AN EASY WEE LEG?

Reverend Bob Shepton

The expedition that never was -- or so it seemed initially. After a great send-off from the Royal Cornwall Yacht Club with family, friends and a good crowd of kind supporters on the pontoon to bid us farewell, and our friend and Patron Bishop Mike giving us an encouraging word before blessing the expedition, crew, boat and most other things, we took our departure with boats following -- and sailed to the Helford River.

The discerning may have noticed a pole sticking up astern with nothing atop it. The problem was the wind generator, which was still with the electrician in Falmouth and the vital part had not yet arrived. But the next day we finally met him at the Ferry Inn, and the generator was duly mounted on its pole and wired correctly to give us free electricity. Unfortunately the delay also gave the skipper ample opportunity to spend yet more money, this time sneaking back into Penryn to replace the outboard which had been consistently playing up of late with a new one. He launched into a lengthy explanation to the crew as to why this had been necessary. They needed no convincing; only himself.

So finally on the evening of 16th September we sailed on the tide out of the Helford River, past the Manacles and down past the Lizard into the English Channel with Ushant as our first waypoint. On our way at last; but the wind went light the next day, at least with sunshine, and we even had recourse to the engine for a while. `Barney' had his first experience of the Concorde bang "1200: Lord King gonna get rude letter", but recovered sufficiently that night "0100: Never thought I'd say this, it was lovely". De Savary (not his real name) seemed to have a fatal attraction for tankers which on two occasions on his watches loomed suddenly out of the mist close-by "0700: D... big tanker 80 yards to starboard" -- I must teach them not to swear in the Log -- but on the whole the crew were in good shape.

A hard beat ensued through the night of 18/19th September in F6-7 occasionally gusting 8, with a big depression to the north of us being held up and squeezed lengthwise north and south by a High over Tyne and the German Bight. We could see it all on the weatherfax -- that most excellent of inventions. On the other hand after one good conversation with Portishead, who were most helpful in setting up communications, the HF/SSB decided not to transmit which was a nuisance, especially with regard to keeping in touch with families. But knowing my inability with these machines I had at least warned People not to rely on hearing from us, which was just as well.

The next day we were forced further and further westwards until "1245: Tacked. Full Genny. On course -- at last." But shortly afterwards we had to heave-to to repair the plastic glass of one of those dome type ventilators which after thirteen years had decided to crack and was pouring water into the forepeak, but the wind kindly moderated somewhat and the sun came out to aid us. Then away southwards laying something like the right course at last, though still beating. "2200: Nice sailing, wind shifting. 0100: Nightmare (it had rained all watch on Barney). 0400: But got much better ... 1030: Pleasant sailing".

The following day and night we ploughed inexorably southwards but the west-south-west wind still pushed us inside the line of Cape Finisterre towards La Coruna. "0945: La Coruna 18 miles away, but we're not going in!" We even used the engine to round the corner of north-west Spain rather than beating for 40 miles in fairly light airs -- the skipper defending himself on the grounds of it being a seamanlike decision in cruising terms. The crew enjoyed the break and "taking in the rays" (sunbathing -- they appear never to have heard of sun block on this boat). So we continued on motor with the wind on the nose round Cabo Villano till we could at last close-reach once more, experiencing further squalls in the night. These were already tropical in nature, gusting up furiously from 15 to 34 knots in seconds on one occasion, with torrential rain and the boat careering along. One day we will learn to shorten sail before they arrive, especially as they show up quite clearly on the radar beforehand when we have it on.

Next morning we set a course for Bayona to phone, as the skipper was still concerned about communications or the lack of them, thinking that People might have expected to hear from us by now on the HF. But being close to land he was much relieved to be able eventually to contact Finisterre on the VHF and place a link call home that way. It also meant we did not have to do anything nasty like touch land, so we set course once more for Madeira, broad-reaching in increasing wind and sunshine through the day.

In spite of our lengthy and careful preparation of the boat for this voyage we do seem to have had more than our fair share of repairs at sea on this leg. Who would have thought the diaphragm of the loo pump would choose this moment to split and pump the contents all over the Heads? And who perhaps should have thought to bring a spare? So we had another session hove-to in F5-6, in quite a big sea, Mooney the Mate, a boatbuilder by trade, working hard to strip the pump down and taking the diaphragm from a similar bilge pump to renew and refit the Heads' pump. At the time of writing this we are awaiting the result with interest. A man is entitled to his privacy nowadays, and it's awfully wet up at the true Heads on this small boat, but not for me this subsequent rushing through the saloon to deposit the contents of the black bucket over the side. "Dunnage" as Barney will insist on calling it.

The Azores High had extended towards Spain and Portugal giving us a fine north westerly. We bowled along all that day and night and the next day achieving almost 150 miles noon to noon, the lads enjoying the respite from beating. "A nice social sail with the boys" was one comment in the Log as the crew collected together in the cockpit to enjoy the sunshine and fine sailing. Mind you, he changed his mind in the night "0400: Night, night, night, does my head in" (except it is 'ead of course when said).

We continued to roller-coaster through that night and the next day. We had been in company with another yacht over to port the previous day and night, but it gradually overtook us in the morning and disappeared ahead. It must have been bigger than us of course! The skipper came up to do his usual time shifting watch early this day to 'catch the rays'; the sun promptly clouded over. As soon as Pebs (or Pebble, his elder brother being always known as Brick at school -- except that now he is a very chunky SAS soldier you don't say that to his face anymore!) came up to do his watch, out comes the sun. There is no justice.

Pleasant sailing, reaching and broad-reaching through the day, but in the night the wind strengthened with a bumpy sea, and eventually we rolled the headsail still more and put in a second reef. In the process the self-tailing halyard winch jammed, and on inspection we found the stripper arm bent over. How can this be -- these are new winches bought especially for the trip? I knew these new fangled gadgets were no good. And the weatherfax is also playing up. Maybe we should have just kept it simple after all.

With the wind going further into the north and even a little east, we spent a night crashing and banging goosewinged. It is very hard on the gear, of course, and sure enough the rather too flimsy pole I had recently bought broke in the morning. We had had enough of the banging by then anyway, and reverted to tacking downwind -- going faster but further. At least it was an easier motion, and the wind generator charged better at this angle which was becoming increasingly necessary for the batteries, but it was surprising how wide the downhill tacks had to be. But this was a red letter day: De Savary changed his shirt for the first time.

The downwind tacking continued through the night and in the morning, "Land ahoy!", the mountains of Porto Santo were visible in the distance. It was too discouraging to appear to tack across or past the island so the skipper ordered the jib hardened flat to steady her and the boat turned towards Santo Porto on main alone. The wind died for two hours which allowed us to charge the batteries on the engine, but then it was back to running on the main before rounding the island to the east, and so into a surprisingly full harbour at Porto Santo.

"How did you enjoy the trip, Barney?" "Alright, but I don't rate all that beating". "Lucky you're not on the Cape Horn leg then, we'll probably have to do thousands of miles of it". "Nightmare". You could well be right, Barney, you could well be right.