38:27.36N 29:28.92W Midday (BST) Fix 1 June 2010 Wet 'n Wild
Oboe D'Amore's Web Diary
Nigel Backwith
Tue 1 Jun 2010 12:21
2010
View our progress on Google Earth at: http://blog.mailasail.com/oboe
GPS Position: 38:26.7N 029:37.6W
Sea Miles (previous 24 Hours): 149nMs
Sea Miles to date: 3,151nMs
Present Course Over Ground: 093°M
Present Boat Speed 7.6kts
Average Boat Speed (previous 24 hours): 6.2kts
Average Boat Speed to date: 6.2kts
Estimated GPS Position in 24 hours time: 38°:27'N 029°:36'W (Horta Marina)
Sea State: Calm
Wind Speed and Direction: 12kts W
Barometric Pressure: 1008mB
Firstly apologies to Phil Collins for mistaking him for Lionel Richie. Put
it down to a junior moment on my part. Anyway ...
The northern Atlantic would not allow us simply to drift comfortably the
last 24 hours to Horta. The remnants of the north easterlies we had ridden
for several hours gave way to a new low pressure system from the west as
predicted and as night fell on our penultimate day both the old and the new
decided to fight for dominance. I now know how the sheriff felt when caught
in the cross fire at the OK corral! In torrential rain the cry of "all
hands on deck" came from a drowned skipper, who had been taking the dusk
watch. "Two reefs in the main please and three in the jib. No, make that
three in the main too please. What's the wind speed matey?" "27 kts
skipper gusting 30+." "Jeez, bring down the main and wrap up the jib to
pocket handkerchief size. These rollers are enormous and breaking on the
beam. Bear away twenty helm." "Twenty done skipper".
So it goes. One minute calm control, daylight and a resting crew. The
next, howling wind, zero visibility, bucketing rain running down the small
of one's back right into the boots and seas reminiscent of The Perfect
Storm! OK I exaggerate, but sometimes that's how it feels when you are
battling to take speed off only to find that everything you try to do seems
to make her go faster! We call this a Top Ramen moment!
Down below, by the eerie red light of the chart table lamp I check the wind
predictions on the laptop. For the first time they do not compare with
reality. But it is not long before the weather gods grab their duelling
adolescents and send them off to bed and bring order back into the heavens.
Even Neptune plays ball and smoothes the seas.
Sails re-rigged, we cruise gently through the night with wind abaft the
beam. Watches are reduced to one person, hot showers are snatched, dripping
clothes are relegated to the forepeak cabin floor (renamed the laundry),
vows are made to dump leaking waterproofs in the nearest bin on arrival in
Dartmouth and well ... nothing really, except to say that we are only 37
miles from Horta. No one speaks, clean step-ashore clothes are donned,
razors are dug from the depths of cupboards, fragrant perfumes and after
shaves try but fail to swamp the odours of two weeks at sea and everyone
goes about proudly readying the ship for a quiet entry to Horta. It will be
no good saying "Look at us, aren't we clever, we crossed the Atlantic in a
small plastic boat." Because everyone there will have done the same. Some,
single handed in traditional tiny wooden boats. Tiller worked by day and
lashed by night, the one man skipper and crew sleeping when he can and
simply not worrying about the possibility of collision or misadventure. To
him we are beginners but also fellow sailors and therein lies a bond strong
enough to allow him to accept a few beers from us without guilt!
"Horta Marina, Horta Marina, Horta Marina this is Oboe, Oboe, Oboe over.
We're coming in."
Nigel
Date: 1 June 2010