SUNSHINE BOULEVARD OF THE OCEAN BLUE

The Rev Bob Shepton

(Flying Fish 1995/1 saw the Rev Bob and `the lads' reach Darwin, but pressure of space (in our fattest issue yet) forced his account to be terminated there. Here we accompany Dodo's Delight on the second half of her circumnavigation. For the benefit of new readers, Dodo is a 33ft Westerly Discus.)

Darwin

Darwin was very hot and humid, friendly, still with a frontier atmosphere, and in the end we lifted out properly to work on the boat. We had started on the west side in Fannie Bay and tried anchoring off the Darwin Sailing Club but were defeated by the tremendous tidal range which necessitated a huge dinghy ride in and then quite a carry at low water. So we went round to Frances Bay (did Darwin have two daughters, Frances and Fannie?) and anchored off the more welcoming Dinah Cruising Association. We could also get very good meals at reasonable prices from the little shack there.

In spite of the fact that all the Europa boats were again in town and most seemed to be lifting out, we managed to squeeze into the Sadgrove boatyard and worked very hard for five days making good the topsides and the odd knock on the keel, anti-fouling, and generally re-furbishing the boat after 22,000 miles. We then lay to a mooring in the river estuary outside and three of us took the opportunity of going off to `do' the Kakadu and Litchfield national parks. This proved fascinating with the aboriginal cave paintings, bird life, and the escarpment and geology of the region generally. What an incredible land that Australia is!

We also struck lucky because an old boy of the school we came from had risen to the dizzy heights of manager of the Plaza hotel in Darwin. The lads enjoyed two nights' sleep in luxury whilst the skipper was away in the Kakadu (rats!) and we were treated to a slap-up meal on our penultimate night. The skipper also had a bath -- the first since the Falklands, l4,000 miles back. History doesn't relate what happened in between.

We went back round the corner to clear Customs at Cullen Bay, and as we tied up I happened to look down and noticed a small hole or break in one of the wires in the starboard aft lower, near the Stalok fitting at the bottom this time. What is it with these aft lowers? This had been renewed in March after the Antarctic mishap and had only done 14,000 miles. Could the cold of that region have anything to do with these rigging failures, I wondered? But here was a crisis -- how to renew it? But on enquiry we found the Yacht Shop along the road were also riggers and I was able to get two aft lowers cut to size and made up with an eye on the spot, and we used the Stalok terminals at the bottom from the old ones. It only necessitated a delay of a few hours in the end, though it did mean we had to motor out against a foul tide, and headwind, on our departure.

Darwin to Cocos Keeling

And so out again into the Arafura Sea. Up by Bathurst Island we passed some curious patches on the water coming downwind towards us. They were like suspended sandbanks, but no change of depth showed on the echo-sounder when we passed through. Could they have been patches of chemicals discharged from a ship perhaps? But we lived to tell the tale and further on by the Sahul Bank we found that this bank had indeed grown in one spot into a sizeable sandy island, not marked on our not-too-ancient chart. It must have arisen fairly recently as there was no vegetation on it at all as far as we could see, simply an island of pure white sand. We were glad we had not come upon it by night.

For the first 850 miles on this passage we were looking for wind: it comprised subtle sailing, feathering in light airs and using the engine when it all got too much (or too little -- 3 or 4 knots of wind, under 2 knots of boat speed) or gave up altogether. We used the engine on and off for an unprecedented 109 hours, often at low revs to conserve fuel and with sails up to use the apparent wind so generated, but at least it kept us moving. I was thankful we had obtained a number of spare jerry cans in the Falklands for extra fuel for the high pressure of Antarctica. Then on the evening of the ninth day a breeze came in from the south-west and then south, and finally became the expected south-east trades. And now we were romping along on close, beam (could this be true?) and broad reaches, only turning to roll violently downwind again two days out from Cocos Keeling. As always, it seemed, we found ourselves approaching in the dark, and crept into the anchorage behind Direction Island through the coral on chart, radar and echo-sounder in the moonlight.

Cocos Keeling was the unspoilt tropical island paradise it is reputed to be, and all the plaudits written about it in these pages in the past hold good. Of course we had to start off on the wrong foot: the lads in their exuberance and delight at waking up to this paradise in the morning sunshine had jumped in and gone for a swim. They were last seen making for the shore of this deserted island, and of course the Quarantine Officer chose that moment to arrive. As they seem especially strict about this sort of thing in Australia -- on the way to Darwin and here we had been `buzzed' by spotter planes and chatted to, very politely, by a patrol boat -- he was not best pleased!

Cocos, believed to be the biggest atoll in the world, is such a paradise that it might seem almost churlish to introduce a note of caution. Again (a personal opinion) the Australian authorities seem rather over-cautious in not allowing you to take your boat through what appear to be well marked channels to Home Island or West Island. This makes the logistics of loading considerable quantities of fuel and water from these islands some distance away via a small rubber dinghy and the ferries something of a nightmare. It took four full days to water and bunker the boat, and I certainly know the dinghy ride to and from Home Island very well indeed by now! I gather it is a little (but not much) easier at Christmas Island, which we did not visit.

The skipper and mate took the opportunity to do two reef dives, which proved fascinating. A personal reaction: `if you don't believe in God, dive on a coral reef'. An apparently infinite variety of brightly coloured fish big and small, and such a wide variety of types of coral rock, which surprised me in my ignorance. And to think a coral polyp is only 1cm long. The museum on Home Island also proved well worth a visit -- in between dinghy rides! That old Scottish (of course) seafaring family certainly had the place sewn up, even printing their own plastic money at one stage. And yet I could not help noticing that there were those amongst the Malay population who seemed still to prefer the old regime to the new, which is perhaps surprising considering the Australian government is pouring a lot of money into the island for little return that we could see, now that the copra is uneconomical to export. Some friends on an Australian boat wondered why they were doing it.

Cocos Keeling to Mauritius

But all good things come to an end, and it became time to move on. John and Fay Garety in Subtle had already departed for the `Ho Cochin Trail', as we dubbed it. We duly hung our sign beneath Sherpa Bill's and Blackjack's, Lone Rival's also being in evidence on a neighbouring tree. We bade farewell to our Australian friends on Paroo and with a flock of frigate birds wheeling high in the sky above, took our departure into the Indian Ocean once more -- via the `right' way this time. Light airs at first, and then east and north-east winds before the south-east trades proper. A slight hiccup a few days later when we had to motor for sixteen hours between two weather systems, then suddenly a black line of cloud and, from slopping around in 0-4 knots of wind, we were up to 22 knots without warning, reefing and rolling the headsail in earnest. Two days were spent among waterproofs on watch under grey skies -- in the Indian Ocean! Then back to normal -- south-east trades, blue sky and the hot sunshine boulevard of the Pacific and Indian Oceans. The skipper ground his teeth -- no challenge -- the lads loved it!

In order to stay on a broad reach, faster and more comfortable than running in this boat, perhaps we went too far south. We fell into another calm, but the `Dalek' (weatherfax) showed isobars closer together to the north, so we coaxed the boat for two days in light airs, broad reaching and running up towards the north-west. We were now sheeting the reefed mainsail in hard amidships as a steadying sail when running, but still she rolled with much frapping and crashing of the twin foresails in the swell with too little wind. But sure enough here was the wind, and we were able once again to turn onto a broad reach and romp towards Mauritius.

There were two anomalies on this passage which might of interest for those venturing this way. The first was the weatherfax. We had purchased it secondhand from an Australian family in Suva about to finish their circumnavigation, to give us early warning us in case of a little too much wind in these parts at this time of year. But from 70øE onwards, just where you most need the information, we found an amorphous gap. Darwin, good old faithful Darwin, had given us splendid maps up to this point, but then... We tried Diego Garcia, which was fine if you were climbing the Himalayas, still fighting the Gulf War, or even sailing in the Red Sea, but not a lot of use if you were 500 miles to the south. But we did learn what Reverse Printing means -- are there any other sailors as technologically inept? Pretoria appeared to give us a splendid chart of a huge typhoon over the central Mongolian steppe in Asia, St Dennis just produced fuzz, and Nairobi (after reams of paper depicting cloud cover and upper wind speeds) did eventually plop out a synoptic chart, which was all we had wanted in the first place. The times there had obviously changed from those in my fairly recent Admiralty List of Radio Signals, Vol 3.

The second anomaly was the almost total absence of wildlife on this passage. From Darwin to Cocos we had enjoyed terns, shearwaters, gannets, boobies and even the occasional frigate bird. Dolphins gambolled round the boat from time to time, one school containing great numbers and obvious family groups. Two whales blew nonchalantly to port. But on this passage the ocean seemed swept bare: the occasional single tropic bird or shearwater and one brief visit by a few dolphins. A single whale, perhaps, and that was it. Where had they all gone?

So we sped past Rodriguez early one morning, and two days later were approaching Mauritius, its mountains visible well ahead. We ran before again to round the island to the north, and reached past Round Island and between Flat Island and Gunners Quoin in a stiff breeze and so down to Port Louis to clear in (unfortunately you can no longer do this in Grand Baie as formerly) and so ended a fast passage overall -- 2500 miles in eighteen days.

Mauritius was great, but more because my wife Kate, a friend, and some of the family of one of the lads came out to join us on holiday. Otherwise it was very pleasant but a little touristy, and the diving was quite murky compared to Cocos. But we did the island tour including the botanical gardens with the huge water lilies and monuments to their famous Commonwealth Prime Minister with the unpronounceable names, the coloured sands (Bill and Hazel Perkes were right -- not a patch on Alum Bay), and the bird sanctuary which was impressive with the odd panther and tigress thrown in. I had never seen a pure white peacock preening before, nor such huge turtles (more birds?). An early cyclone, Albertine, did considerable damage at Rodriguez 360 miles away but then sped off south rather than west to Mauritius, so we did not have to bolt for the hurricane hole of Port Louis. This prayer works!

Mauritius to South Africa

Back in Port Louis for clearing there was some delay as we waited for Immigration to come in the early morning as promised, but we eventually got away at 1020 on 10 December. For us the problem at this time of year was not too much wind -- the cyclone season in Mauritius officially begins on 15 December, I believe -- but too little. Or rather it was erratic. A spanking breeze initially gave a beam reach to clear Mauritius and took us down past Reunion in the night -- we did not call in as we had already suffered French prices in Tahiti -- but then the wind gradually lessened so that two days later we were motoring. Fourteen hours of motoring and it rained, and I mean rained, for eight and a half hours non-stop. The last time we had precipitation like it was in Antarctica, and then it was a snowstorm! But the breeze came in again and we charged along for three days. Then seventeen hours of motoring, and so it went on.

None of this would have mattered -- well not so much -- but Christmas was looming and the lads were desperate to be in. Eventually we cut our losses and aimed, after much chopping and changing of minds according to what the wind was doing, for Richards Bay rather than our original destination of Durban. Quite a breezy last night with an awkward sea, and a strange choppy, pyramidical type of sea in the Aghulas current when the wind died away completely, but we made Richards Bay at 1500 on Christmas Eve and were cleared in that afternoon.

I have to say I could not recommend it. A quiet, pleasant place it was, and the Reverend got to church on Christmas Day and the lads got to several drinks parties, so honour was satisfied there somewhere. We had a splendid Christmas dinner together on the boat even if the main course was corned beef, but with Yorkshire pudding, and Kate's excellent Christmas pud and brandy butter for `afters'. But the nearest town was five miles away, and the clearance procedures were horrendous. These involved pedalling to town on a borrowed bike (taxis were comparatively expensive) to find and clear Immigration, then Customs, even though we were only planning to go down to Durban. But fortunately the very helpful Marine Services office on the quayside were able to issue a Harbour Revenue Office slip themselves, rather than having to find that office too, and they also saved us a ten mile bike ride to and from the signals station by faxing our `flight plan' (I always thought I was sailing) up to them instead. It did all seem rather excessive.

Also Richards Bay is a conservative white enclave into which whites are moving, I suppose out of feelings of greater security, and where black people are still wont to be referred to as kaffirs. I really didn't like this, and I'm glad to say the lads didn't either.

At 0250 on 30 December we slipped from the quay to catch a brief weather window. An initial hard beat against a southerly wind and a lumpy sea with wind against current, but at least we were lee-bowing the Aghulas current on whatever tack. It seemed that as long as you could keep the boat together the current would take you down to where you wanted to go! In fact the wind gradually went round and then died away in the afternoon, so we motored the last twenty miles to Durban still helped by the current. It looked rather picturesque, tastefully lit up as we approached, and reminded me of a bigger version of Weymouth in the UK with its harbour tucked off to port of the waterfront, guarded by a hill on its port side. But there the resemblance ended...

Durban was huge! The lads loved it! We saw the New Year in at the Point Yacht Club, and watched hundreds of red parachute flares being fired off by yachts in the harbour. Old stock presumably! The next day the whole Zulu tribe, or so it appeared, took over the beach -- the lads contended they were the only whites there, except for some police. This was great -- to our knowledge this was the first time it had been allowed in the new South Africa. But then the day after, panic: a weather window had at last arrived and was forecast to stay for a while. This had not happened for some time; we dropped everything, cleared the Harbour Authority (the only requirement this time), bought some stores, motored out and sailed away from the coast to let the Aghulas current carry us south.

Sometimes we sailed, sometimes motored; sometimes we were broad reaching, other times running. Sometimes we were whisked along at 7,8,9 knots, sometimes we lost the current and were back to 5 knots. Off Cape St Francis appropriately enough the wild life predominated -- Cape Gannets and dark Petrels, and the albatrosses returned with that majestic glide over the water with almost no touch of wing. Magnificent -- we had not seen them since the passage rounding the Horn. Also at Cape St Francis the wind began to head us and we chose to go out to sea. This proved a wise decision as we picked up the very strong current again and sped along at up to 10 knots, but we did have a mini-gale from for'ard approaching the Aghulas Bank, and then a proper one on the Bank just to keep us on our toes. We were still on the wind next day round Cape Aghulas, but we were on the wind round Cape Horn so this was only proper. And the sea remained reasonable. But then we could gradually bear away for the Cape of Good Hope, which was just as well as the mainsail tore at the leach and the wind got up again the next night. We put in a third reef above the tear, and by now we were reaching and running anyway. Finally we turned on the motor in the early hours when the wind became flukey by Table Mountain, and so into Cape Town. 850 miles in six days -- good old Aghulas current!

The Home Run

We stayed almost a month in Cape Town. This was partly because we liked it so, the place and the people, and partly because our friends from Central Television came out and we worked hard for a few days filming. This involved sailing around in Table Bay whilst they filmed, swimming in the icy sea and playing French cricket on the beach, going up Table Mountain in the cable car, being interviewed and so on. What one does for fame (I don't think)! But they were kind enough to say it had gone well. And it was also partly to wait for a crew change and to renew, refurbish and generally to work on the boat ready for the home leg. Nothing major, just a host of little jobs: I must say that one of the things that has surprised me on this voyage has been the amount of continuous maintenance required to keep the boat shipshape. And it wasn't just us: speaking to friends in the Europa rally in a smart (but not new) Oyster 42 in Darwin, they said exactly the same: every port, a lot of work.

But eventually it was time to leave. The friends and family of a South African lad we had met in the Falklands on a Warrior 35, who'd just had quite a bad time rounding the Horn the other way (he recognised me as he'd worked in Scotland for the person living in the house opposite!) gave us a champagne lunch send-off on the pontoon -- `just to make sure you really do go'. A final gift of six tins of mushy peas ceremoniously wrapped (to join those he knew we still had left over from the Falklands a year back, the rogue) and we motored out of Cape Town harbour, passing them again on the end of the breakwater -- `just to make sure ...'.

Cape Town to St Helena

I don't think I'm usually given to overt symbolic gestures, but as we passed Robben Island I could not help but go quietly up to the foredeck and give a slow, deliberate, smart Royal Marines' salute remembered from days of yore. This was in honour of the man who was tortured and incarcerated there for twenty-seven years and who could still come out and say `We must forgive the white man, and learn to live together'. Could I have done that, I wondered? Fortunately both whites and blacks, and since the election the coloureds also in spite of their reticence then, believe Nelson Mandela is the best thing since Scottish porridge. There is hope for South Africa yet, and an air of hope in South Africa in these days (though it does depend a little who you talk to), and one feels that if they could just get it right this would be the most marvellous country.

We soon picked up a breeze for what turned out to be a difficult passage, in sharp contrast to other people's experience in previous years, apparently. For a start the wind that night came in at force 5-7 touching 8 from the port quarter, a rather strong re-introduction for our new crew member who had not been sailing since our Azores trip in 1991. But next morning the wind moderated, the cloud cleared, the sun came out, the sea turned blue, we put up twins and thought we were in the trades. Not a bit of it. The wind died away in the night and the next morning came in from the north-west and we were hard on the wind! It went round, it died and the sails slatted and banged in the swell. We put up twins. we broad reached, it rained, but at least the water was warm for the lads' swimming. And then there was the accident.

The lads had caught a big (well, quite big) blue marlin on the trolling line, and got quite excited. The skipper stood on the bridge deck filming it for the TV. In their excitement there was a loss of concentration on the part of the helmsman, the boom began to gybe, the preventer (which we always have and certainly when off the wind) must have slipped and, WHACK, the boom hit the skipper on the head, hard. I was temporarily stunned but not knocked out, with a lot of blood from a deep gash above the eye -- quite dramatic really. But the lads quickly staunched the flow with butterfly sutures (`it's quite painful enough without you using a bent needle on me') and escorted me groggily down below to my bunk where I lay for two or three days feeling very ill indeed. I did not know that a head injury left you feeling so nauseous for so long. But on the fourth day I was able to eat again and hold food down, and this was really the turning point. And by the fifth day I was doing my full two hour mid-morning watch. To be frank I sat in the cockpit and thanked God that I had not been more seriously injured, that I was still alive, and was still in one piece to enjoy it all. And I had a much greater sympathy and appreciation of what it must be like to be maimed or handicapped or even just plain ill. At any rate let's hope it made good television, and, by the way, the blue marlin was delicious -- or so the lads told me later.

One of the reasons for reading Flying Fish must surely be to check how other people have fared on passages you are about to do, or are doing. It was with some amusement therefore that we read Hazel and Bill Perkes' account from the previous year, `...pure heaven. We did not touch sail or sheet for days on end'. We by contrast were changing up, changing down, turning onto a broad reach, back to running, never quite being able to lay the course if we were to keep sufficient sail for progress. The sun shone, then it rained. The glass went up, the weather got worse. The glass went down, the weather got better (someone must explain this to me sometime -- we had the same in the Pacific at about these latitudes). And so it went on, but at last the wind came in and remained more constant and we wondered whether we had picked up the expected trades two days out from St Helena! And there in the distance at 0559 on 20 February was Napoleon lying recumbent before us with his prominent nose, and his hat pointing up to westwards. We had sighted St Helena. But we reckoned Hazel must have been joking, or rather that the old adage that no two passages are ever the same had been more that amply proven.

From Cape Town we had been in fax communication with the harbourmaster at St Helena, so were pre-warned of their swingeing mooring fees. As constituted at the moment they are heavily weighted against boats with larger crews -- we paid œ16 for the boat and œ10 for each person, a total of œ66 -- even worse than the Falklands, and they were bad enough! It was disappointing that the two most expensive places for anchoring in the world, at least that we had encountered, were both British! And ironically in this case the most expensive fees in the world were associated with the worst landing facilities on earth, except perhaps for Easter Island which was something else again.

But the people were friendly and welcoming, and the place had the air of old time England. The crew, including the Old Man who suffered appropriately for several days afterwards, climbed and descended the 699 steps of Jacob's Ladder, though I saw no angels going up and down on this one, especially when my lot were on it! We did the tour of the island, which consisted mainly of Napoleon, and then again Napoleon,... and Lot and his wife. We drank many pots of tea (and occasionally something a little stronger) at Annie's Place, and Annie enfolded us with her own brand of no-nonsense kindness. I wrote to His Excellency the Governor about the fees, hopefully for the sake of those coming after. We filled with water by container and left.

St Helena to Ascension

A fine breeze on the first day gave way to light airs on the second. The wind picked up a bit and then on the fourth day we fell into what at first appeared to be the Variables, or if I didn't know they couldn't be this far south, the Doldrums. Or was it the ITCZ? probably the latter, but it certainly felt like the Doldrums -- rain showers, gusts of wind dying to nothing, light airs and constant changes of wind direction, grey skies and a blood red sunrise, combined with a dull grey, calm, frowsty sea. Then a day later it suddenly changed and we hesitantly believed it really was the south-east trades that had settled in, and we enjoyed three good days to Ascension. Here we crept in once again to an unknown anchorage at dead of night on ancient chart, radar and echosounder, only finding depth for anchoring when very close in. I'm getting too old for this!

Two firsts here: if we had not already taken out medical insurance in UK for each crew member we would have had to pay medical insurance per day for the duration of our stay, as well as immigration and a boat charge. The fees would then have been comparable to St Helena! Secondly there is a curfew. You have to be back on your boat by 1900, or 2300 if you can find a sponsor. Of course the lads quickly found a sponsor! But you are not encouraged to stay long in Ascension anyway, friendly as the people are and interesting as the military installations on the island are (which is probably the reason). But we did visit the Maerst Ascension, the supply vessel, by kind invitation, and were generously allowed to select a comprehensive portfolio of cancelled charts stretching from the Falklands to Norway -- for future voyages? We filled with water for the next long passage to the Azores, bought some stores and left within the recommended forty-eight hours.

Ascension to the Azores

But stranger things happen at sea. We set off in a good breeze on a broad reach, soon reverting to twins to keep the course. But that evening we were buzzed by an American navy plane who rejoiced in the callsign `Eyesight One'! Did we realise we were in a restricted area (in the open ocean?) and would we turn onto a course of 350T and keep on that course for two zero miles, correction five zero miles. I pointed out politely that that was a long dog-leg off our course. `Well, at least until midnight, please'. Initially rather askance that the military should be claiming hundreds of square miles of open ocean for exercises, later that night when I witnessed the fireworks astern I was really quite grateful they had called us! And they called us again well before midnight telling us we could resume our original course now and `thank you very much for your co-operation, sir' -- so perhaps it is all right for the defenders of the western world who did such a splendid job in the Gulf and helped us so much in the Falklands crisis to claim a bit of the open ocean -- but only for a while!

We knew we were going to have to be careful about water on this long passage crossing the Tropics. We reckoned we could get 40 gallons out of our 45 gallon tank (a small pin-hole leak?) and with the numerous containers we had stashed away in various lockers I reckoned we could raise a good 60 gallons. But 60 gallons between five people for a minimum of 30 days is not a lot of water crossing the Equator and the Doldrums. So I instituted a water ration of six mugs a day (two pints), or seven if desperate -- again not a lot for the Tropics. Personally I could supplement this with two glasses a day of the South African white plonk I had bought in Cape Town (I was glad I had not given it up for Lent!), and it was interesting that in the thirst-quenching stakes I found plain water and white wine came equal first, followed by tea, with coffee a long way last. This rather put paid to the old myth of the British and their tea. The ration proved adequate and it is interesting how the body adapts: occasionally thirsty but by no means suffering, but then it wasn't liferaft stuff -- yet.

We crossed the Equator in a rainstorm and had some fun. For a start we suitably decorated our uninitiated members with shaving cream and a foul concoction of rice and old Scotch porridge -- only to find the battery on the TV video camera had died anyway! Then Dood the Mate was determined to swim across the Equator and was joined by Wilcey. This was fine but the wind being in the north, every time we stopped to pick them up and to present a better sail profile in the rainstorms for water collecting, we were blown back across. I dread to think how many times they did swim across, or if at all. But they thought it was twice so we will leave it at that. And the great thing was we collected nearly 11 gallons of fresh water in the process. In fact over the next couple of days it rained so much we re-filled the tank and every conceivable container on board, and could have done so twice over. But we remained on the ration, just in case.

In the Doldrums we had no compunction about using the engine in the calms, but this was not entirely an unmixed blessing as it kept overheating, even running at slow revs. The skipper tried changing over the whole system to mechanical pumps, sea and fresh water running back to back, but there was little improvement. But then sea at the Equator was so warm, perhaps it was incapable of cooling the fresh water system anyway?

The Doldrums certainly do make you feel in the doldrums. Grey skies, heavy rain showers, light airs or no wind and shifting round all over the place. Frustrating. But on the morning of the fourth day we picked up a light north-easterly, the sky cleared, and the wind strengthened and remained constant. Soon we were hard on the wind and romping along. In fact we were on the wind for the next 1600 miles, but it was not all hard. Sometimes it relented, and sometimes it was downright pleasant, close reaching with breeze in the sun -- which was a shame because obviously with this lot `no pain, no gain!'

We began at last to receive weatherfaxes again, now from Dakar, but it was too late for passage planning as we had already crossed the Equator and were committed. The fact that our particular machine had refused to print faxes from Pretoria in spite of receiving a strong signal remained a mystery, and had left a regrettable gap of thousands of miles in this information. But I wonder if it is too fanciful to suppose that the weatherfax will be to the GPS what the chronometer was to the sextant in days of old. Now you can not only know exactly where you are, but also the best way to proceed -- usually.

Other notable events of this passage might include the skipper attaining his sixtieth birthday -- so old to the lads. More significantly we crossed our outward track south-west of the Cape Verdes on Sunday 19 March (Founder's Day back at the school) and so had sailed around the world. We enjoyed a wee dram in celebration. And our new crew member, not so new by now, got the shock of his life one night when a flying fish somehow flew through a side portlight, landed on his chest and woke him flapping away at four o'clock in the morning. He was not best pleased the next night either when a whale, presumably of smaller variety, surfaced loudly just beside the boat in the inky darkness. Nor was I when it nudged the boat, but perhaps it too got a shock because it then took itself off.

From just below the thirtieth parallel it began to get tough. The wind headed us and got quite strong, right from where we wanted to go. Hard beating through the night, tacking every so often but making virtually no progress towards the target. Then the wind died away and we motored for seventeen hours before it returned, from the south. So now we were running, and it rained and a big sea built, but who cared -- we were going in the right direction. But then back to beating and making little progress on whichever tack, before the wind relented one night and went more westerly and we could lay the course and thought we were on our way. But no, a rain cloud, the wind shifted, and back it was to beating, again. On the last day it shifted a little more into the north-east and we had a strong beat into force 5-6, but at least it was towards Horta. Then in the evening it died away altogether, so we motored through the night to tie up at the marina office at 0530 next morning. 3746 miles in just under thirty-four days -- only just shorter in time and distance than from Antarctica to Easter Island!

We enjoyed some holiday in the Azores now the circumnavigation was technically completed, though the weather was not particularly kind, and extended our wall painting at Horta -- somewhat lacking in modesty I'm afraid, owing to my inability to do small lettering. We discovered the marina at Ponta Delgada to be more expensive than that at Horta, as it is private and they charge daily per person for showers, whether you have one or not, and for electricity whether your boat can take it or not! We experienced strong williwaws anchored off Sƒo Louren‡o at Santa Maria in south-westerly winds, and by contrast enjoyed the safe haven and small town of Praia da Vit¢ria at Terceira. Overall, we discovered ew anchorages or harbours in the Azores in which we could be sheltered from all directions in unsettled weather.

Homewards

The voyage home was distinctly lively if fast -- 1200 miles in under nine days to Crosshaven -- owing to a series of depressions marching across the Atlantic. Then a gentle sail along the south coast of Ireland, with to our surprise some large whales blowing to starboard for a while, and a lovely sail through the night between the sandbanks off the east coast pushed by the huge tide up St George's Channel, took us to Dun Laoghaire where mooring was free. We spent a few days there awaiting the pre-arranged day and then, joined by our two friends from Central Television, sailed across to Holyhead via Howth. They gave, on their own admittance, a whole new meaning to the words `heaving-to off Holyhead' awaiting the agreed time in the morning, but then, first greeted by Aratapu as they were sailing out, what a welcome we received from family and friends in the Holyhead Sailing Club! A final Thanksgiving by the Bishop in the clubhouse, and the voyage was over.

So what did the lads gain from it? Not really for me to say, and time alone will tell, but I have already noticed a significant increase in self-confidence with some. But maybe Kipling should have the last word, `All things considered there are only two kinds of people in the world -- those that stay at home and those who do not. The second are the most interesting.' Even if that be all, perhaps it is enough.