Final blog

Sinan
Tim Kelsey
Tue 8 Dec 2009 13:30

RWD writes:

The heat on what would prove to be our last full day at sea was oppressive. Then I told Colin to stop turning on the oven just to “check it was still working”. The other thing raising the temperature on board was the prospect of arriving at Antigua – we were now a matter of hours away.

All day the conversation centred on whether we should risk going in at night or instead wait for daylight. Mooring in Jolly Harbour looked tricky – judging by the map in our pilot book it should have been named “Not exactly a barrel of laughs harbour”.

The risk of going in at night was obvious: entering a narrow channel in darkness conjured up images of hitting a shoal or a moored boat.  But the risk of waiting until dawn was worse: a complete and collective mental breakdown among the crew. We really, really wanted to get off the boat now.

Fortunately, Captain K had a passage plan: “Don’t worry boys. It might seem like threading a needle through a camel’s bottom, but we’re going to make this. Trust me.” He switched the black patch from his left to his right eye and began stroking an imaginary parrot on his shoulder.  I put the kettle on.  

Twenty miles out, darkness fell.

By now, we had all taken our positions. Colin at the forestay with his camera. Kit at the mast with a handheld spotlight.  Me at the winches with a packet of army biscuits, Captain K’s navigational co-ordinates and a big eraser. The skipper was at the helm muttering about magnetic variation whilst clutching something that looked like a Little Professor handset.

I shouted out: “Look, red light! That must be the buoy for Jolly Harbour!” As we motored on for another 45 minutes, it became clear that the red buoy was in fact the island of Montserrat. The gloom hid my blushes, but Colin and Kitkat were chorusing “should have gone to Specsavers” from the forward positions. Captain K restored calm: “Now I’ll have no one ridicule Wynn Davies, he’s got a sharp eye and anyone can mistake a whole bloody Island for a 25-foot fishing boat now and again.”

After another ten minutes we finally sighted the real red buoy – and  turned sharp right, as per the pilotage instructions (which increasingly felt like they’d been divined from the Daily Star crossword puzzle).

Captain K, full of brio, said: “Let’s kick on and ramp up the engine revs.” We ploughed through the slate-grey waves, with all the confidence Brits abroad manage to muster when they don’t know where they’re going.  Colin asked: “Skipper, do you know these people?” Captain K was puzzled: “What do you mean?” Colin explained:  “It’s just that in about 12 seconds we’re going to ram a 57-foot catamaran.  “Not a problem,” chuckled the man at the helm, dragging the wheel to port as if playing an arcade game at an M6 services.

We now had to look out for a green light mounted on a post in the water. “Let’s try up here for a bit,” said Colin, for all the world sounding like he was on a Famous Five adventure hike in the Lake District.

Captain K’s waypoints and turns were beginning to look irrelevant (which was a worry as he is actually quite good at all matters navigational). The idea of crashing after 3,000 miles at sea was too much to bear – but the odds on it happening were narrowing rapidly.

“Light off our port bow!” yelled Kitkat (who was back on his game having been told off for playing ‘disco lights’ with his spot earlier). There was, indeed, a light. The trouble was it wasn’t green – and was coming towards us.

The light appeared to be barely a few feet above the surface of the water. “What is it?” I asked. “A submarine?”

And then a ghostly (and strangely familiar) voice rippled towards us: “Sinan? Is that you?” Kitkat shone his spot and picked out a small dinghy with an outboard motor. Captain K immediately began rehearsing his “I can explain everything, officer” speech.  He needn’t have bothered. It was Brian, skipper of Miss Tippy, with his two daughters, Charlie, 12, and nine-year-old Annie (son Freddie, 11, was on shore with mum Sheila).

“Follow us,” yelled the girls. “We’ll guide you to the customs pontoon in the harbour.” My mind drifted back to the safety briefing we’d had with Blue Water Rally supremo Tony D. “You’ve got a strong crew,” he’d told Captain K, prompting us to look over our shoulders to see who else was coming aboard.

We were on dry land at last. As we sucked on our first beers in what seemed like years, it all began to sink in. While in one’s mind’s eye, disembarking was to be accompanied by lit flares, fist clenching and general whooping, the reality was very different. We were tired, dishevelled little boys who’d been on a big adventure but who now needed looking after by the grown ups. Led by the hand, we shuffled off to a quayside restaurant for a meal. A meal cooked on a stove that didn’t move.

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THE ULTIMATE SINAN LIST

Top Tunes:

Jupiter, Bringer of Jollity (Gustav Holst)

Chinese Children (Flight of the Conchords)

Food:

Chicken (there really are only so many ways you can serve it)

Ready made crumble mix (stock up on as much as you can. Then go out and buy some more)

Clothes:

Shorts (take more than one pair – skipper)

Packing socks - mistake