Part 3 The last 1000 miles - Knockdown!

I must have headed right into the center of a depression as I spent most of the night surfing along with an electrical storm close off the port beam. It was too exciting for me to feel tired, although I felt as though I was never going to leave the storm behind. This was the first time I had used the safety harness, and it was just as well, as it saved me from being washed headfirst over the cockpit side in one large well-aimed wave.

At first light I found myself under a large black cloud-mass that looked like the textbook picture of a cold front. Lumpy seas, rain and gusting winds seemed to follow in whichever direction I turned. Finally when I got out from under the cloud, only light winds and lumpy seas remained, and I was able to heave to and sleep. This was the 6th September, and I had not taken a sight since 3rd September. I was trying to head as far north as possible to avoid the Azores. My sight on the 7th showed that I had blown around the top of the Azores passing within 100 miles of the nearest island. I had covered 400 miles in four days, which had included probably 20 hours lying hove to or moving slowly. Storms do get the miles covered -only 1300 miles to England.

For the next three days I seemed to run continually into the back of my depression, which was also making slow progress towards England. Finally it left me behind and I had a few days traveling fast and comfortably on self-steering.

By 11th September I was less than 1,000 miles to Falmouth, and opened my second surprise parcel. Four kinds of bread in tins -heaven after a diet of crackers. I had noticed in myself an occasional preoccupation with the thought of food, even though I ate pretty well all the way over. Having met a couple of pretty girls in Bermuda, my colorful thoughts lasted a couple of days but those mild longings turned to food for the rest of the trip! A psychologist could probably explain the hierarchy of desire - since I was safe, food came next!

For the next week I seemed to get in and out of depressions and fronts predominantly with N.W. winds, forcing me to stay almost close- hauled -good for self-steering but giving a wet and bumpy ride. I tended to stay in the cabin reading, eating and sleeping in this sort of weather, and became reluctant to get oilskins on and get out and do things.

Shortwave radio receiver, bolt-in strongback, sextant

By September 17th I was about 350 miles from Falmouth and right in the path of a gale according to the E.E.C. Shipping forecast. Last one, I thought, get through this and I am home and dry (an expression that I now understand a bit more). I hoped the gale would be well over by the time I reached the Banks where the Atlantic shallows down to the English Channel, as I knew the seas would be short and steep there.

By 2300 the gale was well on me and I steered all night using only the jib. By first light the big gusts were less frequent, and I began to congratulate myself that I would be O.K. A big sea was running, with waves breaking from behind and from my starboard quarter. In my mood of relief and relaxation one of the starboarders broached me around. Nothing untoward happened, and I kept going, thinking to myself that as the wind dropped I needed more sail up to maintain speed and steerage way. I was still doing 4-5 knots, but the waves were catching me too easily.

Suddenly a big wave broke from my starboard quarter. I have memories only of seeing a lot of foam below me to leeward as we rolled over to port, and then I was breathing water. We rolled right over, and before I was aware of what had happened the boat was upright and I was still sitting strapped into the cockpit (wet). The mast had gone -a piece lay on the deck with the boom and the rest was in the water. Alter a good curse, mostly aimed at my own carelessness, I looked into the closed cabin. It was a shambles, but at least a dry shambles, and that was reassuring.

Without a mast, the boat was riding safely a-hull, occasionally getting hit by a breaker that soaked the deck and rolled us heavily. Having got the second piece of the mast aboard and cleaned up below I had a good breakfast and set about erecting a jury mast. I had to get away from that unpleasant part of the ocean. A sight later in the day showed I had reached the edge of the Sole Bank where the Atlantic shallows down from 2,200 fathoms to 60 in 10 miles or so.

By sawing a couple of inches off the longer upper part of the mast I was able to use the undamaged lower shrouds and a made-up fore-stay to the existing chain-plates. Erecting the thing was another matter. The boat was still rolling violently in the steep seas, and every two or three minutes a wave would break all over the boat's topsides. An onlooker could have thought I was a comedian doing a funny routine on drunk pole vaulters- as it was getting dark I left it for a good night's rest.

Next morning, wind and sea had dropped considerably, and by tying the foot of the mast into its seat on deck I was able to get it up. The main was rolled up onto the boom until I could get a little tension on the luff and lash the boom (gooseneck broken) to the side of the mast. The resulting sail was very baggy, but we began to move. I hoisted a baggy storm jib and was very happy to find she would steer herself with a beam wind-in fact she wouldn't point much higher than wind abeam and needed steering down wind. The wind vane had been carried away, bending the stern pulpit severely in the process, so I was grateful not to have to steer continuously.

Baggy storm jib, shortened main on shortened mast

In spite of what I later found to be a good growth of gooseneck barnacles on the bottom and my short rig, I was able to make 55 - 70 miles per day- unfortunately towards France as the wind persisted in the N.W. quadrant.

I was able to sleep while sailing - mostly by day as there were trawlers about and I didn't want one of them to net a Shark. By the night of the 20th I was close enough to the French coast to see the lights, due south of the Lizard and hoping for a southwest wind. It was not until midnight on the 24th that I first saw the Lizard light looming in low cloud - this after much east and west tacking in predominantly northerly winds. The weather had become much colder at night, and I found it impossible to stay on deck very long without being chilled.

On the 25th, after spending most of the day within sight of the English coast but unable to point towards it in light north winds, I decided to try to start my outboard motor. Since it had traveled all the way in a lazaret that had at times had four inches of salt water in it, I was amazed that it started at all.

Just as it began to get dark I dropped anchor in the Helford River just south of Falmouth. With green hills all around, seals in the river, smoke curling from the cottage chimneys and sea birds going about their business it seemed the most peaceful place on earth. I slept well!

Shortened mast visible in Falmouth Harbor

At 0800 I was wakened by a cheery call of "'Eos ahoy!". I looked out and there was a 70' Customs cutter about 15 feet away. They had seen my U.S. flag and came aboard to process me in. From that moment on I met only kind and hospitable people. Cornwall, a farming and fishing county in spite of summer tourists, turned out to be a good re-introduction to England. From the harbormaster's staff to the local residents, I received only kindness.

When I went ashore in the rain later that day and walked bearded and dirty up the main street in my yellow oilskins and black sea-boots, I felt very self-conscious, larger than life, rather like a being from outer space. (A bath and a shave cured that feeling). After two months of disuse my legs were shaky, and it took a week to fully recover. The other strange thing was a craving for brown bread and butter, readily available in Falmouth!

Falmouth, Cornwall, England. Sept 26th '73

To be continued...