The next 3000nm: Part I

Now, I'm skipping ahead a little, past a time of diligent attendance at university: the highest attention always given in lectures, detailed notes taken, and informed contributions offered in tutorials. This is not to mention the ground-breaking papers, all notable contributions to research in the field. Well, something like that. More often than not I escaped for brief sailing trips on the West Coast of Scotland.

However, skipping ahead, on 6th November 2021, I landed in Gran Canaria for a big adventure: the ARC, a transatlantic sail on Casamara, a Discover 55! I was together with a friend from uni, and we joined a couple, the owners of the boat. We spent two weeks in Las Palmas preparing the boat and ourselves for the 2-3 week ocean crossing. Most of what this entailed was Laura and I yipping off on the electric scooters to the chandlers, beach, supermarket, the ARC office, or a lecture given by the astronavigation whiz Stokey Woodall. Evenings were spent in the infamous Sailors Bar, aboard other boats, or hosting others aboard Casamara. I wish I got these two phrases tattooed on my face as they were uttered more than anything else: No, we are not their daughters; and no, this is not an Oyster.

Entries to my notes pages at this busy time were scarce:

Las Palmas has been a blur: fitting solar panels, wind vanes and bilge pumps; and many MANY provisioning runs. Other than that, the week has been fuelled by drinking, not conducive to remembering much!

The day of departure I remember well. The pontoons were buzzing with sailors on their final provisioning or bathroom stops, and with spectators coming to watch some 150 sailing boats take on the ocean. We did the usual: a final deck wash as we would be making our own fresh water from then on, so having to be really careful with supply; disconnecting the shore power; taking crew photos; and waving goodbye to our friends. ‘See you on the other side’ was the resounding chorus that day. At 1200, we slipped the lines to skipper J playing Rod Stuart’s Sailing on the trumpet, accompanied by some tragic singing by Laura and myself.

At 1312, Casamara crossed the start line and we tacked SW towards the Cape Verde islands. The following hour passed with little incident. We enjoyed the last hours of data roaming and cell service – something we would have to do without for the remainder of the crossing – and religiously checked our position in the fleet: 44th out of 189, not bad going! However, very quickly the excitement of departure changed. We had forgotten to do proper hatch checks and had left the side hull hatch open in the bunk cabin. When I say we...it was me. I heard a tentative call from Laura from below, ‘Noa, is it just me or is this wet?’ It certainly was wet; we had taken on several buckets of water and the automatic bilge pumps were working in overdrive. Most things were drenched and needed to dry so we dragged the mattresses, all bedding, the carpets and most our clothes up on deck to be dried. Tragically my laptop was lying conveniently on the top bunk, and now sort of swimming in a small pool of sea water. It's still a painful image to conjure up. Regardless, I could say a quiet pained goodbye to all the files I had not backed up: every file ever.

Am I bloody glad I did the bare minimum work for university in Las Palmas because I’ve gone and bloody lost it all anyway.

This is an extract from my notes on that day and pathetically I remember being close to tears. Luckily, I had a memory stick with a couple articles on state building in the Middle East, the topic of my exam that was coming up in 3 weeks. More importantly the USB came complete with Stokey Woodall’s guides to astronavigation and sextant tables; at least we couldn’t get lost at sea. I quietly resigned to the likelihood of resitting my final exams in August. In any case, the (perhaps preferred) option of ditching university and passing through the Panama Canal and sailing on to the Pacific remained.

Lastly, the cherry on the cake, we found a cockroach – that is not good news!

We found a cockroach in the cockpit. FUCK! J is understandably stressed and we're just going to have to wait and see whether the little fucker laid eggs and we have an infestation aboard Casamara. What a fun Atlantic crossing that would make.

My notes entries seem to historically contain the wisest words and politest language.

The evening passed quietly. Dinner was a treat of pasta Bolognese and Susie’s orange cake. Everyone was silent, no doubt reflecting upon the day’s wrong goings.

For the first several days, there was not a breath of wind.

There is nothing quite as jarring as flapping sails to break the peace and quiet of the night.

We were only 200 miles from the African coast, tracking SW-wards towards the Cape Verde islands. During this time, many calls on the radio were made concerning a migrant boat. We were to be on ‘high alert’ and all ARC boats were instructed to stay clear and never approach under all circumstances.

I’d love a friendly congrats and directions to the tourist office after such a trip.

This notes entry was written in jest. However, I do remember the sense of greater perspective and gratitude I felt at my circumstances aboard Casamara. The conditions were less than comfortable on a 55-foot ocean-going sailboat. I cannot imagine what the conditions were on the migrant boat some mere 10 miles away. We never did encounter the boat, but the gravity of being alone in such a large expanse of sea certainly stayed with me.

Where the expansiveness and unforgiving nature of the sea really hit home was during night shifts. For the first night, I was nervous and made minute adjustments to sail trim in order to stay busy and in control. While this may have worked to settle my nerves, no one else slept; the loud cranking of the electric winches is enough to wake even the soundest of sleepers.

I’m on my first Casamara night shift, 2300 till 0200; we take 3 hours alone on deck each night. Nerves were sky high for the first hour, my imagination conjuring up for every navigation light on the horizon and a boat-crushing whale for every splash of the waves. Its only now sinking in that our world for the coming 3 weeks is this boat and nothing else.

The second night was largely more peaceful. Now I was able to enjoy the surroundings and stared stunned for 3 hours at a sky full of stars, so clear the milky way a white halo shining brightly. The sparkle of the sky was mimicked in the sea by the glow of phosphorescent algae. When it got to my third shift, I never wanted the night to end, such was the enjoyment of sailing (seemingly) alone.

Casamara is flying on a beach ream headed SSW, great sailing!

Days on such a long ocean passage really do just merge into one another. Mornings become breakfast, washing up or cleaning duties; lunchtime, and midday chats turn into afternoon reading and dinner. Days are punctuated by alternating watches, log taking and meal times.

We’re now well into trade wind sailing: a 2 metre swell with plenty rolling waves and the boat lurching around. To attempt some stability on board in the current 20-25 knot wind conditions, we have a small stay sail and the genoa poled out. It’s certainly downwind sailing and I would love to say champagne sailing. However, last night was one of no sleep at all. Still trying out sail plans, this one was no good: the genoa was backing, snagging; the boat was lurching; it was all hell and not at all sleep inducing. The bruises at hip height are starting to form nicely from smashing against the counter tops.

While I am known to be a bit of a clutz (perhaps an understatement, I'm being kind to myself here), the swell and rolling sea does become exhausting as you're constantly needing to hold on. Even the most mundane tasks like brushing teeth or pulling a life-jacket on, become this circus-like balancing act.

We celebrated halfway with steak and chip for dinner and a bottle of bubbles, our first and only alcohol on the passage.

I’ve had two glasses of champagne and I’m drunk.

My tolerance was clearly down…

Only 1,470 nautical miles to Rodney Bay, St Lucia: get the rum punch ready, here we come!