Before leaving Barbados, I met Norman on the beach as I rowed in. A diplomat of sorts for Guyana and local journalist, he was intrigued about my trip, and did a small interview onboard for the Caribbean Compass newspaper - So, if you find a copy over the next few months, maybe I’ll be in it!

As scheduled, I left for St Lucia, with my Australian passport in the hands of the US embassy, to be posted on to the Castries DHL office. I think I mentioned the trip from Barbados was only 67nm, which was a mistake. I had punched in the northern most waypoint given by a 2006 St Lucia Imray chart, without first plotting it to get an idea of the distance, and it read 67nm… When I did do a proper sail plan, I plotted the waypoints and noticed the provided waypoint was a printing mistake, with the true distance being 104nm! I was a little disappointed at the mistake, having timed my journey based on the first figure. Nevertheless, I left anyway at 5pm, hoping I could arrive in under 24 hours, so I wouldn’t be stuck anchoring in the dark, or without customs clearance.

Little happened on the trip across, except a strange vessel mid-way that was lit up like a Christmas tree. It was at anchor, but showed no signs of life other than the vast array of lights. Headed straight for it, Merv the Mer-Veille, (a new addition to Constellation) picked up the vessel several miles out. I failed to mention that just before I left Las Palmas, and one of the reasons I was a few days late in leaving, was because I received a generous present from my Uncle, which performed really well across the Atlantic. Merv picked up several vessels I’d missed doing visual checks, and picked up all the ships I’d seen myself along the way. It’s not a fail-safe means to just going to sleep all night without looking around, but it does give an added sense of security. And if it’s good enough for all the French singlehanders, it’s good enough for me!

Constellation also seemed a little confused on the trip, thinking she was a catamaran, because we flew the entire way! Past Deep Water harbour in Barbados, a ferry was about to cross the Atlantic, with a few passengers waving to me in the distance, as I seemingly headed back into my old habits of sailing towards the setting sun. I was a little queasy with seasickness, but munched on a stick of ginger I had, and lay in my bunk as we averaged 5.5kts to Rodney Bay:

While the above anchorage is rather pretty, I decided to stay in the inner lagoon, as there was quite a wind blowing, and my anchor setup is less than perfect. Also not having an outboard makes it hard to row around in the bay itself, especially when the wind is up. I’m quite certain I could be the only person in the entire Caribbean still out here paddling about with oars… I try hard to pretend I’m an old tough fisherman from Maine with steely arms, as I slowly venture past the charter boats and other assorted expensive vessels in the lagoon, but I’m only kidding myself. The charter catamarans are the worst, with 20 beautiful people from Martinique, drinking rum punch with a pumping stereo, waving to the guy rowing into 25kts of wind.

Constantly nervous about the rusty 6mm chain on my anchor, I splurged on buying 35ft of new 8mm chain from the local chandlery. It was all I could afford, and less than adequate, but it’s better than what I have, and the idea of dragging backwards into an expensive boat gives me nightmares. I’d have to sell up to pay for the damage.

Thanks to Matt & Karen aboard S/V Where II, I received some new photos of me departing Las Palmas to cross the Atlantic - Thanks guys!

A few more on the photos page.

Tomorrow I hope my Visa will have arrived from Barbados, and so I’ll keep trucking north, possibly on Tuesday or Wednesday. Martinique is around 25miles (but don’t quote me!) so I think I’ll stop there for a day or two on route. I have some housing difficulties back in Berlin, with a suprise bill from the electricity company I’m trying to sort out, before it drains every last penny I have, and I have to start selling Guava from my dinghy…

nick

Firstly, a very special thank you to Richard & Carole from the UK, who generously donated a sextant, chronometer, almanac and celestial navigation book for Constellation and I. I met Richard & Carole while they were on holiday Gran Canaria, where they also took me out for lunch and gave me a bag of provisions. With this additional navigation equipment, I will finally be able to learn how to navigate like a real mariner, and greatly further my marine education! Thank you so much for your kind and thoughtful generosity. Thank you also to Wim from Holland (the Dutch shine again!), Joel from Australia, Charles from Ireland and Pedro #2 (again!!!) for sending through some cash to keep me going. As you’ll see below, it’s becoming a dire situation down here, and this show of generosity helps so much, both practically and also as a show of support.

This waiting is really getting me down… A lot of people are emailing and asking ‘when are you leaving’ or ‘why haven’t you left yet’, and while I know people are just curious, I’m feeling the pressure from this website and the public nature of the entire project bearing down on me. I’m doing my best guys, you’ll know when I leave, and I’m doing everything I can. I thought a lot about why I’m feeling this way, and frankly, the Atlantic is one of the major pinnacles of this journey, and it’s like I’m sitting at the bottom of Mt Everest as winter approaches, waiting to make my ascent, and it’s the only thing I can think about. I’m mentally paralysed by the coming challenge.

To try and alleviate this state of mind, I decided to see some of the other islands, and also visit Pedro #1 who landed in Tenerife last week, looking for work and sun. I left Las Palmas at 2pm anticipating an overnight sail, wanting to arrive at the anchorage during daylight. The sail was more or less textbook, and while I suffered a little seasickness, I did ok, nibbling ginger in the cockpit with the stereo turned on full. The stretch of water between Gran Canaria and Tenerife must create a funnel effect, as the conditions increased during the night, with several waves crashing into the cockpit. It was nothing dangerous, but I wasn’t really anticipating it. For a brief and somewhat scary second, you hear a cresting wave approaching the stern, while you hope it’s not too big, only able to see the white of the wave tops at night, as it dumps into the boat. In fantastic tradition, ‘Windy the Windpilot’ kept a perfect course as Constellation skidded around under Genoa, the boat rolling in typical stern wind motion. We made it to the anchorage with no problems, where I tried to get a few hours sleep after keeping watch all night. Pedro arrived later in the day, and I rowed into shore for the pickup, swimming back to the boat with ‘Bob the leaky duck’ overloaded with luggage:

As you can probably guess, the solar panels seem to be eternally stuck in Madrid, and I don’t know what to do… I received an email from a new friend (Rafael) in Santa Cruz yesterday, offering to help with contacts at DHL, which is really my last hope. Because of this entire postage disaster, I am now pushing it to arrive in the Carribbean outside of hurricane season. As you know, my initial plan was to arrive in St Maarten, and work for a couple of months before heading north to resume my New York City ambitions, however this plan is now essentially useless - I would arrive in St Maarten in May, and have to leave a week or so later. My money is running so low, I have now genuinly had to consider whether this Atlantic crossing is even viable. I’ve spent many hours walking and considering my situation, but quite simply I’ve come so far, I cannot possibly throw the towel in. I really only have just enough money to provision the boat, and with this all in mind, I have redirected my course to straight to Bermuda. This is a somewhat unusual course to take, however it is entirely possible, dipping into the tradewinds as if I were heading to the Antilles, and then steering directly up into Bermuda without stopping. This course change buys me a little extra time before I have to leave the Canaries, and is also en route to where I need to go (NYC).

For this plan to work, I must now wait another two or three weeks in order to correctly time my arrival in Bermuda with the seasons. This strategy also enables me to give my solar panels a bit more time to arrive - However, if they fail to show up in the next few weeks, I will be forced to leave without them, as it seems rather pointless to abandon my crossing over their disappearance. Possibly a friend in Gran Canaria could pick them up in 12 months time, when the lazy and slow bureaucrats in Madrid finally decide to look into that box sitting in the corner with all the dust on it… And then forward the package on to the USA. At this stage, I am anticipating an early April departure.

Last but not least, I turn 27 on Friday, which doesn’t help at all…! Every year is closer to the inevitable, and I had dearly hoped to spend my birthday in the middle of the ocean, or in the Caribbean, sitting on the beach, drinking rum with crushed lime and sugar in celebration of great distances…

And speaking of birthdays, Happy Birhtday Mum! I hope you had a nice day, and I’m so sorry to have missed yet another March 12.

nick.

So The German returned two nights later, having hitchhiked back to Las Palmas without any money, even managing to get two bus rides for free! I told you he was resilient… He stayed with me for a few nights, before I had explain that the boat was just way too small for two people to be living in. I’m not sure where he is now, but I suspect he’s probably living in a really nice house somewhere… Rent free.

Las Palmas has been kind of getting on my nerves. I have some things coming via mail, and I met someone in the Sailors Bar who said I will need to hire a customs agent to get the package released. I tell you, bureaucracy makes me so mad, my face goes red just thinking about it. There is little I can do but wait, so wait I will… I guess I chose a good place to be sitting around twiddling my thumbs though. It hasn’t been all bad, I just think I’m frustrated with not knowing when I can leave, and sitting here waiting feels a lot like being becalmed on a sunny day. I think I have some kind of nervous personality that insists I must always be on the go…

Last Friday, I met two British sailors, Richard and Carole who emailed me a couple of weeks back, writing, “Nick, we’re flying to Gran Canaria for a holiday, we’d like to meet you!” to which I responded “Of course, tell me when and where!”. So on Friday I finally had the opportunity to meet them, where they shouted me lunch at my favourite bar, where we talked about sailing, Australia and my new route plan. Thanks guys! I also met a Psychologist named Ariel in Triana for Gran Canarian potatoes and local beer. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, “Nick should have seen a psychologist months ago”, but really, he was a very nice chap who contacted me via Couchsurfing.com, which is a great place to meet people from around the world if you’re ever stuck in a strange place. When I was house-bound in Berlin, I had Surfers in and out of my apartment like a supermarket. It’s like traveling without leaving home! Cheers Ariel!

So, I’ve been sitting around scheming, looking at my lovely new Ocean Routes of the World book, by Jimmy Cornell, which was graciously donated by Vera, in Belgium. I’ve been wanting a copy of this book for so long, but I was never really able to afford it. Thank you so much Vera! Up until now, figuring out when I can do passages has been a result of walking around, looking for someone that knows what they’re talking about (which is in itself a challenge) and asking a lot of questions (that’s not entirely true, but it makes for a good narrative). If I’m not asking people when the best time to cross an ocean is, I’m shuffling up to strangers in dark streets, trading waypoints written down on cigarette papers for my next port of call. I actually navigated down the coast of Spain with a map a teenager made for me on a napkin. The conversation was something like “Oh, yeah that pointy bit (Finisterre), uh huh, yes, round that, follow the fishing boats, look to your left for pilgrims waving on the hilltop and then go straight”. But now, I’m a competent ocean sailor because I’m armed with a book who’s tag line is “Featuring nearly 1000 sailing routes in all oceans of the world”. Even if you don’t sail, I recommend this book just to read on Sundays afternoons. It really has the potential to be a dreamy coffee table book, but without any pictures of minimalist furniture or Zen gardens. Perfect!

Now you’re squirming in your seat, wondering… Wondering where Nick the napkin navigator will take his mighty bathtub next? Cape Horn? Oh sure, why not? What about the Northwest Passage? Speaking of the Northwest passage, has anyone noticed there have been no singlehanded voyages up there by small sailboat? Find me a sponsor and I’ll bolt some steel plates onto the bow and do it! Anyway, who put this enormous continent in the way of my route home anyway, it’s so irritating (I suspect I’m not the first to have such feelings)! Maybe I should just go South right now, hop around the bottom of Africa and start a mining conglomerate in Perth? But no!

After consulting the book I’ve been so excited about, I’ve unfortunately come to the conclusion, that I’m too late to go through the Panama canal when I reach the Caribbean and start my Pacific Adventures. Not that I could actually afford to transit the canal anyway, but lets forget finances for a minute… I refuse to let cyclones or transit costs ruin my day, so with that in mind: I’m sailing past the Statue of Liberty instead. Hot on the tail of my fellow Contessa aficionados in BIKA, I’m going north, back into latitudes that don’t make me so incredibly lazy. If I’m not in 39N/S+ degrees of latitude, “siesta” means 9am to 5pm, with sleep on either side. My landing point in the Caribbean will be ‘high up’, in St Martin. I hear there might be opportunities for work there, where I hope to get a job for six weeks or so, while I wait for spring to warm things up. After re-stocking the kitty with Pirate treasure, it’s non-stop to New York City, where I’ll pan-handle on 5th Avenue for funds, as the next part of this trip takes us overland (unless my Northwest Passage sponsor shows up!). Overland to San Francisco, so I can sail under the Golden Gate bridge, to Hawaii and then on through the Pacific ocean; waypoint Melbourne, Australia. My Mum told me the interior of my boat looked like a Caravan (she doesn’t yet know how taboo that comment is!!), and so Constellation will actually live up to her interior, becoming an Airstream for ten days, as she hurtles across America, taking part in the greatest road trip of all time. View my projected route below, and click on the image for a pretty display - This version assumes I take the Canadian route which I’ll talk more about below:

(Wow, I have a long way to go…) But why New York? Well, why not? I could doddle around the Caribbean for awhile, or I could take affirmative latitude action, and add a roadtrip to my voyage while I’m at it. I have friends and family in New York, and a wedding in Vancouver in August, not to mention more family on the West coast in Oregon. Everything points north, what can I say? Ultimately, whether I stay in the Caribbean or go North, makes little difference to the overall scope of this trip - Both ways, I can’t start the Pacific until later in the year. I have no idea how this circus will be funded, but I left Amsterdam with six raisins and a bottle of drinking water filled from the Markemeer, so one can only hope my angels will follow me across the Atlantic and beyond.

So the logistics of this change of plan, will mean I need to leave St Martin in May, bound for New York City. It could become easier to take my boat overland through Canada, spending some time in Vancouver working, and as such, I have made my Canadian work permit application. Thank you America for making your immigration system so difficult to understand, I can’t even muster the energy to try and decode it. Are there any beautiful and inquisitively intelligent American women that want to get hitched in Nantucket, whaler style? In exchange for your American citizenship, you get Australian. If you have dual citizenship with… Japan, China or Canada, I’ll even throw in EU citizenship for you. Your proposal doesn’t have to be particularly romantic - If you like walks on the beach and pre-nups (no, you can’t have 50% of Constellation), that’s good enough for me!

Clearly the goal of today is just to leave Las Palmas, but right now I’m simply waiting. You’re probably wondering about what I actually need to do for my passage… In a nutshell, I need to stock fifty days of food and water, finish purchasing some items on my spares list (windvane rope, spare impeller etc etc), buy my charts, look at a five day forecast and get the heck out to sea. I’ve been hocking my charts and pilots online so I can actually afford to buy the information I need for the other side, and this week I might be able to afford a North Atlantic chart, Caribbean Almanac and projected landfall charts (I asked a local kid to draw me a map of the Caribbean, but he just looked at me funnily and sped off on his noisy scooter). I really wanted to follow the route of Christopher Columbus, but after quite a bit of research (involving an actual visit to his house, here in Las Palmas!), his route isn’t actually that great (I think his GPS must have fallen between the cushions of his couch, next to the Playstation controller), and is under a lot of dispute anyway. It’s a shame though, I was going to call my crossing ‘One degree away from the discovery of the New World’. Well, I thought it was an amusing idea…

Anyway, back to drawing squiggly lines on my globe, and calling them “possible sailing routes for 2008″.

This post was carefully crafted at sea level, nick.

It has now been three weeks in La Coruna. I guess it’s become a self-fulfilling prophecy that I would end up here for winter… As I’ve said before, every major port I arrive in, I admit defeat and proclaim that I’m stopping, getting a job, and getting a haircut. Somehow I’ve managed up until here, but La Coruna clearly has some kind of magnetic anomaly which has me glued to the waters surface.

I had however triumphantly proclaimed earlier this week that I’d had it, I was going south regardless of all my worldly problems: I still had one tiny trick left up my sleeve, which was to call Lloyds Bank, and somehow convince them I really needed the ₤90’s worth of overdrawn fees returned to my account. I had a long forgotten automated transaction take me to to a ‘whopping’ ₤18 in the red, which resulted in this incredible overdraw penalty. I also had the fortune of a secret cheque in my name, to the tune of ₤125, yet it was useless if cashed onto an account already in the negative. This lone cheque was the result of the local Esso factory in Bursledon spilling it’s black soot all over the boatyard I was in, entitling me to compensation to clean the boat. Good friends from the yard filled in the forms for me, and collected the cheque on my behalf, but I had no way of cashing it. I was really trying to avoid a bad credit record in the UK, so I had been pondering that I might cash it anyway, to get rid of my ‘debt’… To cut a lengthening story short, I knew if I could get the fees back, cash the cheque, plus the €50 marina key deposit, I could release myself from these pontoon shackles, and edge further south in search of more good luck, and heaven forbid, maybe even a small job. But unfortunately, after telling you my most private banking secrets and hidden cheque stories, there is no triumphant or happy ending. Sometimes when you’re about to hit a brick wall, you actually do.

Which brings me to my next thoughts on the topic; of why I mention all this… I often think back to the days when I dreamt all of this up, and just really had no idea how I could make it happen. You read the same story over and over again, about someone doing something on large sponsorship, a good pension, or simply a lot of money. I guess I’d like my story to be about the person who tried to do too much with too little. I tell you not of my woes in hope for a step up (but I am incredibly honoured when granted one), but rather to chronicle things for myself and others, and ultimately to be one of the limited success stories in small boat, small funded and independent long distance sailing. While I may make out that things are difficult (and mostly they are, but on a relative scale), the truth of the matter is, I would not have it any other way. Someone said to me the other day ‘if it really gets too hard, why not just sell up and leave’? I’ve never thought of doing that - I’ve thought of what I might do if I sank the boat, (which if you’re wondering, would be to start walking home, or buy another one) but very little energy has been dedicated to the subject of selling up. Besides, if I did that, then what would I do?

I say all this, to prep you (and maybe myself…) for the news that I simply cannot continue this year, and I will be staying in La Coruna, working, and building my own ideas into things that will power me forward, as early as possible next year. Up until now I have avoided saying the final ‘this is it, I’m staying put’, because I’ve always secretly held out that something would happen. But in my quiet reflections on the situation, I was honest with myself, and admitted that without sizable cash injection, even if I did manage to get out of here, I’d quite simply get stuck a little further down the coast, yet again. I also came to the conclusion that I was really happy to have come this far, and also felt good that I could sit back and stop for a minute, knowing that I had tried as hard as I possibly could to get here.

So what now? Well, I may not be able to sail, but I will never rest! I have my own ideas and projects to work on, and I hope to get enough paid work to keep me nourished and in good spirits (if you need any web development work, be sure to hit me up!). Over the next few months, I’ll tell you all about what I’m working on, what I’ve been doing, and about future additions my sailing project. This entire idea has always been bigger than myself, and I hope to keep it that way with some slight additions and route changes.

Thanks so much to everybody for your help and encouragement in getting this far. Everywhere I go, people are helping in every way they can, and it’s almost arrogant to say that I sail singlehanded. I hope my temporary defeat is not disappointing to you all, and I trust on prior experience, you know that any admission of ‘defeat’ is closely coupled with the word ‘temporary’ - I will get home, on a small boat, alone and with much gusto!

nick.