Return from Greenland

Well, here we are back in Blighty after an action packed trip of horrors, errors and cock ups. And that’s just the last 80 miles 'cos the bit from Greenland was the pits.......

Greenland was the hardest part of the trip and tested us all daily it seems. We spent far too long in Nuuk and, like many people familiar with the place, came to dislike it. Not at all like Greenland seems to be the common consensus, more like any other European city. Well, not sure about that but it had its share of ugly buildings, trendy dudes and modern shops.

The two sides of Greenlandic housing. The flats are NOT abandoned, derelict or uninhabitable. But they do seem to be mostly occupied by Innuit....

But we were there and we got Hannah sorted, the bits for the self steerer made. The bits were 2 pieces of plastic with 3 holes drilled through them. The plastic measured about 5” x 1”x 3” and cost a total of 1683 krone or £150.............. still we had them and they would allow the self steerer to function properly. We thought we might have a look at the fjords around Nuuk before heading North and set off with a stiff SW breeze. It didn’t last more than 3 hours and died as we approached bits of ice that littered the water. With little wind we decided to motor but silence greeted the frantic key turning. We checked and re checked, tightened and re tightened but still nothing and in the meantime I had decided to head back to Nuuk and get it sorted. Eventually the wind picked up and blew hard and we slowly began the beat back to the harbour. As the wind grew so did the waves and under reduced sail we tacked and tacked again. Actually we tacked and gybed as Hannah refused to come round on st’bd tack and gybing was easier. As we approached the shore on port tack I left it a bit late and realised, with horror, that she wouldn’t tack out of it. We stalled, got going and instead of waiting until we had real way on I tried to tack again and stalled once more. By now we were far too close for comfort and we crash gybed the boat as Bee yelled that we had 17 metres under us. It sounds a lot and it is in normal circumstances but because the water is so deep you rarely get soundings until very close in shore and then it shoals very rapidly, so hearts were pounding as Hannah roared out of the gybe and we settled into the last part of the beat. We called up the harbour asking for assistance in coming alongside, getting a response from a Danish naval ship who proceeded us in. We arrived to find the ship stationed in the middle of the harbour, fenders out, ratings on the deck all ready for us to crash along side. We rapidly altered course toward them and Bee went forward to drop the main. I’m not sure who realised first, us or the Danish skipper, what was going on but the pride of Denmark’s navy was not there for our benefit at all but simply positioning itself prior to reversing into its berth. We sheered away as the Dane went rapidly astern and although we had lost our momentum a little we still managed to drop the anchor in 10 metres but dragged quickly toward moored boats. We came close to raking the deck of one with our bowsprit but I somehow managed to get off Hannah onto the other boat and keep them apart. The gap began to rapidly grow as I realised I was about to be marooned on a strange boat as Hannah and Bee charged off at the end of a still dragging anchor. In desperation I flung myself off and grasped the forestay before falling below the bowsprit, legs going everywhere as I tried to stay dry(!) and get back on board. Luckily for us a missionary had heard the radio calls and manoeuvred his boat alongside and got us safely tied up. We slumped, drank the last of our wine and went to bed. The next morning the engine started first time...........  

Finally we were ready and headed off in the company of a Swiss boat in the direction of Disko Bay. This is an area all cruisers head for as the ice bergs are enormous, many weighing several million tons, the area seems to have its micro climate and you get to sail your boat inside the Arctic Circle. As we left Nuuk on a fickle wind a couple of humpback whales decided to entertain whoever was out there and 3 boats could be seen drifting in circles as the whales sported themselves about. They grew tired of us after 40 minutes or so and drifted off as we did. Once we cleared the long entrance we found the wind had settled but from the North which was where we needed to go. The Swiss boat simply powered away whilst we continued a slow, very slow beat north. We spotted a south going boat and chatted to them on the VHF. They were travelling with a Danish boat we’d met in Baddeck and from Kim and Kirsty we got the news that the weather was likely to remain north for some days. We pondered. Disko was about 350 miles north. The two boats we had spoken to had been up there (loved it, best place they had seen, you can’t come to Greenland and not go there etc) but had been waiting a week for a northerly wind to get back. From Nuuk to the southern tip of Greenland was about 500 miles and with time running out we reluctantly decided that we no longer had the time to get that far north and that we would spend a bit of time exploring the fjords around Nuuk. So we turned and headed back in and from there began a few manic days of cruising the fjords.

We motored much of the time, visited remote communities and spent a couple of days dodging ice bergs and growlers that had broken off a nearby glacier. At times it looked as though we wouldn’t find a way through and each of us would stand on the main boom looking for a gap. It is an amazing sight, with huge cliffs, blue sky and a sea littered with ice of varying shapes, sizes and colours. After 8 or 9 hours the ice began to thin out and we made better progress.

Motoring through the Nuuk fjords, looking for a path ahead

       
Off to port and about 25 yards away ice about the size of a small house suddenly began to roll. They make a noise before they do; I guess the sound of the ice dropping off underneath or something. It is sometimes spectacular but always graceful as they roll and then bob up and down. It’s the bit that drops off that causes the problems as it, released from its parent, hurtles through the water like a rampaging torpedo. They have been known to sink ships and this piece appeared in the water immediately in front of Hannah bringing us up in heap as we rode up on top of it. The force damaged the bobstay stem fitting, twisting the bolts and cracking the epoxy on the stem. At speeds below 5 knots no water came in but anything above that forced a trickle through the bolt holes. Equally I may not have been paying enough attention to the path ahead but I swear it was ice free moments before.....  Back to Nuuk for more repairs which we carried out by dragging as much weight aft to elevate the bow, removing the fitting, drying out the holes as much as we  could and then injecting Sika Flex into, onto and everywhere in between. A makeshift repair if ever we saw one and made worse by the fact that the Sika Flex was white not black. Ah well perhaps no one would notice. A day or so later we headed out of Nuuk and headed south and the start of the homeward journey. Incredible sky, huge ice covered mountains and a breeze promised a great start and we made our first anchorage in good time. The site of an abandoned Faroese settlement it was deserted, quiet and peaceful and exactly what we needed.

Ravn Stor, an abandoned Faroese settlement (not much left)

Moving south we came into the little town of Paamiut, no roads in or out, helicopter or boat only. Didn’t stop the local Danes having vehicles to drive the 3k of road the town boasted. The pilot book is a bit dismissive of the place but we liked it and everyone was friendly.

Paamiut-old town

Paamiut harbour, Sunni’s ship and a visiting ice cube.....

As we arrived a crowd gathered to watch us and a man indicated where we should lie which is how we met Sunni, a Faroese skipper who entertained us and set us right on icebergs. (We told him the tale of hitting one. He looked horrified and asked how far away from it we were. On hearing the distance he asked how big was it and then relaxed, lent over and said “that’s an ice cube not an ice berg”.... The harbour itself had several “ice cubes” floating around inside it and one could have easily crushed us. The locals are blasé about them and will drag them out of the entrance should anyone be in danger but a little worrying to us. Sunni showed us round his ship having visited Hannah and we couldn’t believe the 3 chart plotters he had. His boss came down to see us a day later and remarked that Sunni had been horrified/impressed with our seeming lack of navigation gear. We left after a few days only to return hours later as we noticed the rigging on the mizzen had slipped and we needed a ladder to reach it. The forecast was favourable the next day and we headed out with a promise of NW winds intending to get down to Julianhaab, rest up and leave from there with a good forecast for the trip home. Hours later the forecast came in on Navtex to warn of a wind switch to SE 8 with worse to come. The whole coast between us and Cape Farewell, the southern tip, was nothing but gales or storms with wind speed of 25 metres per second or getting on for 60mph. (A week later I realised I was grateful when the forecast indicated that the wind was easing to Force 8 and thought “this is a dumb place to be sailing”....) Weather forecasting in Greenland is extremely difficult and winds are likely to be reversed making passage planning difficult. Our situation was made more difficult by a lack of charts for some areas forcing us to stay off shore rather than take the inside route and so  day after day we faced SE gales, the very direction we needed to go. We were being pushed SW, away from the coast where the current runs north and brings with it ice from the east coast. Safer but not the direction we wanted to go but we seemed to have little alternative. Heading back to Paamiut was no longer possible and  we debated whether to head over toward Labrador and trying to pick up the south going current. In the end the wind went easterly allowing a slightly better course so we carried on as before.

The huge bergs  are spectacular ( we saw several aground in 400 feet of water) but the real killers are the growlers that probably weigh a ton or so, about the size of a car and very difficult to spot when a sea is running but would cripple or sink a yacht very easily. We would make some progress (by now we had abandoned plans for Julianhaab and decided to just head for home) and then the wind strength and seas would increase and we would heave to and try to rest. The noise was awful with confused seas thumping against the hull with enormous force. On some nights the wind grew so strong that even heaving to became too dangerous and we’d lay a hull. On one night the storm raged to such an extent we simply went below, putting the heavy washboards in, locked the hatch, spread the genny on the cabin floor and lay down together encased in our oilskins. That night little was said but we lay there hugging each other, thanking Hannah’s strength and design. “Would we survive the night” thoughts roamed unbidden through our minds and afterwards Bee said she felt sad that no one would know where or how we might have disappeared........ An indescribably low and frightening time

Now, with the memories behind us, the sequence of all that happened is a little vague. We took 11 days to clear Cape Farewell, a distance of less than 500 miles. At some point after that the winds became SW and favourable, and all though we were forced to heave to on several nights as gales became storms and we felt it too dangerous to continue, we made progress and one night were running under reefed main only before a big sea. All was well on Hannah as Bee, sat at the nav. table with Toots on her lap, reading and I dozed on the berth by the unlit fire. A rogue sea came over the stern, poured through the hatch and dumped who knows how much water below. Toots was swept off Bee’s knee, through the cabin ending up by our berth utterly soaked, electrics and food were drowned and we spent several hours bailing out and trying to restore order during the course of which we discovered we had lost not only the Yeoman plotter but also our SSB, calculator and alarm clock. The SSB meant no weather as Navtex doesn’t work offshore but having no alarm meant watch changes were haphazard if the other person was steering. That sea was the worst but others snuck aboard and would pour through the slightest gap to the extent we needed to battened as much down as possible. Unfortunately as the gales and storms carried on Hannah grew wetter as lack of ventilation added to wet oilies and clothes took their toll. We had sewn together a very rough spray hood in Belfast and beefed it up with additional pieces of canvas and then rigged up a framework from a boarding ladder, fish bin and the rudder from our dinghy. It worked surprisingly well except that climbing in and out of the companionway became a lesson in lateral limbo dancing and because the fish bin was weighted down with sodden clothes every entrance meant leaning well into said pile and breathing the aroma.... Lovely!  The boat began to smell (like a midden or as if we were permanently sited in a stable with a dozen incontinent horses.....) and the day we had a weather break saw Hannah festooned with gear as we tried to make life bearable. The next day saw us battling the weather once again and so it went on as we slowly made our way toward the Channel. Once we got below 54°N life began to improve. The wind and sea felt warmer, the miles to go began to reduce and we felt we had been tested and had all come through it. We do remember one night as Hannah under two reefs, sheeted stays’l and the self steerer in full operation roared down the path of the moon. A bit of a sea was running but we were out there absolutely on our own and it was a joy to stand on deck watching the movement of the boat as she rose and fell. A wonderful memory. Actually I found myself marvelling at that movement even in the most savage of weather as wave after wave went rolling under our keel and Hannah rose to each one. Wish that they had all behaved in such a fashion. Whenever we changed the stays’l for the storm jib which meant working on the foredeck, one of us would inevitably disappear under a huge lump of spray as the rogues took their opportunity to climb aboard. The storm jib became one our favourite sails as we could set either flying on the bowsprit or inboard in place of the stays’l. It’s a very small sail and can be hoisted in almost any strength of wind although the night it blew from hell we realised it would be futile if not dangerous.

The main suffered and seemed to tear at the most inappropriate times and one night we were forced to remove the sail, take it below and sew yet another patch on it as conditions outside would have made the job difficult. At least below we could hear the whales singing to each other. In between sail repairs we were busy with plasticine, useful for stopping leaks or tightening up the self steerer which got battered every time we heaved to or lay a hull. In the end we used a Spanish windless either side and cranked it up hard to stop any play.

Usually we would run the engine once a day to keep the batteries topped up and had had no starting problems since Nuuk. For whatever reason we missed one day and the following day not a peep could be heard from the thing. Over the next few days or more be moved the instrument panel, took the starter and solenoid off (several times) replaced the solenoid, checked every electrical connection and replaced any that looked in the slightest bit iffy and still not a sound. As this had happened about 700 miles west of Ireland our only concern was getting the batteries to last until we got back which, at that stage, we felt was at least a week away. We switched everything off, used the GPS 4 times a day to get a position and used a solar powered garden light as a compass light. Kero lamps gave us light inside but we didn’t use nav lights as we were still too far out, a practice neither of us felt comfortable with. Slowly, slowly we got closer. Staying well clear of the Irish coast we crept toward the Scillies and at the entrance to the channel the wind died. We drifted around the edge of the shipping lane, narrowly avoided a collision with a fishing boat and wrapping the appropriate coloured rags around our kero lamps burnt makeshift nav lights as we watched the lights over Newlyn twinkle. (We had checked our main nav lights after a particularly bad blow and as the Port light wasn’t shining I went forward to check. “There’s no light” I reported to the chief electrician “Oh the bulbs probably blown” she said, “No” says I “there isn’t a light there, its gone, fitting an’ all have been washed away” As these lights are secured to our main shrouds some 8 feet above the waterline............) Hours went by and we could still see Newlyn so called the coastguard to warn them we had no engine, little power and poor nav lights. “Did they” we wondered “know a vessel who could tow us into Falmouth?” We explained where we had come from; that we needed to clear customs, that we couldn’t come alongside as we had a cat etc etc. He’d see what he could do and around 9am called to let us know a vessel was on its way to us. YIPPEE............... Out of the mist loomed a ship. A very large ship, a coastguard tug with orders to tow us in (the guys who came over to look at the engine took one look at the space available to access it and making various excuses suggested we get it checked ashore) The hawser was probably 3” or 4” diameter but settled easily over the bitts and at a stately 4 or 5 knots we set off. But where? I called up the tug to find out to be told Newlyn.........they would drop us in the bay and we could anchor.........except the weather was meant to go NE which would leave us exposed..... all in all our yippee tow was turning out to be not quite what we needed. Remember we’d been at sea for 32 days and were concerned about complying with the law on boats returning from non EU countries and having an animal aboard. We explained, again, the predicament and the coastguard shrugged and said it wasn’t a problem...........aah if only we had listened. With the breeze picking up we felt we’d take our chances and head on for Cherbourg and asked them to terminate the tow which they did with remarkable good grace (we subsequently learnt that the tug costs £1000 per minute to operate!) We sailed slowly away and then watched the wind die, return and die time and again through out the day. We couldn’t believe it and as the evening drew on we were still off Newlyn and little chance of going anywhere. Humble pie time folks. Called the coastguard and asked them to call a couple of people and let them know we were alive. One of the calls was to friends we had made in the Caribbean who live in Helford and may know someone who could tow us in. The coastguard rang them and, off his own bat, a commercial company who agreed to come out to us. We negotiated over the radio but turned him down as the hourly rate of £130 meant we could be looking at £300+ for the 10 mile trip. The coastguard called us again to let us know a fishing boat was trying to speak to us and for £100 Steve, the skipper of Cesco towed us calmly and safely into Newlyn. What a great place Newlyn is. £6 a night to moor there with the 3rd night free, good facilities and we were home. The following day we rang Nigel and Jude, our Helford friends, to find they had got the CG message and had promptly driven to Falmouth, with a load of goodies, where we were expected to land to find we had gone else where. They ate the goodies and drove home. We rang John at the yard (he has been incredibly helpful in helping sort out all our mechanical and electrical problems) who listened to the garbled story I told and said “Where are you” Newlyn I replied and expressing delight that we were so close(?) said he’d be down to sort us out the following day. And he and Terri duly arrived the following day and in a short space of time had the engine running. Nige and Jude arrived, a bit of a party started and then John and Terri were on their way back to Southampton, a round trip of over 600 miles!

We left Newlyn for Cherbourg or rather Helford but the forecast indicated strong NE’s coming in and we felt we needed to get back. The forecast of SW4 – 5 didn’t materialise and we motored for 20 hours as we had agreed with a friend to hand Toots over in 2 days time to get her on the ferry. Crossing the shipping lanes the wind picked up and heavily reefed we stormed up the channel toward France with yet another tear appearing in the main. Visibility fell and we squinted through the rain and mist for the fairway buoy to take us into Cherbourg. Bee, as ever, spotted it and with the help of an incoming fishing boat pointing the way we made the harbour safely and tied up on the waiting pontoon. That night the winds went NE and we found we had chosen the most exposed berth in the marina but at least we were in and safe. Sat saw us handing over Toots in a ferry car park to Alistair and then back to the boat. A few beers with a Pompey catamaran may have been the reason we opted to leave that night on a fitful SW breeze but we did and soon a few others followed us. Light winds meant we resorted to the engine and all went well for about 10 or so miles when a strange noise had us checking the water. All ok but as I hauled up the engine cover the engine gave a bang and stopped leaving us drifting quietly. For those not familiar with these waters the tides run very fast, particularly on the French side so, as far as I was concerned, heading back in was not on. ‘course there is the slight problem of one of the world’s busiest shipping lanes to cross but we eased our way across the east going lane with no problem and then spent hours trying to reach the west lane. We tried calling passing yachts to give us a tow but no one responded until a powerboat, Millennium Magic, came along, took a line and dragged us through the lane before continuing on to Bembridge having refused all offers of payment. On we went, the ebbing tide sweeping us before it but the Needles were getting closer. As the Needles is a very narrow channel and the winds were light I rang the CG again to see if we were likely to meet any ships as we went through “oh and by the way did they have any vessels in the area who could give us a tow”. Well in due course the lifeboat from Yarmouth was launched to come and assess the situation. They came alongside noted our 1.7knots of speed and dryly informed us that we had no chance of making it through that night even though the tide had turned. Yet another tow was organised and we were duly deposited on a buoy off Yarmouth for the night. This was turning into the ending from Hell but with 20 miles to go we felt we were surely safe from any further mishap..........

We cast off at 06.30 and took the flooding tide up toward home. Part of the channel off Cowes is for very large ships and yachts are meant to stay well out of it but inattention and a light wind saw us on the leeward side of the channel as a large tanker came boring down on us, whistle going and making it clear he, rightly, wanted us out of his way. We bore away, rounded up and tried to get back against the tide. The speed of 1.3 knots dropped to .9 and then .6 and when we were overtaken by a nearby buoy I knew we were in trouble and we gybed round and headed down the Cowes side of the Brambles and over toward Portsmouth. Clearing the shallows we worked our way across and began the long haul back to Southampton. Luckily John and Terri had come out in their boat to tow us in or it would have been yet another night out waiting for a favourable tide. So some 7 weeks after we left Greenland we finally made it back to our friends at Quayside, familiar faces and boats, glad to see us home safely  and find out how it was. 32 days at sea to complete a 1900 mile trip tells its own story really and the other 15,000 pale away by comparison.

A few asides. The night of the storm where Bee and I lay on the cabin sole and hoped to survive was a point when we both felt we were done with long distance cruising. A point where we wanted nothing more than to stop and be done with the terror and fear that storms engender, to spend time with friends and to feel a little bit settled. I even promised I’d be down the local nursery buying window boxes and plants to surround Hannah with............However as we came up Southampton water I felt as though we should already be planning the next trip, that great as it is to be “home” home for us is wherever we are with Hannah. Which I guess is one of the strengths of the human mind.

It was without a doubt the worst trip ever. Horrendous seas, winds in excess of, well who knows what? Low after low came scudding across from Labrador and no doubt we picked the tale end of at least one hurricane. Would we go again? I don’t think so but who can tell. Bee would like to get to Disko and perhaps when we have new sails; sorted out the engine, ventilation and bilge pumps I may also feel different. But it is a challenging area to sail and boat and crew need to be in top shape which Hannah really wasn’t. Because of the soaking we took, life below was unpleasant, wet and smelly-much like sailing  was 40 years ago but hadn’t been for us. Normally Hannah is a dry boat (not in that way you fool) and we’re rarely troubled by seas coming aboard but sometimes we need these things to make us aware, to highlight areas of life that could be improved and so it is with us and ideas, thoughts and schemes abound for changes and improvements.

On a positive note we have seen dozens of whales including a 40 strong pod of pilot whales that were surfing with us as we romped toward home one day. The calm weather didn’t interest them but a blow brought them out to play and they would keep station with us for hours. Oddly enough the whales excited no interest in Toots at all yet the moment the dolphins appeared she was on the capping rail watching.

The damage sustained during the storms, particularly when heaved to or laying a hull is enormous. The stays’l, because it is backed and thus rests against the mast, has rubbed away a layer of wood. The lazy jacks (ropes that support the mains’l when it is lowered) have carved 1/2” grooves in the gaffs and the masts have bare patches from the constant movement of the saddles. Since we got back the whole time has been spent on trying to dry out the boat and save charts, clothes, books and everything else. The cabin sole has swollen to the extent that nothing fits and we run de humidifiers day and night to reduce the swelling. “It was easier at sea” muttered Bee as we hauled yet another pile of sodden washing off the boat. And in many ways it is, the life is addictive in a way being ashore can never be and we’re lucky to have realised it. So it’ll be turn left at the Needles before long................

Has it all been worth it? Of course! We’ve met many wonderful people, had a great time and look forward to the next wander around. Arriving back, seeing familiar places and people is always warming and we have been touched by the interest people have had in what we have done and how pleased we are to see them and vice versa. We’re amazed at how friends have rallied, sorted things out for us, appreciate we need a little time to  get ourselves mentally sorted out to the change yet extend offer after offer for small kindnesses that mean huge amounts to anyone coming from a sea journey. To everyone, many thanks for your kindness and support.

In the week or so it has taken to put this together a number of things have begun to happen. Despite our worst nightmares we have tentatively broached the topic of returning to Greenland, albeit with more preparation, more charts etc and possibly arriving via Iceland which says something about the minds ability to forget.  Our Danish friends, Kim and Kirsty made it down to Prins Kristian Sund (look it up) and finally left Greenland on Aug 28 and then had a fast 10 day sail to the Azores so it is possible, with patience to have comfortable sailing it seems. We’ll let you know the next time around....

Thanks for all the messages and support. Wandering into a library, logging on and seeing “You have 87 emails” is a real buzz and even the one liners are very much appreciated so please don’t get out of the habit. And lastly, because SO many people have asked – there is no book, mostly ‘cos we don’t think we’ve done anything particularly unique but also as I’m a lazy sod  I can’t be arsed..............

Bee took this photo of a majestic mountain and found a whale breaching  its way into the shot..................

 Phone number whilst we’re here in the UK is: 077 66 06 48 03

The winter ends...

A reminder of what we have, hopefully, left behind- sea smoke on a cold morning

Here we sit at the end of a 12 day spell of sunny weather with skies so blue it would seem that the view could go on for ever. Absolutely stunning. Last week we removed the green tarp, determined to get Hannah back to looking like a boat rather than some allotment lean-to. What a relief! It was great fitting the tarp, knowing the protection we would get, but nothing compared to seeing Hannah out in the open again. Little damage from the weather, bit of paint rubbed off the topsides by a fender but otherwise fine. Of course having sat around all winter we now have but a few weeks to get everything ready for the next section of the trip. We have been lucky enough to borrow a sewing machine and have spent the last few days constructing a spray hood in an attempt to ease the cold weather suffering we are possibly going to endure over the next 4 or 5 months. John and Mary donated a pile of Sunbrella which we are turning into various bits and pieces and never again will I look at a sewn straight line with anything but wonder…… How do they do that?

A camera shy Bee sneaking out

This morning we were wakened at 4.30 by Hannah shuddering and lurching. We tumbled out to find the river ebbing hard and hurling lumps of ice, 5 or 6 feet long and as wide, into those of us unlucky enough to be moored on the up river side of the jetty. Moments later we were joined by Steve and Sue as their little 5 ton Vertue suffered its own assault. It isn’t the first time this has happened but it gets worse as the year advances and more ice comes from up river. Some days the whole river appears to be populated by hundreds of white islands all on their way out to sea in a sort of frozen lemmings’ parody. Other times you can only gaze at the mini ‘bergs floating by or chunks beached by the tide and wonder how on earth it missed everyone?

The snow comes and goes, comes back again and is, today, replaced by heavy rain. At least it might help melt the 6’ high piles of shovelled snow that seem to be everywhere. Winter is officially over as is, almost, our stay in the US . We attempted to extend our visas but found, as with Immigration everywhere, there are rules, convention and Kafka. Despite having left the US , when we went to Canada last September, we were deemed to have entered the US in April 2004 so our requested extension of 30 to 50 days to allow for a better weather window was turned down and we were granted 19 days, meaning we need to clear the country by April 23rd. We’ll probably leave in mid April and spend a little more time past Schoodic visiting anchorages we missed out on last time.

The vehicle of choice around here is definitely a pick up and in winter it’s easy to why. Sporting snow ploughs they offer themselves for hire or just use the things to carve a path off their property or along the local roads. Maine must have more snow ploughs than the whole of the UK . Driving around we’d see, perhaps, 3 in a line ensuring the roads are kept clear. Gritters too seem to be everywhere and roads rarely seem to get blocked or iced over. Well that’s our limited and local experience. However the downside to all this activity, apart from the gouges carved out of the road by a mis-angled plough is the immense damage down by frost heaves. Roads take on the appearance of corrugated paper as the water underground freezes, expands and creates holes, ridges or worse. Road sides are plastered with signs stating “bump” - warning drivers to slow down before their springs are wrecked. Such an innocent word! It gives an outsider absolutely no indication that 100 yards down the road you’re about to hit something that will cause your teeth to slice through your tongue as your head cannons off the roof….

April 6. The poor weather leaves and we enjoy another day or two of brilliant sunshine and a hectic work schedule. The spray hood is almost finished and will, hopefully, do its job over the next few months. We’ve added a few windows with some clear plastic Bee found in a skip and now Toots can watch the world go by from the comforts of a basket as seas heap and tumble around us…

Apr 12th a weekend of exquisite sunshine is replaced by a snow shower, a warning that, despite the date, winter still has a bit to deliver. For the most part the snow has all but gone, replaced with mud as the earth becomes saturated before drying out. However the prior good weather enabled us to get all the routine jobs completed and Sunday saw Biggles and Ginger take to the skies as Phil Rosen, aka the scallop diver, is also a qualified pilot and offered us a trip out over the local area. Bee, ever the flatterer, pointed out to Phil that he reminded her of Burt Lancaster in Local Hero. He hasn’t seen the film but suggested that being compared to someone in their eighties wasn’t too clever.......

 We flew out over the coast, crossing over a number of the anchorages we had used last year. Maine is really one of the best cruising grounds anywhere. Islands are everywhere, anchorages too and visiting boats rarely seem to get far from civilisation, so much of the more outlying places are yours. With a bright and warm sun the sea was green, sparkling and very inviting. We could feel our resolve weakening as below us lay so many unexplored areas. “Weather like this is what we need between here and Europe ” said Bee but initially how do we fit in all we’d like to do in the time left……….. It was an excellent day out which included a change over of seating arrangements so Kathy, the harbourmaster could also have a go at flying the plane. The plane was a small 4 seater job and the cockpit was reminiscent of those wonderful “bubble cars” that people drove in the ‘50’s. Mescherscmidt(?), Issetta etc so not a lot of room for climbing about without seriously altering the trim. “First time in twenty years of flying I’ve had a mid air change over” remarked our laid-back pilot. We flew out as far as Isle au Haut and beyond that lay open ocean and some serious sailing.

 A different perspective not only in speed, 120knots versus 4.5knots, but aerial views make the approaches to places look easy whilst highlighting just how shallow the water is feet away from the channel. A great day. Unfortunately it went downhill after that as Phil suggested we call in on his home and proceeded to ply us (me) with copious amounts of some evil concoction. As I suffered and grumbled my way through the following 24 hours, Bee, in one of those moments when it would be more diplomatic to keep your thoughts to yourself said..”How is it that drunks are unable to form words that anyone can understand yet know that what ever happens they must keep drinking as though their life depends on it…..”


Well the time is almost upon us and the worst moment for cruising sailors is soon to arrive. Many people ask us about what they are and what they want to hear about are the storms, near misses and shipwrecks that supposedly populate our journey. But in reality the really, really worst part is saying goodbye to friends we have made and who we may never see again. So our departure looms and friends drop by saying goodbye, chatting or extending supper invites. Some speculate about coming with us, remind us to keep in touch or leave gifts to remind us of them. We’re struck by everyone’s kindness, by this very different face of America than the one we all know from television. There is openness here, a generosity that has no hidden meaning. Something is offered from friendship, because the person thinks it may be useful to you, because your need is seen as greater or, perhaps just as a token. “Use my car, my house, shower, wood, phone. Come and eat, meet, hang out, party, make yourself at home. So many people have made our lives easier, more interesting and more comfortable. The names are many and we will write to everyone with our thanks rather than embarrass them on a webpage with their kindnesses but as a list it would read something like this: John and Mary; John and Sue; Alex; DavidD (tom selleck); Jean; Lucinda: Steve and Sue; Alistair and Joanne: Phil; Howard; Kathy; Alex and Diane; Jens and Gia; Jim; Jim; DavidH; Claire; Ross and Mary; Bill; Alan; Holly; Peter; Cy; Steve; Tom; John; Jonathan and Chris; Steve; Bruce and Sue; Dan; Margie; Adam and everyone at the Belfast Free Library. Thanks to you all from Hannah and her crew of wanderers, we hope we meet up again sometime but if not your kindness and friendship will stay with us.

So here we go again with one of our offers no sane person could refuse. Pay close attention ‘cos this is too good to miss….

We expect to cross over to Nova Scotia and spend May and June holed up/cruising and working our way north to Labrador . From Labrador we hope to cross to Greenland when the ice allows, normally in the first week of July. That month we expect to spend on the west coast getting as far as Disko Bay before turning south, rounding the southern cape (of Greenland) then heading east to Iceland for some of August. If we can find charts of the Faeroes we hope to call in on the way past, otherwise we will head for France from Iceland and then onto Southampton in early September.  If anyone fancies a berth on any part of the trip then let us know. If you’re about 5’ 8” we can even supply a set of oilies. Even more important we can supply the item that is the unsung hero of high latitude sailing. Ignored by the sailing press, never found in chandlers, yet hailed, well it is on Hannah, as being as important as any fancy bit of electrical gear. Is there anything to beat a hot water bottle on a night watch?  That’s it then, the chance of a lifetime (!?). For our part we promise to stock up on coal before we leave here and we have, mostly, up to date charts plus enough warm clothes to ensure nobody freezes. We will also endeavour to be close to the airport of your choice but no guarantees on that. If you would like to join us for any part of the trip then do let us know-just think of all those icebergs, polar bears and the 20 hours of daylight awaiting you!

And finally. We need someone to collect Tooty from Cherbourg by car. Obviously you’ll need to catch the ferry at our expense and look after Toots until we get back into Southampton which should be less than 12 hours after you do. All her paper work is up to date so no problems with customs but returning with an animal to the UK is difficult and we must conform to the regs.

Capt P Rosen attempting to hide his similarity with Burt Lancaster...…..

Not really much to write about this month other than the weather, which dominates life and death. No doubt about it this is the coldest place we have ever lived in. Doesn’t matter whether it’s called Fahrenheit or Celsius it all comes out as cold. During the day we manage a sunny and relatively warm -7°C or so. ‘course when you get in an exposed bit of town or on deck the wind chill rapidly knocks off another ten degrees or so. On Hannah we have our own micro-climate as, once the stove is lit, the temperature climbs to a steady twenty-eight C or so. We’ve mastered the art of using hard coal and many's the time, like now, the stove exhibits a cherry red glow as the coals heat up. During the night we let fire go out, too lazy to get up, and consequently the temperature is hovering minus twelve Celsius when we rise…….  Movements tend to be hurried at that point as we drag icy clothes over warm bodies at the same time attempting to light the cooker. The weather forecast for today warned of wind chill temperatures of minus twenty to minus forty Fahrenheit. But luckily it has been a little more sheltered here. But at these temperatures skin tingles very quickly from exposure. It’s easy to see why Inuit males have evolved with little or no facial hair. Beards are a real no no in this climate. No doubt I’ll shave when we leave… For the last week the cold has been consistent and the river has continued to ice. Today Bee looked out and realised the consistency of the ice looked, well different and before long we understood why.

View from the companionway ladder of cockpit and tiller the day Boston got 3' of snow

 

 

Naturally whilst we were taking the shots, Toots appeared to check out what the bipeds were doing so no doubt we’ll see a repeat of her last escapade. Once again in the early hours of the morning we’re awakened by a pitiful whimpering as Toots comes back on board, leapt onto the bed and announces, by a vigorous shake that she has fallen in the water- (Goons anyone) Luckily she hadn’t gone fully under but it took several days for her to fully warm up and her ears which used to stick up with little tufts, now droop slightly.

December will be remembered as the month we tried out alternative heating when we realised that our trusty stove had developed a leak around the water jacket. At first sight it looked as though the pipe had rusted through and we decided immediately to buy the coal fired oven, a Shipmate, we had seen in a local stove shop. Cast iron, designed for a boat and an oven rather a stove it was a wonderful looking contraption. We checked, measured and cogitated but finally took the plunge. It fitted but needed a convoluted set of tin chimneys to connect to the deck head fitting. It looked "just right" but the heat we managed to get out of was pitiful and the weather didn’t really allow for a learning period so sadly we had to return it. John Tani, a local sailor who has adopted us, remembered his sister had their parents old stove and so we took possession of a genuine fifties pot bellied stove. This produced excellent heat but was too big for Hannah and we arranged with the wonderful "Mr Metal" to weld up the seam of the water jacket. No doubt about it, the original Hannah stove is an excellent heater and fits in well with the overall ambience.

In was also in December that Nancy, a friend from Quayside warned us that a parcel was on its way containing, amongst other things, Marmite. It arrived in January and the smile on Bee’s face as she removed 3, 500 gram jars caused her to remark, somewhat wistfully I thought, "see, size does matter" But newspapers, yachtie mags, chocolates, cakes and toys for Toots made us thoroughly homesick and caused a spate of " Won’t it be great to see…" type conversations for the rest of the day. Toots is in her element as she gives Zebedee, the catnip mice a good seeing to, batting them from one end of the saloon to the other, leaping onto them with a forward somersault or standing up on her hind legs and punching away like some sort of bare knuckle fighter. Boy, the things that pass for entertainment here is worrying.

When we first arrived in Belfast we made friends with a Texan couple who were moored close to us. They were new to sailing but were determined to head south for Florida and try for a different life. We talked to them, gave them spare pilot books or charts and spent a day sailing with them to give a confidence boost. In November they set off, battled poor weather conditions and over the course of several weeks made it as far as Rhode Island. In a tiny harbour with good prevailing wind protection they were caught out when the wind blew up hard and veered into the harbour entrance with no warning. Tied to a mooring buoy the 3 lines they had securing them all eventually gave way despite motoring hard into the wind to ease the strain. The waves had increased in height to such an extent the block the buoy was secured to was lifting off the seabed and drifting them closer to other buoys. Of course the worst happened. As the final line parted the prop picked up a nearby buoy rope and the engine stopped. They lost their boat on the rocks, escaping with their lives and a couple of bags of clothes. Somehow, knowing the couple and their boat accentuated everything and left me physically shaken.

On Christmas day a local man who had befriended us visited. We didn’t see him as we were chopping wood sheltering in the lee of our van. He left a present, which on opening contained a box of hand made sausages. Now the box was lovely but obviously the contents were something else. We re-wrapped them and handed them onto Steve and Sue who live on a Vertue a couple of boats down. Steve had them open and began eating before Bee had completed the story. However we met our benefactor in a shop in town and he asked how we had liked the sausages…. We hesitated and then he said "Actually my daughter gave them to me and I can’t bear things like that so thought you’d be a worthy home" We confessed their final destination to his delight and he went off chuckling.

Feb. We went scallop fishing today, actually we went in the boat and Phil, the Captain went diving for scallops. I kid you not. To leave the harbour required some serious breaking of ice before we could move his boat. Once in the fairway we found our passage blocked by huge fields of ice. Varying in depth from half inch to two inches it creates a strong sshhhhhhhh sound as we travel slowly through it. We had visions of Hannah being forced to a stand still if we had tried the same manoeuvre. 

Once we arrived at the fishing ground Phil donned a dry suit and launched himself over the side. In the shelter of the wheelhouse with a welcome sun streaming down it still grew cold and here is this sane and, to all intents, normal guy swimming around twenty feet below us in freezing cold water. "Hell no" he said "its around 35°". sounds like splitting hairs as it still looks cold to me.

He did a total of five dives to collect a half-bucket of scallops. He also collected umpteen golf balls, pottery from a three masted schooner that had sunk seventy-five years ago and a couple of interesting bottles. As Phil collected he dumped the shells in a bag and when we collected him the bag was hauled up and Howard began "shucking" them. Shucking is an operation whereby a knife is inserted into the shell to prise it open. Part of the contents are then slit away and dumped whilst the scallop, a white muscle, is also slit from the shell and saved in a bucket of water. The remnants of the scallop are then scraped off the shell and eaten or at least they are if Howard is doing the job. No doubt Toots would have helped but she had jumped ship earlier as we were leaving the dock. Scallops are a real delicacy, apparently, and the catch would be sold before we even got back to harbour. Getting back proved to be harder than leaving as the lack of wind allows the ice to form unhindered and progress was slow as we had to drive a pathway through the thickening ice.

Bee has been reading a book on a couple who marooned themselves, deliberately, somewhere in Greenland and experienced minus FIFTY before the wind chill set in. Of course her conversation is now littered with "….suppose we stayed….." Rather like the time we went snowshoeing for the first time. The shoes, a bit like tennis racquets for giants, were strapped to our feet and off we set. I swear we hadn’t gone more than ten steps when Bee said  " Do you think we could snow shoe across the Antarctic………"  Watch this space....

And finally as we write this it’s Saturday Feb 5th, one of the local papers has printed on article on us and we’re busy planning our escape. Come April we hope to be on the move once again, heading for Nova Scotia and beyond. The weather has turned spring like with temperatures getting up to 5°C and we entertain thoughts of removing the tarp. As ever locals caution against it-we still have another two months of winter to get through they say- but… 

And then we found a pumpkin pie sculling around on the floor of a friend’s car. Unloved and unwanted we promptly rescued it and took it back the security of Hannah. Unfortunately the pie, previously frozen had been knocking around since Christmas getting hot and cold for a month and when cooked, tasted……….

Ferro alley Los Testigos

Our first stop in the wonderful Venezuelan Islands

Here we are again, swanning around a sunny Caribbean whilst most of you are dealing with the rigours of a northern winter. Still it won’t be long before we are suffering with you. Or perhaps not…..

After the trauma of dealing with the abandoned anchor (see the last missive for gory details) we had moved over to the other side of the bay and persuaded Annie Hill to give us a lesson in oven-less bread making. It is so easy we now regularly make bread (this being the royal we you’ll understand) and it has the same impact as understanding how the self-steering works

Lilly B was now back in the water and we thought we might at least spend a couple of days with them so began hauling the anchor soon after they left. It stuck. No matter what we tried and we had some very good advice we remained rooted to the seabed. Luckily a Spanish boat moored nearby had a PADI logo on its hull (something to do with diving) and after speaking with them they came over the following morning. The woman was the instructor and down she went 11 metres to check on what we had this time. No anchor but a massive ships chain, which we had somehow wrapped our piddling 3/8” around. It took her several attempts and only by undoing the anchor from our chain was she finally able to unravel the mess. So we reckon the 3 fouled anchors, in as many weeks, must mean we are now clear of that particular disaster area. So finally we left Chagoramas and headed around the corner to Scotland Bay. If you ever get the chance to come here it is absolutely wonderful. Well-sheltered and quiet with howler monkeys, parrots and dolphins in attendance, secure holding sheltered from the prevailing winds it is al most idyllic. Unfortunately it also attracts partygoers at the weekend with seriously loud music so we knew we had to leave before they arrived. At the last moment we decided to head to Los Testigo an island off the Venezuelan mainland and so the two Ferro gaffers, hulls built by the same man- Mick the Brick left on the overnight trip on Feb 20.

Toots on night watch, listening out for invading flying fish

oots on night watch, listening out for invading flying fish

And we’re still together a month later! We had intended to leave for Cuba from Testigo but each time it seems logical to go a little further. From Testigo we went onto Margarita where we cleared in, shopped and found diesel for 70 Bolivar’s a litre. Now as there are roughly 5000 B’s to a £ that made the diesel about 7p a gallon. So we bought 90 litres. It was less than a £. We were overjoyed. Until a few days later we began to notice a familiar smell coming from the jerry cans. A quick check revealed the diesel was in fact petrol. We had watched the stuff being poured in, we bought it a large garage and it came from a thin black hose. And I had asked for “Gasoil” but whatever, we certainly didn’t want it on board and solved the issue by donating it to a local fisherman. Luckily I hadn’t made the same error with the beers as they had cost a princely 6p a bottle. The fisherman was quite happy to accept the gratis fuel and promptly offered us several fish, which we declined apart from one for Toots who turned her nose up.

We sailed on, gradually moving west along a succession of islands that lie off the north Venezuelan coast. At Tortuga we anchored in picture perfect conditions. Dazzling white beaches, a sea so blue it could only have been dyed and only local fishing people as inhabitants. Come the weekend it changed as the affluent mainlanders flew in using small aircraft. Some passengers couldn’t be bothered to wait for landing and parachuted in. It all seemed out of step with the life on the island yet is possibly an apt metaphor for Venezuelan life.

                                                                         

Lilly B crew arriving as pirates..

    As an aside cruising in Venezuela is rife with rumours. Principally concerning piracy and violence it has stopped many yotties coming here. That it exists, piracy that is, is not in doubt and it was something we both felt we would avoid by staying away from the area. Having said that we both feel that the trip from Trinidad to here has been the best sailing, amongst the friendliest people that we have experienced. It may be that rumour and fear distort an innocuous occurrence into something potentially dangerous which is then repeated and distorted on retelling. Or it could simply be problems closer to the mainland. Who knows? From a cruising viewpoint these islands are wonderful and we’re both glad we came. At Los Roques we joined Lilly B and a few others in a reef-protected anchorage that offered shelter and snorkelling. We joined them after a struggle as I couldn’t make sense of the chart and ran aground, luckily sand not coral and, once afloat, despite trying different approaches could not find a channel through. Eventually a local fisher man came out and guided us, accepting the beers we offered as thanks with a genuine reluctance.

If only all anchorages were like this....

Pelicans abound in these waters, skimming low over the water in a feathered fly past; often at the same time of day and despite seeing almost daily we never tire of watching. In the town here we passed a pair of herons rooting amongst the grass for food, commonplace and ignored by locals but so unreal to us. And on the subject of unreal, whilst at anchor recently a brown boobie, a sea bird about the size of a gull flew about the boat and collided with a forestay causing it to plummet to the deck. Luckily for the bird though a little dazed it was unhurt and landed close to the capping rail (side of the boat) ‘cos Toots was on it in a flash. I say lucky for the bird but also for Toots as the beaks on these things are probably 5” long and would have done a lot of damage. But Toots regained her territory and boobie scuttled off across the water to safety.

So we left Venezuelan waters and arrived at Bonaire, one of the ABC islands that form part of the Dutch Antilles. 11000 people, substantial housing, European shops (and prices) and an economy dependent on tourism. Colour is the order of the day as houses are all pastel shades making everything seem cheerful and the only drawbacks are a vicious strain of mozzy and the proximity of the local nightspot. Anchoring is not allowed here as the island is taking serious steps to protect the coral around the island. Instead they supply buoys to tie onto. The buoys are anchored to 6 ton cement blocks so as long as their, and our, ropes hold we are very secure. Interestingly the 40 or so blocks, laid down by whomever, sit not on coral but on sand……. But it’s relatively cheap and boats are unlikely to collide from being to close. But as the buoys furthest fro m the music are all taken the latecomers end up with ringside seats. Having said that the music is very melodic although 2 am is way past our bedtime and the real culprit for sleeplessness lie with the damned mozzies. Last night we resorted to sleeping under a lace curtain but were still bitten, despite mozzie coils and vigilance

And just when you thought we had managed an update without drama, here it is. As we approached an anchorage we found ourselves unable to drop the main as a lazy jack had jammed behind the gaff saddle. Despite all efforts it refused to budge and the only option was to go up the mast and free it. A couple of immediate problems presented themselves. The 8 foot seas meant leaving the tiller to use the bosun’s chair was not possible and anyone in the chair would be thrown from side to side as the mast arced across the sky. The option was to climb the ratlines except we don’t, yet, have any, leaving Bee with a climb to the mast shoulders using the hoops that secure the sail to the mast. Unfortunately they are set about 3 foot apart necessitating a stretch to get to the next one, hard enough when tied to a jetty but infinitely more difficult when clinging on for life. But as ever the job was done, Bee returned to deck and a decision made to equip Hannah with a set of ratlines for such jobs. Soon after landing here we saw a slogan that summed up the 15 minutes or so it took. “FEEL THE FEAR, DO IT ANYWAY”

And so we sit here in sunny, dive orientated Bonaire with the big decision to make… do we go North to Cuba and on as we planned or follow Lilly B into the Pacific…….. We’ll let you know when we send the next update. Panama or Cuba

How to rescue a cat.....

Well here we sit in the harbour of Puerto de la Restinga on the island of El Hierro about to set off, as so many thousands of others have before us, on the start of our trans-Atlantic trip. The island, the most southern and western of the Canaries was, at one time the end of the known world and we leave tomorrow for the Cape Verde’s, some 750 miles to the SW. From there we will head west across the waters to Tobago, Trinidad and through the Caribbean. But all that’s ahead as much has happened in the month since we last wrote…….

We finally left Arrecife on Lanzarote for a couple of weeks cruising the Canaries. Our first night out was ‘orrible as the anchorage was rocky, rolling and uncomfortable. But Fuerteventura proved to be an absolute contrast to Lanzarote and made us want to spend a summer cruising the local waters. For once I would have to say that the pilot books DO NOT over estimate a particular phenomena and that is the very aptly named acceleration zones. In the space of a hundred metres the wind strength can increase by several Beaufort scales and the boat takes off seemingly out of control and on the latest bash through one we came out the other side to find our Max Speed has gone up to 12.3 knots on the GPS. And that under a reduced rig!

At our last stop on Fuerteventura we pulled into a harbour intending to anchor but spotted an American and a Kiwi yacht tied up so followed suit. That night we found the local population used the roadway, to which the quay was attached, as a meeting place to listen to football matches, play loud music or simply conduct their relationships away from family gaze. About 6 a.m. we heard Toots cry out and a thud as she arrived back on deck. Leaping out of bed and up the companionway I was just in time to see one distressed cat leaping for the jetty wall, slipping and plunging some 9 or 10 feet into the sea. Screaming to Bee that “Toots was in” I tried to grab the swimming moggy (between the hull and the wall) but her stroke carried her beyond my hands and I rushed, stark naked up the jetty ladder, barely noticing a car parked opposite with a, no doubt surprised, couple in it. I had somehow snatched up the fishing net we keep for these occasions although it no longer has a handle and so treated the bemused couple the rare sight of one hairy arsed Englishman bent over the jetty wall pathetically waving the said fishing net at the water at least a further 7 feet out of reach. Bee maintains that the woman confronted with such horror will have taken up vows of celibacy.... Meanwhile Superwoman had also joined the stark naked affray, though wisely remained out of sight, on a ladder by the bow. By now Toots having swum some 20-foot ahead of the boat was persuaded to head back towards us by dint of me rushing along the quay shouting and waving my arms. Bee, seeing she was heading for the wrong side of the boat, launched herself from the ladder, grabbed the bobstay and snatched Toots from her intended circumnavigation of the hull. Now our troubles are about to begin. Clinging to the ladder with one hand, moggy in the other, Bee is unable to defend herself from one very frightened, agitated and extremely sharp-clawed cat. With one heave Bee threw Toots up onto the deck where she promptly scarpered. However with Toots rescued and on deck we went below. 

I found a towel and then Toots as I wanted to dry her off.... Picking her up remarked to Bee that she was remarkably dry…….

We looked at each other. Bee had deep scratches across her chest, a gaping wound in her bottom lip where the cat had dug its paw in, as a means of leverage and the blood seemed to be flowing everywhere…….

Bee said the water was very warm

I thought it would have to be dry not warm and donning shorts I went up to see the spectators on the jetty. In excited Spanish they confirmed that there had been a catfight, and that both were still on board.

We had rescued the wrong cat!

And to prove the point one bedraggled and very scared cat slunk out Toot’s shelf, and made another leap for the jetty wall, succeeded and raced off into the rocks.

Toots ignored us and our dilemma and kept on filing her nails.

The serious side of all this was two fold. One we were obviously concerned about rabies and two Bee beat me to the first alcoholic drink of the day as we both downed stiff brandies.

Another hard day in the office

It was in this harbour that we had a conversation with the crew on a Czech boat. The skipper was looking bemusedly at Hannah and asking me about her. Told where we were going he asked “was it safe”? The Atlantic? I asked. “No” he replied “your boat”! We were not impressed at his lack of sailing awareness and when they left for Gran Canaria some hours later we doubted we would see them and their very new, very expensive American built speed machine. But there is a god, as leaving some 5 hours after them we arrived at our anchorage the following morning to find them at anchor. We scurried round like demented flies, stowing sails, tidying up and generally out to show we had been at anchor for hours rather than just arrived whilst they slept on. Needless to say they had gone without a word when we surfaced a few hours later no doubt putting in calls to American builders about strange looking craft following them at high speed……….

The trip to this anchorage gave us our first real taste of acceleration zones and the seas that can build up. We spent most of the time under mizzen, stays’l and No1 but still felt overwhelmed at times but we had a fast sail, encountered our first flying fish and suffered from a reluctant Stanley who having lavishly praised him could be turning into a Diva. Only joking Stanners.

The sea here is really something else, and at times is like looking into an aquarium. Bright blue Angel fish abound and the sea colour is a wonderful blue. Diving is extremely popular and thankfully so as at one harbour where we anchored the holding was so poor we dragged. We persuaded a passing dive boat to take our kedge and dump it further out. 2 days later we needed him again and found out that not only was he very helpful he also owned the company so a great big thanks to Chris of Tenerife Diving who enabled us to lay out 150 metres of anchor line when the squalls were giving us a hard time in Las Galletas on Tenerife.

Finally, as we were about to start this scribble our phone rang and we heard the dulcet tones of a good friend from the yard, Alastair. Whilst we were battling across yet another piece of swell ridden water we both decided that yotties have got their heroes all wrong. By and large we idolise the Hiscocks et al for their exploits but Alastair dismisses all thoughts of wandering the oceans for a quiet life aboard his schooner with the occasional foray to France or the wilder parts of the Solent. Stand up and take a bow Private Dilley as Bee swore we would join your ranks in between “chatting to Hughie” on a recent trip.

And finally, finally. As we left our last anchorage, the sun shone, the main and stays’l were set and we were preparing to hoist the No 1. I gave the nod to Bee, then noticed a squall about to hit us and tried to warn Bee about the danger. But Bee had already begun hauling the sail up and then the wind arrived.

The sail flew away from the boat, Hannah turned toward the cliff face and accelerated and Bee screamed for me to help her control the sail. Together we managed to hoist the sail 2/3rds the way, up before I raced back to the tiller to stop us careering bow first into the cliff face. Bee finished the job and returned to the cockpit, holding her hands. The wind had hit us with such force the jib sheet had raced through her hands removing several layers of hard calluses and leaving the hands raw and bloody.