Arrival

Mark was the first to spot the island, distant, hazy, almost floating. Those last few 60 miles seemed longer than the previous 200. The wind dropped. We were sailing dead down wind, poled out Number 1 and Number 3.

To starboard we saw a distant blue spinnaker reaching towards target, slowly, they drew closer, the spirit on board Northern Child was part exhaustion, part party, part sadness. The other boat drew even nearer. I desperatley wanted us to put up our spinnaker. But nobody apart from Christian and I cared. For him and I, to be overtaken, after 3 weeks was an insult. But no-one else saw it or worried or minded.  We crept on, dusk fell, we started to get  phone signals, intermittent at first. Then the first text, then they came in torrents like the rain a week earlier. The welcome party was gathering force in the Marina.

Now we were in darkness, and the light of the other boat was a red Port light. They were still flyimg their spinnaler. They were a-beam us, slowly their light flickered to white and back to red, then steady white and back to red and then white, solid white. Solid white! Their stern light. Their stern light! They were ahead of us.

I bit my tongue in frustrated silence. It hurt my sad, driven, compulsive, competitive soul. To be overtaken?  Now?  We had been the last across the start line. We had over taken more than 200 boats. We had been at it night and day! How could everyone let this happen? In silence I stared at St Lucia and tried to concentrate on the overall event and achievement and not just our final hour of ignominy.

The lights on the island slowly started to appear,  then the feline outline of Pigeon Island, the guard house of Rodney Bay for 500 years. Some texts from Angie. She was there, so were the Dutch wives, so was Marks family. My spirits lifted. The wind was picking up , we got closer, hardening up. the wind ahead of  the beam slightly, we dropped the pole, switched over the headsail and started to reach and then point towards target, Lucy calling the sail trim and course heading. We could see, smell and now hear St Lucias. Yes even two miles from the start line you could hear the pulsing reggae beat.

We rounded Pigeon Point. there in the darkness was the finish line, a flashing orange buoy at one end , the committee boat at the other, out raced the photographers rib. Christian put Judith on the helm to take us over the line, her face lit up with pride.  

Everyone on the rail, shirts on, hands up, cheers, shouts, a camera flash, the sound of the hooter marking our crossing of the finish line.

Done, over, completed.

A chaos of back slapping, and hand shaking. Christian shouting to everyone, "sit down we can’t see", everywhere boats and lights and cries of "where’s the marina" “look out!” in the darkness.  And the  ahead clear green and red entrance markers. Sails down engine on, we glided into the marina and there they were on the pontoon, all the Dutch wives and Marks family and Angie shouting to us out of the darkness , invisible, and us shouting back and them running along the pontoon to our berth shouting out and us shouting back as we came along side carefully, disbelievingly.

Bump! Stop!, make the lines fast, hugging kissing crying welcoming and a huge, beaming, St Lucian guy standing there with  a big tray of Rum punches and a basket of fruit.

We had done it!.

We had sailed the Atlantic!

The Final Miles

So that was our last night watch. We did 22.00 to 02.00 and 18.00 to Mid day.

It was relatively uneventful marked only by a suicidal flying fish jumping into the rear cockpit and the fleeting site of two lights of other boats to stern that soon disappeared. The wind died down so we were unable to maintain our 200 mile plus target. We enjoyed ticking off the "lasts" the last time I made Tacos bed, the last time we made tea in the dark. The last time we looked up at Orion and Cirrius. The last time we peered into the darkness and the last glorious dawn. "rosy fingered Dawn" as Homer so accurately described it.

The morning was peaceful, the wind frustratingly light has driven us North of the rhumb line and is denying us a daylight arrival. We handed over to the "Dutchies" at Midday with just 68 miles to go. So now our eta is about 18.00 St Lucia time.

The whole boat has been a frenzy of cleaning and packing and showering. Lucy insists we are all to wear our white Northern Child tee shirts to make a completely photogenic arrival.

We had lunch as usual at 12.00. The voyage has been punctuated by Christian's metronomic routine. Lunch and skippers briefing for all crew at 12.00 then happy hour at 17.00 with skippers briefing and position report, miles done, position against others. Then dinner at 18.00.  Its created a routine that seamlessly linked together the days. Now everyone is quiet. Edo has some cool jazz on the yacht sound system and everyone is keening to the port quarter for the first sight of land. Which will be the twin mammarian peaks of the Pitou range. Visible we think from about 40 miles off shore. Then we will be looking at our mobiles or the first sign of a signal so we can call the waiting wives and lovers.

I can't believe it's nearly over. I can't imagine my first wobbly steps on land and sleeping in a still bed  without being woken every 4 hours.

 

More to it than sailing

All our grind and hard work is paying off. We have just set another 24 hour record of 220 miles making a total of 847 in 4 days and our ETA is down to around 21.00 on Friday evening. We have pulled back a day and we have around 250 miles to go as I write this. We are about 30 miles south of the rhum line so first thing this morning we hoisted the reaching kite and hardened up to get back on line. But in 26 -30 knots and the huge swell it proved too much, even with Christian on the helm.  The boat kept rounding up and we were in constant danger of broaching, after two hours of struggle we brought it down and now we are reaching with the number 1, at  a slightly slower pace.

One thing that I have become aware of and want to discuss with Chris and Martin when I get back, is the complexity of issues there to deal with besides the actual sailing. In fact to me that appears to be the simpler part of trans-ocean passage making.

Northern Child has been a joy to sail. We haven't had to reef and the wind range has been from 2 knots to 31 knots. She is so steady and stable. All of the pre `18th century  technology on this boat; compass, sails, mast, boom, halyards, sheets, blocks, rudder etc has performed perfectly. However, it's the post 18th century  technology that has given Christian and Lucy some problems.

Since the start, actually before the start, little problems have occurred  every couple of days...... First the gear box, then the water maker, then the generator, then the gas  alarm, then the oven thermostat, then the computer, then the calibration on the mast head repeaters. Every 2-3 days something has required Christian and Lucy to get out their  manuals and tool box, lift a floor board and spend two-three hours on their knees head down in the bilges. It's quite daunting. On top of that are the daily issues of weather routing, arrival time windows and last but not least; food and beverages. 12 people three meals a day for three weeks. On a two ring camping stove!

The additional gnawing questions that Christian has had to deal with every day are ; do we have enough diesel for the water maker, do we have enough water, enough food,

Finally, he has to ensure that we are happy and healthy and that we are sailing the boat speedily and safely. Whilst maintaining a calm relaxed good humour.

Somehow, so far he has managed it and so has Lucy!

Christian and Lucy repair the spinnaker

Thinking of arrival

The countdown to arrival has begun in earnest. We have ticked off the 1,000 mile to go marker then put in three 200 mile plus sessions of 24 hours; 201 miles, 208 miles and today 214 (2 short of the boat record). So now here we are with 498 miles to go and an ETA of late Friday evening early Saturday morning. Hopefully, wives, family, lovers and girlfriends on the pontoon to welcome us.

The pace during the day is as unremitting as at night but helming is easier. You can see the horizon, see the big waves coming and steer much more accurately.  Getting the boat to "plane" and hit top speeds (currently 15.8 knots) is a Black Art which everyone has a theory about but nobody can explain completely. It involves catching a big wave at exactly the right angle so that the boat surfs down the face of the wave or across the face of the wave. It's exhilarating and addictive. But difficult to replicate. Hitting a top number is magical and you are never quite sure how you did it, but you just want to carry on and repeat the experience again.  The helming has taken its toll on B Watch.

Judith, the Woman who Sails Catamarans, has relinquished her allotted time slots on the helm. She finds the physicality too draining. She is in her mid sixties and has won our complete respect with her determination to be a full and active member of the watch, we are happy to stand in for her. She sails every weekend on her Hobie cat from a yacht club near Burnham on Crouch. A former Golf Club greenkeeper she now works part time on an organic farm. Her large brown hands bear testament to a career of hard manual work. She is a constant source of quirky knowledge, an avid bird watcher she has helped us identify the Shearwaters, the Petrols and the different types of Pilot birds with their long exotic tails and plaintiff cries. This is her second ARC and earlier in the year she sailed to the Azores. At night she points out the constellations to us. A friend from her yacht club is doing this ARC on his own boat. A 40 year old Carter 33. They breed them fiesty in Essex.

Mark is an Inspector in the Metropolitan Police. Before we met; when I saw his Met email address, I wondered what sort of man he would be. In the last few years the Met has been exposed for its institutionalised internal racism, bullying and sexual harassment. Its also been lambasted for its incompetent handling of the Stephen Lawrence murder and the Carlos Mendes killing. I was, I admit, slightly anxious.

Well, Mark is the nicest bloke on the boat. (And there are a lot of nice blokes on this yacht). He has RYA coastal skipper and is kind, considerate always the first to offer to make tea on the night watch, wash up after dinner. Helpful to Judith on the helm. First to lend a hand. Always cheerful, self effacing humorous and thoughtful.  He's looking to retire in a couple of years. They should make him Chief Constable.

Jerome is a modern, French, romantic adventurer. With his wild beard and his special polar exploration sunglasses and his high tech mobile sat phone that lets him makes daily calls to his girlfriend in Paris from the bow of the boat. He joined us off a flight from Ethiopia where he had completed a 4 month Landrover drive up the length of Africa.  Complete with climb of Kilamanjaro and obligatory call to girlfriend from the summit.

He's like a Red Setter, always bouncing up to tweak the sails, grab the helm always looking for that extra edge of excitement, that extra half knot of surfing speed. Super bright multi lingual, highly educated and well read, he has taken a year off from McKinsey. He will meet his girlfriend in St Lucia travel to Cuba for a two week Jazz and Salsa festival then off to Mexico for a 6 month back-pack down the west coast of Latin America. He is due back in his Paris office wearing his suit on the 1st of July. I don't think he'll make it.

Andy our Watch leader is RYA Yachtmaster and the most highly qualified person on the boat after Christian and Lucy. Of all of us I think he is the one who isn't enjoying it much. A very successful house builder he is used to being in charge. He has never really sailed under another skipper. He's not comfortable unless things are done his way. On this boat they are done Christian's way.

He is from Yorkshire and has a down to earth pragmatism coupled with a suspicion of things foreign that makes life on board difficult for himself. The Dutch after all are boisterous, enthusiastic and noisy. He doesn't like Lucy's food, can't eat cheese, and finds the idea of sashimi abhorrent. In addition he has a serious shoulder injury that causes him pain, he is having a significant operation on it in January. He bears his discomfort with silent stoicism and is occasionally reduced to one handed helming. Which is difficult.  Despite all this or perhaps because of all this, the voyage has re-inforced his ambition to do the trip himself, ideally with his wife Jeanette, on his own boat, set up his way, with his friends on board, listening to his music and eating the food he likes. Who can blame him?

And then theres me. Which makes 5 in all.

So, since I started writing this, we have ticked off another 7 miles to target. 7 rolling rocking, swooshing, dipping, plunging, noisy miles.

That Rum Punch is going to taste so sweet.

Mid Atlantic Tuna Salad Nicoise

Fresh Sashimi

Helming at Night

Pitch Black. No moon, thick black cloud cover, no stars at all not even a glimmer. 25 knots of wind over the starboard quarter and huge rolling following seas. We have a poled out Number One (our biggest sail) to Starboard. Number 3 goosewinged to Port. The main is un-reefed and let out to Port against the shrouds. We need to maintain an 8.5 knot average boat speed.

It's our watch. Climb out of the bunk, tee shirt on, head torch, stagger through to the stairs. Banged from side to side by the violent movement of the boat. Up the steps. Onto deck, feverishly struggle on with the life jacket. Look around, try to acclimatise. Darkness, sea, rolling. Look at the windex 27 knots.

Clip on, clip on. Its my turn for half an hour at the helm.

Clamber over the bulkhead. Stand beside the wheel.

"You OK to let me take over now?"

"Yes"

"Course 287?"

"Yes"

"You ready?"

"Yes"

"Take the wheel"

Got it! Grip  it! Eyes down at the compass, quickly, 275 ' Bring her round don't let the Number 3 flog. Back up to course rolling, rolling.

Hold it don't let her round up.

Can hear another wave behind, yes now, lifting us lifting us to port to port, hold it, pull her back. 9 knots, 10 knots. On the wave now.

Surfing gliding huge spray all around us. Can't make out the horizon.

Touching 13 knots.

Its passed us, up come the bows, huge crashing as the boat slows and the headsails flog. Hold it lightly keep her straight. Back to 287' look at the windex, wind slightly forward. Don't for gods sake let the Number 1 get backed. Keep her down, down. Heres another wave, hold it grip the wheel, boat climbing climbing now let the wheel straighten itself loose between the fingers. Speed still going up 12,13 14.4. Crash. Down off the back of the wave. 6 knots . Sails flog. Come to starboard let them fill. Yes now back on course. Speed building. Glance up at the masthead lights and windex. Huge swing from side to side. The boom catches the top of a wave to port, the boat slows trys to spin then up, back and on. On madly, crashing, smashing, into the darkness and the invisible horizon.

We do this for 30 minutes then get relieved and sit on deck in pitch darkness, huddled figures, silence, eyes occasionally keeping watch for other boats. There are none. Crashing waves. No horizon. Arms aching.

Back on in 1 hour. Dawn is 7 hours away.

Speed and exhaustion

Since my last blog we have ticked off the 1000-mile-to-go milestone, set a top speed of 148 knots and also set a record of 201 miles to target in 24 hours. All achieved because the Trades have finally set in, providing a constant 15-20 knots of breeze from the North East, blowing over our starboard quarter. There has been a cost though. We are now flying the large reaching kite for all the hours of daylight and sometimes into the darkness. This is really tiring. It takes three to keep the boat moving with the kite up, Helmsman, Trimer and Grinder. If the kite looks like collapsing the Trimer calls "Grind" or "Ease" depending on the cause. The helm either bears away or rounds up to wind. The attention and concentration is constant and we work in 30 minute relays throughout the day.

Anyone trying to sleep down below has to put up with the boat tipping and bucking and twisting over the waves whilst the team shout to each other. The huge tailing winch either screams as the sheet is let out our grumbles and clanks as the sheet is ground in. Yesterday I felt exhausted and lightly queasy.  We are entering the endurance phase. Last night Christian the biggest of the 5 Big Men from  Holland was so tired he slept right through his watch and couldn't be roused by Eric the watch leader. We have 5 more days to go at this pace with an ETA now of probably Saturday.

Angie is in St Lucia already and travelled out on the same plane and sat in the seat next to Taco's wife. Which is an extraordinary co-incidence, Taco and I hot bunk. That is we share the same bunk. When he's on watch I sleep in it, he wakes me, I get up, wrap up my bedding and put on his bedding in preparation for him. He gets in and sleeps. I then wake him and he sets up the bunk for me.  It's an almost monastic routine. He a lovely courteous and educated man. Head of his own large law firm and a constant source of wit and good humour.

The 5 Big Men from Holland are a very cohesive bunch, constantly laughing and joking. They are excellent companions all of them speaking fluent and colloquial English. They sing drinking songs when time begins to drag. They have an endearingly anarchic attitude to the discipline of food and supply rationing. Today we ran out of coffee. Their enthusiastic daily consumption of super strong brew having polished off a month's supply in two weeks. The Cokes and Fanta and fresh fruit are all gone now as well and when we came on watch last night there were only 4 chocolate bars left for 5 of us! A meeting of watch leaders resolved the issue.

Christian; Always smiling always happy!

Edo; Great on the helm, good at jokes!

Taco; Smooth operator! My bunk mate.



Dirk: Karate, Sushimi, Music Master!

Eric, quiet, wild man, the driving force behind the whole Dutch adventure!

Both watches collaborate now over sail evolutions and all of us are leaning towards the finish line. We've set ourselves another 200 miles in 24 hours target. Distance to go is under 900. All of the Dutchmen are asleep and we'll wake them at 22.00. I'm due on the helm in 5 minutes.

I've attached some photos of the crew with the spinnaker up. Neither photo gives the slightest impression of the scale of the waves or the sense of speed and disorientation. Both of them look like we are in a a calm sea. Trust me we're not!



 

Lucy on trim and B watch helming



Over Half Way

The last few days have been quite tiring on both crews. Lots of complicated sail evolutions as the wind has varied in strength and direction. In one four hour watch we had, were beating with Headsail and Foresail, reaching with Kite, downwind with poled out Foresail, Staysail  and Number three. Running just off the wind with the big symmetrical kite.

All of the evolutions require full watch participation and concentration. In addition the spinnaker sailing requires three; one on the helm, one on the sheet and one on the guy and demands high levels of concentration to ensure the sails are always fully set and don't collapse.

But as the winds have built so have our spirits and today the 5 Big Men from Holland set a new watch speed record of 11.00 knots. I am sure we can beat that but we'll need to be surfing on a following sea and so far we have had swell and waves either ahead or across the beam. As we settle into the Trades System then this will change and hopefully we can close in on the boat record of 18.4 knots

Now we have passed the 1,450-miles-to-go-mark, we are half way and the countdown to arrival has begun in earnest. Angie flew out to St Lucia today. We had assumed I would arrive Monday or Tuesday as per former Arcs but now it looks like Saturday. So, I am slightly concerned that she will now probably have a week on her own waiting for us to arrive. I am sure though that she will be able to team up with some of the other "ARC widows" who will be there and in the same situation.

I am really looking forward to seeing her beautiful smile when we get to the marina.