And I thought Biscay was big! Over the last seven days, I’ve sailed 200metres… Yes, I’m still in La Coruna. Why? Well, when I say I’ve run out of money, I don’t lie. But firstly, thank you to Paul & Lisa, from the Swedish sailing vessel Eekaros, currently docked in Amsterdam. They’re going around the world, and currently saving for a larger boat. Their current one isn’t that much bigger than mine, and they’re totaling three persons onboard (including the kitten)! I was looked after like family while in Holland by these lovely sailors, and they’ve assisted me again with some funds to keep me eating until my first paycheck. Here is a picture of us, with me wearing the same jumper I’ve had on since I left Australia, in 2006!

Monnikendam, Holland

Yes, I know the fenders are down. The engine failed, I wasn’t suppsed to be sailing…

Thanks guys!

A few days after arriving here, by great coincidence, someone I previously worked for via the web emailed with a job. So, being in a fortunate position where work is achievable if I just have an Internet connection, I’m staying here for a month to refill the boat with beans & diesel. And make repairs… I don’t earn a lot (seriously, working in a bar pays better) but if it means I can keep sailing, then I’ll do anything.

I’ve been here for seven days now, and it’s been fantastic. I’ve met really nice liveaboards, had a chance to recover from my sleepless Biscay crossing, and La Coruna is an interestingly transient place. There are ships from Norway, America, and even Japan coming through, and all going places far away. You can tell the boats that have made it this far, are not the day cruisers normally encountered when out sailing. The boats here have crossed the Atlantic, are just about to, or are heading off to other distant places. This also means that a lot of people are arriving from Biscay, all with stories of fighting FORCE 10 CONDITIONS. I’m well aware Biscay is more than capable of throwing up such harrowing storms, but I must admit, I’ve been taking Force reports with a grain of salt, and automatically reducing them by 3 points. It’s a little bit like estimating wave heights at sea - If you think the swell is six metres, the true height is half. I’ve been guilty of it myself, but I blame horizon physics, a secret branch of a science I just invented.

It is also really exciting that I’ve been able to get a little work while in La Coruna, because this means that with about 75% probability (I’ve just calculated that on a large computer), I will actually be making my own Atlantic crossing by the end of the year, or, at the very beginning of the next. This is really amazing, because I never thought I would be able to achieve it so soon - Every port I’ve arrived in, I’ve told the locals that I can’t continue, and that I’ll have to ‘winter’. And every time, something crops up that allows me to just move a little bit further. Also, having done with Biscay, I can relax for a little bit without fearing the weather too much. Biscay was a massive hurdle for the logistics of the trip, however now I can almost day hop down to Lisbon, wait for another good forecast, and go direct to Madeira.

I will probably wait in Madeira, or nearby for another few weeks, possibly I can even work again to make further repairs, and hopefully arrive in the Caribbean with more than $14 and six overdrawn accounts. So far, repairs scheduled for La Coruna, involve replacing all the chain plates for the standing rigging, installing an electronic bilge pump, replacing the mainswitch (again) and generally tidying up.

Other than that, my stay here will mostly involve being cabin bound with my laptop, watching the pilot vessels come in and out of the marina.

nick.

After my disappointment at the thought of Biscay, and not knowing what to do, I moved on from L’Aber Wrac’h the next day to Camaret, to wait for a Biscay window. This annoying piece of water has to be crossed somehow, and after some encouragement and a day to think about my options, I decided I had to go.

With the assistance of the professional weather routers Commandersweather searching for a weather window, a time was identified for a possible cross today - But upon further analysis yesterday, the passage deemed too risky - Swell of 8ft+ and winds of 30kts. I was somewhat disappointed, as I was ready to go… I had spent the previous few days going over Constellation, refuelling, and buying provisions, only to still be sitting in the harbour - At least I have some nice food for the next week! I really wanted to pop up in Spain with this post, but there you have it, I’m under the control of a fickle weather beast.

Re-packing the entire boat

Thankfully I did a good check of the boat, as I found an inner stay (one of the wires holding the mast up) had pulled through a chain plate on the deck. The plate had rusted on the inside and snapped. With the helpful assistance of a new friend in the marina, the plate holes were re-drilled, and a new U-Bolt was bolted in with an oversized stainless back plate on the underside of the deck. Not only that, but said friends cooked me one of my first real meals in months - In fact, the day before my scheduled departure, I was spoilt with more home cooked food, having met a local British couple who live in Brittany. They drove me around to supermarkets so I didn’t have to walk everywhere, and then took me home for a cooked lunch! I began to think ‘two of the best meals in more months than I can remember in one day, with a big crossing the following - This is either reward for making the decision to cross, or the last supper!’.

So today, I think I’ll move on down the coast, and wait on a new window. The forecasters think there could be something coming up next week, so I’ll keep exploring the coastline and see how I go. If I slowly make my way down towards La Rochelle, and if no windows open up, I guess I can investigate the Canal Du Midi which will take me through to the Mediterranean - However I suspect parts of it will be closed over the next two months, which may make that option impassable. I’m basically completely out of money now too, so I’ll hang out for another week, see what the weather is doing, cross if I can, or keep moving to La Rochelle, where I may be forced to park Constellation and seek work ASAP. If I can get a desk and an internet connection somewhere, I may be able to generate some money and move Constellation later on.

Any cheap marinas with free high speed WIFI between Camaret and La Rochelle?

nick.

I sit here, in a quaint little pub in L’Aber Wrac’h, France by the sea. This area of France is absolutely beautiful. I could live here, in a little white-washed hut on a stone island perhaps. Tending to the bees or working as a fisherman.

But alas, it will not be so, for I have itchy feet and live on a boat.

The trip from Cherbourg has been mostly good. I sailed through the infamous Race of Alderney. I was hesitant as always about areas people warn me about. I was however somewhat disappointed when I didn’t sink or get washed up on rocks (not really), as the Race was a piece of cake, and I sailed through at 7knots. I was an hour early, being silly and forgetting about the summer time addition (or was it subtraction…?).

I continued on to the island of Guernsey.

I stayed a night in the marina, just to refuel and spend some time in the town. The marina was expensive… 14pounds for my little boat - Luckily I still had some change left over from my stop in Dover. I moved at the next tide to Havelet Bay to anchor. I saw a bunch of private buoys, and seeing no one was using them, I used one for the night, bouncing about all night like mad. I always get nervous using the anchor, my dreams permeated with waking up beached like a whale, local conservation groups standing around and patting me down with wet towels, ushering me back to the sea.

I moved on the morning, deciding to sail to Lezardrieux instead of direct to L’Aber Wrac’h which was the initial plan. There was no wind, and I just didn’t feel like motoring for however many hours it was going to be. I made the decision to change course probably a little late in the tide, so I ended up entering Lezardrieux in the dark. So this is where the bad part of the last week started - My GPS has been playing up - It just turns itself off all the time. I kept smacking it back to life, but it’s the only one I have, and I was pretty nervous about it not coming back online when I needed it. So as the fog decended, what vital piece of equipment decided to fail? The GPS. I’d already taken it apart to look for loose connections, but all I could see was a complicated circuit board. It was stupid only having one GPS onboard, but it was really the last thing I thought would stop working, and I don’t have the money to have spares.

The entrance into Lezardrieux is not really difficult in the day, because you can see all the rocks, and it’s well marked. Remember, this part of France is Brittany - You know, the area where all the lighthouse photos come from - The lighthouses with the giant 1000ft waves crashing over the top, and a quote underneath saying ‘Follow your own lighthouse’ or something equally stupid. Or sometimes you seen these lighthouse posters in the offices of accountants. Anyway, you get the point - It’s dangerous to navigate in, there are many obstacles (rocks) and boats don’t like hard surfaces.

So the GPS turns off, and I hit it to bring it back. Nothing. Then I hit it again, and screamed at it. Nothing. Then I curse it, remove the batteries, replace them with new ones, put it back together, and it still doesn’t work. So I smack it again, hove-to at the entrance (stall the boat) and dismantle it again. Put it back together. Still not working. The fog is still there, and the sun hasn’t come up (9hours to go). Furious, I regretfully (only regretfully because it’s polluting) I hurl the thing into the sea… That GPS was a 21st birthday present from a good friend, and now it is at the bottom of the entrance of Lezardrieux, and I’m still stuck. So I navigate under compass bearings from my last known position. Somehow, I manage to get up the entrance into the river and find a private mooring buoy for the night. I was really angry, but the area was so still and quiet. As soon as I turned the engine off, my worries dissipated, and I wondered what the area was like I had just found myself in. The incessant movement of the ocean can be really grating, and all of a sudden, everything was utterly still.

Waking in the morning, I was still surrounded by fog. I waited for a few hours, and slowly the wind and sun sent it away to another port. I wasn’t disappointed by where I’d landed. Lezardrieux is really nice.

It was a Sunday, and the port capitaine was away, so I moored up for the day and met some incredibly nice French sailors, who gave me their boat food supplies as presents, fed me pizza, wine and Apple liqueur. I was a little wary of the French after being in Calais and Cherbourg, but things have changed dramatically since getting to Brittany. I now only have praise.

I spent the afternoon walking around and eating Oysters. I recommend future sailors to take a bottle of champagne, a knife and a lemon down to the waters edge. I didn’t have the champagne or a lemon, but I was quite content.

When dusk came, I decided to move while there was still light and find another buoy for the night. The tide was ripping, but I really wanted light. I pushed off and put a new scratch in my paintwork along the side of Constellation. Poor boat, having to put up with me. After another quiet night, I woke up to catch the tide, and motored out.

Or, as was my plan. That’s when I found a dead battery. How was it possible, I thought? I have two batteries, so it wasn’t too much of a problem, but it begs some questions. Why was it not charged? Maybe my $5,000 solar array wasn’t functioning (I don’t have one.)? Oh, I know, the alternator is broken! How wonderful! I started up and sailed to Trebeurden without a working alternator or a GPS. I replaced the GPS at some ridiculous local price, and left the alternator for another day.

I moved onto L’Aber Wrac’h, and along the way, there was a great choppy swell. It was the worst leg of my journey so far. Even worse than my North Sea adventures. I was absolutely sick, throwing up over the side, not able to eat the entire day. I don’t quite know why I was so sick (and don’t say it was the Oysters) but I was, and my sea sickness medication was useless. I just sat in the cockpit and let the windvane steer, trying to think happy thoughts. The forecast did not indicate such swell, but there were breaking waves and deep caverns for Constellation to contend with. Weird.

The GPS and alternator were at such great expense, I don’t know how to continue this season, or whether I should right now. The Bay of Biscay scares me, it’s the wrong time of year, and what’s on the other side? Let’s be realistic, there is not going to be a heroic Atlantic crossing this season. It’s just not going to happen, I’ve missed it. I left Holland under the pretense that maybe something would crop up along the way (like, I might win the lottery, even though I don’t buy tickets) or a particular sponsor might see I was ‘for real’ and cough up. Ha!

So I’m just going to hang out here for a few days and think about my options. If I do cross, what are my realistic work opportunities? If any? Maybe I should sail back to Guernsey and get a suit and tie job for the winter? Get cashed up and give Constellation gilded bow? Or maybe I should buy a lottery ticket and continue on anyway? It seems pretty disappointing to ‘winter’ already. But this so called ‘reality’ is catching up with me, fast.

Back to my hut, to tend to the bees,

nick.

Apologies for the lack of updates… I’ve been taking advantage of the perfect weather to sail as far as possible!

From Bruinisse, I sailed back through inland waterways and canals to the beginning of this Dutch adventure, to Vlissingen (Flushing). It was surreal moving back through the waters I’d already come through in such different conditions. So much of it was already unrecognizable - The weather was horrible, and I was glad to have made the decision to make progress inside Holland, as opposed to outside of it through the North Sea.

Dutch barge in the Verse Meer

In Vlissingen I waited a several days for an incoming weather window, which turned out to be 7 days of perfect conditions. Possibly a little disappointing on the wind front, blowing only F2/F3 at best, however who was I to complain, given that it’s Autumn already, and as far as I’m concerned, any weather I can be at sea is good weather.

The Belgian courtesy flag seemed to only be flown just enough to flap in the wind a handful of times - Progress was quick, through odd misty conditions to France.

Fog off of Belgium

Fog clearing

The only thing of any real note was the spotting of what appeared to be a radio controlled boat, well offshore. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks, but I’m quite certain a steel object with an antenna motored past my bow on it’s own steam, and was not in any way anchored.

Weird.

I wasn’t sure what it was, but I sailed quite close to check it out, and I still don’t really know what I saw. Post a comment if you do!

From Belgium I sailed towards my first visit to France, directly to Calais. For such a major port, the marina was a little disappointing, considering it was costly and entry was restricted by a tidal lock. Nevertheless, I explored the town, did some shopping, and struggled everywhere because unlike Holland, few people speak English, and my French doesn’t go much past ‘Merci’, ‘Bonjour’ and ‘Bon voyage’.

Tidal lock entry into Calais, France

After a night in Calais, and realising there was no tax-free Diesel, I decided to sail back to England for a refuelling stop. Due to lock, I waited around until 6:30pm to exit, resulting in a night crossing of Dover straight. There was little if any wind, so I motored across on a beautiful starry night. I think only other sailors will know what I mean, when I say that there is something so poetic and hypnotising about gazing up, and watching the sails and tip of the mast bounce against a ceiling of stars.

Back in England, I was awarded English prices, paying 25euros for a single night. It was disappointing after being in Holland, where my boat costs 7euros, often with free WIFI covering the marina. But all good things come at a price, and at long last, I had propane onboard - I looked everywhere for a liquid stove to replace my ongoing gas issues, but alas they’re either way too expensive, or just plain hard to find. So I took on board 8kgs of gas, which I think will be enough for the next several months, at which point I’ll have to deal with the issue again - I don’t think sailing back to England will be sustainable method of cooking in the future. Warm pasta on board Constellation was the best thing in many weeks. If there is anything to be gained from my tea-candle cooking methods, it’s that I have a new and everlasting appreciation for warm food and coffee.

In Dover, I stocked some extra food, and motored out at 10:30am to catch the tide, and headed back to France, on route to Fecamp. It was a long sail, but the best so far - I had a perfect beam reach, every scrap of sail up, and ‘Windy the Windpilot’ (I haven’t thought of a better name yet, feel free to assist!) steered course to perfection.

When night came, I became nervous. There is something slightly terrifying about sailing ‘blind’ through the dark. I’m not concerned about hitting a boat, or being hit, as I keep a good watch - It’s the idea of hitting something floating in the water that concerns me. Being hit I can avoid by keeping vigilant watch, however running into floating debris is completely unavoidable. After two hours of strung out nerves, I began to relax and rationalise that there is nothing I can do, so why waste the energy. I sat in the cockpit, lifejacket on, EPIRB, grab bag and flares within close distance. Call it paranoia or whatever, but I’m no hero - I’d rather be sailing than sitting at the bottom of the sea.

Entrance into Fecamp, France

I arrived in Fecamp after being up all night at around 10am. Poor Constellation, she’s so slow… I slept for a few hours, explored the town, cooked very hot food, went to bed, and pushed on the following day direct to Cherbourg, another long sail. Leaving again with a favourable sea, I maintained 5kts for the duration of the tide, before being hit with it going in reverse. I clocked back to 2.5kts, frustrated and helming due to a lack of wind to power the self-steering. As night came, my nerves shot back, again terrified of hitting something. This time I was in the middle of the Baie De Seine, which is hardly ‘offshore’, but it is out of reach of lights or any signs of life. A tanker or two was sometimes visible in the distance, but mostly I was entirely alone. I became twitchy about preserving my ‘night vision’, getting aggravated at my GPS backlight or compass illumination being too bright. I desperately wanted to maintain what little visibility I had, as there were little stars, and what is left of the moon, failed to appear. But again, around two hours into my fretting, I relaxed, made some coffee, and sat in my sleeping bag in the cockpit, keeping watch and thinking of nothing.

As if by magic (not really, it was actually by careful planning) the tide reappeared in favour and on cue, as I came closer to Cherbourg. Approaching the top of Point De Barfleur the tide carried me around, bringing with it a nice piece of wind, resulting in a steady 9.2kts of speed. There is nothing more uplifting than speed after a deathly slow passage in the night - I instantly put all the junk in the cockpit away, tweaked the sails for speed, heeled over hard and put the self-steerer back to work. Picking up my last needed cardinal buoy before making a straight line for the Cherbourg entrance, I saluted and thanked him for his navigational assistance and accurate flashing ability. Oh to be on route to sleep at 4am!

Once through the large fortifications of the Cherbourg entrance, I lost my bearings. It was dark, I saw port and starboard lights for an entrance, some poles I thought were masts, and decided it was the marina. I began cleaning up the boat, pulling the sails down, putting up fenders etc without looking at the port layout. To my dismay, I ended up in the navy port, alongside a submarine. I was within docking distance of it - Amazingly no one realised I was there, and I disappeared as quickly as possible. Oh what a stupid mistake, because if you’ve been to Cherbourg, you’ll realise how blatantly obvious the marina is. Coming back out, I quickly took out the almanac and located the marina - I was going to lay at anchor for the night, but I was just too lazy to deal with the anchor and figuring out if I had enough chain to deal with the large tide. In port, I slept, and here I am.

The weather has changed slightly, so I’ll be here for another couple of days, waiting on a good forecast. I can’t be bothered dealing with the Channel Islands, or anywhere with drying marinas, outlaying rocks or otherwise difficult areas. Direct to Brest or Camaret I will go, and then I’ll think about Biscay again. All logic and advice points to a direct crossing to Gijon or La Coruna - A passage of some 3-4 days.

On a side note - Sometimes I don’t have the time or energy to write a post, and will update my Twitter or position reports regardless. So if you’re keen, checking those regularly may yield more frequent information.

nick.

Finally the weather calmed enough for me to leave Ijmuiden, granting the first opportunity to dip my toe into the North Sea alone. There was still uncomfortable swell outside of the breakwater, and the wind continuously heavy on the nose, yet Constellation moved slowly toward Den Haag. Four hours into the leg, the already choppy waters became worse, leaving me cold, wet, and having lost what sea legs I had in the placid canals, vomiting over the side of the boat. I tried hard to tack further away from the coastline to increase the water depth and reduce the swell, but it seemed to make little difference. I set back on the original course, increased the RPM’s of ‘August’ the diesel engine, and stood in the cockpit with cold hands, clutching the cabin roof winches, watching Den Haag slowly become larger on the horizon. I left with a favourable tide, meaning I would need to sail in the dark in the last 8nm to port, however the entry lights were relatively easy to pickup, as I watched a large triple masted charter schooner enter first.

Here is a short video made up of terrible clips from my digital camera… It has nothing to do with the work of the DNR-Productions video (you can tell!).

The port of Scheveningin is still a working fishing port, which is nice because the marina is simple and original - So many of the marinas are newly built and highly commercial, so it was nice to be near the North Sea trawlers and be in a harbour with normal boats, instead of being moored up with 62ft Hallberg Rassys, that rarely go outside of the canals. Special thanks to Mira for having an address for me to forward mail to, as well as for the extra funds and vitamins to fight off scurvy!

I left Scheveningin for Stellandam, with my plan to re-enter the canal system due to poor weather over the following few days. It seemed I could sit in a marina waiting for the right weather, or I could just keep moving regardless through the canals - The choice was simple. I sat at anchor in Stellandam after a beautiful day of sailing with all the canvas up with sunny weather.

I successfully made it past Europort, which I think may be the busiest port in the world - I radioed for permission to cross, and was radioed back with confirmation, and then radioed again 30mins later stating that I was making slow progress! After passing through, I made a tack back towards the separation scheme, which Europort control was not particularly happy about, being told in a friendly manner that I should probably change tack relatively soon.

Picking up the channel into Stellandam, I was approached by Dutch Customs. They boarded Constellation, checked my paperwork (bill of sale, SSR, diesel purchase receipts, radio call sign and passports) and searched the boat. They asked where I was going, and I said ‘Australia’ with a straight face, and they didn’t seem particularly suprised, which I thought amusing - One of them simply asked which route I was taking. Having finished up, the speed boat returned to pick up the two Customs officers, and bumped the toe rail of Constellation fairly hard - I am now annoyed to see half of the rail is now disconnected from the hull, meaning I will need to remove it all, epoxy the screw holes and re-mount it. Not only that, but the officers insist on wearing big black boots, therefore putting dark scuff marks all over my deck! Constellation is not exactly in the best cosmetic condition, but black marks and broken toe rails certainly don’t help…

From Stellandam I battled Force 6 winds, fog, minimal visibility and rain to Willemstad, a curious little town shaped like a star (click here for evidence!). The town was heavily fortified, however I’m not entirely sure of it’s true history as all the information and museum displays were in Dutch…

As of today, I’m sitting in a harbour in Bruinisse, about to leave for Vlissingen. By the weekend I will be back in the North Sea, which will quickly turn into the Dover Straight, and then finally the English channel. I’m considering going on an extra long tack to Dover to fill up my gas tanks, and then tacking back to France - We’ll see how the winds are.

nick.

I won’t be beaten!

I’ve taken a mitfaher (share ride) from Amsterdam to Berlin to pickup my sailing books, additional clothes and my long lost bank card, so I can withdraw what little money I have left. I realised last night that it’s the first time I’ve slept in a real bed since the beginning of May, and the luxuries of a house are rather tempting; Many friends within walking distance, Internet, a nice place to sit, no overhead leaks and working stove you can cook on - But don’t worry, I won’t succumb to these ‘contemporary pleasures’, and return back to the boat on Thursday evening to continue the madness.

I’ve got a plan on the boil, and once I’m back in Amsterdam, it will be straight back to the gypsy canals to make some further repairs to the boat.

More info when I’m back, and a few more photos here.

n.