Eeeeeeeeeeek, splooooosh, pfffffffffffffffffffft...
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Sat 23 Jul 2011 17:29
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39:16.48N
051:02.50W
It was going to be a brief blog. Cracking time.
Jolly fast. Not much to report etc.
However, all has changed in the past
hour-and-a-half. The Atlantic, which had presented a benevolent face throughout
the night as we buzzed along at about eight knots under sporadic moonlight and a
blaze of stars, suddenly changed its attitude. It crinkled up its brow into
large, foaming waves, shot through an amazing turquoise where the sun backlit
the surf. At the same time, the wind began to rise as chunky-looking clouds
rolled in from the southwest.
We put in a second reef to the gib, then to the
main, then belatedly scrambled to stick a third reef into the main. Happily,
this is a contingency that had been foreseen before we left Blighty last August.
Family friend and Sadler expert Mike Lucas had personally applied a cunning
'messenger' system which allows one to unfasten the first reefing line and pass
it through an eye halfway up the sail, then haul it back down to tie off to the
boom - creating the third reef. It does, however, involve leaving the comfort of
the cockpit to tweak lines at the mast and then hang acrobatically from the boom
while tying a one-handed bowline.
All was going to plan, though, except that Mike
accidentally rigged the messenger around another rope - the leach line - which
makes the job more involved. Nonetheless, with Chris hanging on to my harness as
I teetered out over the waves, one foot on the guard wires, leaning on the boom,
the job was accomplished. Or so I thought. After returning to the cockpit, I
realised that I had fastened the reef to the wrong point on the boom, and had to
go back. It was easy to rectify, but as I bent down to feel my way back to the
cockpit, there was a mighty rushing noise and a squeal of warning from First
Mate Biffle. The boat was leaning at 45 degrees on the face of a wave, turning
to windward and with the lee rail well under water. As I turned towards the
sound, a wave sloshed jovially across the coach roof, plucking playfully at my
ankles and soaking me to the bone.
There was no danger of falling off, as I was
holding on tighter than a limpet and attached with the lifeline. But my
lifejacket obviously didn't know this. With a sad but purposeful sort of hiss,
it began to inflate around me as I stood dripping forlornly. After a few
seconds, a great day-glo balloon had me in its embrace, encumbering my return to
the cockpit. All was well, however, and I genuinely don't think I was in any
danger. Poor Alex was quivering with anxiety, which quickly evaporated.
Now with our thrid reef in, Summer Song has
stabilised on her course and set to surfing down the waves. At the moment I was
battling with the reef, the wind meter showed that it was blowing 34 knots.
Considering that we were doing eight knots on a broad reach at the time, it's
likely that the gust was up to 40 knots. But don't feel sorry for us, dear
reader. We're all thoroughly enjoying ourselves. Elise is whooping with
delight at the strong gusts and thrilling surfs. "I would have been disappointed
if the voyage had been eight knots in the sun the whole way," she admitted in
her lilting Swedish tones.
Chris is reading in the main cabin and I'm typing
away at the chart table. Every few seconds, the boat pitches wildly to port as a
wave rolls beneath us. Then, the hull quivers with the energy of another surf
that can be felt through the soles of the feet. It's glorious stuff. We've just
passed the halfway point and hope we'll be in Flores within the week.
There's nowhere we'd rather be right now.
Yay!
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