ACROSS THE ATLANTIC IN THE ARC EUROPE RALLY 2007

Lisa Borre and David Barker

In 2007 we crossed the Atlantic in Gyatso, our 1985 Tayana 37 cutter, as participants in the ARC Europe Rally, organised by the World Cruising Club. Although we were a bit reluctant to write up another Atlantic passage for Flying Fish, we noticed a comment in an OCC publication that many cruisers now choose to join a rally for their first ocean crossing. We thought that perhaps there might be some interest in our OCC qualifying voyage – a double-handed west-to-east Atlantic crossing, in an organised rally following a classic route from the Caribbean to Europe. This was the second of two positive experiences we have had with long distance rallies. Our first was with the Caribbean 1500, from our home waters of the Chesapeake Bay to the Caribbean in 2006. Both events helped us to build confidence, and we really enjoyed making the passages in the company of other boats.

We purchased Gyatso and moved aboard in October 2005, after having exhausted the coastal sailing potential of our previous boat, a 32ft shoal draught sloop. With her we had cruised the Chesapeake Bay, the US East Coast from New England to Georgia, and all five of the Great Lakes. We spent the next two years cruising full-time and re-fitting Gyatso for offshore sailing.

In 2007 the Atlantic Rally to Europe comprised a fleet of 21 yachts ranging in size from 32ft up to 60ft, all of which had to pass a thorough safety inspection before departure. Once at sea the rally organisers provided daily weather reports for the fleet via e-mail and we, in turn, reported our daily positions to them. SSB radio nets were operated twice a day – a formal ‘roll call’ to report daily positions in the morning and an informal ‘cocktail hour chat’ in the evening. In each port-of-call, rally organisers smoothed the way with clearance procedures and berthing, and arranged social events and outings.

The ARC Europe Rally consists of three separate legs. On the first leg, yachts start from either Antigua or St Augustine, Florida, joining together as a full fleet in Bermuda. After a one week stopover in Bermuda, the fleet departs for Horta in the Azores – the second and longest leg. After another stopover in Faial, which includes visits to some of the other Azorean islands, the rally restarts from Ponta Delgada and most yachts sail to Lagos on the south coast of Portugal, with a few returning directly to the UK.

One of David’s favourite mottos is ‘First, you gotta show up!’, and getting to the starting line in Antigua was our first goal. Meeting this kind of challenge is not always easy for us – we were still ambivalent about making the big leap across the Atlantic, so we agreed to see how we felt once we got there. We spent the previous six months cruising the Leeward and Windward Islands from the British Virgin Islands down to Grenada. It was a wonderful adventure, and we had mixed feelings about whether to wait out the hurricane season down south, return to the Chesapeake Bay, or cross the Atlantic to Europe.

We both had a great interest in exploring the Mediterranean Sea and at last we had a boat that was properly outfitted to get us there – the big question was whether we were ready. After considering all the pros and cons we decided that if we didn’t cross the Atlantic in 2007 we probably never would. Little did we know that it would be two days into the second leg of the voyage before we committed ourselves fully to making the crossing.

To David’s motto we can now add a footnote, ‘Better late than never!’. We did make it to the starting line, but only after a slight delay caused by not properly factoring in ‘island time’ at the fuel dock. But all the last minute stress melted away as soon as we left Jolly Harbour and set our sights on the magnificent shades of blue-green water just outside the entrance. We hoisted the main, rolled out the yankee, and crossed the starting line ten minutes after the official start at noon on 10 May. By the time we caught up with the others the radio was crackling with reports of whale sightings, fishing catches and even one yacht diverting to Barbuda for a quick swim! We were immediately swept up by the enthusiasm and excitement of the other rally participants. As we passed to the west of Barbuda one small dolphin came to bid us farewell, playing briefly in our bow wave as we sailed north towards Bermuda.

As if to make us really question the sanity of our decision to leave the Caribbean, the weather on the first leg of the trip conspired with stronger winds and bigger seas than any of the weather forecasts predicted. For the first few days, however, we experienced lovely sailing conditions in 10–15 knots of wind from east-southeast with an occasional passing rain shower. The mornings and evenings were punctuated by picturesque sunrises and sunsets, including a bright pink/orange sun which emerged through scattered grey clouds with patches of light blue and brush strokes of magenta on our first morning at sea. Without any moonlight until the early morning hours the night watches were quite dark – with the exception of Venus, which cast a light glow on the water’s surface as it set to the west, and the phosphorescence which bubbled in our wake. On the third night the moon rose through scattered clouds in the early hours, and later that morning we enjoyed bagels and coffee while admiring a rainbow with a picture-perfect, fluffy white cumulus cloud as a back-drop.

That same day a tiny white sail dotted the horizon below the cloud. As the wind began to drop off we admired from a distance as they flew a spinnaker and drew closer and closer to us. It was Bobo, the smallest boat in our fleet. They sailed over to say hello, passing within a few hundred feet. They went on to win Leg 1 on corrected time, and we felt fortunate to witness first-hand such fine yacht handling.

Soon after parting ways with Bobo the weather took a turn for the worse. In anticipation, we ate a hearty meal of beef stroganoff and reefed the main at sunset. We continued with the engine on and both spent watches dodging lightning and thunderstorms while searching for wind to sail again. The wind filled in during the early hours and we sailed through heavy rain with the staysail and double-reefed main. By late morning the sun was back out, the wind had settled in from the east, and we were back on course for Bermuda having avoided the worst of the squalls. During our fourth day at sea the air temperature dropped below 80°F for the first time, a definite reminder that we had left the Caribbean in our wake.

We spent the balance of that day sailing in stronger than expected winds of 20–30 knots from south-southeast. Under partly cloudy skies again we charged along at 7½ knots under double-reefed main and staysail. Gyatso took the 10–12 foot seas on the stern quarter, surfing down some. Otto the Magnificent, our linear drive autopilot and official third crew member, steered amazingly well considering the sea conditions, and we put on miles directly to Bermuda. We spent our fifth night at sea changing sails and adjusting our course as the wind shifted first to the south and then to the northwest. At 0500 David emerged from below at the change of watch to find Lisa bundled in her wet foul weather gear and looking quite miserable. She noted in the log: ‘Very dark with squalls, rain showers and occasional lightning, but seas have dropped considerably’.

The forecast later that morning was sobering, with two low pressure systems passing to the north of us. We compared notes with others in the fleet, and then did our best to stay on course in 18–20 knot northwesterlies. At sunset we were surprised to hear our VHF radio crackle to life. We looked to the east to see the masthead lights of two other boats from our fleet, Moonstruck and Rosario. We were all doing the same thing – reefing sail and preparing for the weather ahead. It was reassuring to learn that they also planned to take it easy throughout the night until the passage of the front the following morning.

As predicted, the front passed over us and we spent the next day struggling our way north in large seas and 20+ knots of wind from north-northeast. Middle-of-the-night bilge repair duties, combined with large confused seas and cumulative exhaustion, caught up with Lisa, who suffered for a bit with sea sickness. David pulled an extra-long watch while she recovered. A good sleep, a cup of lemon ginger tea, a plate of warm cinnamon rolls, and a hot shower fixed Lisa right up, and she was back at the helm to enjoy a beautiful sunrise next morning.

The day before our arrival in Bermuda was sunny and beautiful – the kind that beckons you back out to sea. We were making 6½ to 7 knots in 15–20 knots easterlies, but with another low pressure system forecast kept a double reef in the main. We had a final, exhilarating night of sailing through complete darkness, cleared five flying fish off the decks in the morning, and made great time during the day to reach Bermuda during the afternoon of 17 May. We had finished the first leg of our trip in 7 days and 2 hours, which placed us sixth out of the thirteen yachts in our class on corrected time. With the next weather system already upon us we were grateful to have so many helping hands to get us tied up at the Dinghy and Sports Club pontoons in St George’s Harbour.

Arriving in Bermuda by boat was everything we had imagined it to be and more – the beautiful colours of the water, the dramatic rocky shoreline interspersed with perfect sandy beaches, pastel-coloured houses with white roofs, lots of ocean-going yachts in the harbour, historic forts and the ever-present cruise ships. It was also proof that David’s practice of creating positive thought forms really does work. We had had the Approaches to Bermuda chart mounted on the wall of our family room for the previous ten years. Lisa recorded in the log: ‘I guess it works, because here we are!’.

The comfort of St George’s Harbour is difficult enough to leave, but it’s even harder when the wind and waves are against you. The start of the second leg took place on 23 May despite these conditions, though several boats decided to delay their departure for two days so they could attend a local regatta and find more favourable sailing conditions. Another boat turned back several hours after the start because the conditions were so bad. Aboard Gyatso we did a bit of soul searching during the first 24 hours, but decided to continue on through 25–30 knots on the nose with 10–15 foot seas for the first day and night. It was pretty rough going, so we put a double reef in the main, rolled out the staysail, and hung on waiting for conditions to improve.

Day Two was not much better, but the wind slowly began to diminish and by the second night was below 20 knots with the seas down to 8–10 feet. On Day Three we finally shook out the reefs in much more pleasant conditions. After not eating much in the first few days we slowly added apples, bananas, granola bars, toast with honey and ginger tea back into our diet. We were both feeling better, and the motion of the boat was much more comfortable. It was at that moment that we decided there was no turning back – we were on our way across the Atlantic.

As if on cue in the plot of our unfolding journey, a dozen very playful dolphins joined us to celebrate the decision and entice us onwards. Most of them splashed in and out of our bow wave, while a few performed acrobatics alongside Gyatso. One jumped 15 feet out of the water right next to the boat and another did several back flips just to show off. Lisa clipped her safety harness to the jackline, went forward to the bowsprit and enjoyed the show. The dolphins stayed with us for almost two hours, occasionally wandering off and then returning for more fun. We could still see them in the distance as the bright red sun sank below the horizon.

On Day Five the wind dropped off and we found ourselves trying to quiet the slatting sails, then motoring or motor-sailing on and off throughout most of the day and night. During the evening chat on SSB the main topic of discussion was a new low that was expected to develop early the following week near Bermuda. We discussed strategies with the others and decided to continue heading east rather than further north, as we had originally planned. If the low tracked towards us rather than to the northeast, then at least we could still head south to avoid the heaviest weather on the northern side of the low. Our main concern was not to consume too much fuel before reaching the Azores high, notorious for light winds at that time of year. Having turned the engine off for the radio net, we kept it off while sailing and hoping for the wind to fill in.

Day Six began with Lisa spotting a pod of six whales which passed within a hundred yards of us. During the SSB radio net that morning we learned that Re Shuanta, a 42ft Irish-flagged ketch, was less than 10 miles away from us. Later in the day we converged, and then sailed together throughout the night. However at dawn they rolled out more sail, passed downwind of us, and pulled away as the sun rose through a partly cloudy sky. We enjoyed a very relaxed day, heading east at 6–7 knots in 12–15 knot southeasterlies.

Everyone on the evening ‘cocktail hour’ chat on Day Seven was in good humour, especially since it seemed that we had all managed to position ourselves quite well for the approaching bad weather. By the midnight change of watch we were starting to experience passing squall bands with wind gusting over 20 knots, and the weather continued to deteriorate throughout the night and into the next day. However it only lasted 36 hours from start to finish, and the worst of it – during the second night – for only 10 hours, during which we had sustained winds of 30–35 knots with much higher gusts and torrential rain. We rode it out with the staysail and a double reef in the main, but again found that our effort to avoid the worst weather was the best tactic. We learned that yachts to the north of us had experienced much more difficult conditions and that one of our fleet, Cochise, had been dismasted. By the time we heard the news a fellow ARC Europe participant, Belle, was already rushing to their assistance.

In the days that followed we gradually shook out the reefs, caught up on rest, and enjoyed numerous sightings of whales, dolphins and turtles. Several whales appeared to be sleeping on the surface and when, unexpectedly, we passed close to a mother and calf we could see the startled look in their eyes. On Day Thirteen, after two days of little wind, a breeze from the north built in. Although the weather for the next two days looked good, we heard the first forecast of a deep low developing over the Azores later in the week – just when we expected to make our landfall.

During this passage we encountered many amazing forms of sea life. One of the smallest of these creatures was the Portuguese man o’ war. Our first sighting was just south of Bermuda and at first Lisa thought it was a child’s birthday hat or princess crown which had blown out to sea. We continued to see them for the rest of the passage, but at 6 knots were moving too fast to catch more than fleeting glances of them. David was particularly fascinated by these beautiful creatures with their purple sails and long, unseen tentacles which serve as a natural sea anchor.

While sharing meals together we wondered aloud about the health of the North Atlantic Ocean and whether what we observed was an indicator of the ecological situation. Sea birds were constant companions throughout the voyage, but we never saw them catching fish. We delighted in every sighting of whales, dolphins and turtles but wondered why we didn’t see more. We also found it curious that many capable fishermen in our fleet caught nothing. This left us feeling that all is not well with life in the ocean.

Storm force conditions developed over the Azores as predicted, so we decided to stand off and wait for the system to move east before making landfall. For the first time we hove-to, and discovered how comfortably Gyatso can ride the stormy seas in this fashion. Even though it meant we were unable to finish the second leg in the required time and were classified as ‘DNF’, prudence prevailed and we arrived safely on the morning of 10 June.

Our first sight of the Azores was Faial appearing on the radar screen 12 miles out. A few minutes later tears came to Lisa’s eyes when she spotted the dark, rocky coastline beneath the heavy clouds after a much longer than expected 18 days at sea.

Having reached Ponta Delgada from Horta on the day before the start of the final leg, Gyatso ended up arriving late to the starting line. We were still raising our sails inside the harbour when, at noon on 16 June, we heard the countdown on VHF.

Like everyone else we experienced strong winds and excellent sailing conditions on the third leg, but by this point were too tired to push ourselves much and just focused on arriving safely. We spent two nights dealing with squally conditions, and kept the sails reefed other than for a day or two of lighter winds in the middle of the passage. On the final day we flew along with only a double-reefed main.

After an exciting crossing of the shipping lanes we were awed by the sight of Cape St Vincent, which went right to the top of our list of most spectacular landfalls. The steep cliffs and barren landscape stand in stark contrast to the surrounding ocean, while a large white lighthouse, visible from many miles away, towers over the Cape itself. Lisa joined David in the cockpit to admire the clear blue skies, strong winds, very large seas and picture-perfect sunset as the Cape came abeam. Once again, nearing the end of the passage we were both fatigued and, on this final leg, all the more anxious simply to get there. And then, as if some force beyond our control wanted to add an exclamation point to what had been an adventure of a lifetime, an enormous breaking wave crashed over the entire length of the boat, filling the cockpit and drenching both of us.

Just before midnight on 22 June we breathed a huge sigh of relief on tying up to the visitors’ pontoon in Lagos, after 6½ days at sea and more than a day before the official end of the rally. We have no idea what the results were for the final leg and it didn’t matter because, for us, the big accomplishment was successfully completing our first Atlantic crossing.

Having gradually built up our offshore sailing experience together we felt most comfortable with just the two of us, so decided not to bring any crew along. The ARC Europe Rally organisers welcomed us as one of only two double-handed crews in the fleet.

Among the challenges for a short-handed crew was keeping to the ambitious schedule and finding time for the radio nets and position reporting. But these were only minor inconveniences and were more than offset by the positive aspects. We liked the discipline of a set schedule, even if it pushed us a bit, and the radio nets were a real life-line, helping tremendously to build our confidence and boost our morale in difficult situations.

Having the logistical details handled by the rally organisers allowed us to focus on safety and sailing. They smoothed the way for us during the stop-overs, making them much more enjoyable.

Safety requirements and inspections were fairly rigorous and costly, but served as a helpful guide for us in bringing our old boat up to modern transatlantic standards. We had no equipment failures during the entire crossing.

Another positive for us was that our family and friends really enjoyed tracking our passage on the excellent rally website. This featured daily position reports, logs, news stories and photos in real time while the fleet was underway.

There is no question that the weather was unusual and posed challenges, including storm force conditions while some of the fleet were making landfall in the Azores. A third of the fleet (us included) was unable to finish the second leg within the required time-frame, and about half did not make the start of the final leg. However, all but two yachts eventually finished the crossing during the 2007 season.

Would we do a rally again? Yes, definitely – in fact we’re already hoping to join one when we get to the Eastern Mediterranean.