Solitaire Spirit: Three Times Around the World Single-Handed (44 page)

Pleased with the day's work, I was about to go below when I saw the ripped canvas hatch cover. I removed it and took it with me. I still didn't feel like eating, but I needed to replace all the blood I'd lost. During blood donor sessions in the past I'd been given hot, sweet cups of tea. By now it was late afternoon. I put the whisky bottle away and the kettle on. That night, my back started to hurt and I took a double dose of painkillers. I was still strapping myself to the mast support, but I was using a long lead and sitting in the corner of the bunk. It was difficult to sleep. Every now and again there would be the loud double report from the rifle.

Tuesday, February 13th
. After drinking a few cups of tea, and taking my painkillers and antibiotics, I started to sew the hatch cover together. My safety harness was removed from the mast support and attached to one of the ringbolts in the cabin floor. By the afternoon the pains in my back were very bad.

The cracking sound from the beam was making me very edgy. Unable to concentrate, I gave up on the job for the day and started to look at the electric panel. The GPS had its own switch and that was still working. All the pilot lights for the rest of the equipment were very dim, some showing no signs of life. When I switched the transmitter on, the radio made a few squeaks and died. I removed all the front panelling and, to get my own back, I started spraying the lot with a lubricant that drives out moisture. I had thoughts of taking off my wet weather gear and changing my clothes, but there would have been little advantage: everything on the boat was soaking wet.

By that time, I could walk about bent over double. This seemed to be the normal position for lying on my bunk. A last cup of tea and two more painkillers and I lay down, pulling a sleeping bag over my head.

During that 24 hours with the furling sail reduced to storm jib size, we made one of the best runs for a long time of 116 miles. The total distance for the week was 643 miles. Considering we should have been lying in Davy Jones' locker, I thought we'd done pretty well. The hatchway cover had been sewn and fitted. I didn't think it would last very long and when in any violent storm I knew I would have to stow it. At least in the present gales and high seas it was keeping most of the water out. I was back in the old habit of pumping the bilges out first thing in the morning and last thing at night. But they were never more than a third full.

Towards the end of that eighth week at sea I did change my dirty, cold, soaking wet clothes for clean, cold, soaking wet clothes. Stripped off, it was the first time I'd seen my body since our troubles. I was a mass of black and blue bruises. My back was still painful, but I no longer thought I had broken ribs. Providing I didn't make any sudden moves, I could stand upright.

At the end of week nine, we had covered another 642 miles, only one mile short of the previous week's run. My back was still painful and I was still taking the painkillers and antibiotics. The main worry was the rifle cracks that seemed to be increasing in
volume. The heavy beam that the rigging U-bolts came through had stainless steel backing plates. I believed that it was behind this plate that the beam was broken. There was one way I could stop the noise. That was to simply place my hand on the plate to feel the vibration. I could stand there for minutes and nothing would happen, move away and crack, crack...

Having found out how I could stop the noise, I then found out how it could be increased: by swearing at the bloody thing, it would soon be laughing, crackling away fit to bust. During the week I did find some drops of moisture in the fixed GPS. It was still working fine, but just to play it safe, I decided to try the handheld standby GPS. I'd tested it before leaving New Zealand and it seemed OK. Now I couldn't get it to lock on to the satellites.

When I checked on the young man I found he was having his own problems, mostly due to a lack of food and a weight loss. Despite the fact we'd been stationary for three days, he hadn't gained that much distance. Our weekly runs were about the same. The same gale force winds, the high breaking seas, even the same calms. Our main complaints were about the freezing seas and the cold damp cabin. He was being held up by the fact he had only small sails that he could use: a working jib and a storm jib. Whereas I had a much larger furling genoa, but I couldn't use it in case I pulled the mast down.

Solitaire
started her tenth week at sea on Monday, February 26th. Cape Horn was 800 miles away. By the end of the week we had sailed a further 600 miles. It had been a week of severe gales. Once more, we had sailed well below Cape Horn's latitude, to make sure we weren't driven on a lee shore. Our own latitude was now down to 57°24´S, 76 miles below the Cape.
Solitaire
had tried to edge her way north, but merciless seas had kept howling from that direction, driving her further away. She'd had two more knockdowns, which left a bit of straightening up, but nothing more serious.

We sailed below Cape Horn at 4.30pm on Wednesday, March 6th. Our latitude was 57°15´S, approximately 76 miles below. For
the first time in weeks we had a blue sky and a calm sea. I tried to dry a few towels.

The Falkland Islands and Port Stanley were around 489 miles away to the NNE. The pilot charts showed that prevailing winds should be blowing from the south-west, Force 5 to 6. With luck, I thought, we should be in Port Stanley by the end of the week.

The young Leslie had sailed past Cape Horn on Monday, February 23rd, 1981. His latitude had been 57°00´S, approximately 61 miles below. He had enjoyed the same weather conditions. Instead of towels, he had tried to dry carpets. He was now 12 days in front. He had gained a further two days. I felt sorry. He was starving. If I had met him 15 years ago, I would have gladly given him some of my food.

Our week after rounding came to its end on Wednesday, March 13th, 1996. We were still 124 miles from Port Stanley. Instead of the winds blowing from the south-west,
Solitaire
had been punching her way into strong winds from the north. At times these winds had reached gale force. During the week of frustration, the one great pleasure had been listening to the radio broadcasts from Stanley. Apart from the great music, I'd felt I knew the people. There was always a report on the flights between the islands and the names of the passengers were given. I knew the name of the local pub and that volunteers were needed for some varnishing. I couldn't wait to be sitting in its warm friendly bar.

The following day I gave up all thoughts of sitting in that pub. The weather report had forecast gale force winds from the west. With the breaking seas, we were slowly being forced away from the island. On Friday, March 15th, I scribbled a few remarks in the ship's log:

Latitude 51°29´S, longitude 56°39´W. Port Stanley was only 38 miles away, but we had been driven past the Island. Things going very badly. A few knockdowns while trying to lie a-hull. Hatch cover once more in bits. Spent all morning trying to sort things out. GPS is still working, but now has condensation inside. Just found that I've lost two lighters, the one remaining doesn't
work. I have a few matches left by Tony and Irene during our holiday. It could be a serious problem. To be honest, I don't think we can finish this voyage. We will just keep trying to head north. Everything is so cold and wet – NO REGRETS.

I took all the sail off
Solitaire
due to the pounding she was taking and the loud cracking complaints from the beam. Without the sails, she started to do the same 180-degree turns after each knockdown. With the hatch cover gone, once more seawater started flooding into the cabin. Before things got completely out of hand I unfurled a few metres of the genoa and went onto a reach, pulling away from land. I deeply regretted that my VHF radio was U/S and I hadn't been able to make contact. Food would now be a problem and I could see that soon I would be in the same condition as the young man, with his agonising sores and bleeding gums. He had already gained an extra day on me, sailing past the Islands on March 2nd, 1981, a full 13 days in front of us.

By the end of our 12th week at sea we had managed only 398 miles. The Falkland Islands were 215 miles astern. I'd once more repaired the hatch cover. The crack, crack from the rifle continued. With each sound, my nerves and temper got worse. Worrying about my friends didn't help.

Week 13 was a funny old week, with many ups and downs. The biggest down was that we only made 264 miles.

Tuesday, March 19th
. The winds were light from the north. With a full genoa and mainsail, we managed to make 93 miles, staying hard on the wind. In the past I'd always tried to run the engine every two or three weeks. When I tried this time, I found seawater in the oil. I managed to filter it out and start it. I tried to get a fix with the standby GPS, without any luck.

Wednesday, March 20th
. More gale force winds from the north-east. I removed the weak hatch cover. The seas seemed to be warmer, so I removed my boots – no progress.

Friday, March 22nd
. I fed the latitude and longitude for Horta in the Azores into the main GPS. It gave a reading of 5,248 nautical miles, on a bearing of 022° Magnetic. Lymington would
be about 6,750 miles. That day, in gale force winds, we only took 32 miles off the distance.

Saturday, March 23rd
. Becalmed all night, I tried to start the engine, only to find the starter motor U/S. When I tried to use the main GPS, I found it had given up and thrown in the towel. Having taken my sextant out, I decided to give the hand-held GPS a last try. I read in the instructions that when first used from new it would take up to twenty minutes to lock onto its first satellites. I now believed that the reason it wouldn't work was that it was trying to lock onto the satellites over New Zealand. I thought that if I removed the batteries while it was still switched on, it might cancel these and start searching. Fifteen minutes later I got my position and heaved a sigh of relief. We had taken 58 miles off the distance home.

Sunday, March 24th
. Distance covered 34 miles, winds gusting from the north-east. The good news was that I had found one of my new lighters. I cut a 5-gallon plastic container in half and fitted a hosepipe tube into its cape, ready for when we had rain.

Monday 25th brought drizzle from a grey sky. We managed to catch 2 gallons of water in a very slow trickle. 23 miles covered through confused seas.

Week 14 wasn't much better: gale force winds from the northeast that had me once more removing the hatch cover to prevent damage.

On Wednesday 27th we were in another bad gale and mountainous seas. It was a clear bright day when I saw our first ship for a month, a supertanker passing down our starboard side about half a mile away. I wrote in the ship's log that I thought they'd seen us. I regretted I didn't have a radio I could make contact with. I would have given anything to have been able to put
Solitaire
on board her. This had been a bad voyage and I'd been afraid too long. I just wanted to leave those seas and never return. I was sorry to let Irene and Tony and all of my friends down.

At the end of week 14 the good news was that our position was latitude 39°45´S, longitude 46°27´W. We had made good only 300 miles. But great news: we were out of the Roaring Forties.
Whenever we had a day without strong winds I would try to bake bread. The only way I could do it was to wrap dough in tin foil. The cobs that I made came out black and flat, but I was already rationing my food so anything would help. I'd started to think that I might be forced to call into Rio in Brazil.

By the end of week 15 I was sure that food and water would be a problem and that we would be forced to stop in Brazil. There were more gales from the north-east, then long calms that at least allowed me to repair my wet weather gear and the starter motor. Distance covered was a disappointing 270 miles. By this time we were well out of the Roaring Forties at latitude 35°S. The pilot chart showed only six per cent gales in this area, against twenty-six per cent at Cape Horn. We were having gales nearly every day. It was frustrating. With the cracking rifle, nerves were at breaking point.

Week 16, Monday, April 15th. Distance covered 305 miles. There were more gales from the north and north-east, and rough seas, but they were no longer life threatening. When the cracking from the beam got too bad, I could drop all sail without the knockdowns and the whipping 180-degree turns. I tried driving wedges between the bulkhead and the beam. This seemed to deaden the sound slightly. I wrote in the ship's log that ‘the Azores are approximately 4,448 miles, Rio 720 miles, ENGLAND 6,000 miles'.

I checked the food and found that on the present rations, we had enough to last 56 days. I removed the oil from the motor and put more fresh oil back, fitted the starter motor, and ran the engine. I made a note that the fuel lift pump had a bad leak. The last entry was that still in the Variables, with 600 miles to go to reach the south-east trade winds. Now down to low rations of half a tin of food and half a cup of rice. I didn't really want to go into Brazil. I would even consider St Helena, 2,000 miles to the north-east.

Week 17, Monday, April 22nd
. Distance covered 480 miles. We had started with a strong gale, but the rest of the week it was strong squalls, with gusting winds from every direction and confused seas. As things became warmer my weather gear had
been stored away, sea boots removed and toes wriggled. After the Southern Oceans, even in the worst conditions, it seemed like
Solitaire
was sailing over blue velvet.

Over the years I had constantly listened to the BBC overseas broadcasts. These started to give disturbing information about Brazil: 13,000 convicts were being released from their crowded jails, high inflation, drugs out of control. Worried I might have problems due to my passport showing no Customs clearance from New Zealand and not having a visa, I decided to cut down once more on my food and water and try to make the Port of Horta in the Azores. Now, for the first time, our measuring changed from cups to tablespoons. Our ration became five tablespoons of rice, half a tin of corned beef, beans, sardines or tuna.