At the scheduled rendezvous time, Tony showed up in his boat. I sat in my cockpit, expecting a sail boat to appear at the Coney Island anchorage, but low and behold, a twin hulled powerboat showed up, and Captain Tony was at the helm. Who is Tony? There are so many great characters who I meet along the way, you’re forgiven for not following this sailing soap opera’s list of top celebrities! Tony helped out with Commanders Weather forecasts, and also sent through weather updates and eddy coordinates (remember him? I do.) so I could actually make landfall, instead of spending my time as flotsam in the Atlantic, when all I really wanted was a bagel with cream cheese in New York.

So for the first time I met my weather saviour, and he’d now just offered to dedicate a day to following me into Manhattan to photograph my approach. As you can imagine, photos of yourself sailing when you’re singlehanded are most always impossible, normally achievable only by sitting in the cockpit and pointing the camera at yourself, which always makes me feel like Narcissus re-incarnated. As we motored along, I did 3.8kts, which is ‘August the mighty Yanmars’ current top speed (I think there must be something wrong…), and poor Tony in M/V ‘Sea Lion’ idled their twin 140hp engines and snapped a lovely set of photos, which I am incredibly thankful for:

Of course the highlight was anchoring outside of Liberty Island, which I thought would be impossible, but the reality is, you can get really close, and if you don’t mind the swell, drop the anchor and get the best view in town. As my plan was to go up to the 79th St Boat Basin, we didn’t stay too long, as it’s first come first served, and I really wanted a mooring for the night. I jokingly mentioned that Tony could more easily just tow me to Manhattan, to which he showed a funny grin and setup a tow rope. Constellation then proceeded to be hauled up the Hudson River at 8kts, the wind vane bracket disappearing under water, and Constellation creating a surfable wake.

At the Boat Basin, I was entitled to a mooring as far away from dinghy dock as possible… As I heaved my rowing oars back to land, a(nother) Canadian boat took pity on my back, and towed me in with an outboard. In a single day, both Constellation and Bob the Leaky Duck had tows! On land I managed to get myself so lost in the subway system, I nearly ended up back in Coney Island. My brother gave up on me, as I kept buying packets of gum for quarters, so I could try and call him. As my luck continued, I met an aspiring actress who loaned me her phone, and I eventually found my brother, who came all the way back to pick up his silly sibling who couldn’t navigate the subway (no GPS signal so far underground, and the stars are blocked out… That’s my excuse anyway.)

On Saturday friends came down to see the mighty Constellation, whom I brought into the marina for show-and-tell. Friends from Australia were in town, my uncle & cousin and my ‘mates in the states’ all came down to visit, which was most exciting; such social excitement after the great voyage!

Captain Tony wrote all my tides down for the next days voyage, and I set off with a ripping Hudson for Hell Gate. I met Phil again who had also sailed up from Atlantic Highlands, and we departed together. I was terribly lazy and just decided to follow him until we got into Long Island Sound; what a mistake. By the time I’d reached the Brooklyn Bridge, what can only be called a squall of gigantic proportions arose. I was so lazy, I hadn’t even bothered to look at a chart, as Phil disappeared in a dense fog, and I couldn’t figure out what was up, down, left or right. Eventually after numerous trips into the cabin, awash with rain after each trip dumped the water caught in my wet weather gear, I pinpointed where I was, as our speed mysteriously increased. By the time we’d reached mid-Hell Gate, Constellation and I topped out at 9.4kts over the ground, skidding from port to starboard in the currents, the tiller going back and forth to keep us going in roughly a straight line. A super yacht approached from the stern, doing the same ‘dance of Hell Gate’, overtook and honked in mutual appreciation for the British ensign (which she was also flying). (At least I think it was a honk of appreciation… It could have meant ‘get the heck out of my way!’)

By Long Island sound, a breeze showed signs of intensifying, and I launched the genoa. Ten minutes later a squall blew through, took the wind with it, and I motored along, in search for Tony, who had again offered to come out and meet me. We eventually crossed paths, and hooked up the tow rope again, it being 4pm with still another 12nm in front of us. Back under the power of tow, we powered through the fog, and arrived at Stamford Harbour, conducting a creepy fog-bound entrance, for which I was glad to be with someone who knew the area. I couldn’t see a thing, but Tony motored on, and eventually I was tied up at the Brewers yard - A very special thanks to Janie for providing a slip for two nights.

I spent two nights in Stamford with Tony and his lovely wife Eva, who showed such generosity, I’m still literally stunned when I think back to how wonderfully they helped me out. Provided with a comfy bed, delicious food, new clothes, provisions, parts and funds to keep me going, I’m humbled and indebted: Thank you so much Captain Tony and Captain Eva for your kindness.

As I left Stamford, I motored towards Port Jefferson, anchoring in the harbour for the night, refusing to pay $40 for a mooring. I was far away from town, but there was no way I could justify wasting so much money for a ‘permanent anchor’. It’s quite amazing how much ‘transients’ pay in America for overnight stays - I still don’t quite understand the economics of it when compared to Europe… I only paid that kind of money once, and that was in Dover, England, for a berth no less! The next day, I decided to cross the Sound for Duck Island, and motored across on a windless day. By the time I’d reached the middle, ‘August the mighty Yanmar’ blew a great plume of white smoke, coughed, spluttered and died. He was not to come back to life, and I proceeded under sail, incredibly annoyed to be stuck in another motorless situation. I dove overboard to check for rope stuck in the prop, yet there was nothing but a bit of plastic and a bunch of red jellyfish.

Proceeding under sail, the God’s shone down on us, and the winds increased. I had no idea what I was going to do should it die altogether… Sailing into Duck Island Harbour at night under sail, we managed to find other boats at anchor, and promptly dropped the hook. Excited by the thrill of sailing around without an engine in unknown parts of the world, I slept and waited until 12pm the following day for the winds to pick up. The sails up, anchor hauled in, we proceeded under sail for Greenport. Reaching ‘Plum Gut’ at a favourable tide, fighting for three hours against a SSW wind to get through. Eventually it was deemed impossible, and so the long route was taken around Plum Island, skirting the edges and risking passage through shallow waters to make up for lost time. Tacking back towards Greenport, a line squall showed it’s nasty head, and I refused to reduce sail in defiance. I wanted as much speed as possible to make up for this ridiculously annoying and lengthening passage. It wasn’t long before the rail was touching the water, and a gust almost knocked us over before I managed to release the mainsheet. As I made a tack, the boat seemed to de-power, as the sun drenched and tired genoa tore in three places. Slapping like crazy, caught on the port spreader, I had to knife the sail down and pack the remains into the forward hatch. Launching the #2 genoa, we got back under way, and slowly tacked all the way up to the Greenport breakwater. It was midnight, and we set course to sail right into the marina, sans everything (including an understandable chart of the tiny entrance). By great luck, a friend called, and shortly showed up with a powerboat, quite simply out of nowhere, hunting around for the Ghost ship Constellation, who had by now a fused bow light, and only the stern lamp still functioning. With all cabin lights on, I hoped we’d avoid collision and be found, which we were, and kindly towed to safety.

I haven’t really explained what I’m doing in these parts, but the fight for Greenport was made because I have a slip here for summer. I’ll be hanging about trying hard to figure out what’s next: Do I go back to the Caribbean for Panama? Or do I go through with the crazy plan to tow Constellation to San Francisco? Time will tell!

For now, I’m enjoying great company, and am ever thankful for making the right decision to come north. America has been fantastic to me, with so much generosity and interest in my trip, I can barely walk up the pontoon without someone wanting to talk to me, offering help, or offering to make me dinner.

nick!

Approaching Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey, I saw masts behind the breakwater, and hoped I was able to anchor in what looked like a nice, well protected place to park a boat after being at sea for 28 days. I really only chose this anchorage as my first landing point from Antigua because Stefan recommended it, and I didn’t have much other information on anywhere else. After the stress of being fog bound since 3am, I finally had some visibility, and so sat on the bow, the tiller lashed with a bungie cord. On arrival, I looped around three boats at anchor, trying to get a lay of the land, and then dropped the hook with 30ft of chain. I thought I’d be relieved, able to relax, but instead, I just started hopping around the boat in a mild frenzy. Already it seemed as if the past month was a distant memory. Birds, dorados, squalls and eddy’s had been replaced by trying to find the closest diner to get a Californian Deluxe hamburger and caesar salad with extra chicken. Phillip rowed over to congratulate me with a banana (’I bet that’s the first piece of fresh food you’ve had in a while!’) and a cold beer. I ate the banana and drank the beer in alternating mouthfuls, and borrowed Phillip’s dinghy to row into shore for the aforementioned feast.

The woman at the diner was flattered that she was only the second person I’d spoken to in nearly a month, and was equally impressed by my appetite. The burger was bliss, the salad enormous, and the root beer just as I’d remembered. The tennis was playing on a TV in the back, I flipped through the New York Times, and blended in perfectly with the crowd. For the first time on my entire trip, I felt a little smug, maybe even a little chuffed at how far I’d come. I didn’t feel a lot after the Atlantic; I’ll admit to being excited, but I didn’t have much of a sense of achievement. This felt somewhat different, and I celebrated with another mug of root beer, and three coffees each filled to the brim with those tiny little milks you receive a plate full of.

Buzzing up main street, Atlantic Highlands, I rang the 1-800 number you’re instructed to, regarding Customs & Immigration. Quietly I was rather amazed, that after all the hoopla concerning security, that I’d just sailed into US waters, rowed ashore and eaten American beef without a single person batting an eyelid. I was instructed to visit Port Newark to clear in, and walked back to the boat, wondering where and how to get there. There are two things you can’t survive without in America: A car and a cell phone. Public transport is not exactly as accessible as in Europe, and the Verizon public phones never work, if of course you can find one. Approaching the marina on the walk back, I decided to break my curiosity, and ask a man with his dog sitting on the bench. He looked at me quizzically, and instead of telling me where Port Newark was, barraged me with a long set of questions. I was a little confused, since I was the one supposed to be asking the questions. He then flat out refused to believe my story. As in, ‘I do not believe you sailed across the Atlantic in a 26ft boat, you’re lying’. Rather bemused, I sat down and took out my paperwork. Handing over my British registry certificate, he was still skeptical. He then asked for my passport, and showed me his badge: Of all the people on the planet to ask, I had just found an off-duty Special Customs Agent. I handed over my passport, and eventually he warmed to my story, and we introduced. He offered to drive me into Port Newark in the morning, and showed me his house, so I wouldn’t get lost the next morning.

Back on Constellation, my brother whom I hadn’t seen for over two years, rode a speed-cat over from Manhattan, and on epic row to the ferry dock, the Canadian yacht Mistletoe took pity on my plight, and offered me their motor dinghy. I zoomed over, found my long lost brother, and zoomed back. In the meantime, the lovely crew of Mistletoe put together a bag of beer, pasta, fruit and a huge freshly cooked steak of just-caught stripe bass. Catching up with my brother over beer and bass, I gave the grand tour of Constellation, which really isn’t very grand, and can be done by sitting on any of the bunks: As the Norwegians in the Canaries noted, the great thing about such a tiny boat is, you can sit anywhere while cooking, navigating and almost helming without moving from your seat!

The following morning, I rowed my brother back to the ferry for his return-to-work, and I ran up the street for my lift into Port Newark. My new friend in Atlantic Highlands absolutely took me under his wing, and caught me puffing up the street on his way to find me. We stopped at a roadside store for coffee and a Buffalo Donut, which was so incredible and utterly decadent, all I could mutter was ‘that was an impressive donut’, to which at a later date he could not help but recall in dapper Australian English, my ridiculous comment to his entire family at the dinner table.

Entering the large Customs & Immigration building in Port Newark, it turned out the man behind the desk and my generous host had long standing mutual friends, and so everything ran exceptionally smoothly, the fee waived and my cruising permit extended for a full year. After the quick clear-in procedure, I was dropped off at Newark trainstation to take a quick visit into Manhattan. As I exited the train near the World Trade Centre, I wondered what had just happened. Everything had been so quiet and distant for so long, and I’d just walked into one of the largest and most notorious cities on the planet. Like a stunned mullet, I walked up the streets and finally found a cafe with no one in it, and recuperated in the corner. A few more corners, and I was ready to go home.

I’d vowed to leave the next day for Coney Island, but on my row back, I suddenly remembered I hadn’t really slept properly for 28 days. I got back to the boat and passed out for 14 hours. The next day I swapped out a dirty fuel filter, and was invited for dinner by the Agent, resulting in a warm family dinner, which was nice to be part of after all the solo adventuring.

Photo by Tony Leigh

Motoring into Sheepshead Bay, Coney Island, through fog and across Ambrose channel, the ferris wheels and hotdog billboards not far behind me, a sailing instructor sailed past and offered to let me use the showers at the Miramar sailing club. The invitation was heartily accepted, and I finally had my first real shower since the Canary Islands, months ago. At anchor, a long lost friend and my brother visited again, at which we indulged in the small stock Spanish beer stores hidden in the bilge, and bowls of New England Clam Chowder with marinated mussels, from the famous Clam Bar on Emmons Ave.

I could get used to all this.

nick

Before I digress, I have a lot of people to thank: Thank you so much to Kevin, Jim, Phillip and Adam for sending through paypal funds while I was at sea, they were very nice arrival presents, and I really, really appreciate it. Thank you also to Marty, Adam (again!) and Mark for helping complete my Fundraising efforts. It made all my meandering around the Atlantic ocean worthwhile. Not to mention the appreciation of a local community in Cambodia who will be receiving a bridge to help them traverse their landscape. I’ll be moving those funds around to get it to Oxfam over the next week.

Thank you so much to Tony for watching my back on the weather, as well as sponsoring my voyage with Commanders Weather text and verbal updates. Especially big thanks for his researching my friend Eddie the eddy, who had me in his clutches for three whole days. Tony sent through the eddy centre coordinates and radius, as well as confirming my thoughts on its rotation, so I could get out of the damn thing. Thank you also to Crusty, Adam and Lenseman, as well as all the others that didn’t provide names but sent through regular weather reports.

Thank you to everyone who sent messages. I received over 250 SMS’s via the satellite phone, which was a highlight of the morning when I checked them. Lots of encouragement, jokes, cricket scores, weather and silly comments I unfortunately couldn’t reply to! A lot of people sent messages without a name, so if you did, please email me so I can reply. And a big thanks to Marty for managing the website in my absence. None of this is properly automated, so all those updates were manually put up by Marty after receiving voicemail’s from me. So many people are supporting me, it warms the cockles of my heart; it’s unbelievable.

I will be at the 79th St Boat basin, this Saturday the 28th. If there are any people out there that would like to see my beaten up boat, you’re welcome to come down! I hope to be there about 1pm.

Anchored, Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey. Photos

So, that took a while. 28 days. 2 days less than an Atlantic crossing. Wow.

When I said I thought it would take 21 days, that was worst case scenario. I secretly hoped I would do it in 16-17 days… A friend said they knew someone who did the voyage in 29 days, which I thought was a bit drastic. How wrong I was.

What an epic journey. Early on, I experienced a Tropical Wave (this is what can become a hurricane later in the year) on my second day out of Antigua, blowing through with perilous looking lightening and rough seas. I then spent a good part of one and a half weeks (all together) completely becalmed, or progressing at a snails pace. The NW winds blew smoke from fires in North Carolina all the way to my little boat in the middle of the Bermuda triangle. The fires created a ghost like haze, bright red sunsets, a stunning moon and gave electrical storms a horrifying hue. Constellation and I became the gold at the end of the rainbow, and experienced such amounts of rain, I thought we might have involuntarily become The Ark. A group of six birds followed me all the way to New York from the Caribbean, an enormous Dorado ‘piloted’ us for an full day on the bow, occasionally jumping out of the water like a Dolphin, before teasing the birds floating on my stern, by nipping at their feet. A school of Tuna nearly jumped onboard as I was switching to the storm jib in the very bumpy Gulf Stream, after which I received weather updates from an enormous cruise ship I had last seen in La Coruna.

I conversed with a Challenger 67 recently up from the ice pack in South America, who commented on the ‘bumpy conditions in the Gulf Stream’, to which I replied ‘you should see what it feels like a boat a 3rd your size!’. The boom developed cracks, a reefing line snapped, and every change of wind direction required manually shifting the mainsail from side to side. When at last I thought I was on the home stretch, I became trapped in an eddy that spun me around for three days before there was enough wind to get out of it, and on my last day in its grip, I talked with the Newport-Bermuda race fleet, sailed in the vicinity of American Warship ‘68′ conducting live cannon tests, heard the US coast guard report of an exploded sailing yacht near Rhode Island, a downed helicopter and of vessel on fire (I don’t think they were connected to the warship tests!). Just 140nm out of New York, two squalls blew through with such force, we lay hove-to under a fully reefed mainsail, with windspeeds which may have topped all my other experiences. Entering into New York harbour, we were encapsulated in a fog which reduced visibility to not much further than my bow lights. Through the depths of fog, one could only hear pumping diesel engines, fog horns and gongs. I didn’t see a single ship until I was in Sandy Hook, but I was constantly radioed asking to maintain course to avoid collision. There was never a dull day, I assure you!

Below is my daily log up until day 12.

Day 1

I didn’t want to leave today. I tried to come up with excuses, but already I’m a day late, and everything is ready to. I motored to my favourite part of English harbour to finish packing things away, had my last Caribbean swim and pulled the dinghy on deck. This was the worst part of the day - Worse than pulling up the anchor. The dinghy is your last connection with land. I stowed it, and set the mainsail, to the applaud of a Catamaran full of Frenchmen. They asked where I was going next, and I shouted “New York City!”, which was exciting to hear myself say out loud. They all clapped and and I bowed, before hauling the Genoa and exiting the harbour. Rounding the bottom of Antigua, I scared myself to death, with the crystal clear waters becoming “shallow”, suddenly the bottom becoming visible. I thought I was about to hit a reef, but then realised the water was still over 30feet deep. I double checked my chart and continued on. A tanker from Venezuela came a little to close as I set my course North, after which I lay in my bunk, thinking about the long trip ahead.

Day 2

At 2am the reported Tropical Wave arrived. I tried to use this as an excuse not to leave, however it was a good opportunity to use the 40kts+ of windspeed to make good progress. An incredibly dark and ominous formation approached from the stern, and I put a reef in the mainsail quicksmart. In the distance I saw lightning, and worried about not having proper grounding equipment. I ended up reefing all the way down to the 3rd reef, leaving the jib up for speed. Within three hours it had gone, so I shook out the reefs, only to have a squall appear from nowhere 20 minutes later. I reefed back down, and by the time all this was over, the sun started to rise, and I’d hardly slept. The swell has remained from the nights weather, and we’re bumping along.

Day 3

A gentle breeze propels us at a steady 4.5kts. I relish in our current rate of progress, but try not to get too excited, knowing the calms will come the further north I go. As Street says, calms are “A rule not an exception!”. With only ten litres of fuel on board, I’ll be at the mercy of wind statistics. The pilot chart indicates I’ll be going through a belt of latitude which has a 15% chance of calms within any given month. I started fishing today in earnest, inspired by the pictures of what the Kon-Tiki expedition caught. And I’m hungry for something healthy, as all I have on board (thanks to the really, really bad and really really expensive supermarket in Antigua) is 20 packets of Ramen noodles, a bunch of plain pasta, bags of rice, four bags of flour, six packets of cookies and a bottle of chilli sauce. As a backup I have my bags of Gofi, which I bought in Las Palmas. Basically it’s ground cereals, like flour, but very healthy. I hope I don’t get down to that…

Day 4

Lots of squally activity overnight. The wind and rain constantly hammered through for 15 minutes, and then we’d be becalmed for another 20, the sails banging around overhead, windless. The breeze would then pick up again, and I’d have to reset Windy the Windpilot, and attempt to sleep. This continued right on until daybreak, however now things seem to have stabilised (it’s 06:20). I made plaincakes (they’re like pancakes, but with just flour and water), and listened to Crowded House. A tanker headed for Rotterdam skirted by my bow, and I had a conversation with the watch keeper. He was Bulgarian, and invited me to sail in the black sea! He also said the weather was fine, with a stable high pressure system overhead. He also said he couldn’t see me on radar.

Day 5

I found a flying fish on deck (on my Atlantic crossing it was covered…) and tried to use it as bait, but the fish are too smart around these parts. The wind has decreased, but we’re still doing a pleasant 3.5kts. I made plaincakes again, and wondered what to do with the day. Tradewind clouds are banked on the eastern horizon, with lofty cirrostratus formations overhead. I was reading Miles Smeeton and listening to my MP3 player, but it’s just cut out for the third time, and I sincerely hope it l lasts to NYC - I’ll go mad without music… I’ll be stuck with Christian Radio on shortwave. The cabin is sweltering by 10am, and I dump water over the boat in an attempt to keep it cool, however this pen is still slippery with sweat. It may only be the 5th day, and while we are slowing down as the Trades drop out, this is the best sailing I’ve done. I’m very happy about everything; you could take away the land I wouldn’t be too displeased (until my cookies ran out, of course). At 17:40 sailing yacht ‘Eternity’, under the American ensign sailed past - We spoke briefly, she was on route to Europe via Bermuda/Azores. After she sailed past, the wind picked up for the night, and we’re doing a perfect 4kts.

Day 6

For the first time, maybe in my life, I don’t want to be doing anything else: What’s here, what’s now, is finally enough. And it’s funny, because what’s around me is on the one hand, a complete void, yet this nothingness is rich in everything. As if nothing were everything, and vice versa. It’s taken nearly 11,000km’s and over 250 days en route for this feeling to arise, and I think it was worth every terrifying, frustrating and difficult moment (of which there were many)t. I know this won’t last; it’s a passing occurrence, but a worthy one no less.

Day 7

I was kept up all night running to and from my bed to the cockpit, as a series of squalls blew through, rocketing us forward, and then spitting us out without a lick of wind. I didn’t really feel like sleeping last night anyway, so I didn’t mind so much being awake. I tried to read for a while, and to coerce a few miles out of the ever-lessening wind. We’re almost back up to 27degrees north, which is in line with the Canary Islands, the point of departure for my Atlantic crossing. Here is where the Trades begin to disappear, and we approach the ‘variable zone’. It’s still very much enjoyable out here, however I do look forward to living in a big city again. I haven’t seen a movie since August of last year, and poor Constellation needs some dedicated tending to. What an incredible journey for a nearly stock-standard boat from 1972. Jeremy Rogers certainly built an exceptional little boat. There is so little wind right now, we’re doing 2kts, sometimes less. I won’t motor, and couldn’t even if I wanted. The wind is veering slowly to the south west, which is nice because it cools the cabin, and makes the day much more bearable. It’s hard to keep the sails filled at this angle, so we are heading more north towards Bermuda than New York.

Day 8

Very light and contrary winds. Over the past 18hrs we’ve only done 40nm. I am working hard to keep us moving, bu there si only so much I can do. I can hear the swish of Sargasso seaweed (?), as Constellation creeps over it. From our current position, it’s 290nm to Bermuda, and 890nm to new York The sea has lost some of its warmth; I suspect it will also begin to lose its incredible shade of blue soon as well. By mid-morning, torrents of rain screamed down from the low clouds, reducing visibility to a few hundred metres. It created the most amazing sound against the sea, and produced more rain than I’ve ever seen in my life. I jumped outside with a bar of soap, and had an impromptu shower, filling bucket after bucket from the scuppers or the dripping boom. The rain was cold, and I shivered outside waiting for the sun to return and dry me out. As I waited, a great sign of biblical proportions appeared before my eyes: With a light drizzle, the sun penetrated the grey, and created a rainbow, which through the wonders of optics and illusion, ventured right to the very port side of Constellation: The little red sloop and I, in the heart of the Bermuda triangle, had seemingly become the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow! I’ve never witnessed anything like that before.

As the storm cleared, I tried to get Constellation going again. While I was adjusting the boom, I noticed two cracks. I moved the mainsheet to the end of the boom, and have been running it off of cleats on the port and starboard side, near the pulpit. With every tack, or every change in the mainsail, I have to manually swap over the sheet, and also be very careful not to encourage the crack any further… I was scared of the damage, and spent two days with a reefed mainsail. It seemed the cracks were ’stable’, and went back to full sail whenever needed.

Day 9

Lots of electrical activity last night - I managed to cobble together enough parts to ground both backstays to Windy the Windpilot. I doubt grounding has any real effect - If you’re hit, I think that’s it. At around 2am, winds steadied, and checks throughout the night had us doing a good 4.5kts. This morning we’re still maintaining our speed, which has made my day. There is nothing worse than dribbling along at 1.5kts with the sailings flogging overhead. Our course is directly to Bermuda, with 200nm to go. I have no intention of stopping, but I’m sailing in the vicinity because of the wind direction, and also because it is quicker for me to hop in if I need to. I’ll get a weather update tomorrow, and then if I must, I’ll stop, but I really don’t want to. I can feel it getting ever so slightly cooler in the evenings. For the first time in what could be months, I might have to start wearing pants!

Day 10

The foresail woke me up, banging around, and I looked out of the port window to see were were utterly becalmed. After yesterdays run, I thought we’d latched onto some reasonably steady wind, but apparently that was only wishful thinking. We’re now 135nm from bermuda - That’s a good 24 hour run for us… However it really just seems to be the carrot on the end of the stick, forever just in front of me: And we’re not even stopping there! As New York is the goal, I can’t stop thinking about what on earth I’m going to do when I get there. Since the Canary Islands, NY has been my port of rest, yet I don’t want to stop…. I have to keep going! But to where!? Canada? For the past 9hrs, we’ve been doing less than 2kts; I’ve been glancing at the clock only to see 45mins has past, and it’s too hot to read. Ransacking the boat for something nice to eat yields absolutely nothing, except a packet of raisins from Lisbon. Some hours I want to go into Bermuda just to get a bar of chocolate. I wish I had a ’secret’ stash onboard.

Day 11

I called Commanders Weather today, and the outlook is not so great. Very little wind, and what little wind there is, will be coming from the north west (where I need to go). With this news, I began motoring to Bermuda. After four hours, I realised how futile it was, for a 10hp engine to be motoring in the open ocean: It’s just not enough power to make any headway. I killed the motor and scrapped Bermuda off the plan. In the afternoon a silly bird grabbed my trolling line, and I had to haul it in, and unhook it. Thankfully it was ok, and the hook hadn’t drawn blood, rather the bird was just tangled.

Day 12

I’m pointing directly into a choppy swell, doing 1.5kts. The wind is from the north, veering north east, and I’m sailing away from Bermuda. I really don’t want to stop. It’s 21:00 now, and while we’re still slamming, I can almost get Constellation on a decent tack towards NY. I hope on Monday we get some west wind, or I can get enough latitude to find these mysterious WSW winds which are supposed to frequent the area… Commanders reports they won’t start until 35deg north!

nick.

(Note: I am currently at sea, and there will be no blog posts until New York. Positions and messages will however be updated, and can be viewed on the new dedicated Latest Updates page, or from the homepage. You can now send me an SMS if you feel like it from the SMS page.)

Wow, after less than a month in the Antilles, I’m heading back into higher latitudes, to New York City! It’s a long voyage, of 1552nm in a direct line from Antigua, which is over half my Atlantic crossing, a trip I seemingly just completed yesterday. With the fluky winds predicted, I expect it to also take nearly as long as my Atlantic voyage, at roughly 21 days. I’m carrying very limited diesel due to cost, so this leg will be under 99% pure sail.

Special thanks to my new American friends David and Tony - David has been ‘rooting for me’ (see, I’m American already!) in New York, making contacts and giving a lot of moral support. Tony has generously sponsored this part of my trip with Commanders Weather forecasting to keep me safe, and as of today the weather looks good, but rather light on the winds. Better too little wind than too much though, right? Thanks guys, see you soon!

As I have decided to skip Bermuda (unless directed that way due to bad weather or some other reason) and go non-stop, this meets the criteria for my fundraising efforts, which I vowed to attempt on all legs over 1000nm. On my Atlantic voyage I attempted to raise $675 to build bridges in Cambodia, however I was just $275 short of my target. I would like to resurrect that goal, and raise the remaining money on this part of my trip.

I would also like to raise awareness for Oceanswatch, an organisation that “in close co-operation with the world’s yachting and diving communities, undertakes marine conservation projects and offers humanitarian aid to coastal communities in developing countries.” I’d like to raise awareness for Oceanswatch for two reasons: Firstly, because it’s a wonderful cause (that’s fairly obvious), and secondly, because another historic Contessa 26 voyage is about to begin in the Atlantic Ocean by Stéphane Tremblay of Canada. From the beginning of his Peaceful Journey project, Stéphane has been supporting Oceanswatch, and I very much liked the idea of two Contessa’s battling it out in the Atlantic to support such a wonderful cause together. I therefore urge you to take a look at the Oceanswatch website, and think about donating or becoming a member. Bon voyage Stéphane, safe (peaceful)journey, and see you in the Pacific!

That’s it from us and the beautiful Caribbean!

nick.

After spending a few days in and around the muddy mangrove area of English harbour, I went on a long walk through some fenced off areas across the lagoon, got kicked out of some hotel grounds by security, and found the most beautiful decrepit house in the world:

I’ve put an offer in for $60 American dollars - They tell me the deal is pending…!

Constellation is that tiny boat you can see through the trees.

After my walk, I found a beautiful little beach:

I sat down for a few hours, and read Thor Heyerdahl’s wonderful Kon-tiki. I felt terribly guilty just sitting there on the white sand when Constellation was in need of preparation, however those feelings soon departed, as I began the construction of a raft out of flotsam and let it drift away in the bay.

Walking back, I wondered why I wasn’t anchored over on the other side of English harbour, where I could go swimming everyday. I’m told Lord Nelson woke up every morning, and promptly had six buckets of water thrown over him, for his ‘daily hygiene routine’. After that he drank a quart of goats milk, and then complained about the mosquitos of the previous night, loudly exclaiming “damn this infernal hole!”, so the entire harbour could hear. However, I’m sure as the day went by, even Lord Nelson must have grown to appreciate his surroundings again. So I decided for my hygiene routine (and, I must admit, I haven’t had a proper shower since Las Palmas in Gran Canaria, circa the 26th of March) - The closest I’ve come (under strict and self-imposed sweet water conservation rules) is the dumping of 2 litres squarely over my head - A mere three times since that fateful day in March. So, while I couldn’t afford, nor find a personal hygiene assistant, what I needed was a daily swim. I guess that explains why Jack left so quickly… Here is my public apology!

Really, that’s the colour of the water. Promise.

I edged up as close as I could to the beach, next to this beautiful Cornish Trader, owned by ex-merchant seaman Peter, from the white cliffs of Dover:

I swam over and circled his boat to check it out, thinking it looked like a beefed up Cornish Crabber, which I guess is exactly what it turned out to be. Built in 1979, Peter bought ‘Rainbow’ brand new, and upon asking when he crossed the Atlantic, he looked at me sheepishly and said ‘1989′. Ha! He’s been sailing up and down these islands and the East coast of America ever since. I think he was rather excited to have met an Australian, and kept mentioning the cricket (which was currently playing on his TV in the cabin). Unfortunately when it comes to popular sports, I know very little. He kept mentioning players and cricket grounds, and I nodded agreeably with everything he said, blissfully ignorant of how good a player Brian Lara really was.

As we sat drinking tea, an enormous Catamaran with fifty drunken tourists came speeding up to our private paradise, as if attempting to play ‘chicken’ with our stationary boats. It proceeded to beach itself in the sand, and let loose it’s store of pasty white tourists into the bay. After the noisy tourists left, a turtle swam by the boat, with what must have been fifty years of growth on its back. Someone should introduce him to International Antifoul.

During my daily hygiene routine, with a set of goggles on, I came across a pile of chain underneath my boat. I spent 20 minutes diving down to find each end of it, thinking it was probably a mooring. I was pleasantly suprised to find it had two stainless steel shackles on the end of it, and wasn’t attached to anything! It’s diameter was enormous, and weighed a ton - Constellation could probably anchor off the chain alone, with nothing on the other end! Getting the dinghy over, I hauled it up, to the suspicious eyes of the boats around me, who I’m quite certain thought I was a mooring thief. Not wanting to be labeled ‘The Great Ground Tackle Pirate of English Harbour’ (or rather, wanting to named exactly that, but afraid of its consequences), I dropped the chain and got back to my boat. At dusk I dived down and attached one end underwater to my existing chain, and will pull up my anchor when I leave, quite innocent of the fact that there is a loose 12mm length of chain attached to it. So, while I was worried about my lack of chain (remember, 35ft was all I could afford, at $2.76 a foot, duty free), I now feel confident Constellation could sit rock solid in full hurricane strength winds, and I could sit onboard cooking pasta, oblivious to the carnage and uprooted trees being flung past my port window.

I previously mentioned my camera had died on the Atlantic, which it had (it’s alive again after I hard rest it). I managed to take a few photos, and found this video looking to the stern of Constellation. Other than the footage on the video camera, it’s all I have, and sorry for not making it pretty or editing it - But you get an idea of what it’s like out there:

While this has all been going on, I’ve been chipping away at the tasks that need to be done on Constellation, and also spending a lot of time collecting information for my trip up to New York. I’ve been assisted greatly by several Americans and Canadians, and now feel much more confident about what I’m doing and where I’m going. Not having any almanacs or cruising books on the area, I was really at a loss of what to do - I felt grossly underprepared. Nevertheless, I now have an enormous amount of information, from tidal data, charts, and first hand information and advice for my trip into New York harbour. I’ll detail things a bit more in the post I make before setting sail. I said I was going on the weekend, but heck, can I have one more day in paradise before I break back into 40 degree latitudes? I think so.

Monday it is.

nick.

P.S Before I forget, I haven’t blown the money I raised over the Atlantic on electric winches or rum parties - Jack had the idea of attempting to raise the remaining $275 to buy a full bridge with my North American voyage of 1552nm. So that’s what I’m going to do - The $400 already raised is in a separate savings account with a rum lock on it. A ‘rum lock’ is a special option now offered by Lloyds TSB to poor sailors, smugglers and misfits.

P.P.S Thanks to everyone on the subscription list that responded to my ’spamming’ in order to test that things were working again. If you’re on the subscribe list, and are reading this but didn’t receive a notification… Please let me know.

Once again, Jack flew in from Berlin to St Lucia via Miami, to continue filming, and of course to use the work angle as a great excuse to fly closer to the equator, where the water is a blue like no other, and the mangoes are handmade in heaven. I was most happy to see a familiar face after the Atlantic, as admittedly I’d had a few small pangs of loneliness once I made landfall. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: Sailing alone is not lonely, but walking through crowded streets and watching people with their friends and family in familiar surroundings is.

We both felt ceaselessly hassled in Rodney Bay, where one step onto land seemed to attract a taxi from nowhere, or attempts to sell ‘medicinal drugs’ (’hey mon, they call me the doctor!’). Unfortunately the poverty in this part of the world can be extreme, and one mustn’t forget that amongst the white beaches, leafy palms and comparatively meaningless endeavors like crossing oceans to find paradise, are conversely the everyday surroundings of the poorest of people, netting for dinner in shallow waters, or selling hats woven from coconut leaves to white tourists to feed families. The lines of trust also feel blurred, as you have to develop a new sense of authenticity to work out whether the fruit man rowing up to your boat on a broken surfboard, to sell you avocados who exclaims ‘welcome to paradise’, is just playing up for the stupid guy in the sailing boat, or whether he’s genuine. I still haven’t worked out the formulae, and am probably overanalysing the situation, when what I really should be doing is just getting back to watching the kids dive off the pier, racing each other back to shore, or swimming in the water myself.

Eventually I received an email notifying me that my Australian passport with US visa was waiting for me at the DHL Castries office, and we ventured into town. Before I continue, I’d just like to mention as a side note, that I’m screaming through the entire Antilles region because of DHL and customs Madrid: Their bureaucracy stalled me in the Canaries for two months, which was time set aside to explore this region further… It greatly disappoints me, and seeing the DHL lettering in Castries set off a wave boiling blood, as I walked past another stall selling johnny cakes and fried chicken, with the situation really dawning on me as to how much I was missing because of the entire debacle. That all being said, this blog post is being powered by the generous sponsorship from Andre & Intertoys, with each electron coming at you directly from the Caribbean sun, via 86watts of solar panels hanging off the boat, so not all is lost.

As Jack took a street shot in Castries, a man roughly my age approached, with a tiger tattooed on the top of his hand, dark sunglasses, wearing a bandanna and a NYC badged baseball cap. At first Jack and I looked at each other, as if exclaiming ‘do we run or tell this guy we don’t want to buy anything’, however we became somewhat perplexed when he took a genuine interest in the film, and seemed to exude an air uncommon knowledge on the topic. This street corner meeting turned out to be one of the most surreal experiences of my land-based voyages: We’d ended up crossing paths with a highly intelligent music producer and hip-hop artist, who took as on a whirlwind tour through Castries. The natural talent of a rap singer is an innate sense of urban poetry, so as we walked, this man spun off what seemed like an endless barrage of quirky facts, theories and odd word groupings, introducing us to his aunt selling Guyanian gold, his rasta friend selling everything, and a man owning a bizarre medicine premises called ‘The French Shop’, which sold magic powders and ancient tins of secret crushed herbs. Tiny glass bottles with labels which looked hot off the press circa 1950 crowded the shelves, another full of aerosols containing love potions and spray on good luck. Jack was only mentioning mountain voodoo the day before, and here we were, possibly at the source!

Our trip through Castries peaked as we became part of an elaborate prank at the St Lucian culture centre. As our man explained a recent Taiwanese donation to the centre, designed to help fund local cultural works, and it’s mysterious disappearance, we embarked on a mock documentary, posing as a BBC camera crew to shake things up. Jack and I were soon quizzed for business cards, however the quick thinking music producer evaded our discovery, by exclaiming that no one could talk to us since we were under signed contract! So standing there on the hill in the cultural centre, Jack and I looked at each other wondering whether we’d fallen into a black hole at The French Shop, or whether our realities had just morphed onto the set of a Richard Linklater film. Either way, Jack’s tape kept rolling, as we proceeded through higher meditations and conspiracy theories at an alarming rate, somewhat dumbfounded by this unique human discovery we’d made on the corner street of a ghetto in Castries, St Lucia.

St Lucia on the whole was rather weird, and I would suggest that sailors get away from Rodney Bay, and check out the more ‘real’ parts of the region. Too soon it was time to leave, charts were purchased, and Martinique was scratched off the list of islands to visit: I started to cull islands because charts were too expensive… Moving on directly to Dominica, winds were light and fluky, and I was struggling to make many miles. Eventually I made an anchorage that wasn’t much of an anchorage at all, with an odd NW wind blowing, I ended up having to take a buoy. I snuck into town without clearing customs because they were closed, and walked up the street amongst goats and chickens, purchasing the worlds greatest mangoes, and finding a hidden bakery with an assortment of strange flour-based goods. The next day strange winds were once again encountered, and I only made it to Portsmouth, at the northern end of Dominica, which was by no means a disappointment. Again, missing customs opening times, I snuck ashore in the dinghy, and walked up the street into town, as groups of men built like tanks hung out on windowsills and in trucks, as I dawdled along in board shorts and a red tshirt, feeling well out of place, and quietly wondering whether I was going to be beaten up for looking like the stupidest tourist in town.

Dominica

Dominica

Fortunately I survived Portsmouth, my fears entirely unfounded, as the sun set over palm trees walking along the beach, a bag of un-ripe avocados and passion fruits in my hand, wondering whether this entire experience was real or not. Hauling up anchor in the morning, the wind swung around to a light easterly, and Constellation finally barreled across the stretch of sea between Dominica and Guadeloupe, where the winds howled, averaging six knots in the day-glo blue Atlantic. Again, general strangeness was encountered in the lee of the island, and a 2kt current pushed us back to a small anchorage near Pigeon Island, complete with a lighthouse that looked as if it had been transported directly from Brittany, in France. A live band played onshore, pasta was cooked, and the following day 13nm was battled in continuing flukiness until the clear waters between Guadeloupe and Antigua were found, at which point Constellation took off like frightened racehorse all the way to the gorgeous English Harbour, Antigua. The sun had just set, with a full moon on the starboard quarter as August the mighty Yanmar powered us through the headlands into a natural harbour, fenced in with mangroves, full of megayachts and buildings of English charm. One can almost smell the hot tar and see the men working in overheating sail lofts from two hundred years ago, as much effort has been put into maintaining the harbour to an amazingly original state. Waking up, I’m greeted by a polished classic ketch from Bristol on the port side, and the Admirals Inn on the starboard side, surrounded by green flora and the morning calls of roosters hidden amongst the brush.

Guadeloupe

Guadeloupe

As wonderful and romantic as all this may sound, the seasons are rolling by, and I’m going north, to New York, as per my plan from some months ago. I really have no idea how things will work out once I arrive up there, but it’s always best to just keep going. It’s when you stop that the momentum is lost, and I feel that there will be some good opportunities, as well as friends and family I simply can’t wait to see, back in higher latitudes.

I’ve sketched an idea in my head that I’ll leave this weekend, either for Bermuda, or direct to New York. The advantage of a Bermuda stop is to wait for a good quality forecast for the remainder of the journey into New York, however I really am wanting to get there rather quickly… Antigua is an expensive region to be provisioning in, and don’t forget the voyage to New York is over half of another Atlantic crossing… It’s no walk in the park, and again, I’m low on funds, having some big problems with a bill from Germany which had been festering for an entire year, and resulted in an incredible outlay of money. I’ve rested this morning, and spent an hour in customs, so it’s time to start putting together a provision list, and also a list of jobs on Constellation before we depart.

moby nick.