About days 40-50

Smell the sea and feel the sky. Let your soul and spirit fly.    Van Morrison 

The dark, choppy times continued for almost two weeks in all before our fortunes began to turn. Firstly, the wind dropped, then the swell. We didn’t want to allow ourselves to believe it would stay but after a couple of days the forecasts all showed stable conditions. There was a collective exhale.

At 7pm on day 41, we received a message from Guru Chris. Often an ominous sign, I was tempted not to read it in case it informed of a wrong turn at Cape Verde or the like. But no! Cause for celebration - we’d passed the halfway mark! Still reeling from the past two weeks we weren’t quite prepared for this. I bounced out of the cabin to announce the news to Stef and we agreed it was momentous enough to wake Dirk. 

This celebration hadn’t been planned so we improvised by pulling in oars and grabbing the rum. We glugged down the dwindling supplies, did some hugging and prancing about and made a couple of videos. This was solid celebrating but felt a bit run of the mill. It wasn’t up to halfway standards. It needed some more whoosh. Some more sparkle. Some more bang. Three pairs at eyes looked at each other with a knowing glint. Parachute flare!

For those that trudge their way through life always going by the old book, I should note that although - technically speaking - shooting off flares for a laugh is probably a bit naughty and not RYA (or Guru Chris) approved we did do some common sense checks. There had been no boat sightings in days and the AIS was clear so no one was going to see it; we used white (“I’m here - don’t come near me!”) not red (“come here I’m in trouble!”) flares; we have lots of spares so won’t run out and kept rum consumption under control.

Anyway, disclaimer over - I can tell you, there’s nothing like an exploding, grown-up party popper that shoots burning magnesium to mark an occasion! This had all the zchimmyzchimmy we were after so - having sufficiently indulged our scarcely hidden inner pyromaniacs - we had another glug and got back on the oars. With halfway behind us, and the weather on the turn, our spirits were shooting up like an illicit ocean flare.

The new normal was delightful. The sun we’d been long promised unshrivelled our brine-steeped skin, dried our soppy clothes and fired our resolve. Chop was replaced by the mythical conditions we’d heard so much about - mid-size swell with following winds. Having long dismissed the idea as folklore, it was a pleasure to be proved wrong and feel the trade wind belt for ourselves.

During the dark days, it was especially tormenting to not make high speeds despite the relentless wind. Given the warmer water, our leading hypothesis for this hampered progress was due to growth on the hull. Growth is expected and easily scraped off but necessitates a deep-water dip - which we deemed too dangerous. Nothing to do with the sharks, jellyfish or odd kraken that might show up on any ocean swim but because the waves were throwing the boat about violently - causing our carbon-fibre rudder to double up as a guillotine.

But now with fine weather and the boat stable we had our chance. Despite being the older of the bunch, Dirk was like an excited child at the thought of putting on his snorkel. So, with rope around the waist and scraper in hand he was the first to take plunge. Stef and I kept watch for Man o’ War jellyfish - we’d seen a record 22 in a single 2 hour shift a couple of days before. There wasn’t really a plan if we did see one of the vicious little stingers floating towards Dirk’s face but it felt like the right thing to do. We also managed to get an excellent GoPro clip of Dirk slipping off the gunwale and dramatically falling in.

Our growth hypothesis was confirmed immediately. The hull, centreboard and rudder were thick in a carpet of strange seaweed. It’s amazing that we could row at all, the additional weight must have been significant before even considering the immense drag. 

With some effort, Dirk cleaned the lot and it was my turn for a swim. To be bobbing in the water with a 360 horizon, endless deep blue below and the knowledge that you’re over a thousand miles from land was both surreal and invigorating. I’ve dived and swam in various seas and oceans but this experience was markedly different. Much more raw, unchecked and wild. We’d dared to pass the No Entry sign and go through the locked door of one of natures secret gardens and were rewarded with the unique buzz of freedom that comes with exploring the off-limits and unfamiliar. It’s these moments that exist amidst the grind that can’t be foreseen, manufactured or reached through shortcuts that are the most honest and memorable. This deep ocean swim was one of the most unique experiences that I’ll take from our adventure.

After a rare shared lunch with no oars in the water, we continued on. What a transformation. Following her scrub, Wa’omoni had gone from Ann Widdecombe to Jessica Ennis and now gracefully skimmed the waves instead of bowling straight through them. 

New marine life made an appearance. For days, the boat was surrounded by mahi mahi - electric blue fish, with a bulbous head that are up to a metre in length. Flying fish were everywhere, including all over our deck. They jump from the water in shoals to fly hundreds of metres, even able to go over waves and change direction. They range in size from 1-8 inches. Shoals of the big ones we call ‘Squadrons’ and the little ones ‘Air Cadets’. 

The most Attenborough-esque moments have been watching boobies hunt the flying fish. The birds do a little jig on the surface to scare the fish into flight then dart after them. Surprisingly, the nimble little fishies usually give the expert aerial hunters the slip but occasionally they get nabbed - leading to raucous cheers from the audience on Wa’omoni. 

Stef also spotted a shark one day. It’s a little disappointing that after 46 days and 1500 miles we’ve only seen one shark. I believe sharks are still caught by the million (not a typo) each year. I hope our lack of sightings is bad luck and not representative of the overall population. Maybe those still eating shark fin soup could dial it back a bit to give our toothy friends a fighting chance.

Generally, good conditions continued up to day 50. The ocean got a little rougher and we had some technical hiccups - including the water maker breaking again and running low on power - but nothing to throw us off our new stride. If we continue at this pace, we hope to arrive in Cayenne within 2-3 weeks.

Having spent weeks estimating and counting down the days I was surprised that upon realising there may only be two weeks left that I had a minor panic. My mind began questioning and doubting the world outside Wa’omoni and clinging on to the familiarity of our life aboard. This was all feeding from the subconscious and in reality I’m looking forward to getting home - and to cold beer and a medium rare ribeye. But I find it interesting to see how much the mind resists change and holds tight to the status quo regardless of the rational outcome or your true desires. 

For me, adventures are one antidote to this unhelpful mental wiring. Choosing to do unfamiliar, uncomfortable and challenging things helps keep that part of mind in check and makes change and new experiences less daunting. There’s also something about being unsupported in the wilderness that helps reset perspective. It doesn’t need to be big expeditions, a couple of days off-grid in Dartmoor living from a backpack would probably have the same effect. I plan to remember this ocean musing and get some small adventures planned upon return. I hope that it will help me steer clear of the velvet rut of city life.