16. Crossing the Atlantic 4/4

Breakages and having a chat with God.

Day 12, 92 miles

Terrific morning sail, beam reach, top speed 9.1 knots, maintaining 7. I am thinking record day run. And then, Groundhog Day, it all goes away. Whales, ships, squalls. But get to my waypoint and do the turn to East.  Now I sail the 40N all the way to Horta. 

921 miles to go. Best life. 

God is out here. And he called me out here. It sounds a bit mad to say it but, being truthful, it's what I feel. I am here to hear. Maybe it’s because I am detoxed off social media and screens, YouTube, Netflix, Prime, Spotify, replaced by the sounds of the wind in the sails, the waves breaking against the side of the boat, and silence.

When the wind dies all that’s left is the friendly creaking of the boat and an undulating yellow and blue silk billowing sea. Pretty awesome. I am filled with a feeling of awe.  It’s not that the ocean is pretty, it’s that it’s awesome. Random chemical processes in the Goldilock zone (https://science.nasa.gov/exoplanets/what-is-the-habitable-zone-or-goldilocks-zone/) and you have an ocean.  But the awe doesn’t come from that.  It comes from the knowledge that it’s created. You know it’s created.  It calls to a still point inside you, connects, reverbs, and the creation of the two points, the sea and you, echoes, vibrates, hums like a guitar string.  You know.

And God smiles.

It's calm. Time to get the power tools out again.

In Swedish we have an expression: snickarglädje.  Best translation is “carpenter’s joy”.  It’s an attitude of 'if it’s worth making it’s worth making it beautiful'. Kind of the opposite of utility and brutalism. Think of the aesthetically pleasing buildings from our bygone ages and how they were replaced by 'functional' concrete boxes. 

Craftsmen always want to create something that is pleasing to look at, to feel and to use. 

Pray the wind comes before I start carving dragon heads.

Did work on the shelf. It’s not the same, obviously, as God creating the seas on the third day, but the process of creation is the same.  There was an empty corner inside the companion way.  And a need for somewhere to put stuff when on watch. And wood, teak, originally salvaged from a swim platform at the back of a big gin-palace boat. And my intention to create something; thinking, visualising, deciding; the work, the sawing, cutting, sanding, screwing, fixing, filling, more sanding; and it turns into something pleasing to the eye and hand, something with utility and purpose.

Because we are made in God’s image we have the ability to create.  It’s not a small thing, even with something small as a shelf. The devil hates it.

I cleaned up the boat, put the tools away, showered and put on some fresh clothes. 

At 7pm, as we go into night, we are just idling forward on engine to maintain steerage. 

I cooked fresh vegetables with pasta and chicken. Had a glass of wine.

Life is a gift. I am grateful.

Day 13, 48 miles

Becalmed! 

Me and Beyond are just south of 40⁰N, poised to catch the wind when it comes. Surely it will come.

Idled the engine all night to preserve fuel but engaged to give us steerage. So batteries fully loaded. 

Winds stay light.  I am broad reaching at a pleasant 3 knots all day, until midnight when it picks up. 

But before that, at sunset, I am debating moving the turning point for the main halyard, when looking from above, say 6pm to 3pm. Benefit is that I could lead it totally outside everything, instead of going up the chimney of the parrels. Chafe free. 

See it do it.

Drill to enlarge holes for shackle pin, pliers, screwdriver, go go go. 

It's successful, runs fair, all good and pleased with myself. 

And in the dark, in the last rays of the setting sun, I discover that one of the top sheetlets of the main has almost chafed through. In higher winds, hoisted, this could have ruined my day. Easy to visualise the sail wrapping around the mast, making an unholy mess. It’s an easy fix to replace with a fresh line.

Thank you, God.

See it do it.

Day 14, 71 miles

This is the last of the slow days.

The wind is building. Today 11-15 knots gusting up to 20, tomorrow high teens, might see 35 knot squalls, getting sporty!

These are my daily miles since Bermuda:

65 

120 

86 

116 

123 

96 

71 

70 

52 

71 

101 

92 

48 

71

Equals 1180 miles. 

Divide by 14 equals 84 miles average per day.

New York to Bermuda was:

100

124

106

109

104

91

98

Equals 732

Divided by 7 days

Equals 104 miles per day

So, it’s been slow from Bermuda.  There's been good sailing interspersed with "wind silence", as Auke calls it, for a couple of days.  Fine.  It is what it is. Yeah, for my first transatlantic,  that's absolutely fine.

But tonight, up along N40, we are having sporty sailing. 

15 knots of SW, gusting mid 20s. I am reefed on both sails just to guard against breakages in the dark. Even reefed I am doing 7 knots,  occasionally pushing 8. Maintain it and I will be in Horta in four days. 

Had another lazy jack failure. Again port-side on the main. This time from chafe six feet down from the top. I can only surmise it was rubbing against the halyard block.

Once more into the breach steps the spare halyard. Spare halyards are officially Good Things(tm). Again a sunset mission of preparing lines up front, starting engine, steering boat into the wind, dropping mainsail, attaching spare halyard to lazy jack remnant, all while Beyond is bucking in the swell like a spirited filly. And hoisting the sail is a special joy (see sarcasm) when the big seas create a big risk to tangle battens and lines. 

But fine, all good. 

Expecting gusts up to 27. That will be interesting but I think I have sufficient reefs in.

Also did some chafe guarding of the mizzen sheets with top notch professional duct tape (see sarcasm). Looked like it potentially would chafe against the top corner of the drogue box, so any fix is better than none.

Day 15, 142 miles. 

18 knots gusting 26. Wild roller coaster ride. Fun fun fun though dawn was welcome! Then a big squall.

Happy anniversary, Olivia. Think I have a lot of making up to do! 

In the interests of full disclosure, I have to say that my wife is a legend.  She has no interest whatsoever in ocean crossing sailing. But said to me, “You have worked hard for me and the boys.  If you have to cross an ocean, you do what you have to do. I think God placed that dream inside you anyway so who am I to argue?”

I love that woman.

Also, please note the record (!) daily miles. 142 miles is good for this crossing. And with a record breaking day comes another breakage. One that matters. The auto pilot.

Day 16, 35 miles

Auto pilot down. Worst day.  Tried to fix it. Failed. Now relying on wind vane for breaks from hand steering. Pulled over and had a sleep. Basically doing a big push to get the last 648 miles to Horta done.

Don't mind sharing that I was a little discouraged.  No autopilot is a big challenge, 24/7 hand steering is difficult. 

The auto steering is dead.  I drop the sails.  The conditions are boisterous but not too bad.  As the boat is rolling back and forth like a somewhat demented thing, I clear the back cabin bunk, remove access hatches, unscrew the 100 screws (see exaggeration) securing the watertight bulkhead hatch and discover that the push-pull arm of the linear drive has come away from the quadrant.  Which is a bit weird.  The connection looks like quite a solid thing.  With some brute force I manage to reattach it.  Now the rudder is locked but the auto pilot is still not working. The arm that should be going in and out is just dead.

Which, for a solo sailor is not good (see shit).

I disconnect the broken linear drive, sit down in the cockpit, have a coffee and think through my options.  I still have everything. The only thing I have lost is the electronic autopilot. I have lost the ability to press a button and steer to a compass course.  

Fine.

It is what it is. I still have more than Slocum did. I still have a windvane, sails, and a compass.

I make a decision.

I turned off all the electronics and decided it was me, a compass and Beyond.

I slept for six hours and, somewhat rested, sort the boat and sails.  And then the perfect wind came. Exactly the right strength, the right direction, and the windvane is working beautifully. It basically steers us all day. 

Full of gratitude, I think that I should give it a name.  Auke, totally misunderstanding something else i was saying in a text, wrote back "Joshua Slocum, that's your windvane!"

Might stick. Joshua, my windvane.

So, a bit later, I am coming out of a little half hour egg-timer nap, just poke my sleepy head out in case of ships not on AIS, and because it's quite sporty just do my paranoid visual chafe inspection.

What's that? 

The foresail on the top corner of the yard has come away. Looks weird. Flopping down a little like a dog’s ear. One of the lashings has failed. Will it be all right?  Do I really have to do this now as the sun is setting? What could go wrong? This is all on a bucking horse, sea water shower, double safety lined work environment.

An instant visual presents itself that the small lashings holding the yard go pop pop pop, the sail crashes down, and the yard, still hoist by the halyard, swings like some sort of wind, wave and swell created nunchaku at the top of the mast. That could get proper messy.

All the motivation I need. 

Then the careful mental prep and step by step thinking it through - you know. The boat is rolling around like a demented electric bull.

I tighten the mizzen sail tight, lock the rudder over and weather cock Beyond into the wind, drop the main down and secure it. 

So, the sturdy end bronze eyelet has ripped straight through the reinforced sail material, still hanging on the small shackle, still attached to the eye bolt of the yard, just not connected to the sail.

Can I recycle the eyelet? Nope, resists all attempts to fix it. Now what? Can I lash it somehow? Screw a wood block (I am a carpenter) to the aluminium yard with self tappers?

I am up on the coach roof while the boat is trying to throw me off. I am having to go down and get tools. Carefully using my lifeline and strapping myself to the jack line. It's nerve wracking to be a solo sailor.

Hold on. I actually have some eyelets and a dedicated tool to fix them with. They are 12mm, small compared to the one that failed. So I use three. And double whip lash (I know what I mean)  them individually to the eyebolt. 

I take the opportunity to replace some of the other attachment lines. 

Get the sail back up, back on windvane steering, and back below.

Quite pleased with myself.

Going into the night,  bucking and heeling, doing 4 to 7 knots. Hoping Joshua will keep performing. 

The cigarettes will run out tomorrow. 

And then, at 2am, I discover that the alternator is not charging the house bank again. Ho hum, let's hope I can wiggle the wires in the morning. 

And then I lost the wheel steering. The steering wheel is basically free spinning.  It seems that one of the steering cables, the port side one, is disconnected or broken or or or. Dawn and I will check what's going on. 

For now the windvane is steering.  The windvane and the rudder are married at the back of the boat.  I can steer through the control lines and as long as I want to follow a beam reach I have the ability to make the boat steer itself. And  I have the emergency rudder tiller. With all the issues that come with actually using that. 

Decided the only meaningful thing I can do now is sleep.

Day 17, 92 miles

Morning came, the perfect wind came. The windvane is working beautifully. It basically steered us all day and night.

Quite frisky out there. I spent most of the day below. Caught up on sleep. Feeling strong and resourceful. 

Today winds are moderating and turning northerly - both welcome. 

Crisis coming - running out of cigarettes. 

So, shit gets worse. I lost steering.  One of the steering cables broke, on the quadrant where it does a sharp turn.  The other one nearly gone on the same point.  I think the sloppy seas have had killed it.  The barn door rudder generates a lot of force. The autopilot brute forces it and then dies with a whimper.  And now both steering cables give in as well, one killed and the other knackered.

The wind dies as well (see small blessings) so I set to repairing. I get the angle grinder, cut them off and get hold of the bulldog clips, break two out of four, use the two I have left to attach the cable to the quadrant.

When I describe it like that it doesn't sound like a big deal.  It was hot, messy, sticky, physical, way beyond my expertise, leaving my hands and forearms bleeding from nasty wire cuts, the blood and oil mixing on my cut skin. I have no idea if it will serve. I reckon I could manoeuvre round a harbour just about. But not sure how useful it will be to get us there.

Best I could do. Slept for two hours. 

Silver lining from losing your electronics and autopilot is that the solar manages just fine to recharge the batteries. 

Which is useful because Alternatorgate continues. 

Cigarettes running out and nicotine withdrawal couldn't happen at a better time. Can't think straight.  Keep wondering if I am stressed. Or early onset.  Or ptsd. Proper brain-fog.

I sanity check my thinking with a narrow list: 

1) everything is fine, enjoy the sail

2) if you have to forereach or heave to in order to get some sleep, fine

3) plenty of food, plenty of water

4) if it takes 10 days to Horta, fine

5) if you get gales, that's why you have a drogue

So it's not such a big deal. I guess I am just testing every single back up system I can. Shakedown sail.

I do feel like a prize idiot though. Ill prepared, ill researched.

Though, not sure what I could have done differently?

Ok, could have measured the size of your diesel tanks! 

Could have replaced steering cables and brought a back up spare. The autopilot was an experience builder - don't use it excessively in sloppy conditions. 

Chafe, experience again. 

Alternator? Stuff breaks.

Fuses, sure.

Lightbulbs, sure. 

Only a fucking idiot...

Day 18, 68 miles

The boat did 68 miles. All of it steered by windvane. Not all of it totally in the right direction.  So we are not 68 miles closer to Horta. Fine. Plenty of food and water. We can take our time. The first day without cigarettes totally fine.

524 miles to go.

Listened to a downloaded youtube.  It reminded me that God knows. It's not like he needs reminders. We don't have to identify who we are.

"Hi, God, Dan here."

"Omniscient."

"Sorry, forgot. Anyway, got this thing going on. Boat's broken."

"Omniscient."

"Er... right. Here's what I think I am going to do: <insert flawed human thinking>."

"Interesting. I love what you guys do with free will."

We don't have to tell him what's going on. He knows. We can trust in his timing. But he likes a chat.

Day 19, 124 miles

Steered all day and night on the windvane.  Which meant I could sleep. Strong conditions,  blowing 25 knots, gusting to 30 in the night. That's supposedly the strongest I will see, which is good, but it remains sporty for another couple of days. 

The windvane has taken me a bit south, but as the wind shifts northerly over the next couple of days I will be able to tack and get in to Horta.

All good. Thanks for your positive messages and encouragement. 

Caroline, beloved neighbour, midwife that she is, sent me an encouraging message. Bless her.

The windvane will steer but struggles to overcome weather helm when it gets too strong. Beam reaching now and it's working.  Did the tack from my SE course to, hurrah, the NE I was hoping for. And creaming along at 7 knots.

With the forecasts shifting the winds gradually towards a northerly,  I should have the perfect approach to Horta on Thursday. Under engine and emergency rudder. 

Day 20, 122 miles

Favourable winds finally. Two full days of sailing steered by windvane. Things looking very positive as we come up for the final approach to Horta. Tired but I am also getting sleep and it's motivational that we are getting close. 

Thanks for your support and cheerful words. 

God called me out here. Then he took away my certainty.  My autopilot. My battery charger.  My steering cables. 

Kind of challenging.

Then, when I surrendered, he gave me winds and steered his boat. I cannot actually describe how the winds that came were simply perfect for my windvane.  I know I have mentioned it before, and used it, but it was almost always a finicky thing - when it worked, totally lovely, but that was kind of the exception rather than the rule. Now, when I really needed it, when I had no other option, it served. Faithfully. Three days later we reached our destination. God made it look easy. Like he was threading a needle in haystack, at full arm's length, not even looking.  

And they weren’t gentle conditions. It's special when a 12' swell lifts Beyond. Balancing at the top with a chasm down either side, she does a little shimmy, lets the wave move along, and rides down the face she's chosen. And in this way through the swells, in 20 knot winds, for hour after hour, she and the windvane and the mainsail just weave along, dancing the perfect course over ground. 

And then he sent dolphins on the next to last day.

Quite special. Divine.

Day 21, 134 miles

Last full day of sailing today. One more sleep and we will be in Horta. The last couple of days have been remarkable.  Quite tired, as the English would say (see 'exhaustion'). Yet we have had amazing sailing. Strong winds, big seas, and Beyond has just danced her way through it all. 

Last evening before arriving in Horta.  Winds are dropping. I am set up for a gentle sail, but I still average 4-5 knots.  Come morning the wind supposedly drops to 5 knots,  so then the emergency tiller comes on and the engine.  Let's see. You never know what happens.

Bear witness. We at here to bear witness to God's presence in our life. That, finally, is what I am supposed to do. Bear witness to God.

Everything I write, everything I speak, it's for that. Had to cross an ocean to find it.

Bear witness. 

God's Country.  I remember the lovely family I met in Port Washington and how they wanted to call their boat 'God's Country.' The father was tickled by the idea of using the VHF and calling over the airways, "This is Bob, sailing God's Country..."

It's not like you don't get clues is it. 

Other mariners in God's Country as I approach the Azores: whales and Portuguese Man o'Wars. Even at a distance, a pod of whales in the distance fills your heart.

And sailing past Portuguese Man o'Wars, fellow sailors, with their little rainbow coloured sails. They are special. You'd think they are a jelly fish but actually they are something called a siphonophore, a colonial creature made up of smaller units, genetically identical, called zooids.

"Just taking my brothers out for a sail."

"All right, kids. Have fun."

Day 22, 120 miles

Wind dropped a bit earlier than I thought. Swapped out windvane for emergency tiller. Ran the engine for a bit, got too sleepy, set up sails and balanced Beyond, lashed the tiller, slept. Woke up to Horta 102 miles.

Press on!

Eventually saw Faial, the island of Horta, in the distance, a dark blue shadow in the late afternoon. The emergency tiller, a ten foot aluminium pole that fits over the rudder, takes out the ability of the windvane to steer. I had to steer by hand.  After a couple of hours of that I became highly motivated to balance the sails so I could lash the tiller and rest a little.

In the dark, the lights of the island are motivational and comforting.  I have made it.  Just the last few miles.  As I get within landing distance of the port it is still a few hours from dawn.  I decide to heave to and set a fore reaching course away so that I can go in with daylight.  Coming in to a strange harbour at night, bleary eyed tired, is too intimidating.  I sleep for a little.  Waking up under the high volcano of Ilha do Pico, the island to the east of Horta, is surreal.

An inspiring finish to an awesome sail.

Day 23, 97 miles

And,  finally,  we are in Horta. Thrown the hook.  Waited for dawn to not have to negotiate a busy harbour in the dark. Going to customs. Buying fags. Going to sleep. When I wake, a million things to do.

Beyond's Transatlantic sail:

Total days, 23.

Best run, day 15, 142 miles.

Worst, day 13, 48 miles.

Total distance 1,800 miles.

Total distance sailed 2,093 miles.

Average 91 miles per day.

But here's a truth that only came to me weeks after arriving in Horta. Over 23 days I average 91 miles per day. But the average covered for the five days when God took over the boat was 119.4 miles per day. When the boat was broken. Which means you can always hand over to God, assured that he will do better than you. He can take your broken boat and sail it way better than you. Same with your broken life, I’m sure.

Next: Repairs in Horta.