Solitaire Spirit: Three Times Around the World Single-Handed (15 page)

While in Australia I managed to acquire some new sails from England. I had been well satisfied with my original Lucas sails so I had ordered from them again, including a battenless main with three sets of reefing points as I still had to round the Cape of Good Hope, where it can blow. The last reef would so reduce the main that it would double as a trysail. At the same time I stepped up the weight of cloth from 6 to 8oz, and a new storm jib.

The boatyard let me haul out
Solitaire
free of charge and I had another go at the crack in the hull, although it had not leaked since Panama. The antifouling had vanished so I applied a heavy
barrier coat followed by two coats of top-quality finish. I also bolted the self-steering rudder to the drive shaft, thus making it a more permanent fixture. I still had $1,400 (then about £700) left, twice the amount I had left England with, and
Solitaire
in many ways was in better condition than when I had set out, even though she had looked after me for more than 16,000 miles. Now she was taking me home, about the same distance again. I had not yet told
Solitaire
about Cape Horn!

The next leg of our trip would be from Gladstone to Thursday Island in the Terres Straits, 1,000 miles away. We had crossed 8,000 miles of the Pacific Ocean on just two charts and a few sketches. Now I needed 30 charts for our next trip, and a couple of Australian friends, John and Penny Pugh, lent them to me. Often I would go to their house for dinner and a bath and they did most of the chasing around for my supplies. Apart from the food parcel they gave me, they made a going-away present of a heavy fishing line (a life-saver on my second voyage).

The Great Barrier Reef starts about 60 miles offshore at the bottom end, closing to a mile or two at the top. Most of the navigation would be by sight, or, as the Americans call it, eyeball, and for much of the time we would have the mainland and a few islands in sight. I still enjoyed single-handed sailing but if there was ever a time when I would have liked a female crew member aboard, this was it. The Great Barrier Reef must be one of the finest cruising areas in the world, anchoring behind your own private island after a day's sail with plenty of fish in the sea and oysters ashore. The sea, protected by the reef, is shallow and flat.

Terrell came into Gladstone Creek to collect me but as my sails had not arrived, he went on ahead. Before I left, the boatyard threw a party for me where I tried to uphold the best British traditions by keeping up with some of the young bloods. After dinner the party continued at the Pughs', of which I remember nothing. Dawn woke me with a thick head, a foul mouth and to a weird sound. I had been sleeping on somebody's lawn and was covered by every dog in the neighbourhood, snoring their heads off.

Solitaire
's mooring lines were cast off on Wednesday, May 18th, 1977, and as I had not let her touch bottom since Grenada (antifouling apart), and my navigation had improved, we both felt more confident. A dozen cars followed us on the shore, blasting their horns as we set off, by far the best farewell we had had and one of the hardest to make.

I caught up with Terrell on Friday, June 3rd, two weeks out from Gladstone. We met in Cairns, about halfway up the Reef, where he had picked out a berth for me alongside the town quay. Cairns was another low-sprawling Australian town, so different from home, where everything seems condensed. Here there were modern supermarkets, a cinema and a heavenly laundry. We spent a few pleasant days there, talking to a good many English people who had settled in the area. Terrell's nephew, Leo, had gone back to the USA and been replaced by an Australian crew member. Things improved once we joined up: with four eyes on the other yacht Terrell always took the path-finding position up front, which allowed me to nip below for the occasional cup of tea without worrying about the constant changing picture of mainland and islands.

Cooktown was quite unlike Cairns. You could walk through it in a few minutes but it was well worth the visit, if only to see the museum. The day we arrived they were to re-enact Captain Cook's first landing and on the jetty a good crowd had turned up for the spectacle. Three men came ashore in a rowing boat and the people promptly started to drift away.

‘When's Captain Cook arriving?' I asked.

‘He just did, spoooort,' came the reply.

Another advantage of being in company with a cruising yacht is that you can take it in turns to visit and cook dinner. We were having dinner on Terrell's boat where, since it was my turn to play host the following night, I asked, ‘How do you fancy fish tomorrow night?' Both seemed enthusiastic, so I asked their preference and was requested to catch a few mackerel.

Next day I took out the line John and Penny had given me. I put the 9in spinner, about the size of any fish I had ever caught,
over the side and seconds later it pulled tight with a blooming great mackerel nearly as long as my arm on its end, enough for three people. To make sure, I thought I would catch its smaller sister, which turned out to be twice as fat as the first.

I was concerned about possible waste and as I thought Terrell, who was astern, might also be slaughtering fish, I decided to wait for him. I halted
Solitaire
by luffing into wind and when Terrell came within hailing distance, I stuck two fingers in the air and pointed over the side. The effect on Terrell was instantaneous: he belted off in the other direction and I failed to catch him until much later. When I asked Terrell what his problem had been and why the panic, an argument ensued. Two fingers in the air and pointing over the side means I'm over a reef two fathoms down, Terrell insisted, while I claimed any fool knows it means I've caught two mackerel. Although we stuffed ourselves with fish much was wasted which, coupled with the fact that I had not enjoyed watching a living thing die, made me put the line away, believing they would be the first and last fish I would ever catch at sea.

Thursday Island lies between the most northern part of Australia and New Guinea, where the current can reach 6–7 knots. We anchored 20 miles away, timing our arrival to take advantage of the flow. When we reached our anchorage it was to find marker buoys being pushed under by the force of churning brown waters, the last place to drag or break an anchor chain. Thursday Island, which we reached on June 23rd, after a month's sail inside the Great Barrier, was a disappointment. In the days of sail it was known for its dusky beauties who, it was said, would outswim the fast-flowing current to ravish the poor unsuspecting seamen. After a quick walk through its shantytown of drinking houses, we decided to push on for Darwin. Any dusky maiden would have been repelled with a boat hook, after which I would have called a cop.

Darwin was 700 miles away but wind and current would be mostly with us. Gales were rare in the area but a bad sea could build up quickly in high winds. In company with
Altair
and two other yachts, we left on Monday, June 27th. Although we had our
sails up, it would be wrong to say we sailed from the island; it was more like being fired from a cannon and we had to start and run engines flat out to keep control. We shot away like cars on a racetrack, trying to correct for drift, which was great fun while it lasted, and circling the course with three other boats made it that much better. Darwin was approximately halfway across the top of Australia so our course would be due west.

On Friday, July 1st, we ran into a storm off Melville Island with some of the worst waves I had seen, not so much in size as in shape. There was little
Solitaire
could do against them so we dropped sail and lay a-hull until Saturday morning, when the storm died. Until then we had been making good progress, covering 565 miles in just over four days with a best-ever day's run of 149 miles. When I tried the engine I found it had seized and was impossible to turn, even with levers directed onto the flywheel, and this wasn't the best place to have it happen. Melville Island and the 15-mile-wide Dundas Straits protect Darwin in much the same way that the Isle of Wight protects my home port of Lymington. I had in fact to sail between them, which turned out to be terrifyingly difficult, thanks to the speed of the tide.

Approaching from eastwards you pass through the Dundas Straits with its tidal current of 2–3 knots. The land then falls away to form a large bay which curves back to the island 60 miles on, where 12 miles separate mainland from island, those few miles filled with smaller islands and reefs. There is a marked channel on the land side, about one mile across. Once through it, Darwin lies only a few miles further on. As I had no tide tables and no engine, I decided to sail up to the reefs and then anchor for the night.

We passed through Dundas Straits on Saturday night and had a fast sail next morning. By Sunday afternoon we were in sight of the islands and their surrounding reefs, with Darwin's voice, 30 miles away, coming through clearly on the RDF. Having negotiated the reefs we seemed to pick up speed but the land was falling away.
Solitaire
was being driven astern – onto the reefs! The tide had turned.

I let go the 15lb CQR anchor on 50ft of chain plus a good length of strong rope, which thankfully held in coral. The seas, an Amazon in flood, raced past us, the anchor rope vibrating like a bow string forcing me to keep a watch all night, checking the depth from time to time. By Monday morning the tide had slackened, then gathered strength in Darwin's direction. I had missed my chance. Instead of heaving in the anchor during slack water I had to struggle manfully to haul it in against the tide – and failed. So, deciding to wait for the next slack, I slung back what I had retrieved. When the tide eased again I found that the anchor had fouled and would not haul in. We had been there 40 hours and there was only one solution. It broke my heart but I had to do it. I cut the rope and lost the anchor and 50ft of chain.

From then on it was a doddle.

There are two bays in Darwin: the first, big and shallow, houses the yacht club. Next to it is an area for ocean-going ships. You can anchor in either and catch the bus into Darwin. On Tuesday, July 5th, I anchored near the Club after a journey of 753 miles. Our stay in Darwin was marred by engine repairs and the sickly smell of diesel. The final diagnosis was that a sump plate fitted to prevent oil splashing about had broken loose, cracking the main bearing and jamming the reduction gear. Deciding to sail engineless and non-stop to Durban, I cabled Saab, requesting them to send on a new bearing and timing instructions.

Terrell and the other yachts arrived a couple of days after
Solitaire
, having run for shelter during the storm which shows, perhaps, the different thinking between a single-hander and a crewed yacht. In bad weather I would always run from the land, an attitude I was never to change.

When we arrived in Darwin they were sinking piles in front of the Club for members to tie up and antifoul. Terrell and I were among the first to use this facility which, at $5 a time, was much cheaper than being hauled out by a boatyard.

From Darwin I planned to sail to Durban, approximately 5,600 miles away, my longest voyage so far, broad reaching again
in the south-east trades. We left Darwin on August 2nd.
Solitaire
was surrounded by other yachts and as there was not a breath of wind, Terrell shouted he would pull us clear. For the first time I accepted a tow. Up to then I had felt lonely only once, when the Canadian yacht left us in the Pacific, but as Terrell let go my lines I felt abandoned. I think it's watching the other yacht pull away that's the problem. During the first 24 hours light winds kept us out of trouble, but the next two days brought variable winds from the west and we found ourselves beating into choppy seas. That first week we covered 596 miles, thereafter we were into true trade wind sailing and logged 884 miles in the second week, followed by 912 in the third.

A thousand miles from South Africa, I started to pick up their radio broadcasts, which is always good for morale. The pilot charts for once had proved accurate and we made good time. I preferred the blue, lively Pacific to the grey, overcast Indian Ocean for things to watch. The seas above Australia had a few surprises: black and brown snakes, giant rays that leapt out of the water only to slam back again, and then, towards the end of the voyage, nightly visits from dolphins, which invariably cheer up life.

Thursday, September 22nd, was our 50th day at sea and, after sailing 5,555 miles, we had another 400 to go. I was trying to make our landfall well north of Durban to allow for the Agulhas Current sweeping us south.

On Monday morning we were nearly run down by a tanker, not in fact one of the super type although I thought it then the largest ship ever built. Because I could not keep my lights on all the time I had been standing in the hatch keeping watch in poor visibility when, hearing nothing, I saw a ghost-like bow loom out of the dawn mist. At first I thought she was cutting across
Solitaire
's bows but she was already turning. Looking up I could see her two anchors ready to drop on us. A mass of rust and rivets, she swept down our side and back into fog. Never had I been so glad to see a ship disappear. There were many more after that but she was the closest.

We arrived off Durban before first light on Thursday morning and sat watching the traffic signals and flashing neons. Durban has a long finger of land that points north called The Bluff, with a breakwater beside it, the entrance into the outer harbour. It would have been possible to sail through but I could hardly keep my eyes open and the wind was fickle so, when I spotted a charter fishing boat preparing to enter, I beckoned them over and requested a tow. The people on board had a flight to catch but promised they would radio for a police launch to bring me in. After clearing Customs in only a few minutes, a powerboat arrived from the Club to take me in tow.

Solitaire
arrived at the Point Yacht Club on Thursday, September 29th, 1977, nine years after her conception there on a Sunday morning in 1968, on the very jetty she was now moored to. Her log showed 5,952 miles, the longest journey so far. One day I would ask her to carry me non-stop nearly five times that distance!