Solitaire Spirit: Three Times Around the World Single-Handed (33 page)

My last checks on the food supply took no time at all as once I had dropped the bunk backs every morsel of food aboard was in full view. Although we could be at sea for a further three months, hunger was not really all that important. There were millions of people who would have been grateful for a tithe of what I had; it was more a case of wanting to play my part in returning home and not lie on my bunk, too weak to help
Solitaire
on this last stage.

Over the months my attitude had changed frequently. As far as nerves were concerned the worst period had been from England down to the storm off the Cape of Good Hope. In a way I was lucky that it happened so early because, once it was over, it served as a reference point: we survived that one and this is not so bad so we'll survive this one, too.

Week 35 started with a storm that brought some of the worst seas of the last stage. On the first day we had northerlies gusting up and down our nose.
Solitaire
was sailing reasonably into a fairly flat sea with a full main and working jib but just before dark, for no reason that I could explain, I felt uneasy and put two reefs in the main. Much later I awoke to a violent gale which, had I not reefed the mainsail before turning in, would surely have caused us serious damage. Next day the storm increased and I recorded: ‘Worst condition since Cape of Good Hope. Severe storm, squalls from the south-west reaching an all-time high. Bad cross-seas.
Solitaire
running on broad reach under storm jib.'

My attitude to this storm is shown by the fact that during its worst period I tied myself to the mast and spent an hour taking
photographs. Every now and then I found I was standing without
Solitaire
, clinging to the mast. After an hour I gave up, having failed to take a decent picture. Below, wet sleeping bags and the usual smell of rancid cabbage, dirty clothes, and unwashed bodies greeted me. All I had to write about that was, ‘Oh well, things will improve further north'. Although I felt no great achievement in rounding Cape Horn the pressure of passing it before winter set in had disappeared. The worst of the voyage was behind us, the best to come.

By noon next day the gale had dropped and I even wrote about a beautiful afternoon, a clear sky and a sparkling sea with the temperature up to 59°F. For the first time in months I dropped the pram cover from the main hatch and removed stinking sea boots and socks.

Monday, March 9th was probably the best day of the voyage. We had been at sea for eight months covering 21,568 miles. The South American coast was 600 miles to the west. Our latitude was 43°06´S which left us only with 186 miles to go to clear the Roaring Forties. After opening up the forward hatch to flow fresh air through the cabin, I stripped off my filthy bloodstained clothes, boiled some seawater and washed all over, to the instant relief of my itching back. All mildewy or dirty clothing was put into a sealed bucket in which was a mixture of washing-up liquid and scented soap (for good measure).

With ropes attached I tossed the cabin carpets overboard to be washed in the world's largest laundry, their brown water joining the brilliant blue and white one left by
Solitaire
.

The log summed up the voyage so far.

Let's hope the worst is over. We have approximately 7,000 miles to go. The best I can expect is to be in Lymington by the end of May, another 80 days at sea.
Solitaire
is not as fast as when she left England. Her hull must be badly fouled and we have the doldrums still to pass through. With just two more strong headsails and the standing rigging reinforced we could have done so much better. The worst part was not, as I had expected, rounding Cape Horn but the storm off the Cape of Good Hope. Rome's parcels
have been lifesavers: without them I don't know what I would have done and shall never be able to repay his kindness. I'm just sorry my performance as driver was not up to standard, something like 325 days for the round trip. Might have to emigrate to Brazil to hide my face.

Tuesday, March 10th saw the end of our 35th week at sea and another 595 miles. Used the number two genoa for the first time without having to watch it hawk-eyed. The log finished on a cheerful note: ‘Becalmed at present but having just heard the Budget on the BBC, being becalmed isn't so bad after all!' It was the last cheerful entry I made for some time as the calms continued where perfect sailing conditions were indicated.

Wednesday, March 11th
.
Dinner was a Roman orgy – tinned lamb stew! Should last two days but food really is a problem. I must start catching fish soon, which should help. No chance for a spinner now that
Solitaire
is barely moving.

Thursday, March 12th
.
Slow progress. Swell from the west pushes us forward a few feet now and again but a glorious day with a clear blue sky. Temperature 67°F. Water down to 15 gallons but food still the main problem and leftovers from yesterday's stew will have to last two more days. Now have fishing line trailing over the stern, the last thing I want as I hate the thought of killing anything. Unless we make better progress a non-stop voyage will be difficult. Noon latitude 39°58´S. At last we are out of the Roaring Forties but still becalmed, sails slamming. We haven't had a decent sail for four days.

Friday, March 13th
.
Becalmed until 0300 but good progress in the last 12 hours. Logged 67 miles.

Saturday March 14th
.
Becalmed again. I think the idea is to allow me to sail 60 miles a day and no more. Once the daily allowance has been achieved the wind goes on strike. If I don't catch fish I can't see my doing this trip non-stop. Perhaps I can ask a ship for supplies. This morning I inflated the dinghy while becalmed and cleaned the barnacles off
Solitaire
's hull although the swell made it difficult. We'll try again further north.

Sunday, March 15th
.
Full gale from the north-east. Reduced to mainsail only with three reefs. Making no headway: we might even be pushed back towards Cape Horn.

Monday, March 16th
.
Yesterday's storm could have been worse as we lost little ground. Now beating to NNW, Force 5 to 6 and risking our number two genoa in an attempt to make up lost time.

Tuesday, March 17th
.
Gale conditions have reduced us to working jib and 329 miles this week, the worst since leaving England. Feeling very depressed. I have 12 gallons of water remaining and 60 days' rice allowing half a cup or so a day. I can cut no further and as it is am slowly turning into something dragged in by the cat. Today's main meal will be rice with baked beans; yesterday's was curry powder mixed with Marmite poured over half a cup of rice. Recently I have tried fishing without any luck. In these storms I've had to stay closed in again which doesn't help. If I could catch more drinking water and a fish or two! I will try to pass through the doldrums to the Azores but must reckon on calling at St Helena or Ascension.

During week 37 we still progressed slowly and dinners were not quite up to Queen Elizabeth standards.

Wednesday, March 18th
.
Skipper's choice: half a cup of rice, half a tin of peas and Marmite mixed with a little flour. Sounds bloody delicious. Bet the cook dishes up the same meal tomorrow. No luck with the fishing.

Thursday, March 19th
.
Worked on damaged toe rail and washed my smalls in boiled seawater as becalmed, which does allow one to do the odd job like building another yacht or celebrating your 100th birthday. I was right about the flaming cook: curried peas again.

Friday, March 20th
.
Another 400 miles should see us coming out of the high gale areas. Dinner today: half a small tin of spam, half a cup of rice with mustard. Yuk.

Saturday, March 21st
.
Dinner: finished the rest of the spam.

Sunday, March 22nd
.
Dinner: the human skeleton had baked beans and half a cup of rice but it is a glorious day with temperatures
up to 76°F. Gorgeous to sit in the cockpit with the hot sun bleaching your bones. Fishing line out but no luck. Feel content despite shortages.

1500. Nearly caught my first fish, bright green and about 3ft long. I had it alongside for around ten minutes trying to get a loop of wire around its tail with a boat hook and pull a sail bag over it but it broke the hook and escaped. At least it proves my spinner and tackle work so maybe better luck tomorrow. Whoooopeeee, food!

Monday, March 23rd
.
A few squalls during the night, more a whisper on black velvet compared with the screams of the Southern Ocean, forced me to lower the main. No fish so settled for rice, half a tin of sliced green beans, flour and curry powder. Maybe cook will give me fish tomorrow... I could use the other half of the sliced beans.

Tuesday, March 24th
.
The end of week 37 with a run of 486 miles and another glorious day in the low 80s under a clear sky on a flat sea. A faint westerly barely fills main and genoa. If only I had food and water, life would be perfect.
Solitaire
is still the most beautiful lady in the world but her constant movement over the last months has worn down my flesh, leaving only muscle and bone, and I have to keep bracing myself against her movement even when asleep. A beautiful lady but she's wearing me out. Dinner: beans, Marmite, curry, flour. And all there is left is hunger!

In week 38 we logged only 299 miles, the worst this voyage despite doing everything I could to increase speed. My old number one genoa I had saved for passing through the doldrums was hoisted but day after day the sail lay useless on deck. We kept up the main merely to reduce pitching and tossing. Thoroughly frustrated, I opened up the rear cockpit locker, breaking my fibreglassing, turned on the seacock and started the motor for the first time in many weeks. It ran effortlessly to charge the batteries for a couple of hours, then I switched it off to lie a-hull, rocking back and forth under a slapping main.

To vary my monotonous rice and curry powder diet I spread some toothpaste on rice and forced it down as my day's ration;
thereafter each time I cleaned my teeth I felt sick. Then I remembered that Annegret had given me a box of medicines and, sorting through it, found some throat lozenges which I treated myself to at the rate of one a day. Drinking water went down to 8 gallons so I cut my tea ration from three cups a day to three half-cups until I managed to catch 6 gallons, during a rain squall which put a stop to any water rationing. Intermittent calms and squalls gave problems with both old genoas and time after time I was caught with long repair jobs.

In week 39 the winds became more constant from astern and our daily runs increased from 80 to 125 miles, 668 miles in all by the week's end. My spirits rose. Although my trailing line was now constantly in the water, the 9in spinner breaking the surface 100ft astern, I caught no fish. With the high temperatures and crystal waters you would have thought the ocean would be alive with flying fish, dolphins and sea birds but it was empty. Lack of wind could have been the reason for the absence of flying fish since a sea without constant wind is a death trap for them – perhaps they realised that if they dropped on deck I'd have 'em instantly.

Week 40 was one of the best as the winds continued to increase when we reached the south-east trades, and daily runs first touched and then surpassed 100 miles.

On Thursday, April 9th, we recorded our ninth month at sea and 23,638 miles, only another 5,000 to Lymington. On a glorious day with hardly a cloud
Solitaire
stretched her legs as we sailed past another landmark, Ascension Island, 900 miles to our east. Provided there were no major problems we would now reach the Azores, although we still had the doldrums to pass through. And I still had two of Rome's parcels to look forward to.
Solitaire
was in good shape and my own health was not too bad, at least my skin was starting to tan and the blisters on my back had healed. We were progressing.

Friday, April 10th, saw us 600 miles from the Equator, and on my last parcel but one. Winds were a little light but
Solitaire
seemed content as flying fish started to appear, lifting in panic
to splash back when their wings failed to gain lift in the zephyrs. Seated in the cockpit, two cushions protecting my fleshless posterior, I willed them to fall into our web of rigging and sails, weary flies for a starving spider. The spinner glinted appetisingly in
Solitaire
's wake but attracted no takers.

Our radio, however, hauled in its own catch, gorging itself on the BBC's overseas broadcasts. The American space shuttle epic was in progress, reducing
Solitaire
's efforts to a stroll in the garden, but we shared a common aim: we were both reaching for the impossible and yet making it probable. I was content, despite settling for a dinner of... you guessed it... curry powder, peas and rice.

Next day, Saturday, April 11th, our position was 08°S, 28°53´W (480 miles to the Equator), having sailed 23,862 miles (112 in the past 24 hours). Winds were Force 3 to 4 from the east, and we were under full main and number one genoa.
Solitaire
made 5 to 6 knots on course. Spent morning repairing number two genoa. No luck with fishing so for dinner opened my last tin of sardines and rice, maybe the voyage's last fish dish.

At 6pm I caught and photographed my first fish, a beauty. Food, bloody food! I was resting on my bunk conserving strength when I heard a scraping sound and lay awhile, trying to work out which part of the rigging was causing it, before staggering on deck to investigate. The fishing line was sawing back and forth across the top of the pushpit. The shock cord taking the initial strike was stretched to the limit, so grabbing a pair of heavy rubber gloves I started to haul in the line, which felt as if I had hooked a junior whale. When I had brought it within 20ft or so of the stern, I could see it was 3–4ft long. White and bright emerald green flashed as it twisted and dived, a starving man on one end of the line, a creature fighting for its life on the other. Slowly the hunger of the one overcame the will to live of the other until I had it alongside, holding its massive head out of the rushing water, staring into frightened eyes. How could I kill this beautiful creature, which would surely turn me into a cannibal! I would be eating my own kind and I knew I must not.