30 October 1989

OK I'm off, less than the usual rush. I have been careful not to promlse any particular day or tlme. A coupla boats are itching for my berth too. Bank and fresh stuff done. We decided about the weather yesterday. I have a hole of several days before the next low settles in. Coupla delights as parting gifts: Warren brought my clean laundry, which I'd forgotten in his car, took me slghtseelng, lunch in a restaurant his father started a million years ago. He has a new girl (as usual) that he's all wrapped up in. Oh to be young and foolish again! Saw his boat too, pretty grand compared to what I saw last time in Gus' shop. Sloop rigged, 37', deep keel, very nicely done and well thought out, much spit and polish.

Fuel yesterday and water at 7 cents a gallon! Checked the mail for a couple of other delights. Clean up the deck. Start the engine after oil check, and all hell breaks loose! We are 4 boats rafted up with all kinds of spring lines and ties. Two of us, me and the one outside me, have anchors out too. Blow from dead ahead is 20-25 knots, but being dead ahead makes it easy except that I have to pull my anchor as I steer through a passage between pilot, rescue, and two fishermen, not too difficult but challenging. Made it with a dozen captains watching and half a dozen self-appointed experts on how to do it whooping it up with advice and goodbyes. Fred, a local who collects and peddles marine junk, brought me a nice bunch of very green bananas to hang in the rigging and eat as they ripen.

OK, I moved out. Everett of the inside boat hopped on to help with the anchor. Made it easy. But the anchor was snagged on a big truck tire. Got it up to the surface, but Everett couldn't lift it clear. It was full of very wet mud, of course! So I dragged it along in front of me while I touch and go landed on a boat at customs. Out into the harbor and fiddled about while drifting. Final cleanup of decks, check shelves, close ports, pump bilge, start log, take off sail covers and at last minute raise mizzen as I head out the narrow cut to open sea.

Big seas running too. Make very little way with the engine screaming at 2900 rpm. But out presently, still very steep seas and the wind exactly on the nose of my intended course. Reefs on both sides for a short bit. Once passed the Spit" I had plenty of room to port, but had to clear the reefs to starboard before I dared raise the main. Found I was making 3 1/2 to 4 knots under jib and jigger so who needs a main? Darkness coming, take it easy. Wait, wait, wait. That's where I am now, supper eaten, enough miles done so Bermuda is no longer a danger, only light still visible.

Disaster number 1 - in the very early morning, black night too, the bilge pump light, on, off, on for 30 seconds, off 1 second, on for another 30, off for 3 or 4 minutes and start over. Water coming in somewhere, not very fast, but very regularly. I thought it must be the packing nut on the propeller. Hard to do anything about it at sea, let alone in darkness. So help out with the hand pump. 35 strokes every 10 minutes kept up exactly with the leak. Not much water, but staying awake to pump would be a killer. So daylight and all systems in order, I prepared to go bilge diving in the engine compartment. Wait, wait, wait. Look at all the through-hulls first; it could be any one. And sure enough, the water line under the sink was producing a whoosh of clean salt water with every wave and hull dip. Small problem shutting off the hull fitting, which hasn't been moved for a couple of years. It's 3 inches beyond my reach, even with my foul weather gear off and my head jammed into the hole for the drawer. Long pliers started it, then hammer and piece of iron pipe to beat it back against the bulkhead. Done. Shut the leak off. But no way to wash dishes. Think it through. Wait, wait wait for a good idea.

Now it's nearly noon, time for a sight and something to eat. Fresh hamburg and onions I guess. They stole my little frying pan too! Noon position 31 20, 64 30, 800 miles to go. Wow, at this rate 11 or 12 days. I didn't think it was so far. I am not dismayed. This trip has not been foreboding. All my others started with collywobbles, faint fears and faintheartedness, often having to do antacid pills by the million.

I did have doubts about Izzy, and they turned out greater than the facts. Izzy was good at steering from the first time he tried. He was cheerful enough when he was compos mentis. Not a bad kid, but a KID, immature, no feeling for picking up his share of the load, expecting to be carried all the way. Not what I need for shipmates.

But there has been no worry. When the gaff came tumbling down I knew there were other options. Self-steering gear would have been great, but I've managed before without. Leak? Yes, I've had leaks. Hard head wind coming out of Bermuda, yup been there before too. I haven't doubted my ability to cope. Makes a spate of difference in the trip. The sun shines a little warmer than it used to, even if my hands and back are weaker.

OK, lunch eaten, boat in order. I have lines to repair, and a sink disconnect to work out a solution for. Then I'll need another disaster!

My SatNav shows very disappointing progress. Almost the middle of my third day out, and I'm only 100 miles off Bermuda. Doesn't come from not trying. It's headwinds. Light or heavy, I make precious little headway when it's measured in the wind direction. I'd do a little better if I steered all the time, instead of self steering, but that's not really worthwhile either on a 24-hour basis. One loses the gain if I have to sleep. No way I can really rest at the helm on a long trip. I'm being careful not to get overtired, plenty of food and water, so go slow, avoid going backwards is all I can do. Eventually I have to get into a change of wind, just hope with me that it doesn't happen while I'm asleep and Apogee is on self-steering. We might go right back to Bermuda! Morning sights came out in some disagreement with SatNav, possible, but not really happy-making. If noon sights are no better, I'll need help again, doesn't seem available in my part of PR.

I'm still all charged up with the euphoria of departing Bermuda. Why? Neat boat handling in the close quarter of Ordnance Island where a few other yachts were tied up, all friendly, all monsters compared to me, all crewed by several and needing several to come to satisfactory berth. I do it alone, and so far (here at least) very neatly. Earned compliments and beer from one boat, supper and good talk from another. And a big boost from letters that came at the last moment. I am writing less; both log and letters. No place to mail them from here of course, but last time I had a slew of them to mail from Tortola. Nobody (almost) writes me, so I drift into non-writing.

Should I coerce the All Hands recipients? No letter - off the list? Nope. I'm sending it out to my world because I need them, not because they need me. They are all busy people. I'm the one with Time. Many are nonwriters especially the younger ones. They phone. I guess you really have to be an octogenarian to depend on writing. I'm not quite, but it's coming on fast.

3 pm, and I'm caught up on sewing, cleaning. Sink to repair still. How? Duct tape is my only guess, and lead it into the deep sump under the engine. I don't dare duct tape it to its old thru-hull fitting, too much slosh and pressure. Bright sunny day with not much wind, making a bit of easting against the need that I'll have in the northeast Trades, meanwhile self-steering on the wind, light as it is, often as little as 2 knots boat speed.

Only just unpacked the fancies from Arhie Brown & Son. Warren took me into the store and picked items off the shelf as we strolled through: a couple each of potted meat, underwear, tinned biscuit, soup and more. No way I can pay for it either. Celebration tonight with beef and booze.

1913 - 7:13 Atlantic Time. You guys are on Standard now. Tiny slice of moon just going down now, will be a lot brighter by the time I need it for a landfall. Wind freshened, and I hauled a bit, bowling along, even dry, sea much easier. Supper done, even puttied the sink vent to drain into the bilge. So ended day 3. 2 November - noon position lat 29 degrees 56', long 64 45' and my sights are crazy, one of each set is usually right, or seems so to me. SatNav however grinds them out 20 or more a day, and almost all of them make sense; now and then one will be out of line, but mostly just what I've been seeing and coping with. Half a knot westering current in this area, and I've been going so slowly that it nearly overpowers me! Gorgeous clear day after a very quiet clear night wind a trifle stronger now so that at least we hold a course and can self steer. But 2 to 2 and a half knots seems to be the maximum. 50-60 miles a day about. May improve, but it may not. No disaster. Fixed a jury drain into the engine sump so I can at least wash dishes. Had a good sleeping night, clear and quiet today. Tanker late this morning, went by without a word, coupla three miles off to the west. First boat I've seen since Bermuda went under. No lights either. Enough space though.

3:30 and I've spent most of the afternoon sitting in the sun in my fresh washed skivvies reading bad literature, and not even bad enough to be interesting! A feeble breath of wind now and again, SW almost, kept the sails on, even kept us aimed at SE, but not enough way to "put in your hat". I'm bored! This is not sailing, it's waiting to sail. Almost the same difficulty I had trying to get to Florida last spring. I'll save a piece of hot dog for bait tomorrow and go fishing, maybe even swim!

1830 Boat to bed and me too. No moving air.

Out of bed at early daylight to find the beginning of a SW wind drift which died by the time I had sails up. On again off again several times, still not settled. May be southing a little. I'm all the way back and forth between 110 and 180, on the same set of sail. Exasperating! Now at 10:00 it's right on course and self steering - Bright sun, clear sky, pleasant (but LIGHT) breeze, and on course. Feels good, but I need motion too.

Wide awake in the dark, with coffee in my hand and a banana in my gut, a good night's sleep behind me while the boat dilly-dallied its way under full sail with a light SW wind for 60 miles, nearly on course, since 5 pm yesterday. Not fast but good progress and NO work. I spend more time eating than sailing, and sleeping more than both, interrupted very often, but I don't seem to have difficulty with that. Refrigerator and batteries charging. Daylight coming soon, and I'11 have to hunt for things to do! Celestial navigation will eat a lot of the morning. Yesterday it gave me 4 lines crossing within 6 miles of SatNav. Can I do that again? I used to do better, should be able to be exact. perhaps better than SatNav, which will vary a mile or so when tied up to a wharf. Practice makes perfect.

0600 The wind has died to almost flat calm, leaving me with a long gentle swell, slatting sails, and a magnificent sunrise. Sky is dotted with little cumulus clouds, widely separated overhead, but massed over east and west horizons. The bright magenta band beneath them to the east fades north and south and becomes faint pink above them in the west. Tinge of green, very slight in the sky overhead. Then all the color fades back into blue, light and dark, as the eastern glow turns yellow waiting for the great event. Now the magenta is gone, the massed cloud seems to wrap the horizon, a livening pink band shows through holes in the mass heralding the day, and a very delicate pink shadow shows on the top of the near clouds overhead. It's a fuzzy line of pink on all the very high light overcast. Very high and clear to the west, narrow line north and south, hidden behind the massed cumulus to the east but showing through holes. Now the eastern pinks are whitening and fading. The high west is a great soft pillow of pink fluff and a sharp line of burning orange on the tops of the lowest eastern clouds. It climbs along the top towards me. Still no sun, but no doubt that it's coming! Suddenly it does. Tiny rays of direct brilliance showing through, burning the edges of the clouds between, fiery violation of all the eastern cloud as the sun actually clears above the sea. And all my local scattered cumulus take up the song, white hot rays piercing the massed cloud and haloing all the tops of the eastern sky with an edge of fire. The far eastern cloud has lost its pink; it's yellow now, a background for the explosion of fiery bright as the sun works its way up toward the pale blue of the overhead sky. No such show on TV. OK the show is over. Sun is still behind clouds, but every cloud tells where it is. Even in the west where pink fades fast.

Broad day and we are sailing again, jib up and pulling gently, southeast course in very light wind and easy sea. Progress but very slow. On top of my sunrise, I've laid a delicious breakfast of eggbread toast and scrambled egg. My pre-breakfast banana was off the hand given to me in Bermuda and hanging off the mizzen crutch. Now they'll probably go ripe faster than I can consume them. At least they started exactly on schedule when the bought bananas ran out.

Bad sign - first cockroach since Bermuda, I got him though. This morning's windlessness really took hold in the afternoon, flat-arsed calm. I could burn ends of line standing by the mast. OK, things got done. Found the loose line on the head of the main nearly worn through. Replaced and tightened the throat, 5 hoops refastened on the luff, rerigged the jiffy reef line, some other minor neatening up, and a swim, short, not that I ever stay in long, even in 70 degree water, but I put the ladder over, and as I climbed down I thought what if a breeze shows now? All rigged for self steering, Apogee can take off by herself, not in a second, but easily in 2 minutes. I stayed at the ladder, and real close! Good swim though!

Yesterday's 5-knot breeze came at 11 pm, after the utter calm from my swim on. Calms are rare too at sea in these latitudes. I'd gotten all the "no wind chores" done before dark: sails and lines repaired and replaced (though I've found some more since), so I had a good solid sleep in the early evening, but was up most of the rest of the night and this morning early, fussing with the course. It don't "WANNA", didn't and still don't. OK, fuss, but sleep was intermittent last night.

First bird since Bermuda this morning, a pin tail gull, the Bermuda national bird. Not quite the first. A land bird, small sparrow sort, maybe a thrush, very decrepit and tired, landed on my rail a couple of days ago. Hopped around embarrassed and scared of me, but more scared of the ocean he had escaped from, in and out of the cabin, up on the rigging and disappeared. I found him this morning, very flat, under the edge of the starboard mattress. Not a seabird till just now.

1040 and my first two shots are lovely. Noon shot will prove or disprove them exactly. Little wind but enough to keep the sails up and watch the course, being steered by balance rather than equipment. Yes, I'm boasting. Watch me fall flat on my face any minute.

Midnight: Wind direction improved to east, but gone, just disappeared, umpteen times two, sails up and down, even the jigger down for repairs to slides and refasten the halyard to its snap shackle. Ahull again and bed.

Sound asleep, boat lying ahull. I woke to a change in motion, got up. Wind, gentle northeast. Up and at'em. Main up in pitch black. There was a moon, but it quit before the air came, and we're underway southing without coffee or tears. Now at 6:30, coffee #l inside, selfsteering at 4 Knots, smooth sea, not flat but easy going. And a new sun coming up behind distant cumulus that may rival the last one I described. Breakfast. Oatmeal and coffee #2. By 7:20 the sun has done its thing behind a sky length cloud that dumped a little rain and shut off the big show completely. Bits of pink and yellow on both sides of a long near-black cloud running east and west over me. But what a nifty rainbow! Hard bright colors, both ends firmly fastened down to the pots of gold that are .just under the surface. OK enough drivel. Wind dead again. See what gives.

Nearly midnight, and we're moving out, barreling along on a fat reach, 5 knots or better, self-steering very nicely. Half moon above a broken overcast. Very few stars. It's taken 8 days to get here from Bermuda, 250 miles, 30/day, shocking slow. Charging along like this it could be done in a day and a half, 550 miles to Tortola.

2000 hours, Atlantic time, and I'm safe in the Trades without power too. Keeping batteries up and refrigerator cool, but not propulsion at all. Lie. Couple of times to head up while changing sail, once while mending slides on mizzen, and of course a whole 5 or so hours getting safe at sea from Bermuda. So I'm in this warm, steady, 12-15 knot, easterly wind with a little north, and I'm having a perfect hell of a time rigging the selfsteering. The best I've got so far is two jibs and reefed main, mizzen put to bed, and I'm still at least 20 degrees off my intended course.

I'll put the pole out tomorrow, now that I'm sure I'm in the Trades, and maybe rig the cotton Marconi main on it. Leave the real main out altogether, using the boom to get the sheet out. I wasn't sure of being in the Trades till noon and didn't want to try this without time to give it a good go. Hard to work it in the dark. Now we're 30 degrees off, go tend it. Now 10 degrees off t'other way. Looks like it will be a busy night.

It was. Now 10:30. Breakfast and chores in the dark. Changed jibs at daylight and no better really, still needs tending every 2 minutes. I can take a pee, add or subtract clothes, but not really pay attention to anything else. I plan meals and it makes me hungry. I eat all the time, get through a planned hot meal, and I'm eating a sandwich before the dishes are washed. Crackers and cheese soon after. I'm not just eating for two, it must three or four. I think my tapeworm must be pregnant! Rationing starts soon. Bread is short, half a loaf, little fresh stuff of any kind, plenty of crackers and canned stuff really, spaghetti. couscous, noodles, even onion and potatoes. All the bananas went overboard this morning. Picked out a couple with edible parts though.

Stop press, an ordinary gull looked me over. I attract gulls, therefore I am. No porpoises or whales or turtles. only 3 other vessels on this great ocean since Bermuda. Big question, is this the Trades? It seemed so yesterday, softened last night, strengthened this morning quite gradually, and now playing erratic games under every cloud. Another day should convince me. 100 miles yesterday. doubt if I'll do it again today.

Coupla-three days since I wrote anything but numbers or read anything but instruments. An exaggeration justified by the disappearance of the Trades! GONE! "They" turned them off just as I got into them, a disaster beyond imagination. I was certain I'd picked them up. The steady 10-15-18 knot northeast winds that cover the lesser Antilles and most of the Bahamas. Nope, not here. I'm still heading east of south when I can, still hope to get into them soon. Promises, promises I have a plenty. But today after a morning of dead calm after a night of ditto that followed a day and a half of very light southeast winds - right on the nose of my desired course - a southwester shows, light too. I'm on the wrong tack, but finally making progress on course.

I've had everything up and down many times, can-put the main to bed on its gallows in pitch black night without a light, almost without waking up! Even the jigger came in last night. Not a breath. Same this morning till after 10 when we got a trifle of southeast again. But that wore out soon. Flatassed calm for an hour or so. Now this odd ball southwest - goody, I hope it lasts!

I'm not very good at doing nothing, but if practice makes perfect, I soon will be. No disaster, not even minor tragedies, just calm, sickening pervasive calm. Not quiet either, plenty of motion, a grand gentle swell from northwest across the usual easterly swell, different sizes and rates of course, so there's no way to allow for them. Sails can be full from the very gentle easty drift of air, and a single sea will rock the boat far enough to empty the sail when the mast moves faster than the wind. So with less wind we get 5 or 10 times less energy from it. I'd get a trifle more with the main up, but have to tend it constantly. OK, I can do that all day, but for a lousy 1 or 1 and a half knots, I'm damned if I'll stay up all night too!

Had the power on twice today to see if a few miles would get me out of the calm, 4 hours total. Difference isn't measurable, but at least it's a northeast drift, maybe the fringe of the Trades. Hang on, there's nothing else I can do. They've always been there, so they must BE. Beautiful evening, full moon, peaceful, too ruddy damned peaceful! In self-steering down wind, but can't do it with the main up, at least I haven't been able to yet. So we can keep going all night, but at a knot or less, and I can still get in 6 or 8 hours of sleep, thanks to the size and loneliness of this part of the North Atlantic. Haven't seen a ship or manmade light (except my own) for at least 3 days, maybe 4 or 5.

Now almost 7 pm. Moon is in full flower, fat and fancy. Supper done and washed up, evening breeze better than expected but no great shakes either, maybe 6 or 8 knots and easterly, so we are on port tack and self steering, somewhat hesitantly. If I can make it stick, I'll pick up a hot 22 miles by midnight. Not that it matters much, I'm annoyed and bored. I spoke of not having leisure a while back, but there's enough around now to package for quick sale, cheap, cheap, cheap. I'm running through all my escape literature. There are things l could do, old sights to rehabilitate, two pairs of hinges to put on, cabin throttle control to design and install. I can't seem to get astride anything that's going to take effort. Maybe a good thing too. I should keep the pressure on moving the boat, lest I get stuck without water or food. To answer that I'm doing some power every day. 2 hours at a lick and 2 licks a day. At least it shows on my dead reckoning, where the xs have started living very close together.

The sun is up, but not far enough for a shot. Clear morning, with little puffy cumulus all over the sky, and we are charging along 3 to 4 knots on a rolling ocean, 2 or 3 different wave patterns, no way to predict where or how far the next roll will go or whether it will be a gentle list and return or a violent lurch that sends stuff flying, even off the gimballed stove. GOOD, it's progress. I hardly dare say Trades. Every time I have, this trip, the immediate response is flat calm for a day or two. It started very gradually yesterday afternoon, built up to the point that I hand steered till 3 o'clock this morning. Couldn't bear to waste such a good breeze. Couldn't keep my eyes open either, so I let her drift under jib alone, more or less southbound, and I'm giving it the biz again this morning. My target is dead down wind 280 miles, a difficult course for self steering. If I'm sure it's the Trades, I'll shove off to east a bit for steering's sake.

It's gotta be the Trades, northeast steady and fast. Had to strike the main just now, going like the hammers of Hell, but too much whack and bang and yank - hard on the gear, hard on me too. Carry on under jib and jigger and still pretty close to design speed, and very little strain on lines and gear and me. As of midnight, 200 miles to Tortola. I plan to enter west of Anegada, come in between The Dogs and Virgin Gorda.

1800 - Hard day at the tiller. I tucked in a reef and put the main up, flew along, but 99% steering and down wind (dead down too). Haven't had time till now for sights, paperwork, real food, even crackerwiches and nibbles all day. Now I'm letting the jib carry me south - well east of my course, and NO tending. Now sleep and eat.

I've been telling myself for 2 or 3 days that we're nearly there. I still am, now with the specter of a late night landfall. Plan, plan, plan, and all must be guesses, probably wild guesses. Bracket it. Could be as early as midnight tonight on Anegada. More likely just before sunrise tomorrow. Not the world's happiest situation. I could approach and heave to. I could plan a careful by pass to raise Gorda and Tortola without being close enough to Anegada to see it. How safe is that? Last night was clear and moonlit. Will tonight be? Obviously I can't yet commit myself to anything more than keeping careful track, which I'm doing. Itchy and acid making. Breakfast eggs and Rolaids!

It's after midnight, lights showed to southeast. Probably a ship in the Anegada Passage, but could be on the island. They turn their generator off at midnight, or at least they used to when I was ashore there. So I'm heaved to at what I believe to be 18 miles off the northwest point of Anegada. Will go ahead with visibility. I've had enough disasters today, this week, month, and year, so that I feel no need to put a second boat up on this reef. Itchy to sit here with a phone so close and know that it's at least 30 hours away.

3:00 am. Nope, can't wait. Hang out the dimity and let's plow! So, all plain sail - chug along on 210. The great peak of Virgin Gorda showed through the distant mist. I had a scary minute when I realized I was laughing. But why not? Seems like Bermuda was at least a year ago. Sky is going to be blue. Mist will condense to puffy, white, cotton batting clouds. The rising sun will put on a great show. Why shouldn't I laugh? At least it can't wake anyone up.

And the sun did put on a good show, not so spectacular as the one I wrote up perhaps, but a paean of joy, none the less. By 7 it was hot. Breakfast at the tiller, cold boiled egg, mayonnaise, biscuit, coffee rushed up on deck in moments stolen from the helm. Then work out the selfsteering pattern. Off the wind, it's rather delicate. Balance the rig, sails have to do most of it. If they can do all of it, that's best, but they seldom can, especially off the wind. Done. Now check the course and position, list the night's fixes. All OK. Run the engine. OK, all my work is done, now I'm just day sailing in the British Virgin Islands, which appear to be 30 miles ahead.

The thirty miles melted away very slowly, even with a nice fresh little breeze and a pair of would-be black clouds that made a welcome sprinkle after threatening a downpour. We finally passed the great mammary of Virgin Gorda, the Dogs, and the breeze died as I came even with Beef, where the airport is. Many boats still sailing. Not me. I've had enough of that drift stuff. Power on, power into Road Town harbor. Power into a berth beside Customs. Tie up and do my duty, Enter. Bread, toilet paper (not out, but last roll is moist), telephone, and a cold beer - icy cold. Back on board, cracker and cheese and bed.

New disaster, a hole in the rubber dinghy!

Notes and Comment added to the end of a tale. Not really very hard to write this, it's done in bits and snatches when and wherever there's time, energy and a flat surface that's dry enough to write on. But it does take energy, often at times when there's little to spare. It's something I want to do, nobody forces me to do it. It's a sort of casting my bread upon the waters hoping for that thousand-fold return. You - all of you out there - my public need to spend a little energy on the thousand-fold return! Where have you been? What did you find there? Could it be eaten, worn, sold, or fought with? There are more logs on the way. Some have been bypassed, lost, and now found. The energy necessary to get them out is being generated.

Better yet, come visit in Puerto Rico.

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