COMPLETING THE CIRCLE

Reese Palley and Marilyn Arnold Palley

(Unlikely VII left Miami in 1979 to head west-about around the world. Fourteen years later -- after time spent in Japan, China, the Ukraine and Romania, as well as the more usual cruiser haunts -- it was time to head on home).

Tuesday 21 December 1993

We leave the Canaries at noon on Sunday, 19 December. All on board excited and ready to go. First night out with winds from the north-north-east: all tired from the fresh air and rocking motion. The blue plate special is apples, pretzels and tea 'cause no one wants to venture below to cook in the galley. By morning the winds have picked up to 18-21 knots with big seas. Rock-n-roll time! Try to reef the main but Benmar (hi-tech electronic self-steering) locked -- impossible to control steer. Finally pull the plug so seasick Brian can climb down into the lazarette (24" x 30" opening, dark and no air -- claustrophobic) to fiddle with the wires. Aries (lo-tech windvane self-steering) is off balance. Instead of continuing towards the Cape Verdes 600 miles away, returning to Mogan, or facing the tiring task of hand steering twenty-four hours a day for 2400 miles, we head toward Restinga on the island of Hierro, the westernmost island of the Canaries. Not much in the way of chart info as our Canaries charts are from 1978 and Reed's Guide 1993. From a tourist map Restinga appears to have a small harbour or at least the `L' image of a jetty. We arrive after dark to find only a green light (most entrances have red / green), so inch in slowly under sail (no motor, remember?) with a high beam torch off our bow. Much relieved to find a protected haven on the other side of the rock wall. Three other boats follow us in!

Tuesday 4 January 1994

Dinner or supper, whatever our three British (Terry from our Med crossing, and Brian and Jenny) crew call it, finished and all settling in for evening watch schedule. Reese comes on 1800-2000 GMT so he's doing a fast nap... The rhythms vary each day as we are on the edge of the trade winds (the so-called `ladies route' 'cause it's supposed to be easy...!) but the south-easterlies with lots of squalls and flukey winds keep getting in the way. One or two glorious sunny with-the-right-winds-days mask over all the other cloudy, damp rocky-rolly slightly seasick days.

All are into the rhythm except Brian who remains green for the entire passage. Lots of sail changes and adjustments on Aries; Benmar does not hold in these 18-30 knot winds, plus uses a lot of battery which we are trying to conserve as three days out when we wanted to use the engine, Reese checked the transmission oil to find it empty and dry after having just put in 4 litres. Back to Puerto Rico, Gran Canaria. Six days, four mechanics, lots of adjustments and spare parts, not to mention a $2,200 bill and Reese has already alerted the Canary Amateur Radio Net to contact Jos' at the port/marina office and Manoli the mechanic that `Out of sight, out of mind is not the way to run a business, let alone in the small sailing world where Rumor is Advertising...'.

Without the transmission we can charge the batteries but not use the engine in gear. No problem as we are a sailboat! (Except in those difficult moments like for safety or other emergencies when an engine would help). When we arrive in Antigua we might push it with Jack's Extra Virgin Cretan Family Olive Oil... Not the first time we've come into port without an engine. Then, the mirror broke (oh well, no full length views!) and we thought, what else could happen? Unlikely has in the past weathered nasty seas, broken forestays, broken mast and torn mainsail in heavy winds. The batteries got too low for the engine to start and the generator just coughed for a while, but finally kicked in when we remembered that it had a hand start lever. We now have alarms, bells and whistles for low voltage.

Then Jenny pulls the steering wheel off the column. Luckily Terry has worked within the assemblage before so repairing it at sea is feasible, even in a 25 knot breeze and no control other than the sails in gusting winds. Reese notices the tack of the furling genoa has ripped out, so up goes the staysail for a rocky-rolly night till Marilyn can sew in a new clew at dawn. Fixed temporarily as long as there was no strain...

Two nights later the forestay breaks and bam-bang-splash goes the entire furling gear into the water at 0500. All hands on deck to retrieve the sail and gear before either got caught under the boat or ripped off from the force of the water. By noon Reese has rigged the sail as a parachute-type (whoosh! thu Terry's legs while he was trying to control it) headsail billowing out in front of the boat. Works beautifully for about eleven hours while the winds are mild to get our speed over 6 knots. The winds dies down around 0100 (difficult to hold a course) and the sail drags into the water. Again, all hands on deck. By morning we are on our way with reefed main to port and staysail (from 32ft Unlikely V) poled out to starboard, wing-on-wing. Herb, who monitors a weather fax in Bermuda for sailors and with whom Reese checks in daily with our position so somebody knows where we are, reports light winds and no serious weather for forty-eight hours. Crew hopes it lasts till Antigua 'cause all tired from sleepus interruptus or why does something always go wrong in the middle of the night?

Now I know why floors are kept clean; eating a meal at sea is a feat if most of the food is ingested. A fluke wave can come along at any moment, not to mention the constant rocky-rolly-swaying so the plates are moving, we are moving, and the fork is attempting to make the mouth. Reese normally has two breakfasts as one usually goes flying. Yesterday he ate scrambled eggs and home fries off the floorboards -- too good to waste after they zoomed off his plate. It's like being on a wet roller-coaster ride twenty-four hours a day while attempting to go about the daily routine of sleeping, eating, etc.

KA2AUP-Mickey Mouse (MM for maritime mobile) made radio contact Stateside a few times (once via Gambia) plus a daily check-in with the Canaries net so someone knows our approximate position. We are a mere speck in the ocean, all 46 feet of us, and the mind can play funny games when we see no other boats, planes, or signs of life other than three whales, lots of flying fish, a few birds and some floating garbage. Last night Marilyn sighted the first traffic; Reese thought it was a star on the horizon. That fast we saw red and green lights which meant that it was coming our way! Quick on the VHF to channel 16: "Big ship -- big ship! This is the sailing vessel Unlikely about 5 miles off your starboard bow. Do you see us??!" These ships make 18-25 knots and we move at between 4-6, so it's not like we can burn some rubber to get out of the way real fast, let alone that at this moment we have no engine. Danish registered Karen B's captain comes back to say he hears us but we are not on his radar screen. A minor adjustment and we become a beep on the screen when we could have been a bump in the night.

Anyway, an exchange of weather, boat info (what, no Haagen Daaz ice cream?) and he telexes ROM-KU in Bucharest. Friendly contact. Reese has also made radio contact with a Russian captain who is going to contact Sergei and George, our partners in Odessa. Not bad for middle of the ocean AT&T.

Sighted a baby humpback whale about thirty feet off our port bow one afternoon (where was its mother?) and the other day two pointy-fin-tailed whales frolicking about fifty feet away. If our position had been slightly different or if they had any curiosity about us it could have made for a bad day 'cause there's not much we can do if a whale hits us except grab for the emergency stuff and radio our position. What a treat, though, to watch them flick their tails.

Daily rainbows are also quite spectacular, not to mention the sunrises, sunsets, stars and moon -- who needs TV? These moments are part of the gift of a sea passage, impossible to take for granted.

Land-ho! After twenty-two days and 2300 miles the loom of Antigua is seen off our bow, and within an hour of dawn the island is where it's supposed to be! We make it to the dock before noon; Reese wins the arrival time sweepstakes (the prize is another passage). The last five days are ideal -- perfect light trade winds, level seas, warmer temperatures (for the majority of the trip we lived in layers of clothing and wet gear) and glorious blue skies with technicolor dawns and dusks. Makes one forget all the discomforts early in the passage and feel ready to go out for more. Not a bad way to begin 1994 and whatever is next on the horizon. Yes!

From Reese (who celebrates his Six Dozenth Birthday on 26 January!)

Circumnavigation completed! Begun in Miami in 1979 -- next stop Cuba. For me the sail to the West Indies from the coast of Africa was more than just a passage. It was a Rite of Passage as it represented the final leg in a circumnavigation which has involved me for the last fifteen years. True, we did many other things during that time, but the distant goal was always to be able to know that I had sailed around the world.

There are damned few things in life which we complete or of which we are proud. My own life is littered with activities that either died aborning or, what is worse, died too late. The circumnavigation survived and I survived the circumnavigation.

About things of which I am proud, they are few and, as I look back, most involvements in my life were at best dull and irrelevant and some downright shameful. I am proud, however, of finding and saving a priceless Raphael portrait of Lorenzo. I am curiously proud of the dental work I gifted for friends and lovers. I am proud of my book, Unlikely Passages. But little more than these few in a busy and frenetic life.

So now please excuse me and join me in my conceit in completing this universal dream of all sailors.