Firstly, thanks a lot to Ben from Amsterdam for the donation! Also thanks to my long lost Aunt, who seriously sent me an email with some paypal funds that started with ´you probably don´t remember me, but I´m your Aunt!´. Well, Laurel, don´t you worry, I remember!

The last post on my Lisbon to Canaries trip was written while at sea, and didn’t truly encompass the final leg into port, so here is a little more information on my arrival.

I was so anxious in the final day of sailing to get into port, I couldn’t busy myself with anything other than writing a post for the website, or fidgeting with the sheets in the cockpit, anxiously wondering if the objects in the horizon were actually becoming bigger or not. The wind had swung around to the south, and ‘August the mighty Yanmar’ was on duty to get home, Constellation having crawled to a halt, with me just wanting to tie up and go to sleep as soon as possible. It seemed to take forever to round Isleta, and when I finally arrived, I became absolutely disorientated, with huge tankers and pilot ships steaming in and out at three in the morning. It’s a really simple entry, but I was just so tired, lights blinking everywhere, and a myriad ships to steer clear of, I couldn’t quite work it all out. I contemplated just setting the ‘Windy the Windpilot’ back on duty and sailing back offshore until daybreak, but I just couldn’t do it. After ten days, land was just there… I could see it. Tenerife was on the horizon, with ferry’s chugging past my stern, so I decided to just do the night entry and get it over and done with. Eventually I was so frustrated, I put Constellation in donut mode (lock the tiller to port, engine in tick-over so you simply circle going nowhere) and went down below to sort things out navigationally. I programmed a two-leg route and just followed it into harbour, which all became clear after about ten minutes. I tied up to the visitor pontoon, and felt distinctly depressed. I have no idea what I expected to feel or experience, but it was like running an ultra marathon with nothing at the finishing line, except a dusty old cactus and a hand painted sign saying ‘Caribbean, 3000 miles to go’.

I disembarked onto dry land for the first time in ten days, and felt land sick. I swayed a little and walked around to check the marina out. For some reason I just saw really big yachts, and felt even more depressed. I instantly thought ‘oh, it’s that kind of marina’. So I went back to the boat and curled up to sleep. At 9am on the dot, there was a tapping on my cabin roof, with some stern looking harbour master telling me to register and pay at the office. I just wanted to throw a wash board at the guy and go back to sea; after all that tension over ten days to get here, it all just really sucked. I can’t think of a more eloquent way to describe it. I registered and signed about five hundred forms with alternating signatures, just to be annoying. At least the Spanish are a notch down from the Portuguese when it comes to paperwork, but still, really, I’m an EU boat with an EU passport. Who cares? Just let me in already, borders are so last century.

I got my pontoon, and moored bow-to. The mooring here is stern-to, but as I’ve said before, I never back into places with the steering gear on rear end. Luckily some friendly people on the pontoon helped me dock, as ’slime line’ mooring can be difficult singlehanded. There is a technique for it, but there must have been 20kts of wind blowing from the stern, which wasn’t assisting me in any way whatsoever. After getting safely tied up, I looked around to see what the vibe was. For the first time on my trip, I was surrounded by what seemed like permanent liveaboards. Clearly Constellation and I had been pidgeon-holed into the gypsy stereotype, and I was set among my brethren. I guess it beats being moored up next to the 120ft multi-million dollar ketch from Guernsey…

Below is a really short film (requires latest Flash player if you just see a blank space) with just some quick clips of my Canary trip. It has music playing to it, so if you’re in an office, turn the speakers down… Your boss doesn’t appreciate you watching clips about sailing. You might get crazy ideas! The conditions were not all as placid as they are shown in the clip, but one hardly runs for the camera when other things must be tended to.

The day of my arrival coincided with Jack arriving. What timing! I had been calling home on the satellite phone to pass on the message that I was going to be at least a day late, however on on the 9th day I was making such good progress I changed my ETA to ‘early on the 26th’. It was nice to have a friend around after such a long period alone, having only my engine and windvane to talk to since Lisbon. Jack was really great, feeding me delicious food, and even renting a car to explore the island with, which was amazing. I rarely get to go inland, and I also rarely get to drive. Therefore I was able to get two years of non-driving crammed into two days. I believe Jack will continue to walk around with his hands held in front, in a motion that may suggest ‘I am just resting my hands on the dash, I don’t really think they will assist my survival in an accident at this speed, but it makes me feel safe’.

For those that haven’t been to the Canary Islands, all I can say is: Wow. I arrived here with no expectations (the best way to be; you’re always impressed), and was just utterly amazed by the landscape. It was almost too incredible to appreciate. The weather here is perfect too, around 24degrees during the day, and 19degrees during the night. At long last, after all my complaining, I have finally hit the warm latitudes… The water is a nice temperature too, and if you ever come here, go direct to Agaete, it’s amazing.

I wanted to film a Western with Jack in the mountains, but alas time didn’t permit, and both of us had forgotten our guns and horses back at the boat anyway. I was constantly looking for props for the film (tumbleweeds etc), and our only piece of costume was a garishly coloured ‘Havana Club’ cowboy hat we found on a park bench the day before, clearly forgotten after a long Saturday night at the Carnival (I forgot to say, it’s festive season here!). We both felt the film could win awards, however in the end, we decided to go swimming at the beach instead.

Jack left for Berlin today, and I managed to drive back unassisted from the Airport without having an accident… Remember, I’m from Australia, so I was driving on the wrong side of the road. I feel a little bit hollow after the tense time at sea, having someone around for the past five days, and now this, just a quiet existence in the marina again. I have a reasonable amount of work to finish off before I leave, however I am tentatively looking at departing for the Caribbean on the 10th of February. I have some significant route changes planned (no, they don’t involve Cape Horn!), but there is no use talking about them until I make some decisions… I will have absolutely run out of money again once I hit the other side of the Atlantic, so that will be the third time I´ve gone broke since I began my trip. First it was in Amsterdam, then La Coruna, and soon the Caribbean - Third time lucky! So, in the next few days, I’ll write another update about all about the excitement that surrounds my preparations for 30+ days in a bathtub on the high seas, on a dollar a day!

nick

I left at 17:30 from Cascais, with the Hooligans attempting to steal my ship (again). I suspect they think it would make a nice little dinghy to play with in the harbour on boring Sundays. They’re probably right…! As I waited in the office to sign the long winded exit papers, the Policia Maritima took a copy of my boat details and destination, at which point I thought ‘oh here we go, I guess I’ll have a snap inspection or something’. Luckily he just showed me a weather report and said ‘do you know what you’re doing, there is 5metres of swell outside, and more predicted for tomorrow?’. I smiled politely and just said ‘yes, thanks’, and quickly left before he decided to check me out any further. I had a good quality forecast from Commanders Weather, whom I trust highly, and also a good plan of attack for said swell (it was simple really, get the heck offshore and don’t look behind you!).

I motored out of the breakwater, and the swell was up, as one could easily see from the waiting pontoon. A pilot boat was being cheeky and surfed past the entrance at great speed on an incoming wave, leaving a huge wake for me to contend with - Instantly I felt seasick… As soon as I was far enough out, I launched the sails, set ‘Windy the Windpilot’ to course, and lay in my bunk, feeling horrible. I spent some time vomiting over the rail, and then just lay down with my eyes closed, willing it to all go away. Thankfully the wind was steady, both in strength and direction, allowing me to be sick and not have to contend with the boat. I dozed a little throughout the night, but mostly I was awake, doing checks and trying hard to think of nothing.

The next day I felt considerably better, but had no appetite whatsover, eating a few jellybeans for breakfast, and drinking water all day. My kindly wind had died by 17:00, leaving me drifting around. I motored for a few hours, and then just decided to let it be, killing ‘August the mighty Yanmar’, and dropping the headsail. I slept with all the lights on, adrift, with only a few tankers far in the distance towards the Portuguese coast, climbing slowly North, from the Straight of Gibraltar.

Morning came with a light ENE wind, allowing me to continue on, feeling much better physically, and celebrating at lunch time by listening to Simon & Garfunkel, drinking Coke and eating cans of tuna. The lyrics to ‘America’ (…’I've come, to look for America…’), ‘Homeward Bound’ (’Homeward bound, I wish I was…’), and particularly fitting the track ‘I am a rock’ (’I am a rock, I am an Island…’) were all highlights - As you can see, Simon & Garfunkel were hauntingly apt for my little 10 day sailing jaunt.

What little wind there was, eventually died, the swell calmed down, and before I knew it, the Atlantic Ocean was a sparkling mirror. The light airs and complete lack of wind was really beginning to get to me. I didn’t have enough fuel to motor all the way to Gran Canaria, and if it was going to be like this the whole way, I was in for a lot more singing along to Garfunkel et al… As in, about four weeks of singing ‘I am a rock’ as I paddled south from the bow of Constellation with my dinghy oars.

Eventually I motored far enough to find the illusive wind, which appeared at around the 34degree latitude mark. I hoped that this was the point where I might find tradewind style conditions for the rest of the trip, and more or less, it turned out I had. Running with the boom out and a headsail, there was an all mighty ’snap’ at 04:40, as the boom went flying overhead. Luckily I always run a preventer, which probably saved further damage, but unfortunately this didn’t stop the main track from breaking loose at the base, leaving me to jury rig it for the rest of the trip. I’m a strong believer in using a preventer as common practice, because contrary to popular belief, more solo sailors disappear from being hit on the head by the boom, or falling overboard when taking a leak, than being ravaged by enormous storms or similarly dramatic circumstances. While this was a minor annoyance, the day was beautiful, and actually rather warm. I was in a T-shirt before you knew it, and the air smelt sweet, as it blew over from the African coast. Later in the day I could have sworn I smelt cigarette smoke. I pictured a group of Moroccans smoking Gitanes on the beach, pointing in my rough direction, with an elder telling the story of a long-lost shipment of rugs, the vessel foundered on a wicked lee shore, while on route to northern Europe… Little did they know, they were in fact pointing to a tiny red vessel far out at sea, the captain quite clearly showing an overactive imagination, due to a lack of contemporary distraction.

From this latitude on, the wind kept blowing from almost the exact same point, only varying in strength for the remainder of the trip. In my second day of steady winds, I was so excited to finally be doing real miles, I made an omelet with cheese and salami, and sat in in the cockpit, enjoying the uniform horizon and strengthening sun. As the sun went down, I looked forward to finally being able to listen to the BBC (the signal propagates better at night), and am therefore an expert on all sorts of world issues at the moment, so if you need any tips or clarifications on climate change in developing countries, or even the impending global recession, just ask in the comments below…

As I came further south, the winds picked up in strength, yet also tended to vary more frequently. This required numerous sail changes, which to begin with, became somewhat tiring at times (remember, I have hanked-on sails, not roller-furling). I did notice however, that by about the sixth day out, night and day became so irrelevant, it was quite extraordinary. I think I must have become more in touch with my ‘inner animal’, because I’m quite convinced, that in the animal kingdom, such human preoccupations with time, and particularly day and night, are not even noticed. To clarify, I mean to say, when you are entirely free of outside restrictions, one develops a state of being, which allows you to do what needs doing, when it needs to be done, regardless of of any other pre-concieved notions of familiar restraint. Therefore, a 4am sail change and getting dunked into the water on the bow, is no different from doing it at any other time, and is of no more, or less convenience. This I think is probably a unique situation to solo sailors, whereby you are pitted against the elements and time for extended periods, allowing you to develop a time-less existence. It is also something which crewed boats probably don’t experience, where they are more regimented by watch schedules and the like. I can’t really think of any other occupation where this kind of thing might occur, outside of sleeping experiments. I suspect this will become an even deeper phenomenon on my longer voyage across the Atlantic.

In other matters related to the psychology of sailing, or more to the point, how I felt mentally about the whole thing, I was remarkably calm and collected. The fear of Biscay (as a result of at least four hundred years of British maritime fear being drummed into me from every corner!) was quite intense. I sailed out of Brest with my heart in my mouth, where it stayed the entire trip. Biscay was mostly uneventful, but still, mentally I was concerned, nervous and exceptionally over tired throughout. I knew that fear had to be dealt with, which was why I left, and why on this trip I felt a lot more ‘together’. I knew what was coming, and while I didn’t relish the first few days (they are without a doubt the toughest), I felt I at least knew what I was in for, in some respects. Also, I believe a three day sail is probably tougher than a six to ten day sail, because it isn’t until about the fourth or fifth day that any kind of semblance to routine or normality is developed. Another curious note (I hope I’m not boring you with observations, I just find this all very interesting, and maybe it’s not spoken a lot about, so potentially it’s interesting to you too…) in the first few days, your mental state is quite fragile. For example, listening to depressing music, attempting to read difficult novels etc, are a big no-no. In order to keep it together, I amused myself with a bunch of hand-me-down yachting magazines, which are by nature light on the neurons (they’re just filled with photos of Tom Cunliffe holding a spanner with a stupid grin on his face anyway) and airy pop music. Trying to wrap your head around Raoul Vaneigem’s chapters on ‘Mediated Abstraction, Abstracted Mediation’ or listening to a particularly depressing Jeff Buckley track, will quite simply send you insane.

Constellation was a real dream - She reminded me so quickly once the wind started blowing what a great boat she is. Despite her size, she sails so incredibly well, the long keel gives immense directional stability, the displacement in the water gives a predictable movement, and one feels inherently safe sailing her. On more than one occasion, I woke up to find Constellation positively flying at over six knots. To begin with I jumped out of bed to de-power her, but after getting out of the cabin, and sitting on the deck under the mainsail, the sparkling full moon and stars coupled with the perverse exhilaration of cutting through the water in the middle of the night, it became a sight too good to miss. Usually I would spend ten minutes or so, simply watching the speedy wake disappear from the stern before dealing with the over powered sail configuration. The moon in full condition was a real help to night sailing, it almost felt like daylight outside, the water shining a cold silver. The stars alone are beautiful, but the moon has a somewhat friendly calming personality (that’s why it’s a smiling cheese-ball, right?), with the distance of the stars being a little too existential to appreciate fully when you’re hurtling along entirely alone in a small vessel. I think the stars were created for desert aficionados, with the moon built specifically for sailorly personalities.

‘Windy the Windpilot’ also performed with bells on, virtually steering the entire trip minus the 24 odd hours of motoring when the wind was nowhere to be seen. I genuinely don’t think I could have made better choices of boat and equipment (ok, with a lot of money I could have bought something of similar pedigree but bigger/more confortable…), and it felt good to finally experience those decisions fully. Constellation was not made for motoring around in unpredictable and non-existent winds, of which I experienced a lot down the European coast. She was built for sailing, and when she does, it’s amazing. Another breakage on this voyage was my Tri-light, which has been giving me trouble since day one. It flickers when the boat heels, and I’ve climbed the mast several times to try and fix it, and last attempted in Cascais, to no avail. I thought it was an odd sizing in the new LED lamp, so I swapped it out with a standard bulb. Unfortunately this worked for the first night, but again flickered out and then stopped. I ran with bow and stern lights, placing the LED lamp in the stern casing, which meant I was using a total of 27.5watts during the night. It seems one of my batteries (both new in August of 2007) may be on the blink: If I charge for 8 hours, it last for about 5 hours with minimal load, and drops in voltage dramatically in it’s dying failure. I suspect this could be from overcharging, since I have no regulator or charge system, it all comes off the engine, and if I forget to alternate batteries for charging, I think they become overcharged and destroyed. Disappointing. Thankfully other than nav lights and the shortwave radio, I have no other power requirements. My GPS is handheld, I use paper charts, and I don’t use the internal lights at night, other than to cook briefly, as I tend to start napping when the sun goes down, and I’m up again when the sun rises. This simplicity is wonderful, because other than two AA batteries to run my GPS and some power for the LED nav light, I can run free. So many boats are up to the hilt with complexity, that once something stops working, the entire boat becomes almost dead in the water.

All in all it was a very positive trip, and gave me excellent insight into the longer one ahead. The conditions were mostly ideal (only a few days had water over the bow, scuppers awash), but if you told me I had to leave across the Atlantic tomorrow, I probably wouldn’t be very happy… However I know after a rest I will have my gusto back to tackle it. Thank you again to Ton & Petra for the loan of their satellite phone, it was a real boon to call my family to let them know I was ok, and send back some position details. As I left in a fluster, I was unable to set things up properly, however across the Atlantic reporting will be sorted out properly, and I have a unique method of sending back my experiences to the web, which I’ll talk about later.

For now, Jack is in town, and I’m going to eat lots of home cooked food, which I really need, as I have definitely lost weight (he promised to cook in exchange for interviews!) and also attempt to regain a normal sleeping pattern ASAP. No doubt I’ll be waking up at all hours of the night, muttering to myself about checking the mainsail, ensuring the heading is correct, and glancing at the horizon for the dreaded ‘over 50metres and steaming’ lights, unawares we are safely tied up in the marina! Thanks to everyone who sent me good wishes in my last post, and for all the direct emails with positive thoughts.

nick.

Firstly, I’d like to welcome Airnavsystems.com onboard, as a new Bigoceans.com sponsor! AirNav build flight spotting software and products, and are releasing a new ship spotting product called ‘ShipTrax’. It seemed like a very fitting partnership, and AirNav are assisting with additional funds, which is really what I need at the moment. I seem to be going through what little money I have at a great rate, buying charts, parts, and provisions. Very, very special thanks to Andre for approaching me with the idea, being so fast to help out, and for believing my trip is a worthy idea to support.

It’s been a very busy past few days - I sat around sick for too long, and then when a good forecast came my way, it was all panic to get myself ready. As you can see from the above sponsorship, I haven’t just been sitting on my laurels. I’ve also spent over a week waiting on another partnership which would have provided some neat communications potential for my trip to the Canary Islands, however nothing has come of it yet, and it’s time for me to leave. If you missed it, there is a photo of the article regarding my Cape Horn aspirations (!!) located here.

Yesterday I provisioned the boat with supplies, which turned out to be an epic job. To begin with, I had exceeded my daily transaction limit at the bank, and only had 140euros in my pocket. I thought this would be enough for 15 days of food, but apparently I was wrong. By the time I was done shopping, my trolley was about to break, and I could barely push it. I tried to get money out, but it was futile, so I hid my trolley in the honey isle, and high-tailed it out of there, feeling really guilty about some poor kid having to re-pack everything because of my stupidity. It was with great luck that S/V Aquamarijn were able to loan me some money, and I ran back to see if my trolley was still hiding. Thankfully it was, and I caught a taxi back to the marina with a boatload of provisions. Putting all this food somewhere turned out to be a new experience, and I know for a fact, I will be finding food purchased in Lisbon, hidden around the boat for many years to come.

So my route now, is direct to the Canary Islands, not stopping anywhere. This is an 800nm trip, which I expect to take from anywhere between 7 and 14 days. I’m not going to mess up my expectations on maintaining a 4kt average like I did across Biscay, which put myself under a lot of pressure to arrive within three days, to tell friends and family that I was ok, and not to send helicopters. I expect to take around 10 days, but up to 14 I think is still quite possible. I have a decent forecast from Commanders Weather, but I’ve been waiting around today for reasons I’ll explain some other time, so already I’m 9hrs behind where I should be. I will be heading 1degree east of a direct line to Lanzarote, anticipating a wind change in a few days to South, which means I will hopefully be in a good position to tack back onto course for the Canaries, without sailing directly into the wind.

‘August the mighty Yanmar’ has new oil, and I never found an explanation for the overheating. Today I ran it in gear (in the marina) at a decent pace for 30mins, and ran an infrared heat gun on the block, but there were no signs of overheating. Fingers crossed the issue was a bag around the inlet or something simiarly temporary.

I spent last night having another wonderful dinner with the Hooligans et al, and then had a second dinner and drinks with Pedro #1, Pedro #2 and Ana, which was really nice. I’m still in absolute awe at the generosity of everybody around me. Last night I came into my boat, and sat down, and I must admit (I don’t get called Mr Toughguy for nothing!) I almost felt a little teary at everyones generosity and kindness towards me. I’m just some guy with a little red boat, trying my best to do my thing, and people are helping at literally every turn. Remember Pedro #1 saved me from a lonely Christmas, invited me into is really great family, fed me, gave me a bed, introduced me to his closest friends, and really showed me a side of Portugal people rarely see. Pedro #2 took me out for dinner and lunch everyday, showing me what amazing food the Portuguese produce, let me sleep in his house while I was sick, took me to the maritime museum, the planetarium and even parted with a bag of food and some extra money, citing I would need it for the marina in the Canaries! The Hooligans (plus Ton & Petra) have been really wonderful company in La Coruna, and here in Lisbon, and packed huge bag of extra Dutch provisions for my trip, and even loaned me a satellite phone (one of the reasons todays departure is delayed, finding a new SIM card) so I am able stay in contact, and hopefully maintain web-based position reports on my 800mile journey. I will miss everybody so much… I wish my boat were 15 times larger so I could just bring all the incredible people I meet along with me. I cannot necessarily return this kindness directly to the people who have helped me, but be rest assured, I will do my very best to ‘pay it forward’ and help others whenever I possibly can.

Thank you so much Portugal. The Canaries are Spanish territory, so this is the end of Portugal for me, and also the end of continental Europe. I cannot believe I am leaving Europe, after being here for almost two years. What amazing experiences and people I’ve met, from Berlin, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, England, Belgium, France, Spain, Gibraltar, Guernsey and Portugal. This is my longest solo non-stop voyage so far, over doubling my Biscay distance. I can’t wait to reach the Canaries, and look forward to telling you all about my biggest passage so far.

See you in a couple of weeks, and check back when you can, because there is every chance I may be able to get some news up on this site from somewhere out there in the Atlantic. More than likely updates will come via Twitter or onto my tracking page.

-moby nick!

This is just a small post to clear up some confusion. In the February edition of the magazine ‘Yachting Monthly’, there is an article about my trip. In this article, my route has somehow been modified by the press to say I am going westabout around Cape Horn. While this would of course be a great, heroic idea, I really don’t think me or the boat are up for rounding the most dangerous cape on the planet, in the wrong direction, against the prevailing winds and currents, in a 26ft boat built in 1972!

Of course, if someone wants to sponsor the rebuilding of my boat, before and after such an attempt, plus pay for helicopter/navy vessel rescue standby in Tierra del Fuego, sure, I’ll give it a whirl, and attempt to live up to my new Cape Horn reputation!

Or maybe I should just keep quiet, and fake my positions around the cape, leaving the world to speculate on my madness and whereabouts? Wait a second…

I do really appreciate the article in YM though, it’s very exciting for my little trip to be noticed by the printed medium. Welcome to any new readers!

Anyway, baby steps. First I’ll figure out how to leave Lisbon before we talk more about The Horn.

nick

P.S If anyone has a copy of the afermentioned Yachting Monthly, I’d love to see a scan! Thanks Arek!