Thursday 24th June
Vaquero
Wed 23 Jun 2010 12:55
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My position Thursday 24th June at 1200UTC is 39
20.8N 30 32.6W
Picked up a lone, static cloud on the horizon just
after lunch on Tuesday and shortly after the faint grey of land underneath
revealed itself. Flores, my first land for thirty days. The wind
died away to a faint breeze, so it took until yesterday afternoon to get close
and I then spent a magical moonlit evening sailing gently between the
silhouetted outlines of Flores and Corvo led by a friendly school of
dolphins splashing and squeaking around the boat, their antics highlighted by
the sparkling phosphorescence in the water. As the moon set, the
darkened sky revealed a mass of sparkling stars, one of those nights when they
appear so bright it never seems to get properly dark. Dawn broke just as
we were halfway between the islands and they 'took the breath from our sails and
we stayed'.
The chink in the armour of all singlehanders
is fatigue and there's nothing like the proximity of land to keep you alert and
deplete the sleep bank. And so it was for me this morning, supremely
tired after 48 hours lack of sleep and an island four miles in each
direction. I elected to motor clear, despite hating to sleep whilst the
engine is running. It is soporific and drowns out the natural rhythm of
the boat so vital for waking me when it changes. But needs must, and I set
two alarms to wake me, should the autopilot go beserk, before actually piling
ashore. The radar is much quieter and would probably be eclipsed by deep
slumber and engine noise; I set both this and the AIS alarm, just in
case. In the event, my sixth sense woke me to a background of flapping
sails, so I switched off the engine and resumed sailing.
After an hour's sleep I awoke to find the islands a
smudge on the hazy horizon as they 'melted like a cloud in the silent summer
heaven'. Today is the day we all dream of, the day that justifies the
cost, discomfort and impracticality of life aboard, the day we sometimes spend
fruitless seasons searching for, the day that makes it all worthwhile. The
sun is shining out a clear blue sky, there is enough breeze to make all plain
sail but sufficient only to ruffle the sea, a balmy beam breeze that
speeds you unerringly to your destination, a green jewel in a beautiful
archipelago. It's warm and the dolphins are jumping and suddenly life
feels good. Horta is 95 miles distant and if the breeze holds we will make
landfall at dawn tomorrow. Unless Sod's Law prevails, it which case we
won't.
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