought our sleeping bags,
cooking gear and food, but in our rush to catch the water taxi we had forgotten some
essentials – like flashlights (torches) or candles, for example. After dark it was like
living in a cave, and we went to bed very early. The next day we spent the entire day
in the dunes, racing here and there taking pictures, meeting once an hour or so and
for lunch, and acting like children once again. Mason Bay was definitely one of the
highlights of our Stewart Island trip.
With August weather regularly arriving from the westerly quadrant we gave up
our plans to visit Fiordland, on South Island’s southwest coast, and Egret left Stewart
Island on the first three-day weather window heading north. It was an easy three-day
run, stopping for six hours in the former French village of Akaroa to time the tide and
ensure a daylight arrival at Cape Campbell, the entrance to Cook Strait between South
and North Island. The only skirmish was the guaranteed business of rounding Cape
* Rakiura – The Wilderness of Stewart Island by Rob Brown, Craig Potton Publishing,
ISBN 978-1-8773-3345-3
147
Campbell, where wind and currents are compressed between North and South Island
causing tall, tight seas. It went as expected, and after a few hours in the washer the seas
went back to something reasonable, then eventually calm, for the run into Nelson.
The weather encountered during the cruise was interesting. April brought a constant
stream of lows marching up from the southwest or west. The weather was most settled
from mid May through July, and June and July were spectacular – during those months
we often enjoyed warmer, calmer and drier weather than Nelson, which statistically
has the best weather in all New Zealand. August was a repeat of April with constant
fronts, one after another.
There are plenty of opportunities to live off the sea while in Stewart Island. Blue
cod are easy to catch around deep, kelp-lined points with current flow. Oysters are
everywhere and easily gathered at low tide, as are pipi clams (cockles) dug from
shoreside beaches. During the season, giant Stewart Island scallops can be scooped
from the bottom at low tide using a boat hook with a small net attached.
We were surprised not to see another cruising boat during the entire 4½ months
of our winter cruise. Every anchorage and every trail was deserted. The infamous
Stewart Island mud was on its best behaviour, along with the local flying teeth that
aren’t satisfied with simple blood ... they want meat with it. It was not cold – we had
a sprinkling of snow just one night, but it was gone by noon next day. Egret’s diesel
heater ran roughly three-quarters of the time, but on its lowest setting.
Egret departed Nelson in mid-December 2009 for the trek across the Tasman Sea to
Launceston, Tasmania. We got slaughtered – but that’s another story.
Mud almost to the tops of our wellies
on the hike to the Mason Bay hut on Stewart Island’s west coast
148
149
THE OCC ENDURANCE AWARD
(On page 211 of Flying Fish 2013/1, reference was made to the OCC Endurance Award,
received six years earlier by Jocelyn Beard-Hellstrom. Never having heard of it before, but
knowing it had originated in the Annapolis area, I made a few enquiries. Fred Hallett, Past
Regional Rear Commodore USA South East and creator of the Award – though not of the
model – and his successor in post Sid Shaw, were kind enough to tell me about it.)
In Fred’s words: ‘The idea for the Endurance Award sprang out of the incredible story
of Jocelyn’s battle against cancer and her courage in battling back against all odds to
resume sailing.
Sir Earnest Shackleton, CVO, OBE, FRGS, is well known to all Englishmen, and
has always been one of my heroes. Dismissed from his first polar expedition for illhealth, he refused to give up and returned as the leader of his own successful 1907
expedition. On his third trip, in 1915, his ship, the Endurance, was crushed by shifting
ice. By sheer determination he got everyone safely ashore, made an unlikely voyage to
South Georgia to get help, returned with great difficulty to rescue every last soul and
completed the expedition without losing a man. As if that was not enough heroism
for one lifetime, he was en route to Antarctica as leader of a fourth expedition when
he died at South Georgia in January 1922.
Jocelyn’s original citation, and all subsequent ones, have referred to circumstances
which would have fully justified any reasonable person in giving up sailing and the sea
but which have failed to persuade them to do so, so strong is the awardees’ devotion to
the sport we all love. My wife and I (with then Commodore Martin Thomas’ assent)
decided to establish it as a purely local award to be presented by the RRC USA South
East when justified by circumstances.
The Award consists of a framed citation to be kept by each awardee, and a permanent
trophy to be kept by the latest recipient until it is awarded again. On the base are brass
plates record the names of those who have won it – Jocelyn Hellstrom, Rebecca Shaw
and Wolfgang Reuter, each of whom overcame great obstacles to return to sailing. Then
last year it was awarded to me, following a fall when ashore. It is not coveted by anyone,
and my award might have been slightly premature in that my return to sailing is still
at least a month away (Fred was writing in March 2013) .... but it IS going to happen.
The model is one I bought many years ago with the intention of restoring and rerigging it, but it never happened. It was conceived as a strictly local award and so far
it has always been presented at our fall meeting in Annapolis – other considerations
apart, it is quite a large model and would be a bit awkward to ship.’
Sid adds: ‘I will let Fred provide you with the origins of Endurance Award and how
he came by the battered ship model which, along with an impressive certificate, forms
the award. Rumour has it that the genesis of the award had something to do with
Annie’s desire to get the wreck out of their house. Unfortunately for her, it came back
to roost last October.
The idea of the Endurance Award was Fred’s, and the initial presentation was made
in 2007 at the annual Fall dinner in Annapolis. All of the subsequent awards have been
made at these October dinners. As far as I know, there are no criteria for the award
150
and Rebecca and I
simply continued
the tradition, using
our discretion, when
we took over from
Fred as Regional
Rear Commodores.
Although there are
certainly many OCC
members whose
indomitable spirit
and perseverance in
the face of adversity
would qualify them
to receive this award,
we have so far limited
it to members who
would be attending
the Annapolis dinner.’
Rebecca Shaw and Jocelyn Hellstrom
hold the Endurance Trophy

The framed citation carries the next two paragraphs, followed by a personal tribute
to each recipient:
This trophy is a wreck. In this respect, it differs from all other trophies. It is
intended to call up memories of a famous explorer’s vessel when last photographed
from an ice floe, an event which might have ended the seagoing lives of 28 sailors.
On the trophy base are brass plates to record the names of those who have won it.
Sir Earnest Shackleton’s ship ENDURANCE was crushed by Antarc c ice
on October 27, 1915. It sank to the bo om of the Weddell Sea 25 days later, but he
did not give up and with heroic effort rescued his en re crew, going on to organize
yet another expedi on in 1921. Few of us live in such a spotlight, yet eventually
every sailor encounters circumstances which would seem to dictate giving up the
sea. This award recognizes those who have persevered despite obstacles which
would have persuaded those with lesser devo on to sailing to remain ashore.
Such a person is the winner of the first ENDURANCE Award, a woman
whose great tenacity and many mari me exploits, including a circumnaviga on
and the en re OCC Millennium Cruise, are celebrated by her peers. Despite
overwhelming medical problems, she has returned to sailing and is here tonight,
se ng an example for other sailors to follow.
The
2007 ENDURANCE Award goes to
Jocelyn Hellstrom of Havsvind
151
The ENDURANCE Award
152
Jocelyn with
her certificate
and the Trophy
Rebecca Shaw
receives the
Endurance Trophy
for 2008

Such a person is the winner
of the second ENDURANCE
Award, a woman whose courage,
tenacity and seamanship were
tested in a trans-Atlan c passage
and eight years of sailing the
Mediterranean from Gibraltar
to Israel and Turkey. Despite being desperately injured in a near-fatal car crash in
Greece, she fought back to good health and returned to sailing, se ng a high mark
for other dedicated sailors to admire. She is here tonight, and we are honored by
her presence.
The
2008 ENDURANCE Award goes to
Rebecca Shaw of Dovka

Such a person is the winner of the third ENDURANCE Award, a man of
whose courage, tenacity and seamanship have been tested in offshore passages
over many years of an ac ve sailing life. Now his courage, tenacity and seamanship
are being tested by serious health issues, but he con nues to fight on and con nues
to sail, se ng a high mark for other dedicated sailors to admire. He is here tonight,
and we are honored by his presence.
153
Wolfgang Reuter
receives the
Endurance Award
for 2010 from Fred
Hallett
The
2010 ENDURANCE Award goes to
Wolfgang Reuter of RU’AH

Such a person is the winner of the fourth ENDURANCE Award, a man of
whose courage, tenacity and seamanship have been tested in offshore passages
over many years of an ac ve sailing life. Ironically, this sailor is the originator of this
pres gious award. Now his courage, tenacity and seamanship have been tested,
while going alo injudiciously, not at sea but ashore. He has the spark and spirit
of eternal youth, even as he recovers from seriously debilita ng injuries. He sets
a high mark for other dedicated sailors to admire. He is here tonight, and we are
honored by his presence.
The
2012 ENDURANCE Award goes to
Frederick Hallett
of S.V. PELICAN
And Fred receives it
from Sid Shaw in 2012

154
155
156
PANAMA CANAL TRANSIT –
THINGS I WISH I’D KNOWN!
Cath Bridgen
(Tim and Cath sailed an Atlantic circuit in the 1980s aboard their Nicholson 31 Ragamuffin,
during which they got married on her foredeck in the BVI – a memorable party! After 24
land-based years, and with both daughters having left home, in 2012 they set off on an
even more ambitious voyage.... Their further adventures can be followed on their blog at
http://www.sailblogs.com/member/helenamay/?show=profile.)
In September last year we left the UK in our Bavaria 38ft Helena May, en route to
Australia. We made landfall in St Lucia (being careful to avoid the mass arrival of the
ARC boats!) and worked our way down through the islands, on to Aruba, Cartagena,
the San Blas islands and finally to Colón. Most boats we met were ‘going through’,
but I have to admit that we were a little overwhelmed by some of the anecdotal horror
stories circulating about the Panama Canal. So this article tells of our experience of
transiting the Canal on 1/2 March 2013, from Colón to Panama City. Some aspects
may be different for other skippers and crews, but many will be the same for all.
We had heard that you could organise the whole transit quite easily yourself when
you got to Colón, or you could use an agent to organise it for you. If you chose to
arrange it yourself you were required to leave a deposit of US $900 (all costs are quoted
in US $) which would be reimbursed after your transit – again anecdotally, this could
take several months. If you used an agent you didn’t have to leave a deposit, but you
obviously paid the agent a hefty fee. Our boat (being under 50ft) cost $800 for the
transit and $400 for the agent, added to which were various taxes and visas, one line
handler, and the hire of lines and tyres. All told, it came to $1770.
We decided to use an agent to ease the wheels and to avoid having to visit several
offices in Colón. Not knowing where to find an agent or when to start organising one
– everyone gave us different advice – we looked on Noonsite for recommendations
and following several good write-ups, chose Roy Bravo from the Emmanuel Agency
and sent him an e-mail*. He responded very quickly with information and a quote.
At this stage we were still in Portobello, about 20 miles from Colón, so we completed
the forms online while sitting in a bar ... not too stressful so far. He asked when we
would be arriving, so a measurer could be booked to visit us in Shelter Bay Marina,
and a date and time were fixed. It is no longer necessary to be measured on the flats
as if you are in the marina he will come to you. The only important measurement is
whether you are over 50ft, as the tariff is more. He asked about our toilet, our speed
(you need to be able to make at least 6 knots, not 8 knots as sometimes reported),
our draught, beam and various other straightforward questions about engine size and
navigation lights. Interestingly, throughout the whole process no-one ever asked if
we were insured! We know of one boat which came through without insurance, so it
seems they don’t worry about it.
* Other sources of advice would be the OCC Forum and/or our Port Officers for
Panama – see the members’ area of the club website for details.
157
Entering the
Gatun locks at
night behind
the tanker
Evita K
As we were
relatively early
in the season
we were able
to choose our
day of transit, and decided on seven days later – plenty of time to shop and do odd
jobs on the boat. The ‘chandlery’ at the marina is extremely limited, but they do have
an excellent laundry (only $2 a load – the cheapest I’ve found anywhere), a bar, a
restaurant and good little minimarket, all of which take debit cards – a big relief if
you are cash-strapped from the San Blas islands. Roy came down to see us every day,
which was reassuring. It’s a good idea to have photocopies of your passports and boat
papers, as the agent needs these to get the transit organised, but not necessary. The
day we left he also organised our customs clearance for the Panama City end, which
meant we only had to clear out through immigration when we got there.
I tried to pay Roy using online banking, but it’s not possible to transfer money into
Panama (about the only country in the world that you can’t, I discovered) so you have
to pay in cash. This took us two days – we needed nearly $1800, and in Panama you
can only take out $500 per day per person from an ATM, and there’s no bank or cash
point at Shelter Bay Marina or anywhere near it. We had to catch the (free) 0800
bus from the marina to the Rey supermarket on the outskirts of Colón, where there
are cash machines, which takes about 45 minutes. It’s an excellent place for stocking
up, however, with a free bus taking you back to the marina at 1115 (there’s also an
afternoon bus, but for some reason you have to pay for that one). The bus trip is quite
useful as it takes you over the Gatun lock and you can see right inside. This is where
I became alarmed, as you can see a torrent of water pouring in, until I discovered this
was on the outside of the lock, not where your boat will be. It looked horrible through
the bus window, but nothing like that once inside the lock ... phew!
The supermarket has a free delivery service if you spend more than $200, and
your shopping will be brought back to the marina in their van. But be warned – the
second time we went to the supermarket (to get the rest of the money and other last
minute supplies) the supermarket van was booked out and not available. We travelled
back on the marina bus with all our shopping on our laps and under the seats, being
bounced around for 45 minutes, but at least the bus has air conditioning! It’s best
to take a taxi back (about $30 I’ve been told) if you’ve got lots of food, as the bus
is used as free transport for staff who work at the marina and there are always more
people on the return leg.
On departure day Roy and our line handler came to the marina with our tyres
158
Our
hired line
handler
looked after
the bow...
and lines,
plus our
passports
complete
with all the necessary stamps. We had to ensure all Helena May’s quarters were clear,
as the lines in the lock all extend in an upward direction from the boat. We had moved
the danbuoy, life rings and barbecue from her aft quarters, and I’m glad we did because
the angle would have been potentially damaging. We had fuelled up the day before, as
we knew the fuel barge wasn’t always tied up in the marina – some days it went out to
the big ships. We were advised not to fuel up on our way to the canal in case we were
delayed, because if we were late and missed our slot, or ran out of fuel in the canal, we
would be cancelled and have to pay again!
We left the marina at 1700 and motored over to the flats where our advisor came
aboard at 1830. We decided to have our supper before the advisor arrived, but you must
have food available for him when he boards. Perhaps the most important rule of the
whole transit is to make sure you feed the advisor and line handlers! (We heard a story
the day after we arrived about a boat which had been charged $400 extra because they
did not provide a meal for the advisor – he had to send a launch to collect a meal from
a restaurant and
have it brought
out to him!
How any boat
doesn’t have
the makings of
a meal beats me,
but apparently
true.) Once our
advisor was on
board he was
given a large
... while I
looked after
the stern
159
Receiving the
monkey’s fist ...
... and the
‘fist’ close-up
plate of stew (I recommend making a big pot of stew on
the morning before you go, so it’s easy to heat up when you
want it) and as it took about 30 minutes to motor to the
first lock before rafting-up started he had plenty of time to
eat. We rafted up with the other yacht we were transiting
with about 100m before the lock entrance, and went through all three locks still
tied up. We separated about 100m after the exit. It can be quite a sight as your raft
starts motoring into the lock, especially if a mountain of a cargo ship is in front of
Shorelines need to be tended all the time
160
A bit of a squeeze lining up to enter the Gaillard Cut section
you, but our advisor was very reassuring and everything was done very slowly. We
entered our first lock in the dark, but it was very well lit.
For British sailors who have been through the Chenal du Four, Alderney Race or
around Hurst Point in The Solent on a spring ebb, the swirling water is no worse and
certainly much flatter! There is no tidal wave of water coming down towards you as
the locks fill, as featured in my nightmares – instead the water pours in from the sides
below the surface and causes a tidal race effect without any huge surges. You’ve just
got to keep your lines tight. If you are rafted to another boat you are only handling
two lines (fore and aft) on the side of your boat next to the wall, which in our case,
with just two boats, was at least 20ft away. If you are in the middle of a raft of three
you don’t handle any lines at all – an easy life!
The men from the lock throw you a ‘monkey’s fist’ on a long thin line. This is a ball
about the size of a squash ball but quite hard, so make sure it doesn’t hit you. You tie
this onto your big blue line through the big loop, and the man on the wall pulls it back
towards him and loops it over a bollard. Then you just have to winch it in or pay it out,
depending on which lock you are in or according to your advisor’s instructions.
We were told to make sure our long lines were flaked very loosely on deck, ready
to run out and lead fair, before we got into the lock – there is no time once you are
in. h(We saw a very dodgy moment on another boat when a line which was being
hoisted 50m up the wall was led the wrong side of an upright...). A good reason for
having at least one professional line handler aboard is because they are very skilled in
untangling lines and making sure all are in the correct positions. In addition our line
handler, Eric – a nice lad of about 20 – handled all the mooring lines which involved
jumping ONTO a mooring to secure us. Having picked up our advisor at 1830, by
about 2230 we were secured to the mooring in Gatun Lake.
If your transit involves a stay in Gatun Lake overnight (which is 99% of the time on
161
Approaching the iconic Millennium
Bridge over the Gaillard Cut
a southbound transit), the line handlers stay with you on board and have to be fed and
watered and given a bed for the night. It is a requirement to have four line handlers
aboard, but they don’t need to be professionals and lots of boats enlist other yachties
from the marina – people who will be coming through themselves at some stage and
want to experience it on someone else’s boat first. We had two friends on board, but
found it really useful to have a professional line handler to run the foredeck, while we
In Miraflores lock, our hired line handler busy texting. No stress!
162
stayed in the cockpit with the stern lines and could hear the advisor’s instructions. A
total of four line handlers plus the skipper worked very well. The advisor is a pilot-intraining and is mandatory for every boat. He is in charge of the lock procedure and
navigation, but not your boat handling.
The advisor who had joined Helena May on the flats went home once we were safely
tied up in Gatun Lake (we were told that no anchoring is allowed in the lake as there
is too much underwater debris and it’s extremely deep). A new advisor is supposed to
arrive at about 0600 next morning – or in our case 0800 without a word of apology – and
make sure you give him breakfast! It then takes about three hours to motor through the
lakes and the Gaillard Cut towards first the Pedro Miguel lock and then the Miraflores
locks. These are a straightforward repeat of the Gatun locks but a little easier, as going
downward means spending your time easing lines instead of winching in. Once through
the Miraflores locks it is only about 15 minutes to the Balboa Yacht Club, so it’s important
The last Miraflores lock gate opens
and we’re in the Pacific – in the rain!
to make sure everyone (especially the advisor!) has had his lunch before the last lock.
Our advisor was collected by launch as we motored towards Balboa, and Eric by his
friends as we neared the yacht club. He took the hired lines and tyres with him, and we
had to give him about $18 to dispose of the latter at the yacht club.
The moorings off the Balboa YC looked a bit dodgy – old tyres with pieces of line
sticking out of the water – and lay in the teeth of a 25 knot northerly fetch from the
canal, so we motored around to La Playita and anchored off. This was the best spot to
take our friends ashore, after a small celebratory drink in the cockpit! It’s said to be
easy to get a taxi back to Shelter Bay Marina from La Playita, costing about $50 and
taking around an hour and a half.
The anchorage is a bit rolly by day as the ferries charge around, but by the evening
it’s calmed down. You can dinghy in to the little marina and leave it in safety for a
163
We made it through!
mere $5 A DAY (!!), where a large gentleman who doesn’t smile stands at the top of
the ramp and ‘invites’ you into the office to pay. You have to pay for a week in advance
starting on a Monday, and there are no short weeks or daily options, but we had arrived
on the Saturday and didn’t see our large gentleman until the Monday morning. We
were given fluorescent wrist bands to wear every time we came ashore so the large
gentleman knew we had paid (I refused, and attached them to my rucksack instead).
Our experience of transiting the canal was brilliant and one we’ll remember for
ever, being very straightforward and without incident. We’d certainly recommend
our agent, who was a nice friendly chap and made the whole process stress free. The
most important things to remember, however, are to feed your advisors well, and to
have some champagne chilling in the ’fridge so you can celebrate with your friends
on arrival in the Pacific. This is where it starts....
La Playita harbour with the anchorage beyond
164
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165
SINGLE MALT’S CIRCUMNAVIGATION
– THE LAST LEG
Almuth Otterstedt and Edi Keck
(Flying Fish 2013/1 carried Almuth and Edi’s account of their passage from South Africa
to Lagos, Portugal, in the later stages of a 14-year circumnavigation aboard their 39ft Amel
ketch Single Malt. We rejoin them as they head east towards Kuşadasi, Turkey from which
they had departed in May 1998. The line drawings are by Almuth.)
We rejoined Single Malt in Lagos in March 2012, six months after laying her up. When
we climbed up the wobbly ladder to the cockpit we found her still sound asleep and
it took us over a month to get her ready for launching. Once she was back in the
water life started to become much more
pleasant, and on 2 May the bridge joining
the western and eastern parts of Lagos was
opened for her to pass through and she was
back in her element again.
The year’s cruising was different from
the many previous years – no ocean
passages and a much shorter sailing season.
Nevertheless Single Malt covered around
2750 nautical miles and visited nearly 50
different places – eight so-called marinas,
six harbours and 33 anchorages. What
follows are some of the highlights.
The Rio Guadiana, which forms the
border between Portugal and Spain,
was navigated by the Phoenicians who
166
mined copper
upriver. Later
the Romans
continued the
mining and
also shipped
wheat from
there. They
f o u n d e d
the town
of Mertola,
situated as
far upriver as
was navigable.
From the
second half
of the 19th
century until Almuth enjoys the sunshine above Alcoutim on the Rio Guadiana
about 1955 a
British company continued mining, and shipped the partially refined copper ore from
Pomarão, which lies a few miles to the east of Mertola at the junction of the Rio
Guadiana and the Rio Chança.
On one occasion we let Single Malt drift outside the mouth of Rio Guadiana and
waited until half tide to be able to cross the bar safely. The rising tide bore us into a
desolate landscape where, as soon as it turned, we anchored. Early next morning we
were woken by the twitter of thousands of birds in the trees bordering the river – and
found ourselves in thick fog. As soon as it cleared and the tide turned favourable again
we continued upriver, until our 1∙95m draught made it unsafe to continue further. Our
solitary anchorage was surrounded by unspoilt nature. The inflatable dinghy took us a
few miles further upstream to the small village of Pomarão, where we enjoyed a quiet
walk in peaceful surroundings. The night was cool and completely still.
Sanlúcar de Guadiana, on the
Spanish side of the river
167
Exhibits in the
small museum
at Mertola
The following
day, with the
tide ebbing, we
turned south
and anchored
off Alcoutim on
the Portuguese
side of the river
– a wonderful
place built on
the steep shores
of the river, an
ancient fortress
glowering above. One day we took a bus trip to Mertola and spent time looking around
the historical sites. When the Town Hall was being renovated, well-preserved Roman
ruins were discovered beneath it. These were excavated, cleaned and transformed into
a small museum in the cellar of the Town Hall where the history of the town is also
explained. Opposite Alcoutim, on the Spanish side, lies the small town of Sanlúcar
de Guadiana with a much larger fortification than on the other side.
The lady in charge of the library in Alcoutim invited us to attend a fado evening
Cadiz from the city’s Camera Obscura
168
which was to be held in the small,
unexpected garden behind the
building. The often melancholic
songs performed by a few soloists and
the accompanying humming of the
local people created an unusual but
memorable effect. There was nothing
touristy about the occasion.
Moving on to Spain, we left Single
Malt in Puerto de Santa María
while we visited Cadiz by ferry.
One could easily spend several days
strolling through its narrow alleys
discovering unexpected details, but
we had only one. A highlight not to
be missed is the Camera Obscura in
one of the old watch-towers, where
one can observe the entire town,
people walking around, and washing
hung out to dry blowing in the wind.
Moving on to Gibraltar, while
strolling through the town one day
we noticed an advertisement – there
was to be a concert in St Michael’s
Cave. We had visited this cave on
A steep, blue-painted alley in
our outward passage and would have
Chefchaouen, Morocco
loved to attend a concert there, but
unfortunately such events happen only once every two to three months. This time we
were lucky. On 24 May ‘an Opera Gala Concert’ to celebrate the Queen’s Diamond
Jubilee was to take place, and Almuth bought excellent seats for us. A soprano from
the Arena di Verona, a tenor from the Teatro dell’Opera di Roma and a pianist from
the Wiener Staats Oper performed extracts from splendid operas in this cathedrallike cave which, incidentally, was used as a hospital during the Second World War.
From Smir, a very run-down marina on the Mediterranean coast of Morocco, we took
a day’s trip in a local taxi to Chefchaouen, a small fortified town at an altitude of about
650m, which was built by Arabs who were forced out of the Iberian Peninsula in the 15th
century. It was a real treat meandering through the narrow, steep and very clean alleys
surrounded by old houses painted in bright blue and white. There were many small bakeries
where bread is baked in wood-fired ovens, and we could not resist buying a crispy loaf.
The local people were very friendly, and the day passed much too quickly.
Southeast along the coast at El Hoceima, with its modern but totally unused
ferry port, we found the most colourful and interesting market. Bright piles of fruit,
vegetables, spices, flowers, clothing, olives, sheep’s and cow’s heads, as well as socks
and shoes, were all on display in the many small stalls and booths.
169
The entrance to Porto d’Addaia on the northeast coast of Menorca
After a brief stop in Spain we headed for Menorca and, after waiting outside the
entrance until dawn, anchored in the narrow fjord-like inlet of Porto d’Addaia on
the northeast coast. We had mainly come to see Heidy and Erich, who had visited
us five times during our circumnavigation. We had a wonderful reunion and are now
convinced that Menorcan gin is much better than Gordon’s...
Back to the North Africa coast, and from our next stop at Tabarca, Tunisia, we
travelled in a luage (a small local bus) to Jendouba, a market town in the interior. We
first visited Chimtou, the place from which the Romans ‘exported’ a particular type of
marble all over their vast empire nearly 2000 years ago. The modern museum, built with
the help of German archaeologists, is impressive. We continued to Bulla Regia, an old
Roman city of considerable importance in its day. It is the only place where buildings
were constructed with two levels of identical rooms. The upper level was used during
spring and autumn when temperatures are moderate, the level below ground during
summer and winter when the temperatures are extremely high or very low.
Hoping to get some fresh lobster from a fisherman seeking shelter for the night, we
anchored in the only small bay on the island of La Galite, about twenty miles off the
Tunisian coast. When Tunisia was a French colony around 120 Italian people lived on this
small island, earning
their living by fishing,
but during the 1960s
they had to leave
and today only a
tiny military control
post is situated there.
Unfortunately no
fishing boats arrived so
we weighed anchor and
left just before dark.
A Roman building in
Bulla Regia, Tunisia
170
Single Malt off the coast
of North Africa
Our next stop was at the Italian island of Pantelleria, about halfway between Tunisia
and Sicily, the first stepping stone for the Allied invasion of Sicily, and later Italy,
during World War 2. The clearing-in process was a joke – the authorities were not at
all interested in us and just wanted to be left alone. Then we became real tourists for a
while and booked a trip around the island in a proper tourist boat. Shortly after leaving
the harbour the captain changed his clothing to a somewhat more modern version of
the men’s clothing in Vanuatu – a kind of string-kini. From behind all one could see
was his bare hairy bum. But he made a good job of following the coast close in, and
even entering some caves. Next day we toured the island in a rental car. Its roof was
made of bamboo and the doors had to be closed very carefully otherwise they would
not shut at all. We had a great time and were received cordially in one of the wineries.
Arriving in Greece and clearing-in at our first port of call, Pylos on the Peloponnese,
was a very different matter to Pantelleria. The authorities wanted to see confirmation
of the third party liability insurance for the boat. The copy in English showing that the
coverage was more than five times the amount requested by Greece was not enough,
and Single Malt was not permitted to move any further! It was three days before the
insurance company in Switzerland realised our precarious situation and faxed a copy
of the confirmation in English with the remark that the insurance is in compliance
with the Greek law 2743/1999. There was plenty of time to go hiking and exploring
while we waited. Overlooking the small town is an old Venetian fortification which
was taken over by the Turks several centuries ago. It was in the bay below this fort that,
in 1827, the sea battle of Navarino took place, during which the combined British,
French and Russian fleets destroyed the much larger Turkish-Egyptian forces and thus
began the Greek liberation from the Turks.
171
The bay at Porto Kagio, Greece
On the eastern side of the ‘middle finger’ on the south side of the Peloponnese we
anchored in the bay at Porto Kagio, in the area once occupied by the Mani people
(probably descendants of the Spartans) who lived in fortified tower-like houses. When
they were not fighting together against an aggressor they would fight each other. Today
these old buildings are being converted into holiday homes – and many more are being
constructed with a similar appearance. We enjoyed some wonderful walking! Our SIM
card for internet access had run out and we tried desperately to top it up, with help from
many local people and Greek holiday makers. Among them was Nicos, chief surgeon in
an Athens hospital. After having had no success, he and his wife Catherina invited us
for lunch in their holiday house. Together with about twelve other people we enjoyed
eating and drinking for about four hours ... and still got back safely to our boat!
We rounded Cape Ák Maléas at the southeastern corner of the Peloponnese – which
has a fearsome reputation – in
favourable conditions, but did
not see any monks in the nearby
monastery waving, as they once
did at passing ships. At Poros,
on the northern side of the
peninsula, we found a mechanic
who was able to repair our badly
leaking sea-water cooling pump
and here we were finally able to
top up our SIM card. From Poros
we reached Piraeus by express
ferry, and took the train to Nea
Kifisia to visit an old friend of
A typical tower-house perched
above the bay at Porto Kagio
172
The bridge at Khalkis,
which links Evia to the mainland
Edi’s with whom he had spent his first holiday afloat – sailing around The Solent in a
very small boat at Easter 1953. The last time we had met was on our outward passage
in 1998. Marcos and his wife Despina helped us experience real Greek hospitality
during the three days we were there, and two of their four daughters were also around.
They invited Nico and Catherina, whom we had met in Porto Kagio, and we spent a
wonderful time together. Nico and Catherina, who is connected with the new Akropolis
museum, invited us for a visit there and she proved the perfect guide, explaining and
not rushing us. This modern museum is a must when visiting Athens.
After a brief stop near Cape Sounion, where the ruins of the ancient Poseidon temple
were majestically illuminated by the setting sun, we reached Khalkis some days later.
There, a narrow gap less than 40m wide separates the mainland from the island of
Evia, with a bridge linking the two. A tidal current of up to 7 knots flows through this
passage, Evripos channel, in a northerly or southerly direction. The bridge is opened
for ships, which are only able to pass with the current, but because of the heavy road
traffic this only happens during the night – and sometimes not at all. We were lucky, and
were allowed to pass north at about 2200. The story goes that Aristotle was so upset at
being unable to explain the phenomenon that he flung himself into the rushing waters.
At Lésvos island we entered the large bay of Kólpos Kallonis and anchored just outside
Skala Polikhnitos, a small fishing harbour full of colourful fishing boats which was much
The harbour at Skala Polikhnitos,
too small for Single Malt to enter
173
too small for us to enter. The place looks a bit run down. The olive oil presses have been
still for many years and the factory buildings are crumbling ruins. Nearby salt marshes lie
untended since the 1980s and the machinery is silently rusting. But it has its charm, and
the locals were extremely friendly. They convinced us that, due to the higher salinity,
the fish from the bay are much tastier than those from the open sea. Because of that our
galley remained mostly unused during our stay and – unless we bought a fresh fish – we
just enjoyed the simple local food and wine. One day we walked about 4km up the steep
road through old olive plantations to Polikhnitos – in former times settlements used to
be built away from the landing places so the population could be warned in time when
pirates were about to pay one of their frequent visits.
About 30 miles south lies Chios island, with tiny Nisos Oinoussai off its east coast.
Here successful ship-owner families like Pateras and Lemos own villas, and Single Malt
anchored in the harbour of Mandráki just in front of the small town. The main reason
for our stop was to visit the little-known maritime museum founded by a member of the
Pateras family in the 1980s. The real treasures in this museum are ship models made by
French sailors who
were kept on
disused hulks
as prisoners-ofwar during the
Napoleonic wars.
They used whatever
they could get
hold of, but chiefly
bone and horn,
and built some
extraordinarily fine
pieces which were
later collected by
Greek ship owners.
Nisos Oinoussai
lies within a few
miles of Turkey,
and some 70 miles
from Kuşadasi,
from which we had started our voyage 14½ years previously. We reached Kuşadasi
late in the evening of Friday 5 October, in complete darkness, and there was neither
reception committee, fireworks, nor flags flying on our beloved Single Malt. It was
all rather an anticlimax.
But when checking in next morning the Front Office Chief, who was a former
lady trainee, recognised and embraced us, and when leaving the office a mechanic
remembered Edi and bear-hugged him. Shortly after, in the town of Kuşadasi, the taxi
driver who had driven Edi to the airport to collect Almuth in March 1998 saw us and
invited us for tea. And later, another Turk could not believe his eyes when he
saw us again, and spontaneously invited us for lunch. After all those long
years, it did feel like a homecoming!
174
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176
AN UNUSUAL VOYAGE
Bill Marden
(Texan member Bill Marden has been a surprisingly frequent contributor to Flying Fish
over the past decade – ‘surprising’ only because his first piece, which featured in Flying Fish
2003/1, was entitled An 80th Birthday Present .... and the 80th birthday in question was
his own! Since then he’s written about two Atlantic crossings, the second singlehanded, a
Caribbean passage, and his belief in Salty Medicine (see Flying Fish 2011/2).
The end of Yachting on Half a Shoestring: Beaten by Bugs in Flying Fish 2010/1,
saw Bill and his 52ft cutter Fancy Free reach Cartagena, Columbia at the end of a passage
bedevilled by problems of all kinds ... but it takes more than a few problems to keep a good
Texan down!)
After a few years laid up in Cartagena, Colombia, the old boat was kidnapped by the
authorities who demanded US $64,000 so-called duty. After thirty years of abuse,
and unseaworthy, she was on the hard for emergency repairs. There was no quick
fix – my magic carpet was seized on dry land.
At my age my needs were for something smaller, so I just abandoned Fancy Free to
the thieves. Back in Texas, for the last three years I have been searching for a Hans
Christian 36 or 38. My search bore fruit when I discovered a 1979 Hans Christian
38 in Long Beach, California, right opposite the Queen Mary. She appeared to have
been used only as a day sailer and I doubt that any of her three owners had ever
taken her out of sight of land. She was worth looking at, as she was crippled and
costing her owner dearly.
The owner was working several hundred miles away and did not have the time
to come, but they allowed me to fly in and live aboard while I surveyed her in mid
July. No stove gas was available, so I had to eat what I could get. It was the fanciest
marina I had ever seen – miles of fancy restaurants and miles of fancy yachts – but
sort of a nightmare without a car, as I had to walk several miles to find a store
which sold groceries.
I was amazed at the condition inside and out. Almost everything aboard was
original, thirty-year-old sails and the original engine, but the teak interior was
like new. She appeared to have been fitted out for a couple of years of blue water
adventures which the owner never sailed. There was no self-furling jib, which was
just what I wanted. When I was last in the Cape Verde islands, four yachts arrived
with self-furling jibs and every single one was broken and unfixable – hanked-on
headsails are the only way to go if you are a shoe-string sailor as these can be repaired
on board, even alone at sea.
The number one question for a shoe-string sailor is: ‘can I fix it alone even if it requires
some sort of jury rig?’. This is why I don’t use refrigeration, having seen too many folks
lose all their frozen food. The motto is ‘keep it simple and you probably won’t have
to fix anything’. On an Atlantic crossing years ago following Columbus’s route I kept
a record of fresh water consumption, which turned out to be 1∙6 quarts (1∙5 litres) of
fresh water per day (potatoes were cooked in sea water). This is the minimum I could
get by with. Water is to drink – there’s plenty just over the side for washing.
177
Lifting the Hans
Christian 38 off
the trailer ...
The Hans Christian,
Seawind, while being
in remarkably good all
round condition, was
mostly as delivered in
1979. To make her
ready for ocean voyages,
she would need new
sails, a storm trysail, and
some spare headsails.
The original engine
was a 34hp Volkswagen
diesel. This I am replacing with a British Beta Marine 60, which has enough power to
get you off many groundings without kedging. The most damaging problem was caused
by long exposure to spurious AC currents, rampant throughout the marina where every
yacht is on shore power causing leakage into the bay. These currents had used the bronze
propeller as an anode and eaten it up. Such was my personal survey.
Now what to do? She was in California and in no condition to take on the Panama Canal.
The only practical way was to find transportation by truck back to my farm in Texas, an
overland trip of 1500 miles and definitely a job for a specialist. As it turned out, I was
in luck – yacht moving specialist Chuck King, from Florida, was in California having
just made a delivery. He is not only a truck driver but also a yachtsman, whose sole job
is moving boats all over the USA and Canada. He has moved many Hans Christians.
I contacted Chuck through his office in Florida, and we worked out a deal that
for US $8800 he
would deliver my
new venture to
my farm in Bryan,
Texas, where its
storage would be
free. Chuck made
the entire project
practical. In the
US each state has
its own laws for
oversized loads,
which require
... and lowering
her down again
178
The cows are quite unworried by her
special permits. For most states these permits are fairly routine, but Arizona requires an
escort with flashing lights to lead the load across the state, and this is expensive. Chuck’s
Florida office specialists handled the paperwork – they knew just who to contact in every
state the boat would pass through, though in the other states it was fairly routine. Heavy
machinery and oil rigs, all much oversized, have become normal in the west. Car drivers
are used to meeting huge oil rigs which seem like entire towns on the move.
The trailer was special. The boat’s keel rested around 8 inches (10cm) above the
freeway, the beam was a few inches over 12ft (3∙7m) and height had to be kept below
13ft (4m). As Chuck King approached the farm he gave a call from 150 miles out to get
the 40 ton crane ready, which we would need to unload our 40,000 lbs (18 tons) of yacht.
On arrival at the farm we had to build a special cradle with the truck in the middle,
lift her up while the truck moved out, and then finish our cradle to support the vessel.
All went well and now I’m spending a few hours every day trying to make her look
as good as new. Our cows come up daily to eat the grass under the cradle. As of mid
September – only two months since I flew out to California to look at her – we are
getting ready for the new engine. It looks like, barring accidents, we are winning this
new adventure!
Company
while working
at the bow...
179
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180
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF IT SO FAR?
Reflections on the first 20,000 miles
David Caukill, Roving Rear Commodore
(Prior to setting off around the globe in 2011, David was OCC Treasurer for more than a
decade – surely enough to make anyone run away to sea! His progress can be followed at
www.blog.mailasail.com/Serendipity.)
How would you expect a self-professed expert in ‘risk management’ to spend his
retirement? At home by the fire, with his pension stashed in a suitcase under his bed ....
or out on the open ocean, sailing his yacht around the world? Well, however sensible
the alternative might now seem, I chose the latter.
Two sailing friends of long-standing and I set off from the UK in July 2011 in my Oyster
575 Serendipity, transiting the Panama Canal in January 2012. Sitting in Auckland some
fifteen months later I can’t help but marvel at the diversity of people and geography
we have encountered on the way. We have been humbled by the generosity of a wide
range of, mainly poor, local people who have welcomed us nearly everywhere. It has
been fascinating – a real education – and a pointed reminder of how limited was my
own education. It is a shame that more children cannot experience it first-hand.
Our cruise has helped me better understand the true impact mankind has had on its
environment. I am not talking about global warming here – rather the huge impact of
historical events that shaped the way things now are. For example:
1. Tourists now visit the Galapagos Islands because the local fauna developed largely
without external interference. Well, that was true until circa 1535, since when
Ensenada village on Islas
Cañas, one of Panama’s
Las Perlas Islands
181
The
anchorage
at Rangiroa
in the
Tuamotus
Islands
man’s impact
has been
significant.
Throughout the 18th
century the
islands were
used as a base
for whaling and by pirates, and passing ships stopped for food and water. Hundreds
of thousands of tortoises were taken aboard ships for food (each provided about
100kg of living flesh that needed only water and a few leaves to remain alive, and
therefore fresh, for later consumption), rendering them a seriously endangered
species – they have already become extinct on some of the islands. We – or our
forefathers – did that, just as we are now killing off whales and other species as
the unintended consequence of mankind’s relentless search for food. For example,
countless seabirds, turtles and sharks are indiscriminately slaughtered as collateral
damage by long-line fishermen.
2. Around the same time, the ruthless desire of European explorers to exploit local
resources led them to conquer and subjugate whole nations under their rule, driven
by a fervent belief in the primacy of their own (errr ... Christian) religion. Strange
how history repeats itself!
Sure, I had been told a little about these events at school, but I never really appreciated
or understood their scale, nor their impact on local environments.
The journey has also
led me to marvel at
the legacy of the great
seafarers of the 18th
century. For example,
by 1779, Captain James
Cook had crossed the
Pacific three times, and it
was he who first surveyed
much of it. Indeed,
‘Cook’ was the name
The long inlet at
Vaipae’e on Ua Huka,
French Polynesia
182
Serendipity on passage
from Nuie to Tonga
given to many bays, inlets and
mountains in the Pacific, and
many of the charts I am using
are based largely on surveys
conducted over 200 years ago by
Cook and his successors. They
sailed in ships only 100ft long,
setting out with some fifty or
sixty crew who lived in the most
primitive conditions enduring
much hardship, deprivation,
disease and loss of life. It was not
just the sailors – Charles Darwin,
it seems, had a torrid time on the
Beagle. I stand in awe of their
bravery and their achievements.
By contrast, a modern yacht
is a complex combination of
technologies. On Serendipity,
three different engines provide
power to drive the boat and/or
supply the electricity to operate
the yacht’s systems – watermaker,
hydraulic furlers, electric winches, four refrigeration devices (couldn’t do without the
ice-maker!), approximately fifteen service pumps, a microwave, and a raft of electronic
and computer systems, together with HF radio and satellite communications.
Splashing all of that around in a warm, hostile, corrosive environment stress-tests
the kit to the limit of its capability, and it is no wonder that some things fail. Ours is
thus a life led by lists – as soon as one job is crossed off, one or two more get added.
When things fail at sea, all we can usually achieve on passage is to patch things up.
I have become adept at maintaining the plant, crawling around with a multi-meter,
replacing filters, impellers and cannibalising pumps while bouncing around on the
high seas. Once we get to port, we need to stay there as long as it takes to cross
everything off the list or decide to live without those things you can’t fix – or can’t
get fixed – until you reach civilisation.
Now, Auckland is about as civilised as New Zealand gets, and Serendipity – after
nearly 20,000 miles – has undergone a minor overhaul and refit while we flew home
to the UK to wait for the cyclone season to blow itself out. I left the boatyard a list of
jobs as long as both one’s arms, the follow on from which will provide New Zealand
with a fiscal stimulus of Quantitative Easing proportions! And then there are the
improvements and enhancements I’d wanted to make...
None of this was really a surprise to me. Having crossed the Atlantic in our Hallberg
Rassy 42 in 1997, and with two other passages of more than 1000 miles under my belt, I
183
Thrashing towards the Isle of Pines,
New Caledonia
thought
I had a realistic
notion of what to expect on this
extended voyage – and as far as the maintenance was
concerned, I was correct. There were other aspects that I was not prepared
for, however. For example, I had never viewed sailing as an essentially dangerous
pastime provided one takes sensible precautions. There are the occasional misfortunes,
but – in Europe – thousands of miles are sailed each year and although there are
some incidents one hears of few real calamities among experienced yachtsmen in
the context of the scale of the activity.
That things are different once you go off the beaten track should have been
evident from the fact that insurance cover gets exponentially more expensive while
ocean cruising. The premium trebled as we left Europe, and then more than doubled
again as we got into the Pacific Ocean – where our excess/deductible is so high that
all but a serious collision is uninsured. That, it was explained, was not because it
is riskier but because, with the distances involved, it is far more expensive to get
things fixed in remote places – if you do sustain damage, parts and people will have
to be flown around the world to fix it.
It is now clear that there is more to it than that: in the second half of 2012, four yachts
with which we had had direct contact were wrecked in the Pacific (Pacific adj. tending
to peace; peaceful [sic]). One was in a remote atoll, put up on a reef at Suwarrow in the
Cook Islands when the wind changed while at anchor; one was where a catalogue of
individually small mishaps led to the boat foundering on a reef; one sank having been
holed when its (spade!) rudder hit a submerged object and, lastly, one was wrecked as
it sailed, literally, into an uninhabited island at night. The crews of the first three are
safe – there were others nearby to assist – but although the two crew aboard that last
yacht made a satellite telephone call to say they were in trouble, they have not been
184
found. And these are among people with whom we had had contact – we have heard
tell of several other yachts lost or abandoned in the same period. Given how few yachts
we have encountered cruising in the Pacific, those are pretty frightening statistics.
My wife Simone accompanied me on our first Atlantic crossing, but had long since
made it clear that she planned to join me only for the warm and sunny parts of the
journey – if it was likely to be at all bouncy then I would be on my own. To her credit
she did join us for the 1100 mile roller-coaster passage from St Lucia to the San Blas
Silhouetted against the evening
sky in New Caledonia
185
Scuba diving at
the Poor Knights
Islands off the northeast coast of New Zealand
Islands and Panama Canal, and returned to sail some 3500 miles from Nuku Hiva to
Musket Cove, Fiji but, apart from visiting in the major stopovers, henceforth I will
sail without her. That has left me with a continuing crewing need.
In my, perhaps controversial, view it is not really possible to do this kind of journey
safely singlehanded. Secondly, there are few people who one would want to sail with
who are also prepared to ‘chuck it all in’ and come with you. I have been lucky enough to
have two good friends, Peter Verkroost and Bob Cousins, who are both OCC members
and who have, between them, covered at least one watch during the entire voyage so
far – two watches for much of the Pacific. As to the other watches (we prefer three
on long passages, four if possible), we have built a core group of people prepared to fly
halfway around the world, then spend upwards of a month at a time cooped up in a
confined space, quite often with people they’ve not met before.
I hadn’t really appreciated it before we set out, but on this kind of extended cruising
interpersonal relationships are an absolute minefield. There are inevitably tensions
from time to time – the challenge is to overcome them and, in doing so, deep and
lasting friendships are built. Conversely, if issues are not dealt with as they arise the
situation can become irretrievable. I have been fortunate. Sixteen people have taken
part so far and two more will join in before we leave Australia. Two of these are OCC
members – Richard Norton and William Duncumb crossed the Atlantic with us, and
Richard came out again to cruise New Caledonia and will return for the 1100 mile leg
from Auckland back up to Fiji. And as far as I know, no-one has fallen out yet – well,
not completely!
Our present thoughts are to keep on going and to cross the Indian Ocean this
year. Assuming we accomplish that, we will be back in the Caribbean in 2014.
Right now that looks a very long way off – and quite an ask!
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187
Mike Bickell, Alchemi of Falmouth, Australia
September 2013
From ‘Grandpa’s Maps’ to ‘Grandpa’s Voyages’
I write to express my disappointment at the decision by the OCC Committee to restrict
access to the Cruising Information Community website to OCC members only, which
has resulted in my family and friends being unable to access my older maps showing
Alchemi’s anchorages, and to inform members of a new weblog that I have started as
a result of those restrictions.
Relatively early in my sailing career I met a member of the OCC in a foreign port.
He gave me some past copies of Flying Fish and explained why the club was founded, its
objective of encouraging ocean cruising in small craft, and its tradition of helping all
long distance cruisers. I was inspired to join the club by the generosity of this member,
the accounts in the journal, and the description of the open and friendly informality
which motivated the founder members.
As I voyaged to more and more places I decided to create my own contribution in terms
of cruising information, primarily as a record for my grandchildren and friends but also
for the benefit of other cruisers. I decided to present my work through Flying Fish and the
CIC website, rather than through the journal and website of another club of which I am
a member, because the OCC’s publications were open to the general public whereas the
other club’s equivalent journal and website were not. Now that the OCC has adopted
the same closed policy as the other club that reason no longer holds.
Instead I have learned how to create an independent weblog and have started one called
‘Grandpa’s Voyages’, which will be found at http://alchemi-of-falmouth.blogspot.com.au.
It can also be accessed via the OCC website under Cruising Information. At present
it mainly contains links to my collection of ‘Grandpa’s Maps’, plus brief notes about
myself and Alchemi, but I hope to expand the contents in due course so family and
friends’ access to my records can be restored.
I would like to be as helpful to others as the member who prompted me to join the
OCC was to me. I have therefore made my blog available to members and non-members
alike, having concluded that the ‘element of risk’ which brought about restriction of
access to the CIC website is adequately safeguarded in my case. I hope members will
visit it from time-to-time, and will recommend it to their non-member friends as a
potentially helpful source when making their own cruising plans.
Mike’s typically erudite article Where on Earth am I? will be found on page 99 of this issue.
188
SAILING SOUTH TO THE SUNSHINE
Neil Matson
(Neil has considerable single and two-handed racing experience, including the 2009 Fastnet and
2011 Azores and Back Races, in addition to family cruising around the English Channel coasts.
However, like so many members, he had to wait for retirement to venture further afield....)
How often, beating to windward during a wet, grey British summer’s day, have I
yearned for some sunshine and blue water sailing? I thoroughly enjoy single and shorthanded offshore racing in my Dufour 34 Performance, Vela Fresca, but some blue sky
and sea would not come amiss! In 2012 and newly retired, I made the opportunity.
Following the Yachting Monthly Triangle Race and a local offshore week, I cast off in
July from my mooring in Devon, seeking the sunshine that had seemed so elusive in
the UK over the past few
summers. Accompanied
by a friend, I planned to
sail to La Coruña and
thence to Madeira, where
we’d be joined by my wife,
Liz, and my friend’s wife,
before continuing on to
the Canary Islands for a
couple of months.
The Canary Islands
seemed a good choice –
not too far away, a good allyear-round climate, lots
of sailing opportunities,
Vela Fresca taking part in the 2009 Fastnet Race
and different islands and
places to visit. The only slight anxiety was that my previous experience of the Canaries
had been quick package holidays when the children were very young, and a subsequent
awareness of how intense the tourism industry could be. I need not have worried – the
islands, some more than others, are indeed heavily dependent on tourism, but there is
much more on offer, especially for those fortunate enough to be able to sail.
The British ‘summer’ did not let us go easily. Despite waiting for a supposedly
favourable weather window, we found ourselves on a close reach along the Western
Channel with two reefs and a shortened genoa in 25 knots of true wind, looking to
put a tack in for Ushant – which was not possible until well beyond The Lizard. Once
round Ushant, in the early hours of the third day, we were able to bear away a little
and gradually the wind eased. Biscay was kind to us – halfway across the sea settled
to a gentle swell and the wind became so light that the engine went on (I must have
still been in ‘racing mode’, as I’d spent a few hours tweaking sails to try and get half a
knot of boat speed before remembering that I wasn’t racing and could put the engine
on!). By evening the wind picked up and we enjoyed a superb starlit night sail before
the wind eased again as we approached La Coruña. We stayed for a couple of days in
189
The imposing Hercules
lighthouse, La Coruña
the quiet but convenient Marina
La Coruña, and enjoyed the sights
and sounds of Spain’s 17th largest
city, including the 180ft Torre de
Hércules lighthouse which dates
back to Roman times and is still in
use today.
The wind was light on leaving
La Coruña, but by the early hours
we had cleared the shipping lanes
off Cape Finisterre, notorious for
its shipwrecks. The wind then
became progressively lighter until
it disappeared altogether and, as it
did so, thick fog appeared and we
spent a few tense hours motoring,
making good use of the invaluable
AIS to track ships as they diverged
from and converged into the still nearby shipping lanes. The wind increased but
remained light for the rest of the day as we sailed west looking to hook into the
North East Trades – we eventually found them about 80 miles offshore. The sky
cleared and we broad-reached in 12–17 knots of wind, gradually shedding our foul
weather gear as we progressed south. After Cape Finisterre we saw only one cargo
vessel – it’s still a big world out there!
Five and a half days after leaving La Coruña and in the dark early hours we made
landfall at the island of Porto Santo, 25 miles northeast of Madeira, and found a space
in the small marina there. Porto Santo was discovered by João Gonçalves Zarco and
190
The long white beach of Porto Santo
Leaving our mark on the wall at Porto Santo
Tristão Vaz Teixeira of Portugal in 1418 when their vessels were caught in a storm and
they found refuge there, returning two years later with Portuguese settlers. When day
broke, I looked around at a large harbour – apparently built by NATO during the Cold
War but now handed over for civilian use – functional but not very inspiring. Then I
looked over the sea wall and saw a superb white beach, some 9 km long, stretching into
the distance – palm trees, blue sky and blue water! A few days to tidy up Vela Fresca
and we were joined by Liz and my friend’s wife who had flown in to nearby Madeira
and then caught the daily ferry from there to Porto Santo.
We enjoyed a few more few days on the island. The small town of Vila Baleira is
within walking distance of the marina, and with the glorious sandy beach and little
apparent tourism (apartments and hotels are mainly in the southwestern part of
the island) it Porto Santo is a real gem. Then we continued to Madeira, apparently
only visited the year after the discovery of Porto Santo. There was little wind so
it was a motor-sail, but in those 25 miles separating Porto Santo from its larger
neighbour we saw dolphins, sunfish, turtles and whales – the latter passing so close
that at one point I carefully slowed down to let two pass in front! We had booked
a berth in Quinta do Lorde marina in the far southeast of the island. It is part of a
village development due for completion in November 2013, so building work was
in progress nearby, but the welcome from marina director and OCC Port Officer
Catia Carvalho and her staff more than made up for it – a RIB to guide us in, staff
on the pontoon to take our lines, and a car and driver to take us to the supermarket
in the nearby town of Machico all part of the service. The marina may seem a little
isolated, but there is a regular bus service into Funchal where we did the almost
obligatory toboggan ride down the steep hill from the botanic gardens.
191
Baía da Abra, at the east end of Madeira
Our friends returned home from the airport nearby but Liz and I stayed another
week to enjoy levada walks, anchoring and swimming from the boat, and seeing more
of the island from a hire car, as well as spending a few days in the marina at Calheta
on the southwest coast. Not having been to Madeira before, the island was a most
pleasant surprise with superb coastal and mountain scenery, a proud local culture and,
for those who want to stretch their legs, the levadas. These irrigation canals and their
associated footpaths were built in the 16th century to carry water from the mountainous
northwestern parts of the island to help develop the agriculture, and supply water to
the inhabitants, in the drier south of the island. It must have been gruelling work as
many are cut into the sides of mountains. The levadas still fulfil this function, and now
also supply hydroelectric power, not to mention a network of walking paths of varying
degrees of difficulty and length that are quite superb.
The next stage was the 240 mile leg to La Palma, the westernmost of the Canary
Islands. The Canaries seem to have been known about since ancient times – indeed
Plato speculated that they might be the last vestiges of the lost continent of Atlantis.
The origins of the first inhabitants of the islands, the Guanches, seems to have been
quite a mystery, though today it is strongly suspected that they were of Arab descent,
driven from the coastal desert areas of Tunisia and Morocco by the Romans. Whatever
their origins, their treatment at the hands of the Europeans arriving in force in the
early 1400s was less than generous – although it took nearly a hundred years of fighting,
treaties, religious conversion, slavery and downright treachery before resistance was
overcome. Claimed by Spain, with settlers from Spain, Portugal, France, Italy and
even a few from Britain (pre-empting the later tourist influx) the islands have their
own individuality – and sometimes rivalry – and are an autonomous region of Spain.
192
The most usual landfall from Madeira is Lanzarote, after which the other Canary
Isles can be covered in a sort of clockwise direction, so in going to La Palma initially
we were doing it the opposite way round – against prevailing wind, current and swell.
This was to help rendezvous with one of our sons, Sam, who was flying out to Tenerife
with his girlfriend to join us for a week. Time would tell how difficult this might
be. The wind was an easterly force 4–5 and the swell and cross-current made for an
uncomfortable voyage at times, but some 40 hours after leaving Madeira we entered
the marina at Santa Cruz de la Palma. We had an unusual greeting from the marina
manager, who was very polite but apologetically warned us about the noise on Friday
and Saturday nights from a late-night disco overlooking the marina (the disco had
closed by March 2013). Yes, the disco was noisy, but the advantage of the marina being
just across the road from the delightful town of Santa Cruz more than compensated
for this. The marina only opened in 2010 and, in addition to the disco, was having
problems with surge – it was not particularly bad while we were there but we still
snapped three snubbers, making it something of an expensive week’s stay despite the
berthing fee itself being very reasonable. The surge problem is being addressed with
plans to build a barrier across the entrance, but though permission has been granted,
work had not begun as of March 2013.
La Palma is a beautiful island – very ‘Canarian’ with minimal tourism. As part
of the marina service we were allowed access to the outdoor swimming pools and
facilities of the nearby, and very elegant, Club Náutico, a real bonus. As in Madeira
we hired a car to see the rest of the island, enjoying the mountainous scenery – La
Palma is famous for its clear night skies above the layer of stratocumulus clouds at
1000–2000m, and is home to several international observatories which can be visited
if arranged well in advance.
Balcony architecture, Santa Cruz de la Palma
193
Next stop, San Sebastián de la Gomera about 50 miles away. There was a brisk
northeasterly as we left La Palma, and with one reef and shortened genoa we made
between 8∙5 and 10 knots in a choppy sea. As we approached La Gomera the wind
and sea eased, and with full main and genoa we enjoyed a comfortable reach along
the island’s northeast coast. A couple of miles short of our destination I noticed that
the sea looked choppier, but before I could do anything the wind had increased from 7
knots to 25–30 knots. So this was one of the Canary ‘wind acceleration zones’! There
was a rather manic ten minutes as our boat speed increased to 12 knots, but with one
broach and a sort of handbrake turn into the harbour we managed to get our sails
down. Then all was calm as we slowly motored into the marina hoping that no one
had noticed our disorganised approach!
La Gomera, despite the devastation caused by recent fires, was very picturesque
and we enjoyed our ten days there. As in Madeira, there were some superb walks with
breath-taking views. La Gomera is proud of its natural environment and history, and we
learned about the whistled speech, called ‘Silbo Gomero’, a means of communicating
across deep ravines and valleys used well before the advent of mobile phones. It is now
regarded as so much a part of La Gomera’s cultural heritage that, rather than allowing
it to be forgotten, it is taught in all primary schools!
Our sail across to Tenerife was enjoyable – a fast beam reach for the initial 15 miles,
before the wind eased and we were becalmed, motoring the remaining 10 miles to
the marina at Las Galletas.
As we closed the shore off
Los Cristianos we had the
pleasure of watching several
pilot whales slowly rolling by.
We stayed a couple of nights
in the marina at Las Galletas
and then moved to Marina
San Miguel – very pleasant,
but a little isolated unless you
enjoy golf or hire a car. We
met our youngest son Sam
and his girlfriend Kornelia at
the nearby airport, and had a
week of enjoying the sights of
Tenerife – including Mount
Teide, of course – and the
nearby beaches. The sail to
the small, privately-owned
marina at Radazul some 30
miles northeast was a lively
beat and not to everyone’s
liking, but its swimming area
Vertical landscape
in La Gomera
194
Tenerife’s Mount
Teide through the clouds
was a delight. The following day we sailed another 6 miles northeast to Marina Santa
Cruz. The marina itself was very fine, and very convenient for the town, but the
waterfront was receiving some heavy reconstruction work which somewhat spoilt the
ambience while we were there but will doubtless be an improvement when completed.
Sam and Kornelia returned home to the start of a new university year, and after a
couple more days in Santa Cruz, Liz and I set off for Lanzarote. The forecast was for
10 knots of wind in a favourable
direction, but in reality it was
much lighter and we motored for
19 hours of the 24 hour passage.
On arrival, Lanzarote gave
us our first heavy rain shower
in over ten weeks, lasting a few
hours before the temperature
resumed its usual 25°–30°. We
had arranged a berth in the
excellent Puerto Calero (right),
managed by our very welcoming,
friendly and efficient OCC Port
Officer, Mel Symes. Puerto
Calero proved to be an inspired
choice as a marina in which
to leave Vela Fresca over the
winter months – safe and wellprotected, with helpful staff who
195
This is the life! Sailing in the Canaries
check all the boats regularly, plus a very efficient boatyard with a large travel-hoist.
Being easily accessible by air from the UK we enjoyed a few winter breaks and the
opportunity for sailing – the sea off Puerto Calero is so well-sheltered that a number
of Volvo Round the World racing yachts use the marina as a training base, and a
local sailing school reckons that in the five years they have been based there they
have ‘lost’ only three days to bad weather, something not many places can boast!
Again, the island proved to be much more than just a couple of tourist resorts. It very
artistic, thanks partly to the influence of local artist and architect César Manrique, with
many places to visit including a characterful and busy market held in the town of Teguise
every Sunday. The owners of Puerto Calero also co-own the marina at Santa Cruz de
la Palma, and have recently opened a new marina near Lanzarote’s capital, Arrecife.
Before setting off for Madeira and the Canaries my expectations were somewhat
cautious. I had never visited Madeira before, and associated the Canaries with rather
rushed winter half-term package holidays, generally in convenient but highly developed
tourist areas. Our experiences meant a very significant re-evaluation. Madeira and those
Canary islands we visited (we did not have the time to see El Hierro, Gran Canaria
or Fuerteventura) were all excellent – good weather, superb landscape, good facilities,
friendly and helpful people. We had some enjoyable sailing over variable distances and
in good conditions – albeit the latter with some interesting moments thanks to the
wind acceleration zones! Interestingly, we talked to several skippers and crews who
had arrived in the Canaries after disappointing seasons in the Med over the past few
years. One or two planned to cross the Atlantic to the Caribbean, but the rest – like
us – were agreeably surprised by the Canaries and were intending to base themselves
there for a few seasons. One person we met had, for the past few years, sailed down
to the Canaries for the winter months and then back to the UK for the summer.
All in all, the Canaries seemed to us to be quite an under-rated sailing area!
196
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197
FALKLAND ISLANDS CAMP CRUISE
Suzanne Hills and Chris Cromey
Roving Rear Commodores
(Suzanne and Chris are long-term cruisers aboard their 42ft cutter, Whanake. They last
appeared in Flying Fish 2012/2, when Suzanne described Cruising Brazil – A Rant and
a Rave, and also write about The Fun of Sailing On and Off the Anchor on page 77 of
this issue. As they remark, the title of this piece undoubtedly needs explanation – ‘Camp’
refers to everywhere in the Falklands outside Stanley.)
For many yachts visiting the Falklands, riding out a westerly gale in Stanley harbour is the
beginning and end of their Falklands experience. Northbound yachts are understandably
eager for the warmer climes further north, while southbound yachts are on a schedule
for the short summer season in South Georgia or Antarctica. However, we arrived in
the Falklands in early November at the end of a 520 mile downwind sail from the north
Patagonian coast of Argentina and, with the entire austral summer ahead of us and
no desire to take Whanake sailing amongst icebergs, decided to spend several months
cruising the archipelago. We soon discovered that there’s a whole lot more to these
windswept islands than ‘giving it all you’ve got’ with the anchor chain in Stanley.
Apart from the fantastic sailing and outstanding wildlife, cruising the Falkland
Islands is a timewarp back to the golden age – the days we read about in classic sailing
adventures of the 1950s where complete strangers offer cups of tea and cakes, hot
Sailing past the Falklands’ version of The Needles
198
199
baths, beds ashore, the use of their washing machines, roast dinners in their homes,
vegetables from their gardens, fresh meat and receiving post. Sure we read about this
camaraderie in OCC hotspots like Maine, but in our four years of cruising we haven’t
experienced this generosity (not having been to Maine), except to a lesser degree
on the west coast of Ireland. We regularly received all of the above hospitality from
the Falkland islanders, but the one which topped it all was from a farmer – when we
mentioned we needed to dry out to clean our hull he offered to bulldoze out a bit more
of the seabed alongside his jetty! Along with all this kindness we had the Falkland
Island waters almost exclusively to ourselves, so we really did feel like we were back
in the pioneering days of our OCC founding members.
On making landfall at Saunders Island on 5 November we underwent a Falklands
initiation with three gales in the first week – the daily weather forecast listed all the
precipitation possibilities of snow, sleet, hail and rain. On the first day we were amused
to hear the ‘Sheep Chill Factor’ read out on the radio with every weather forecast,
but soon we were sympathising with these animals – just substitute the word ‘sailor’
for ‘sheep’. Saunders Island is 150 miles from the check-in at Stanley, but Falkland
Islands Customs and Immigration gave us permission to rest at anchor (as long as we
did not go ashore) at a couple of places as we made our way to Stanley. As it turned
out, it took a week to do the final 150 miles because of the triple gale week, though it
was very fast going when we could sail, being shot downwind on strong westerlies. It
is unfortunate for sailors that Stanley is in the far east of the islands – we tried not to
think about the beat ahead of us to undo the fast downwind sailing.
After the introductory week of gales we were blessed with a gale-free week in the
Chris loaded up with vegetables from a generous farmer
200
Our old and new anchor chains
– a frightening comparison
colourful capital of Stanley, and partook
of the obligatory fish ‘n’ chips and pints
in the pub. In mid November we left
Stanley and cruised the southeast coast,
including Choiseul Sound up to Goose
Green and down to Bleaker Island. We
then sailed back to Stanley, as we had
new anchor chain to pick up (sent down
from a UK supplier, as we couldn’t find good quality chain in South America). This
is a big bonus of the Falklands – it is easy to get equipment sent down on the regular
ship from the UK, the freight cost is very reasonable, it arrives on schedule, and it
won’t be held to ransom by the authorities.
We stayed in Stanley for Christmas Day. It was a cold one with a southerly gale
arriving: it snowed and gave us a white Christmas – not quite what we expected for the
Southern Hemisphere. After Christmas we set off again, but this time on a counterclockwise circuit of the Falklands. We found this route an easier way to beat to the far
west against the westerlies, as much of it can be done in the more sheltered waters of
the north and west coasts of West Falkland, whereas going clockwise involves beating
into the bigger seas off the south coasts of the islands.
After rounding the exposed northeast coast of East Falkland, the archipelago is a
world of intricate coastline with around 200 islands and numerous channels and inlets.
With safe anchorages usually only a few hours apart, we could often take advantage
of sailing in pleasant weather windows. There are extensive kelp forests around the
coastline and in isolated patches off the coast; marking shallow water, reefs and isolated
rocks they are the perfect navigation aids – which is just as well given there are none
in the Falklands outside the military port and the approach to Stanley. The kelp is so
thick that it acts as a
dampener to swell
and waves, and the
best anchorages
always had protection
from nearby kelp
beds. Marvellous
stuff, kelp, just not
something to sail
through as it could
certainly hold a yacht
in its clutches.
Well dug in
anchor at the old
whaling station on
New Island
201
Looking out to Beaver
Island and Weddell
Island from New
Island
We discovered the common perception of the Falklands as being grey and wet is
a myth – they have a low rainfall of 24 inches, and in the summer, especially in the
west, enjoy masses of sunshine. As perverse as it sounds for the Falklands, solar panels
kept our batteries charged during the summer months and the wind generator was
hardly needed. If it weren’t for ‘The Wind’, much of the time it would actually be very
warm or even hot. Average wind speed is 17 knots ... ah yes, 17 knots, force 4–5, the
perfect spanking breeze for great sailing – but the devil is in the word average. Every
time the wind was less than force 4 we couldn’t help thinking: ‘now it’s going to have
to blow force 6–7 (and it would) to keep the average up at 17 knots’. Plymouth, by
comparison, has an average wind speed of 4 knots. We could count on one hand the
number of days we had full sail: nearly every time before setting sail we would ask
ourselves: ‘one reef or two?’ The wind would invariably increase throughout the day,
especially if it was sunny, and so predictably that we called it 2-reef o’clock and 3-reef
o’clock. Often at about 1800 or 1900 it would rapidly decrease again, sometimes even
to an enjoyable calm for an hour or two.
The landscape is treeless, even shrubless, so it is impossible to get out of the wind in
the anchorages. When the shipping forecast states force 6–7 it means 6–7 everywhere
– whether at anchor or 3 miles offshore or, for that matter, 3 miles inland. The aim
when anchoring was to minimise fetch, and the best we could do with Whanake’s 2∙2m
draught and the always-necessary minimum of 30 fathoms of chain was a fetch of just
over one cable (185 metres); a fetch of more than 2½ cables would make sitting out a
gale lively. It was all manageable, but a lifting keel would certainly be a huge benefit
in the Falklands for getting right up the inlets and eliminating fetch.
Force 8 gales were common, with one usually arriving every week. Most are generated
by fast-moving depressions that hit Cape Horn and then go charging across the Southern
Ocean south of the Falklands. They produce gales which start in the north-northwest
and then back to southwest, but are very short-lived, usually blowing hard for only 6–8
hours. Some lows would deflect north, sneaking up between the Patagonian coast and
the Falklands; slower-moving, these would give unpredictable winds from northern and
202
eastern quarters. Gales above force 8 were infrequent, and we experienced only three
severe gales with the wind blowing force 9 for a few hours. Thanks to the Falklands
being in the lee of South America a force 10 storm never came. Between the gales it
was usual to have an unstable westerly airflow generating force 4–7 winds. Thus it is
not storms or even severe gales that fuel the high average wind speed, but rather the
relentless windy conditions between frequent gales. Our wind tolerance threshold
certainly increased, though often it felt as though we were in a gigantic experimental
wind tunnel or transported to an alien world and no longer on planet earth.
We followed Ewen Southby-Tailyour’s excellent cruising guide, Falkland Islands
Shores*, a beautiful book full of hand-drawn chartlets. He made the notes in 1978/79,
but it was not published until 1985 as the 1982 Falklands conflict made it very valuable
information for the British military. It is just as valid 35 years on and full of history
from the conflict as well as earlier voyages in the 19th century. We used his anchorage
recommendations almost exclusively and found them very safe with good holding.
Some anchorages near hills were prone to williwaws – Falkland islanders being sheep
farmers call them ‘woollies’ – but all these places had a ‘woolly’ warning in SouthbyTailyour’s book and we avoided using them in westerly gales.
The only time our anchor dragged was in the harbour at Westpoint Island during a
gale. We had been there for a few days, during which the weather had been fresh with
several wind shifts, so the anchor had probably re-set itself several times and in the
process picked up a lot of kelp. During the gale the drag was silent, probably because
of extensive weed on the seabed, but we did have a close eye on a transit and so
realised what was happening. We shortened up the chain as an immediate measure to
get Whanake away from the now too-close lee shore (the harbour is a small horseshoe
shape), but this of course, dramatically sped up the drag. At that point we upped anchor
fast, found it to be choked with kelp stalks, cleared it and re-anchored – and it held.
This experience made us realise that a good modern anchor – we have a Rocna and
this is our first drag (honest!) in hundreds of times anchoring – is well and good, but
in a dragging situation the sheer weight of a lot of heavy chain lying on the seabed
significantly slows down the drag.
The 19th century sailing ships left behind a trail of their interesting experiences on
the Falklands chart, with names like Stick-in-the-Mud Passage, Cape Terrible, Anxious
Passage, Wreck Islands, Death’s Head, Coffin Island and Grave Cove ... but it can’t
have been all bad as they also left us Hope Harbour (paradoxically where we dragged),
Friend Passage, Port Pleasant and, best of all, Whisky Creek. Our own interesting
experience was in an anchorage on the northeast coast of East Falkland. There was a
heavy southerly swell running from a southerly gale two days earlier and the anchorage
we had planned on using was untenable, so we sailed on to Cow Bay which is eastnortheast facing and situated on coastline running in a northwest–southeast direction.
The wind was a light northwesterly and we thought it would be suitable as a brief, but
rolly, overnight anchorage. At about 2200 in fading light we dropped the anchor – and
a long way out too, in 9m of water, as we could hear breakers on the beach.
* Published by Adlard Coles Nautical in 1985, ISBN 978-0-8517-7341-4. Also
available from the RCC Pilotage Foundation [www.rccpf.org.uk], plus an 85 page
supplement compiled by Pete and Annie Hill in 1996.
203
As we were digging in the anchor we suddenly saw a wall of water beam on to us –
one of those rogue waves that are three times the size of anything else – and this one
was stacking up with the decrease in water depth and starting to spill on the crest.
We could do nothing but let out a quick expletive ... then the wave passed under us
and took Whanake over onto her beam ends. She scooped up a whole lot of water in
her scuppers and then calmly came up to an even keel again – god bless the heavy
girl she is. Needless to say we got the anchor up fast and sailed through the dead of
night to a swell-proof anchorage 25 miles away. We now have ultimate respect for
southerly swell in these southern waters, and appreciate how much it can keep bending
around the coast of East Falkland. It is hard to say how big the wave was, but what I
do know is that I was standing at the helm and looking up at its crest. Cow Bay has
been renamed Engulfer-Wave Bay on our chart.
Apart from all this
exciting sailing, the
Falklands wildlife is
exceptional and we felt
as though we were living
in a David Attenborough
d o c u m e n t a r y. M o s t
species are either curious
or uninterested, so either
way it is possible to get very
close without disturbance.
Lying on the ground will
bring the curious species
to you – this includes the
crazy rockhopper penguin,
Rockhoppers wrangling over a stick
A gentoo penguin poses for the
camera – marvellous feet and the
fastest swimming bird at 16 knots
the ultra-confiding tussock bird, the beautiful
gentoo penguin, and carrion birds coming
to check if you are dead or alive. The other
great thing about the wildlife is that, like the
sailing, you have it all to yourself.
On some of the western islands there are
very large combined rockhopper penguin
and black-browed albatross breeding
colonies – some of them just a short walk
from a safe anchorage. These shared colonies
204
Penguins share a beach with shipwreck remnants and tree trunks from Chile
may be situated on top of a rocky cliff or steep slope up to 600ft high – easy access
for the albatross, but the tiny 14 inch rockhopper has to hop all the way up from the
sea below. First it uses a boiling, surging wave to get itself out of the South Atlantic
and deposited on a rocky
ledge, then it hops up the
rocks aided by its cramponlike feet and using its bill as
a pick. In comparison, the
other species of penguin on
the Falklands – king, gentoo
A rockhopper with its two chicks
– well-fed, but still wanting more
and Magellanic – seem to have a
much more relaxed life ashore and
nest near pleasant sandy beaches
with a relatively short walk (waddle)
across heathland or through coastal
fringes of tussock grass.
A Magellanic penguin outside
its excellent home burrowed
into a tussock plant
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Black-browed albatross chicks – programmed to sit on the nest for five months
In strong winds the albatrosses were a joy to watch on the wing as they banked and
soared – unlike us, they have a relish for gale force winds. Take-off usually involved
simply extending their wings into the wind, but if it was light conditions they would
use a runway and run for a few seconds before take-off – no other way if you’re a bird
weighing in at 8lb (3∙6kg). It was fascinating to watch the bonding rituals of albatross
pairs – complicated displays of head nodding, bowing, bill pointing and fencing,
nibbling and tail fanning. Albatross chicks would neigh excitedly like colts when a
parent turned up, and between feeds of seafood purée they received a lot of attentive
preening from the parent.
A loving pair
of black-browed
albatross
206
The rare bird of prey, the Johnny
rook, was another intriguing bird to
observe. They are naturally curious
about their world and especially
what we bring into it like hats,
unattended backpacks and cameras –
all of which are fair game. Unpegging
laundry hanging up to dry is included
in their bag of tricks. Undoubtedly
they could wreak havoc on a yacht
so fortunately we never saw one land
on Whanake, but we were always
vigilant to tie down everything in
the tender when we went ashore.
The striking black and white
Commerson’s dolphin was another
favourite; often a pod of these small
coastal dolphins would somehow
sense when we were about to sail
and would swim around the boat,
watch the anchor come up, and
then ride along with us, sometimes
for hours. We also became very fond
of the Falkland flightless steamer
duck, which paddle-steams through
A Johnny rook about to land
the water with its stubby wings.
and investigate Chris’s head (it did)
But most impressive of all was the
massively built southern giant petrel, locally known as the ‘the stinker’ due to its
defence mechanism of projectile vomiting. The stinker is a super-powerful flyer and,
with its humped back and habit of skimming over land and sea, it made us wish we
could miniaturise ourselves and hitch a ride on its back. Then again, packs of them
A Johnny rook dares to approach
a southern giant petrel
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are capable of attacking a human in distress in the water – it only takes one look at
their formidable bills to see that to be eaten by sharks would be far preferable to being
pecked to death by frenzied stinkers.
At anchor, a typical wildlife scene could include penguins porpoising past on passage
to and from their rookeries, dolphins investigating the boat, sea lions roaring and making
it sound as though we were on safari, steamer ducks scrutinising why we were on their
patch, giant petrels and albatrosses flying overhead, and visits from small land birds,
including bold tussock birds pecking in the scuppers and peering at us through hatches.
And once, ironically in Whaler Bay, we had a humpback whale circle us at anchor – one
place this whale’s predecessors must have avoided in previous centuries.
The Falklands are unusual in that nearly all the land, including islands, is privately
owned. Most of it is split into very large working farms, some of them – mostly on the
islands – combined with wildlife tourism. Because of this private ownership, permission
to go ashore anywhere outside Stanley has to be sought beforehand by contacting the
landowner – we tried to phone everyone when we were in Stanley, otherwise we asked to
use the phone at the previous farm. Many of these farms are very isolated and, given that
the 1982 invasion is in living memory, islanders may be anxious if they see an unknown
foreign yacht approaching, so it is always best to phone ahead. That said, we found all
the Falkland Islands farmers very welcoming and we had umpteen ‘smokos’ (tea/coffee
breaks) around the farmhouse kitchen table – it was fascinating hearing about life in
Camp in previous decades, including the difficult times during the ’82 conflict.
We also spent a very sociable two weeks around Easter at Fox Bay. This is the biggest
settlement on West Falkland and is comprised of a metropolis of 30 people, a brilliant
social club where all drinks are only £1 and, for us most exciting of all, an actual
shop – so on Easter
Recruiting the next generation of OCC members
Monday we were
– Cleo and Abigail of Fox Bay
able to buy our
first stores since
leaving Stanley on
27 December. Our
time in Fox Bay
coincided with the
six-weekly supply
ship, so we were
also able to get gas
bottle refills.
April brought
the tea berry season
– so named because
whalers made tea
from the leaves
of the plant. The
berries themselves
are sweet and
delicious with
a complexity of
208
It’s a penguin’s life
– another day at the
beach
flavours rivalling
a single malt
scotch whisky –
really astonishing
that something
so good comes
out of such a
windswept land
with its peaty,
acidic soil. These
berries were the
first fresh fruit
we’d eaten since
leaving Argentina
six months
previously, so we spent many trips ashore finding our fruit fix amongst the heath and
grasslands. The whole of the Falklands seemed to go mad for them, judging by the
amount of tea berry talk on Falkland Islands Radio during April ... they certainly beat
forking out over £1 for just one sad banana in Stanley.
Come May and the weather went rather wobbly – nine fronts passed through
in as many days, snowfalls marked the start of winter, and the sheep/sailor chill
factor rocketed up to critical. It almost had us bolting for Stanley to sit out the rest
of the winter, but we hung on long enough to be part of the 21 May Landing Day
commemorations at San Carlos Waters, and then arrived in Stanley just in time for
the Liberation Day celebrations on 14 June – during which the whole town turned
into one big party, a brilliant end to our Falklands cruise.
During our seven months in the Falklands we sailed 1264 miles, anchored in 64 different
places, enjoyed about 30 smokos with the local farmers, and used the engine so little –
total diesel consumption was only 59 litres – that we wondered why we have it. In almost
all the anchorages we used it was possible to sail on and off the anchor (see page 77 for
our tried ‘n’ tested methods.) These statistics demonstrate what an excellent cruising
ground the Falkland Islands are. On the other hand, our cruise did involve enduring
25 or 30 gales (we really did lose count), but all were ridden out safely at anchor, and
the worst impact of all those gales was the repeated shredding of our OCC burgee – it
definitely not being Furious Fifties proof! Whatever your idea of the Falkland Islands
might be, the only way to find out is by first-hand experience – either sailing, travelling
on a small expedition cruise ship, or the fantastic land-based tourism in lodges which
many people say is the holiday of their lifetime. Whatever the way, we say – go there!
(Suzanne and Chris also provided a very useful list of all the places they visited,
together with their lat/long positions, which will be added to the Cruising
Information Service section of the website.)
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OBITUARIES & APPRECIATIONS
Jeremy (Jem) Tetley
Jem always loved sailing, starting on dinghies and one-designs in Cork Harbour in the
late 1940s and often sailing on the famous 12 Metre Flica. University was unaffordable,
so in 1949 he joined the Navy as an aviation cadet. He saw active service in the
Mediterranean and in aircraft carriers all over the world, and served in the helicopter
carrier HMS Theseus as batsman (landing signals officer) during the Suez Crisis. During
service in Mombasa, he and his helicopter squadron were involved in a unique rescue
mission to airlift a herd of tiny hartebeest which were in danger of being hunted to
extinction in the area by Somali tribesmen. He also saw active service in Zanzibar
and Aden. After converting to helicopters, while stationed at RNAS Culdrose in
Cornwall, he sailed as much as the Navy allowed, even cruising across the Channel
to L’Aberwrach in Dolphin, his own elderly motor cruiser.
Jem retired from the Navy in 1964 and then farmed in Cornwall. After sailing with
Jack Simmons Hodge aboard Anne Young and with Philip Fox in Quaker Girl, we
bought Carte Blanche, a Swan 36, in 1971 and competed locally in Falmouth, in the
Solent and in RORC races. Jem qualified for the 1981 Two-handed TransAtlantic
Race – unofficially known as the TwoStar – by competing in the 1979 Azores and Back
Race with Bill Wilkinson, during which Carte Blanche was damaged in Ponta Delgada
harbour by a wayward tug. He re-qualified with John McCormick for the TwoStar in
Force 10 off the Little Sole Bank,
where Carte Blanche was knocked
down but righted herself quickly,
giving Jem enormous confidence
in her. All that was broken was the
whisky! He joined the OCC after
the 1979 AZAB, and then competed
in the 1981 TwoStar, re-rigging the
lower shrouds in mid Atlantic.
We sailed together in the 1983
AZAB – my OCC qualifier – and in
the 1986 Two-Star, the 1991 AZAB
and the 1995 AZAB, winning our
class in the latter despite breaking
the boom halfway out and finishing
in Ponta Delgada under bright
orange trysail, which puzzled the
welcoming Azoreans. Jem’s last
AZAB – with a broken leg – was
in 2007 with Chris Vickery. Chris
The Tetley’s well-travelled
Swan 36, Carte Blanche
210
managed to dislocate his elbow
during the race, and on the return
trip in filthy weather – while going
to the aid of a singlehander who
had dislocated his thumb – Carte
Blanche’s backstay parted. They
nursed her back to Falmouth,
and despite encountering force
7–8 winds off The Lizard reached
home with the mast still standing
after ten more days at sea (see
Flying Fish 2007/2 for the full
story). He was surprised when the
OCC awarded him the Rambler
Medal ‘presumably for geriatric
stupidity’ (his words).
We also cruised extensively in
Brittany, the Caribbean and the
Jem in gardening mode
Greek Islands, and attended all the
Swan Regattas in Cowes and Guernsey, inevitably winning the Vintage Swan Award
as Carte Blanche is ‘Swan 003’ and the oldest still in commission. All our children and
grandchildren learned to sail aboard her, often forming the crew for such events. All
this had to be fitted in between farming, serving on the Royal Cornwall Agricultural
Association, as High Sheriff in 1976, as a Deputy Lieutenant from 1977 and on the
RNLI Management Committee and as a Vice President.
Jem was preparing Carte Blanche for the 2013 Swan Regatta when he was killed in
a traffic accident in July this year.
Mor Tetley
David Nicholson
David Nicholson died peacefully on 4 October 2013. He was born in Cork in 1933 and
spent his boyhood summers day-fishing out of Kinsale with his father and younger brother.
So began a lifelong love for the sea and boats and all the magic that goes with them.
After school and Trinity College Dublin, David joined the family wine business
and, with his characteristic energy, flair and imagination, developed a substantial
and successful business with, importantly, good people to look after matters as and
when necessary.
He married Joan Brewitt in 1958, and she shared his love of sailing and the sea through
all their years and many adventures. In 1962 they started racing in Enterprise dinghies,
moving on later to a Flying Fifteen and a Dragon. David was Commodore of Kinsale
Yacht Club from 1969 to 1971 and campaigned the Dragon Pancho during this time.
With their four children growing up cruising called, and Crescendo, a 30ft Ballad was
bought in 1972 and the family cruised her around the southwest of Ireland and Brittany.
211
David at the wheel of
Mollihawk’s
Shadow
David’s
thoughts
inevitably
turned to
a broader
canvas and
in 1978 he
and Joan
bought a Contessa 35,
Black Shadow,
a very powerful cruiser/racer. With
Black Shadow
he completed a 13,000 mile Atlantic circuit over three
years, starting
in 1979. Thirty years on, he followed in the wake of his cousin Commander Vernon
Nicholson to English Harbour, Antigua to be greeted by his cousins there – a special
moment for him. After many miles around the Caribbean and the east coast of America
he returned in 1982 from Newport, RI to Cork. Two days out they suffered several
knockdowns, lying a-hull for 24 hours in a violent storm.
This period reveals much about David. His planning was meticulous, the boat strong
and well-found, and crew selection assured harmony and gaiety, as well as complementary
skills. His job was to keep the fun going, but he dealt calmly and competently with any
problems that arose, be they technical, bureaucratic or weather. Ultimately, for him,
it was all about friendship and companionship, and how relationships sparked and
developed in new surroundings and varied (sometimes stressful) circumstances – he
would not have been a happy singlehander! He was by nature very independent, but
he also found within himself deep physical and mental resources, which served him
well and inspired great confidence and loyalty in his crew.
David became a member of the OCC in 1983. He enjoyed greatly meeting other
members, and had a talent for forming lasting friendships out of casual meetings with
kindred spirits. Black Shadow came to a heartbreaking end in 1990, when she was lost on
a reef in an anchorage in Corfu while on loan to friends. Typically, David’s reaction was
only fervent thankfulness that none of the young family on board had come to harm.
He bought White Shadow, an Oyster Heritage 37, in 1991 and set off on his second
Atlantic circuit the following year, joining the Columbus 500 Rally from Huelva in Spain
to San Salvador in the Bahamas. He made many friends during the Rally, and afterwards
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went on from the Bahamas to Antigua, before cruising down to Venezuela, back north
to Cuba, and on to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Life at this time was hectic, as he had been
elected Commodore of the Irish Cruising Club in early 1993, serving until 1996 with
great grace and unfailing good humour. In 1997 the Mediterranean beckoned again, and
over the next ten years David and Joan cruised there and around the Iberian peninsula,
with a great variety of crew, before bringing White Shadow back to Ireland to be sold.
David next went into partnership with his son Eddie, also an OCC member, in
Mollihawk’s Shadow, a Najad 440, which Eddie sailed on the 2008 ARC to St Lucia.
Over the next three years David and Joan enjoyed fine cruising in the Caribbean and
in New England. They also chartered in Vancouver Island to participate, with Flor
Long, OCC, and Alan Rountree, OCC, and their wives, in the 2008 OCC Rally in
Desolation Sound, British Columbia, an event which they enjoyed greatly.
David introduced many people to cruising and made great efforts to ensure that the
experience was enjoyable and fulfilling. Invariably, with David, it was. Our deepest
sympathies are with Joan, Anna, Eddie, Christine, Lorrayne and David and Joan’s
nine grandchildren.
Leo Conway
Bernard Moynihan Holland
My father was born on 12 April 1929 in Wolverhampton, and died on 9 December
2012 aboard Planesong in Hong Kong. His love for flying and sailing, his time for people
and his boundless enthusiasm are remembered all across the globe.
When he was six he wrote a poem: ‘I want to be a sailor, to sail upon the sea, in a boat
with an anchor, as happy as can be’, and by the age of 12 had decided he wanted to join
the Navy. He built a canvas-covered wooden canoe while still at school, and joined
up at 17. He trained on destroyers,
light fleet carriers and submarines,
visiting Scotland, France, Gibraltar,
Greece and Tunis by sea. He married
Mary Ball during shore leave in April
1951, and was disappointed to end
his ship’s engineering career when
he was ‘volunteered’ to join the Fleet
Air Arm. I was born in March 1952
during his flying training, but he
could not visit my mother because
the engine of his 1931 Austin 7 was
in pieces under his bed!
To fulfil his nautical ambitions they
purchased Petrina, a lovely old 50ft
Planesong, Bernard’s
40ft junk-rigged schooner
213
Bernard aboard Planesong
in Hong Kong
ex-RN harbour launch built
in 1915. Then the challenge of
moving a young family by boat
to various UK coastal postings
began, along with that of
losing friends as a result of low
level flying training over the
North Sea. The first voyage
with the family from Scotland
to Ireland started badly, with a
storm so violent that the roof
was blown off the aerodrome
building. And so 1953 was
spent training in Londonderry,
Northern Ireland, and at sea
going to Scotland, Norway,
Denmark, Gibraltar and
Malta, with the family flying
out. My sisters were born while
we all lived aboard Petrina,
Judith in 1955 and Catherine
in 1959. Moored in Scotland
in 1957 a storm holed the boat
and the family rowed ashore.
Pre-shipwreck family books
still have wavy pages! It was not until after my brother Crispin was born in 1962 that
my mother finally succeeded in moving the family on to dry land.
Postings were mostly around the UK, but in 1965 my father joined HMS Bulwark
flying Wessex helicopters operating in the Borneo jungle insurgency. On leaving the
Navy in 1968 he became a commercial pilot. He joined Gulf Air in 1974 and flew
the Tristar until he retired. His fellow captain Tony Gover recalls that he was flying
a Short Skyvan into Heathrow and the control tower radar operator positioned him
too close behind a jumbo jet. The wing tip vortices rolled the Skyvan more than
90°. When asked how he recovered he said: ‘I kept the roll going and pushed the
stick forward while I was upside down to reduce the rate of descent, stopping the
roll when the wings were approaching level!’ Only a very cool test pilot would have
had the presence of mind to do that. When asked whether he’d flown Concorde he
answered ‘no’, but wrote out a list of 77 aircraft, including hovercraft and helicopters,
that he had flown. This included flying as test pilot for the Blackburn Buccaneer, and
delivering the FD-2, precursor to Concorde.
By the time my father retired in 1989 at the age of 60 he had almost completed the
40ft junk-rigged Planesong, in which he planned to sail around the world. She was
based on Joshua Slocum’s Spray, in which another old captain had circumnavigated
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from April 1895 to June 1898. After sea trials Planesong sailed from Totnes, England
in August 1991, eventually reaching Hong Kong – which was to become his long-term
home, via North Africa, the Suez Canal, India, Indonesia, Australia, New Zealand
and Papua New Guinea.
Jonathan Holland
John Garey
Enthusiastic, humorous, hospitable, strong, brave, bon viveur and true gentleman....
In the letters I received after John’s death in March, these were the words repeated so
often to describe his personality, to which I would add ‘a natural seaman’.
Conventional he never was. He was born in 1937 in Bedford, which is probably
further from the sea than anywhere else in England. Nevertheless, when he was called
up for National Service in 1956 he chose the navy and, out of dare-devilry, volunteered
for the submarine branch. In 1960 he joined William Brandts Timber, a timber agency
house representing overseas producers in the UK market. He was immediately sent out
to Finland to learn the language from scratch and work in sawmills. Finnish, in which
he became fluent, and French, he supplemented with Russian and later Spanish. He
stayed at Brandts for thirty years, travelling widely in Finland, Chile, Canada and the
Middle East, including Saudi Arabia. Appointed director of the Russian department,
he made regular trips to the USSR, often to places like Archangel and Onega that
were then off-limits to foreigners (prompting speculation that he might be more than
a ‘timber’ agent!). Somehow he managed to juggle this career with bringing up two
daughters, of whom he had custody following divorce from his first wife. To his second
wife, he proposed on bended knee by asking if I would sail round the world with him!
At the age of 53, he took early retirement to do exactly that.
Our boat was a Nicholson 35, which we renamed Subtle after the submarine in which
John had served. We left the Beaulieu River in Hampshire in September 1990 and
returned five years and one significant week later. Our voyage started in the standard
John at the wheel of Subtle
in the Beaulieu River
215
Slow progress in a pacific Pacific
way with an Atlantic crossing to
the Caribbean and then up the
East Coast of the USA. Here, we
departed from the usual route by
sailing into New York and went on
to the Great Lakes, before trucking
Subtle over the Rockies to Seattle.
After California and Mexico,
John announced the second major
diversion – going south and east
to Chile. It was to be our favourite
country and we spent nearly a year
there before heading north to Costa
Rica, the Galápagos and across the
Pacific to the Marquesas. We were
westbound again, back on the Milk
Run, although with a third detour
after Sri Lanka to India and Oman.
Finally we sailed up the Red Sea,
through the Mediterranean and
round into the Bay of Biscay –
where the worst storm of the entire
circumnavigation delayed us for
that extra week – and home to the
Beaulieu River.
We had become members of the OCC while in the States, and subsequently made
many friends thanks to the Flying Fish burgee. On our return, we moved from London
to a village in the beautiful Cranborne Chase near Salisbury, Wiltshire. John was soon
elected to the parish council, progressing to chairman, as well as becoming a guide
in Salisbury Cathedral, but we fitted in trips on Subtle to the Isles of Scilly, (where
we revised the RCC Pilotage Foundation guide), the Canaries and Morocco. John
also became advertising manager for Flying Fish and took great pride in his success at
attracting clients to its pages.
The adventure continued when we decided that, much as we loved England, it would
be fun to live in France. In 2001 we settled in a hamlet in the foothills of the eastern
Pyrenees. True to form, John quickly took on the role of organising a major event
in the calendar, the annual fête. Subtle was kept over the Spanish border at L’Escala
on the Costa Brava, but we found Mediterranean sailing less appealing than we had
hoped and reluctantly decided to sell her – there was so much else to do in our new
life abroad. John was ‘action man’ and cycling, riding his motorbike and climbing
Mount Canigou were all on the agenda. We both enjoyed skiing, and walking was
a particular pleasure, combining his knowledge of birds and skills as a photographer
with my interest in plants. He was a great reader and a keen cook of spicy Indian food,
chutneys and pickles.
216
In 2007 we relocated to the small town of Céret. We relished the novelty of having
fresh croissants for breakfast, which John would fetch on his bicycle, as well as another
activity, swimming, after the installation of a pool in the garden. Two years later he was
diagnosed with cancer but, despite the chemo and the operations, his determination
enabled us to go on living almost as normal. He liked to boast that his hair had grown
back thicker and darker after the treatment, which was typical of his positive attitude –
and true! At John’s funeral, conducted by the resident Catholic priest and an Anglican
vicar, the church was packed with an international congregation – family, friends and
neighbours, local shopkeepers and tradesmen. It was a fitting farewell to such a vibrant,
cosmopolitan and warm-hearted man.
Fay Garey
As editor, I would like to add my personal thanks to John who, together with Fay,
joined my proof-reading team well over ten years ago and never missed an issue.
They were the perfect combination – I knew that I could always rely on John for
technically correct advice, allied to Fay’s impeccable spelling and grammar. Sadly they
were unable to attend the Annual Dinner in March 2011 when the entire Editorial
Sub-Committee were awarded the David Wallis Trophy for the ‘most outstanding or
valuable contribution to Flying Fish’, but ‘outstanding and valuable’ certainly sums up
John’s input over the years.
Anne Hammick
Myles Bowen
Myles Bowen, who died on 16 June 2013, had been
a member of the OCC since 1994.
His love of sailing sprang from his first craft, built
from oil drums, a broomstick and old sheets for sails,
and navigated in erratic circles around the duck pond
on the family farm in Kent. After school and Oxford
– where to everyone’s amazement he gained a First in
geology – he went up to Edinburgh where he gained
his Ph.D, before joining Shell and being despatched
abroad. There he acquired a miscellany of boats in
the various countries in which he ended up. One
particularly notable vessel was a large native canoe
which he converted with two masts, a centreboard,
a cockpit and a large decked area. This was used to
sail on the Benue River in Nigeria to the fury of the
local fisherman who, although they were paddling
Myles Bowen
like fury, were left miles behind by this weird sailing
boat. This was followed in Venezuela by a dayboat into which the family piled at
weekends for wonderful sailing off the country’s north coast. Other boats followed in
various locations, and over the years he ended up owning a wide variety.
217
Myles aboard Safar
Myles was an exploration geologist with an uncanny knack for finding large oil
and gas deposits around the world. His tally for the North Sea alone amounted to
approximately 7∙5 billion barrels, including the legendary Brent field, and it was at his
suggestion that Shell named its discoveries after seabirds – Auk, Brent, Cormorant,
Dunlin, Fulmar, Tern and Penguin. His exploration work with Shell took him around
the world, from Borneo, where he recorded the first ascent of the perilous east face
of Mt Kinabalu in the Malaysian archipelago (mountaineering was his early passion)
through Nigeria and Venezuela to Italy and, finally, Holland. He was appointed OBE in
1977, and received the Outstanding Achievement Medal of the Geological Society in
1992 and the American Association of Petroleum Geologists’ Pioneer award in 2011.
On his return to the UK – where he had a mooring at Bosham in Chichester harbour
– Myles owned first a Hurley 30, then a Freedom 40, Bigamy. It was with the latter
that he made his first transatlantic passage, from North Carolina (where he had gone
to buy her in 1990), to Falmouth, UK, his qualifying passage for the OCC.
The family moved to Devon following his retirement in 1992, and shortly after that he
sold the Freedom and bought his favourite boat, Safar, a Saltram Saga built in Plymouth,
which he kept in the Mountbatten Marina in that city. It was with her that he sailed and
cruised most European waterways with his family, competed in several Yachting Monthly
Triangle Races, and entered an AZAB with his eldest daughter, Belinda. His final boat
was a little Norfolk Gypsy which he bought when he was 81. With her he pottered,
usually singlehanded, around the south Devon and Cornish harbours and estuaries until
shortly before his death. He shared his extraordinary tales of derring-do with all who
sailed with him and two of his ‘Confessions’ in Yachting Monthly were illustrated by Mike
Peyton cartoons. His last long voyage – as a fully working member of the team/crew –
was to accompany me from Barbados to Barcelona when he was 78.
In 1961 he married Margaret Guthrie, who survives him together with their three
daughters, Belinda, Joanna and Jennifer. His enthusiasm for life was the abiding
characteristic of this remarkable man.
Graham Ritchie
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Christopher Coham
Chris was born in Southampton, England in 1940 and his passion for boats and
competing on the water started at an early age. As a teenager he competed in interclub races in two dinghies that he built, the first a GP14 and then later in his 16ft
Hornet. In his twenties he built his third and final vessel, a Bass fishing boat, and it
was while fishing from it in Poole Harbour that he rescued three people after their
dinghy capsized, an incident reported in the local press.
After leaving King Edward V1 Grammar School in Southampton, Chris joined the
Thornycroft & Co Ltd shipyard and started a five-year apprenticeship – at this time
the favoured route if Chris was to fulfil his ambition of going to sea as a ship’s engineer.
Nevertheless, after completing his apprenticeship he decided to pursue a career in
the electricity supply industry and make sailing his hobby. He therefore joined the
Central Electricity Generating Board in the 1960s, and remained with the company
until he retired in 1992. He continued his studies while working for the CEGB, and
later became a chartered engineer. All these skills were to prove invaluable when Chris
progressed from dinghy sailing to cruising further afield.
Chris and his first wife, Pam, cruised Denmark, Holland, France and northern
Spain in their Westerly Fulmar Fearless, but sadly their sailing activities were cut short
when Pam died in 1995. Chris had become an RYA Shorebased Instructor, teaching
shorebased courses in navigation and seamanship at Christchurch adult evening
classes, and it was here that I became one of his pupils. During this period he also took
part in some double-handed races. In 1994 Chris and his friend David Brett competed
in the Yachting Monthly
Triangle Race, where
Chris just before the start of the
they gained a 2nd in
1999 ARC
class and 5th overall. In
1996 Chris decided to
enter the Triangle Race
again, this time with
his old school friend
Roy Dowman, gaining
a 1st in class and 2nd
overall. Flushed with this
success Chris signed up
for the 1997 BrixhamSantandar Two-handed
Race, again with David,
achieving a 1st in class
and 2nd overall, which
pleased Chris immensely.
He was only to race a
few more times as his
attention was now focused on long distance cruising, but even when cruising it must
be said that Chris could never resist trimming the sails to overtake another boat!
Following our marriage, Chris and I crossed the Atlantic three times in Fearless of
Lymington, a Contest 44. Our first crossing, in 1999, was to St Lucia with the ARC,
219
after which we spent two years cruising first around the Caribbean islands, then the
Bahamas and finally up and down the East Coast of the States. We returned to the
UK in 2001 and the following summer sailed up to the Baltic. In 2004 we decided to
head south again, this time crossing from the Cape Verde islands to northeast Brazil.
We were away for four years, cruising south along the coasts of Brazil, Uruguay and
Argentina, and Buenos Aires became our home port for eighteen months while we
explored South America overland.
In addition to being a member of the OCC – he cited his 1999 passage from the
Canaries to St Lucia as his qualifying voyage – Chris belonged to both the Royal
Southampton and the Royal Lymington Yacht Clubs.
He became ill with myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS) in April 2011, and fought
this blood disease bravely for fifteen months. He will always be remembered for his
ability to create laughter, his willingness to share his expertise with his friends, and
as a wonderful husband.
Angie Coham
Michael (Mick) Field
Mick Field was born in 1947 and passed away in June 2013 at Glenfield Hospital, near
Leicester. He died from asbestosis, which he must have contracted many years before
while working in the construction industry at a time when the dangers of asbestos
were not known. He became aware of the problem a few years ago, and decided to sell
his beloved Bavaria 36 Palm Breeze which he had been keeping in Lagos, Portugal,
mixing his taxi driving in Rushden during the winter with sailing Palm Breeze around
the Mediterranean and North Africa in the summer.
Mick was born in London’s East End and from the age of 11 to 15 lived in a children’s
Mick aboard
Palm Breeze
220
home, which he found very tough but which made him determined to gain skills to
get him going in life. Soon after meeting Janice they moved to Rushden, where they
married and he started work as a steel fixer and their three children Angela, Paul
and Mark were born. Mick fell ill with hepatitis at the age of 30 and it became a
turning point in his career – after overcoming its worst effects he started doing some
taxi driving for a local firm, which he later took over and built into a very successful
business. After devoting many years to ensuring that he gave his children the best
upbringing he could, his love for sailing began when he went on a flotilla holiday in
Greece with his wife and youngest child and managed, much to his own surprise, to
win the end-of-flotilla race. He was so excited by this feat that he bought himself a
Dehler 29 and raced it on Rutland Water. The stories of his initial attempts at racing
without any formal training are legendary at the local yacht club!
After some years of giving people a good laugh (and being helped by the locals)
Mick managed to start winning races. At the same time he built his own house, while
continuing to build up a thriving taxi business which he sold many years later to buy
a share in his first ocean-going boat, a Maxi 900. This he sailed out of Waldringfield
on the River Deben to Holland, Belgium and France. After his marriage broke down
Mick downsized to a smaller house to buy Palm Breeze. She was his home from home
and he spent the best part of ten years splitting his time between driving the taxi in
the UK and sailing out of Lagos.
Mick continued to gain seagoing experience by sailing with others, including the
1988 passage he made with me in my Westerly Storm 33 Entre Nous from the Hamble to
San Sebástian. We returned to Plymouth in the Armada Cup Race, competing against
some Royal Navy Nicholson 55s crewed, in one case, by eleven admirals and retired
admirals including Sandy Woodward, Commodore of the Falklands invasion fleet. In
order to qualify for the OCC – after being an associate member for 10 years! – Mick
sailed with friends from the Canaries to Rodney Bay, St Lucia on the 2003 ARC.
It was through his taxi driving that Mick met his new partner, Janet, who enjoyed
being with him in the Algarve (though not the sailing!) and then nursed him
throughout his illness. We will miss Mick for his energy, for his wonderful, wicked
sense of humour, and for his determination to always try any new challenges which
came his way.
Erik Vischer, with help from Mick’s family
Robert (Bob) Dwight Nostrand
Robert Dwight Nostrand, or ‘Bob’ as everyone referred to him as, was born on 27 May
1929 in Mineola, New York. He grew up on Long Island and started sailing as a young
man in small boats in Bay Shore, New York State.
Bob, my husband, died on 9 February 2013 after a brief illness. He was 84 years old
and still young at heart. As well as his beloved wife of 57 years, he is also survived by
his loving son David Dwight Nostrand and cherished grandson Stephen Nostrand.
He was predeceased by a daughter Carolyn Vida Nostrand.
221
Bob and Vida Nostrand
As a graduate of the Cornell School of Architecture he ran a successful architectural
practice on Long Island designing banks, homes and landmark structures at the
Pinelawn Memorial Park. Bob’s first designing job had been to design a new building
for the First National Bank of Farmingdale, a bank his two grandfathers had started.
While in progress, a contractor saw and was impressed by his drawings, which led to his
designing numerous other banks on Long Island and in other parts of the United States.
Bob and I bought our first boat, a Cal 36, in 1976 and sailed her until 1993 when we
purchased Windsong II, a Bermuda 40. For the next twenty years we enjoyed spending
our summers aboard, sailing her through the waters of Nova Scotia and Newfoundland.
We were extremely well-known in all those harbours, and will be missed. Windsong II
has been shipped back to the States and is currently listed for sale.
Bob and I joined the OCC as Associate Members in 2004. The OCC was near
and dear to Bob’s heart, and his last ‘drive’ was to attend an OCC event in Noank,
Connecticut. Travel was an important part of Bob’s life and he and I enjoyed many
adventures together. Our most recent, and perhaps our favourite, was a National
Geographic cruise through the Baltic Sea to visit Russia, Finland, the Åland Islands,
Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia.
Bob was a gentle soul and had a wonderful sense of humour – laughter always took a
big part of time spent with him. He was loved and greatly respected by all who knew him.
Vida Nostrand
222
Lisa Bidwell
Lisa died on 6 April 2013, a year after her incurable cancer had been diagnosed. She is
survived by her loving husband Miles, for whom she was best friend, lover, companion,
business partner and co-captain for 40,000 miles of sailing.
Lisa began sailing as an infant aboard her family’s King Cruiser. She continued to
sail, and in 1987 we met on a sailboat in Oyster Bay, New York. She was a graduate of
Bradford College and the New School for Social Research, from which she received
her master’s degree in Non-Profit Management. For many years she was Director of
Development at the Lenox Hill Neighborhood House in New York City. In 1995
we founded an economics consulting firm, which we managed together until the
summer of 2012.
In 1998 we picked up
our new 52ft Amel Super
Maramu Ladybug in La
Rochelle, France, and
sailed her back to the East
Coast of the USA. The
passage followed an El
Niño year and the weather
gods were not in our favour.
We suffered poor weather
in the Bay of Biscay, then
visited Madeira and the
Canaries where we waited
for trade winds which
never materialised. So we
sailed very slowly down the
coast of Africa, then west
towards Barbados where
we headed northward
again and the breeze died
completely. It was the year
of the slowest Bermuda
race on record, and as a
result of lucky timing we
stopped off in Bermuda
just in time to join in the
race parties.
In 2001 we joined a New
Lisa Bidwell in her garden
York Yacht Club Cruise-inCompany from Newport, Rhode Island to Cowes, England with our beloved Maine
Coon cat, Craig, as our only crew. All seven boats finished the passage to Cowes,
Ladybug completing it in 17 days, only one day slower than the fully-crewed racing
boat that led the group. This time there was no lack of wind and Ladybug turned in
two days of more than 200 miles per day. At Cowes, Lisa and I (Craig was required to
stay below-decks in British waters) enjoyed watching the beautiful classic boats race,
223
and then followed them into the Mediterranean for the rest of the races. This trip
included stops in Sardinia, Monaco, Cannes and St Tropez before we settled into Port
Grimaud on the south coast of France. This is a small canal village, built where there
used to be just sand dunes and marsh, and Ladybug had a berth one block from the
village centre. We lived in Port Grimaud with Craig for the next seven years, during
which we had a long-term business assignment designing electricity markets and took
occasional winter breaks for skiing.
In 2008 we sailed Ladybug back across the Atlantic, crossing from the Canaries to St
Lucia. Having spent years in France, we found ourselves drawn to the French islands
of Martinique and Guadeloupe where we continued to enjoy the ambience, eat well
and serve rabbit cat food to Craig. From there we returned to New England and settled
in Newport, RI in a home within walking distance of the harbour.
Lisa joined the OCC in 2010 (I had become a member some years earlier) and we
were soon asked to serve together as joint Port Officers for Newport, Rhode Island. In
December 2012 we organised a very successful winter rally at the International Yacht
Restoration School, an excellent party and a tribute to Lisa’s organisational and social
skills. Before she died, Lisa had begun organising our next Newport Rally, scheduled
for December 2013, an event at which she will be honoured and fondly remembered.
On both sides of the Atlantic, Lisa will be greatly missed by all who knew and
loved her.
Miles Bidwell
Jeffrey Allison
Jeffrey Allison was born in 1938 in Shildon, County Durham, studied mining
engineering at Nottingham University and eventually ran quarrying businesses in
County Durham and North Yorkshire. As a young man he became a keen Alpine
climber and made several first British ascents, turning to sailing only much later in
life as a ‘less risky’ hobby. On his first offshore passage, on a friend’s boat out to St
Kilda, he began to feel nervous as soon as the Scottish coastline was out of sight, but
within a few years was crossing the major oceans and completing a circumnavigation.
When Jeffrey sailed out of Hartlepool on 13 June 2011, few people knew he was
planning to go round the top of the world. At each stage of the voyage he would say
“I’m just off to Canada”, until it became obvious to all what he was doing. “You don’t
want to tell too many people in case they go off and do it first,” he said later.
Jeffrey, who died in June 2013 at the age of 75, became the first person ever to sail
the North West and North East Passages in one season in a yacht, slipping through as
soon as the Polar ice had melted and escaping just before it closed in again. For most
of the 10,300 miles his sole crewmember was Australian Katharine Brownlie, without
whose help and endurance the voyage would not have been possible – as her captain
acknowledged. Eshamy, his 52ft Amel Mango ketch, was just about manageable by
two people but the strain of maintaining watches day and night through fog, snow,
storms and ice flows was often exhausting and stressful.
Their voyage took them from the Orkneys up to Greenland, along the north coasts
224
Jeffrey aboard Eshamy
of Canada and Alaska, around the top of Russia, then to Norway and back to Britain
again, and took five months. While picking their way through the maze of islands
north of Canada – which for so long defeated early sailors looking for the North West
Passage – Eshamy developed a serious leak. After hours of pumping and searching,
the boat was dry again with no apparent cause for the flood. Jeffrey and Katharine
searched again and again but found nothing, sailing on in the knowledge that what
had happened once could happen again. It didn’t, and Jeffrey’s conclusion was that ice
had jammed in the propeller shaft and, once that had melted, the problem solved itself.
Jeffrey knew what could happen when things went wrong. In 2007 he was rescued
– unwillingly – from his Bowman 49 ketch Luck Dragon during a storm off the coast
of Alaska. In typical fashion, he said, “If I’d stayed on board I could have ridden it
out”. He was probably right. Weeks later Luck Dragon was spotted on a remote beach
and, after a tortuous journey to reach her, Jeffrey found her more or less intact, though
sadly she could not be saved.
On the 2011 voyage, during the long and often dismal stretch along the Siberian
coast, Jeffrey and Katharine sailed knowing that any problem which forced them to
land would lead to Jeffrey’s arrest. Not only that, but he was sure Eshamy would be
seized by Mafia gangsters, which worried him more. On a previous voyage he had been
arrested by the Russian authorities for sailing within the 12 mile limit because of the
ice, and kept under ‘boat arrest’ in harbour for two weeks until they decided to let him
go. They banished him from their waters for five years and he did not have permission
for this latest adventure. After weeks without stopping, fresh food stocks and diesel
were running low, and although Jeffrey rationed engine use, by the time they reached
northern Norway no fuel remained. Later on, bad weather ensured that the final leg
to Hartlepool took many weeks.
225
During Jeffrey’s voyage
through the North West and
North East Passages, his wife
Prue was at home charting his
progress – using both satellite
tracking and her large Times
Atlas. “He said that when he
reached the northwest tip of
Alaska he debated whether
to keep heading west to the
point of no return or to turn
south and the relative safety
of the Pacific. But I think he
always planned to keep going,
there was never any question
that he wouldn’t. He was so
brave and determined, one of
life’s adventurers”.
After the initial euphoria
of completing the voyage,
Jeffrey found he could not
recover his previous energy
and was diagnosed with
kidney problems from which
Jeffrey working up the mast
he died just over two years
after setting out. He leaves six children and 15 grandchildren. He was correcting
the final proof of his book when he died, and had chosen this quote from TS Eliot
for the beginning: ‘Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how
far one can go’.
Caroline Brannigan
A Fisherman’s Prayer
I pray that I may live to fish
Until my dying day.
And when it comes to my last cast,
Then I most humbly pray:
When in the Lord’s great landing net
And peacefully asleep
That in his mercy I be judged
Big enough to keep.
226
ADVERTISERS IN FLYING FISH
Adlard Coles Nautical (nautical almanacs, books and guides) .............................. 165
Admiral (yacht insurance) .............................................................. inside front cover
Allspars (marine and architectural rigging) .............................................................. 6
Ampair (wind and water generators) ....................................................................... 49
Astilleros Lagos (full service boatyard in NW Spain)............................................ 156
Berthon International (international yacht brokers)............................................... 41
Beta Marine (marine diesel engines and generators) ............................................... 30
Bruntons Propellers (feathering propellers for sailing yachts) ............................... 106
Coppercoat (Aquarius Coatings – 10 year lifespan antifouling).............................. 67
Fuel Cell Systems (supliers of fuel cell technology for yachts) .............................. 180
Furneaux Riddall (Spectra Watermakers – desalinators for cruising yachts)......... 187
Greenham Regis (marine electronics – sales, installation and service) ................. 155
Hydrovane Self Steering Inc (wind vane self-steering systems) .............................. 42
Imray Laurie Norie & Wilson (charts and cruising guides) ................................... 130
Integro (yacht insurance) ................................................................. inside front cover
LeeSan (world class marine sanitation specialists) .................................................. 78
MailASail (satellite communications) ................................................................... 116
Mid Atlantic Yacht Services (services & chandlery for yachts in the Azores) ......... 5
Multihull World (specialist multihull broker) ......................................................... 98
Nestaway Boats (nesting, sectional and folding boats) ........................................... 20
Noonsite (World Cruising Club – blue water cruisers’ information site) .............. 129
Parasailor (innovative downwind sail for long distance cruisers) .......................... 105
Rodriguez Yacht Brokerage (yacht brokers) ............................................................. 84
Sailfish Marine (watermakers and marine generators) ......................................... 149
Sailing Rallies (sailing rallies to the Baltic and Caribbean) ................................... 58
Sanders Sails (sailmakers)....................................................................................... 197
Scanmar International (wind vane self-steering systems)........................................ 76
Sevenstar Yacht Transport (yacht transport by sea) .........................inside back cover
Ship to Shore (mail holding service for cruisers while away) .................................. 29
Sillette Sonic (marine propulsion specialists) .......................................................... 85
The Arran Malt (malt whisky distillers) ................................................................ 175
Tilley Endurables (hats – keep the sun at bay) ........................................................ 48
Topsail Insurance (yacht and travel insurance specialist) ..............outside back cover
Wayfarer Marine Corporation (refit and repair boatyard in Maine) ..................... 136
Yellowbrick Tracking (yacht position reporting and recording) ........................... 176
Please support advertisers by giving consideration to their products or services,
and mention the OCC and Flying Fish when replying to advertisements. Details of
advertising rates and deadlines will be found overleaf.
227
ADVERTISEMENTS
RATES:
Advertising is sold on a two consecutive issues basis
Inside pages
Full page colour ...................£280 (for two issues)
Half page colour...................£170 (for two issues)
Cover pages
Inside front cover colour ................ £525 (for two issues)
Inside back cover colour ................ £525 (for two issues)
Outside back cover colour.............. £840 (for two issues)
A 10% discount is available to OCC members
COPY:
Copy should be supplied as a high res PDF, JPEG or EPS file, at a resolution
of 300 dpi (118 dpcm) at finished size. If at all possible please accompany
this large file with a low res PDF which can be used for tracking purposes.
Full page : 180 x 120mm (type area); 214 x 145mm (including 2mm bleed area)
Half page : 85 x 120mm (type area); 107 x 145mm (including 2mm bleed area)
Alternatively, copy can be typeset by our printers,
but additional costs may be passed on to the advertiser
DEADLINES:
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Space may not permit all advertisements to be accepted, but please try!
Latest dates by which orders must be received are:
14 February 2014 for Flying Fish 2014/1
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ENQUIRIES AND ORDERS TO:
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24 Albany Mansions, Albert Bridge Road, London SW11 4PG
Tel: 020 7801 0599 Mobile: 07887 512312
e-mail: [email protected]
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Tel: (01986) 892913, Fax: (01986) 896600, e-mail [email protected]
228
Y a c h t
T r a n s p o r t
Our Asia
Sailing
Schedule
From Asia to the USA – Golfito, Costa Rica and Palm Beach, FL USA in 2014 and 2015
Singapore & Hong Kong
i s
From Asia to the Med – to Marmaris Turkey and optional Genoa, Italy in 2014 and 2015
Singapore & Phuket Thailand & Male Maldives
March 05/20, April 05/20, May 05/20
April 05/25, June 05/25
Singapore & Indonesia Agencies
Phone +65 97461202
[email protected]
Thailand Agencies
Phone +66 862744238
229
[email protected]
a r t
Sevenstar Yacht Transport
Head Office
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Phone +31 204488590
[email protected]
www.sevenstar-yacht-transport.com
a n
New! Intra Asia in 2014 and 2015
Phuket Thailand, Singapore, Hong Kong, Tianjin China (optional) & Pusan Korea April 01/20
Pusan Korea, Tianjin China (optional), Hong Kong, Singapore, Phuket Thailand October 01/20
www.topsailinsurance.com
+44 (0) 1273 57 37 27
We’re heading
where you’re
heading.
10% OCC members discount on
travel and vessel policies.
3