I had originally wanted to make another movie of this passage and I do have a bit of footage. In the majority of the shots you would have seen me whining and complaining about the weather. So I decided to write about the trip instead and try to be a bit more matter-of-fact and less emotional about it.
I left Angra on Thursday, June 27 in the afternoon for the 1200 nautical passage to the Scilly Islands in England. I had gone for a swim at the city beach, the weather was beautiful and I was ready to go. I had said goodbye to Andi and Kudi who had left a few hours before and to Gerrit and Manuel who were staying.
We were going to have the wind on the nose for quite some time. That much was clear but I was hoping to be able to sail against it without too much tacking and the weather didn’t look like it was going to get any better soon.
Sailing along the southern coast of Terceira was beautiful and we were flying towards the eastern corner close hauled with just the right wind. During the night the wind (and the waves) picked up considerably and we were beating into it and Amy was getting clobbered by the waves. I felt awful thinking that I am ruining the ship. The closest course to the wind we could maintain was taking us towards Morocco. All very frustrating and strenuous. After a while the wind backed a bit and we could adjust our course. At times there would be less wind which would allow us to sail closer to our course and the again it would pick up and clobber against us and force us to fall off towards southeast. This went on for nine days after which we were extremely tired and beaten up. I was seriously thinking about going to Madeira instead. One highlight during that time: we got hailed on the vhf by another sailboat whose skipper turned out to be Alex from South Africa. We had met for the first time in Tobago and a few times after that and I had seen her last in Horta. We had nice chat and took pictures of each others boats from afar.
On the 8th day a cold front arrived with serious gusts and made life even harder. Our radar reflector (yes, the new one) broke and fell off and after day 9 the weather started to change because of the arrival of a nasty low pressure system. We now had the wind from behind but far too much of it. And because it was veering and backing all the time the seas were coming from all directions and although it was blowing with 30kn I still had to pole out the deep reefed Genoa so it wouldn’t flap in the waves. We were now about 150 miles from Cabo Finisterre and I contacted Ray from Ireland for advice. The system looked really scary and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t sailing into a major storm. He told me that we could make it to the Scillies with winds from behind if we were able to endure 30knot winds and 3m seas. So we did. From here on Ray kept me updated daily on the weather development which was a great reassurance. We were in the middle of the low pressure system with lots of wind and waves and horizontal rain getting everything wet inside (at least it wasn’t saltwater). This went on for a few days until Monday the 8th. The wind had come down a bit and the rain had stopped and we were flying along nicely.
I saw the blow of a whale not too far off. It came closer and closer right towards us and I was beginning to get a bit worried thinking.. he isn’t going to…is he? The next time the whale surfaced it was so close to Amy that I could have stepped off the boat onto his back without getting wet. It was huge and scary and majestic and peaceful all at once. I was scared shitless and amazed and unbelievably happy all at once and unable to move. He then started to dive again and I saw his eye but no fluke. I thought I had seen a blue whale but I later checked and found out it must have been a fin whale.
About an hour later there was a incredibly loud bang at the bow and the sail with the boom was flapping freely in the air. The connection between the roller reefer and the bow had broken and I was now without a forestay. All hell broke loose.
I couldn’t get the sail down because the halyard was tangled above the spreaders with another line that I had previously attached to the halyard. After fighting the nine headed roller reefer for about an hour (the waves were still big and I was always under water with the bow for about 1-2 seconds and the above water for about 10 seconds), I had secured the lower part to the deck. I then lashed a paddle to the boathook as an extension. At the end I attached a filleting knife and after endless attempts for which I needed both arms (I had tied myself to the mast) I was able cut the line, free the halyard and finally bring down the sail. The deck now looked like a war zone and I had no more navigation lights. I then attached the boom vang with a 5 to 1 purchase to the spinnaker halyard, pulled it tight and tied it off to the forward clamp. I also attached the jib halyard to the bow. The mast was now somewhat secured against falling backwards but I didn’t know what the waves would do to it. I changed course so that would have the wind from behind and hoisted the mainsail with two reefs. The plan had to be changed. I needed to get to a place with repair services and it would have to be downwind. I was hoping to get to Brest and Ray let me know that if I could maintain a speed of 4 knots, we would be able to make it with some motoring at the end before the wind would again turn against us and destroy the plan.
The next three days I was in constant anxiety. We were making good progress but I could see the mast move. We were also in the Bay of Biscay with lots of shipping traffic and had no radar reflector and no navigation lights. To top it all off the AIS stopped working on the second night but I worked all night on the cables (soldering was out of the question in these waves) and got it back to work. There were a few very close encounters with ships and I had to call them on the radio. None of them had seen me of course (not even in daytime) but they were all very supportive and changed course quickly and drastically. One watch officer’s words were: “I can now see you with the binoculars, I love what you are doing with that small boat. Keep it up!”
I hardly slept at all and have no idea how I stayed awake but a very good amount of adrenaline just kept me going. Ray also wrote messages to keep up my morale which helped me a lot.
70 miles from the coast the wind dies (like predicted) and I had enough diesel to motor that distance. I began to think that there was a chance of actually getting into the harbour with the mast upright and not having to call for help and scuttle the boat.More whales and dolphins came. By now I really think that they have telepathic powers and come by to console me. A large family of pilot whales with their kids played around Amy for at least one hour.
Thinking about it now it felt like a long dream or nightmare, both. I arrived in the Goulet de Brest with a favourable tide in pitch darkness (I had improvised some navigation lights out of coloured plastic bags for the entrance into the channel… the last thing I wanted was a ticket on top of all this) and found an empty spot in the Marina du Moulin Blanc and tied up at 4 in the morning. Slept for a few hours, went into the Capitainerie at 8 and found out I was incredibly lucky to have found a place because there is a huge harbour festival in Brest that only takes place every four years and everything is booked out months in advance. I found a rigger and he found a used roller reefer and it turned out that the whole affair would even cost less than I had feared.
I went to have a beer at the brasserie in the harbour and there I met Adam, Paul, Dan and Dave from Wales. I’ll write more of my time in Brest later.
