14. Crossing the Atlantic 2/4

Finally.  I am off to actually cross the Atlantic. My pit stop in Bermuda has been useful. For one, I got the critical repairs done and unearthed some unseen issues. Beyond is better equipped now for the big crossing. Second, I met some sailors also waiting for repairs and weather. Reassuring that it's not just me on Beyond facing these challenges. And third, meeting Auke who is heading back towards the Netherlands after, competing his Transatlantic circuit - more on him later - but a real inspiration to meet another solo sailor my age.

Perfect conditions. Calm seas,  sun,  6-8 knots of wind out of the south. I am heading ENE at 4.3 knots average speed.  Not enough wind for the windvane so running on my Raymarine autopilot.

Boat is ship shape, tidier than ever. I am paranoid about chafe but I think I am on top of it. The mizzen halyard is twisted, three or four turns at the top.  Will deal with that in morning.   

Enjoying the sunset, vivid colours, calm seas. Red sky at night, sailors delight. Nothing on AIS and I haven’t seen another vessel of any sort since I left Georgetown.

Turning in for a little. Going to do one hour sleeps.  Mathematically,  if you calculate the relationship of a ship moving at 20 knots towards you, and you sailing at five knots towards it, the safest length of sleep would be twenty minutes.  But part of that calculation would be that the ship is lurking just out of sight say 15 miles away and is heading straight for you with pinpoint accuracy. As far as I am concerned the chance for that is infinitely small, in the realm of being struck by lightning or a comet.

But against that calculation is that conditions can change very quickly.  So from that perspective it’s worth having a look.

I set the egg timer for 60 minutes.  I sleep in the aft cabin with the doors wide open, fully dressed and wearing my life jacket complete with tether attached.  I wake up, get into the cockpit, scan around the horizon, look at the heading, check the sails, go down to the chart table and have a look at the AIS, and reset the egg timer for another 60 minute nap.  

After four of those, I am relatively refreshed.  The stars are amazing at sea.  No light pollution and I can see the Milky Way like I never have before. I am shamefully aware of how few of the constellations I recognise, but I am a friend of the Big Dipper and how it points to the Northstar (Polaris).  Sailing East for most of the crossing, it is my friend on port. 

I am maintaining a serious watch but really I am just revelling in the sky. 

In the predawn morning, I have a chat with my oldest son about the Milky Way. He uses the internet and feeds back to me via text.  All languages call it something different.

In English it's the Milky Way. In Swedish it's Vintergatan (winter street). Similarly, in German, French and Spanish it’s Milchstraße, Voie Lactee, Via Lactea - a lot of milk.  But in Dutch: Practige Hemel (magnificent heaven).  And in Chinese: Yínhéxì which translates to Silver River.

The Chinese win.

The Silver River was amazing tonight. 

Every night I orient to the Big Dipper (Karlavagnen in Swedish, the King's Carriage) and Polaris (Nord Stjärnan, the North Star) off its front. That gives me North on my port.

But then every morning there is a bright light in front of us. Venus. That's East, my basic heading.

All of this is strangely inspirational.  God’s creation, the firmament, showeth his handiwork. I am appropriately awestruck. Every night.

Every morning I take a fix on where I am, calculate my progress from the previous morning and do a weather and wind update to my nearest and dearest.  It’s only a text they receive, no media, so quite short and terse, and I keep it positive no matter what drama I am dealing with.  No point worrying people.

Then I paste that text into the log I keep and flesh that out with observations and data I want to keep for posterity, some of which goes into what you are reading now.

Every morning I inspect for chafe, shackles, locking pins - the little things matter. 

When the winds go light, like so much of this crossing,  I run with the sheets pulled tight, locking the sails as much as I can. It stabilises the boat and gives a knot or two of speed on top of what the engine does. On a broad reach they would be better eased out but there's not enough wind pressure to hold them steady against waves and roll. Better to have less build up of slatting forces. In gentle conditions, the sails can really slap hard and do damage to themselves.  It’s like a dumb dog repeatedly running at full pelt into a brick wall. The risks of breakages makes it very annoying.

My daily runs generally reflect the lack of wind we are having.  60 to 80 mile days, occasionally a breeze comes along and we howl along at 7-8 knots for a short period.  So we have 7 knots of wind and maybe 4 knots of speed.

Since New York we are doing 4.67 knots average speed.  Multiplied by 24 giving us a 112 mile average day. That's low but about right for the mild conditions. 

I am often struck by how elemental all this is.  I am minutely monitoring wind, course over ground, speed, set of sail, manhandling line and rope, feeding myself, sleeping. All very visceral and analogue.  All very real. There is no artifice when you are sailing.

As Chris forecasted, eventually the wind picks up, 10-12 knots, a few white horses. Broad reaching along at 5 knots. Waves coming in square on our side.  Beyond is happy. I took a panel down on mizzen to give her some more balance.  Helped.  Then I thought to try dropping the centre board. Dropped it maybe halfway. Sitting in the companion way I can hear air being compressed through the centreboard trunk.  Sounds like a racehorse breathing. It creates the strongest feeling of company. Beyond is now a horse champing on the bit, wanting more wind.

"Take it easy, you are doing fine. Wind will come," I reassure her.

Almost lost the pivot bolt in the windvane.  The nut worked loose and the bolt was walking out. Bucking aft deck not helpful - lost an Allen key, metric 3mm - but good fun.  Tightened everything,  lashed the counter weight down, securing everything, feeling competent. Note to self:  don't leave the vane in if you are not using it. And I am not using it much. I am finding that it needs just a little bit more wind than I am getting.  When the wind goes above 10 knits, it’s fine, but generally my conditions are more mithery. Mither is such a great word. I tell my Olivia to not do it all the time, maintaining the tradition of her Manchester nana.

Silver lining of the errant windvane bolt is that it would have been worse in a bigger wind - would have definitely lost the bolt which could have been drama.

I checked how far I have made it from Port Washington - 782 miles. 1636 miles to Horta! 

Occasionally the wind picks up and I am putting reefs in and out of the mizzen. Usually I leave the fore sail full and just make adjustments in the mizzen. When I reef three panels out of the mizzen it stops the crazy heeling and Beyond gets under control and is happy.

Going into night I tend to reef a bit so that any gusts, should I get them, are more easily managed. Most mornings i am waking up to this:

I started to get paranoid about power consumption, looking at battery charging all day. Between that fridge, running lights, laptop, AIS, instruments, VHF, even with decent sun on the solar panels I am running at a deficit. Emptied locker and checked water levels in batteries, all good. Ran the engines,  recharged some but not miraculous.  Hand steered for a bit. Noticed there was weather-helm so adjusted mizzen so it pushed less than then the main. Helped. Turned everything off. 

In the afternoon it had recovered from two yellow bars to three green. Encouraging as we have been 60% overcast.

Basically, between fridge, auto pilot, all the devices, laptop, I need proper sunlight to keep abreast. So I will be running engine an hour or two as needed. 

But then the plot thickened. It seems my alternator is out of commission. Even with engine running there is no charge going to battery. Slight panic. One starts to think about what happens next. No battery is no autopilot. No fridge. No instruments. No AIS. I have enough Dewalt batteries to charge the devices, phone for GPS and Mini2 for comms. So won't loose those. 

But brain goes spinning.

How the duck can you go transatlantic when you are an idiot. Etc.

I have reefed down and balanced  best I can to minimise power demand from auto pilot. Just running on foremast. Doing fine. 

I consult with Mike, previous owner of boat, who comes thru with a guess (happened before) that I might have blown a fuse in the regulator. This is a piece of electronic wizardry that manages how much power from the alternator goes in to the batteries.

Then, do I have fuses?

What sort of idiot goes transatlantic without fuses!?

I discover that I have three. Not by planning but by accidental kindness of strangers. One from Henk, the mechanic in Bermuda, who randomly gave me one, and two from Steve of Londonchartplotters who included them in the computer and AIS package.

Housebank will last until dawn. Fuses to the rescue. But then I did the age-old sailors tactic, as recommended by Mike, of wiggling the wires. Magically this restores connection and it's working again. First step of any electrical issue is to check your circuitry. Or wiggling the wires.

Day 5, 30th June, 123 miles

Great day.  Broad reach all the way. 

That was for public consumption in my update, just to stay in touch and reassure people The reality is I am a little concerned about the regulator. Mike's been talking me thru stuff.  It might be fried. I do different test to determine. Not conclusive.

What's my back stop? 

Might have to Slocum it.  With that I mean that Slocum solo sailed a boat much like mine, without an engine or any navigational aids beyond a sextant, no autopilot but just balanced his boat to wind and wave and course he wanted to steer.  And sailed round the world.

I have attempted to balance the sails to make it easier for the auto pilot. I shunted both sails forward with a boom haul. 

Sailing like a dream now, all canvas up, broad reach, adjusting the rudder both ways.  When the boat is out of balance it’s heavier on the steering and constantly having to push the rudder to steer the boat in the direction it is not trying to go.

We have 10 knots of wind, doing 5-7 knots. 

Having a beer in Mike's honour! It's a good moment and I still didn't sleep all day. Dreamy. 

Beyond is giving me such a nice evening sail.  It’s like she is saying,  "What are you worrying about? Regulator, schmegulator, we are a sailboat!"

If the wind carries on, we should maybe get 100 miles. I let her stay on foresail alone to give me a stable work platform. I am in and out of engine room all day working on the regulator, checking connections and fuses. And then working on the rig, sorting sheetlets, boom hauls, balancing the sails. Satisfying work. 

Chris Parker has warned me we have no wind from Wednesday.

Day 6, Tuesday 1st July, 96 miles

Yesterday started with alternator drama. Half the day fixing. Mike so SO helpful. Lovely evening breeze and sail. Got sleep, spirits high. 

Becalmed in the morning to midday by then a lovely sail. Almost the first time we have sailed with wind aft the beam. And I discover the halyards are in the wrong position. They need to be on the opposite side of the mast. Or there will be a chafe problem with the sails and parrels trapping the halyards against the mast. I have gotten away with it with no damage showing but the idea of chafing through a loaded halyard, the sail crashing to the deck, the broken halyard whipping in the wind, having to climb the mast to sort it, is…intimidating to say the least.

Fine. 

The mizzen is not helpful anyway so I take that down.  That kills that chafe issue, yay!

For the main, tonight I pulled it clear over to the starboard side of the mast. Tomorrow I will move the turning block to starboard to make that adjustment permanent.  Easy enough. 

The mizzen, more difficult.  Will have to move the clutch and turning block.  From seven to two o'clock. Doable. Have enough epoxy to make a skinny pad. Windless day for the win - maybe I can do it out here.

Had an interesting moment when I bumped into my first proper ship at close range. And I only saw him because I was taking a piss over the side.

Didn't show on AIS. And then he did.  Like he had it turned off and turned it on when he saw me. Passed me within .9 of a mile. Which sounds like a lot but really is a gnat's whisper.

As we passed each other, I was doing 5 knots, and he was doing 20, in opposing directions.

Within 30 minutes I couldn't see him. On my weather forecast on the Mini2 it usually says that visibility is some 13 miles. That would be about right.

It occurs to me that my death might be bearing down on me 30 minutes away at any given moment.

Net result? We are back on half hour eggtimers instead of one hour. Wake, look, go back to sleep.

Hell of a shakedown cruise. 

"Yeah, a shakedown cruise is imperative.”

"Did you do one with Beyond?"

"Yeah.  Transatlantic.  Sorted it all out."

Day 7, 71 miles

Light and mithery winds.  Proud I squeezed 71 miles out of it.  On a northern track to avoid calm, hopefully, but likely a day or two of no wind.  Hey ho.  All good. 

At first light, 5am, i went forward and moved the halyard turning block. To prevent chafe I created a better fairlead by shifting it right. Took the strain on the halyard with a loose line and my trusty slip knot so i didn't have to drop the sail. The shackle wouldn't quite fit the ring collar of the mast, so I had to get the drill and ream it out. Then I had to fix the small fairlead i bought at Bacon's in Annapolis onto the iroko dinghy mount cross bar. Glad I didn't wait because as soon as I finished it start to rain, properly chucking it down.

See it do it.

Decided to just carry on with the mainsail. Beyond seems to like it. Stays balanced, especially downwind in a way the mizzen interferes with.  Seems to give a lot of weather helm. 

Then, again before the rain, set up the windvane. Whether it's the foresail and the balanced boat sailing itself, or if the trimtab being steadied against the windvane is helping, is another matter. In the light winds I can’t really gauge how much the windvane is actually doing.  But the boat is maintaining its course nicely.

Had some wind.  Had a lot of rain. Slept and woke up to unhappy boat. The wind has totally gone but sloppy confused seas were still there. Everything was flogging so decided to take sails down. No sailor likes to take the sails down. Wound me up but you have to or they can take damage quickly.

Decided to do some sailmaking work.  Put on chafe guards on the lines that go round the mast - yard parrel, throat parrel, boom parrel - replaced some tired lines, and adjust the lazy jacks. 

As I was doing it,  I found myself stressed and racing away,  as if I was under pressure somehow.  Weird.  Told myself to take a chill pill. 

After maybe two hours, we get some wind and I raise the sails. I feel a palpable relief to not be drifting but sailing.

Pleasant afternoon sail, making 4 - 5 knots. 

Chris Parker is saying the no wind is going to persist for a few days. And he doesn't know where the wind is going to come from. Recommends I go NE, even N, and after a few days I will turn east and make for Horta. Fine. 

A day of relative inactivity restored the batteries to four green bars.  Interesting and encouraging. 

Day 8 is going to be record low miles.