So what have I be doing anyway? Oh yes! I did get some sailing in a couple of months ago, quite unexpectedly… I flew to Palau, returned to Melbourne, and then flew back to Palau, to help deliver a boat to Darwin. It was a mighty long, and mighty hard trip. We sailed (or rather, motored, burning close to 600 litres of diesel), against the winds and currents for two weeks. Several engine failures later, a few hair-raising moments and a couple of pirate scares off of Indonesia, we arrived in Darwin, Australia. This was my second entry into Australian waters by boat, and also my second time across the equator:

The sailing was pretty extraordinary… It was also the longest distance I’ve ever sailed with others aboard, which was a very different experience to being alone. I dare say, harder… We sailed close to shore for a few days, right amongst the Indonesian fishermen. At one stage we even sailed through a small straight, just 1nm wide, at the top of Papua New Guinea. To the left and right of us were small subsistance living communities, as enormous tankers took advantage of the water way:

Some nights we were surrounded so tightly by small fishing vessels, it was virtually impossible to sleep. The curious ones would come close by, and scare the daylights out of us… Flare guns at the ready, minds churning with self-defence tactics… Thankfully curious was all they were, and through the waters we sailed with little outside trouble.

So other than that brief month of sailing, there is little other news to report on the personal voyaging front. For avid followers, you will already know I moved to the countryside, and am working away at my own business… We (re)launched two projects in the last two weeks -Neverstop Pedalling, an online bike store, and our web hosting company Serversaurus…

SV Harmony still lies at rest in California… Awaiting her owner (me)… How and when I will ever scrounge the money together to get there, I’ll never know (perhaps buy a bike, or change your hosting provider! Plug plug!) … However, I guess when the time is right, it will all come together.

A massive congratulations to Adam who recently completed his first solo transpac – I finally have someone to commiserate with about sailing small vessels alone, across that stretch of from SF to HI… We both concurred: Yes, it’s possible, but…

Jack continues to work on the documentary about my voyage, however, from my understanding, the creation of the documentary is just as financially crippling and difficult as the voyage itself… ! We hope it will screen in European film festivals this year, but as to if and when it will be available to buy as a DVD or stream online – I have no idea. This is Jack’s film, so it will be up to him as to how it’s distributed…

I will be archiving this site as we know it soon, and replacing it with a new site which will allow me to just generally blog about sailing – At the moment, the layout and construction of this website is for a voyage which is now complete: It will still be at Bigoceans.com, however I’ll move the current incarnation of the site and start afresh… What do you guys think?

Cheers! Nick

So of course, the web is now awash with commentary on child sailors, irresponsibility etc. In success these ‘kids’ are heroes, in failure their parents are maniacs and terrible people. There is little point in harking on about this, the plain fact is, there is a sailor stuck down in the southern ocean right now, and my only question has nothing to do with age, boats or parenting: It’s simply: Why is she in the southern ocean in winter? After some searching I found her last known position, and mapped it against Tony Bullimore who capsized in a similar area. At least he was down there at the right time of year, 1200nm from where Abby is now:

Australian rescue services always get the task of looking after these waters… In fact, said services have just sent a Qantas Airbus down there to sweep over her. In 1997 when Tony Bullimore was down there as part of a race, he and a French sailor were picked up, the story as follows: “The Royal Australian Navy launched a rescue mission for Bullimore and another capsized competitor, Thierry Dubois. Bullimore was alive and managed to survive in an air pocket in the upside-down boat in pitch darkness, having lost his food supplies – his only food was a bar of chocolate. On January 9, Thierry Dubois was rescued by an Australian S-70B-2 Seahawk helicopter embarked on the frigate HMAS Adelaide. Adelaide then proceeded further south to where the Exide Challenger had been located by a RAAF P-3 Orion. Adelaide dispatched an rigid-hulled inflatable boat to the Exide Challenger where crew members knocked on the hull. Hearing the noise, Bullimore swam out from his boat and was quickly rescued by personnel from Adelaide. HMAS Adelaide then returned both Dubois and Bullimore to Perth.”

The estimated cost of this rescue was six million dollars. However, rescue costs are difficult to calculate, and while Webb Chiles might not agree with a pickup, I think she should be at whatever financial cost.

Criticism is so easy from an armchair. She’ll be terrified right now, but thankfully the boat she’s in is nearly unsinkable… Five watertight bulkheads, a hull loaded with foam designed for the very ocean she is in. I have no idea why she is sailing where she is right now, however this is what she’s experiencing:

It’s a calculated gamble to sail anywhere, at any time, but we can lessen the potential negative outcome of that risk, by succumbing to natures seasonable characteristics…

It’s winter in the southern hemisphere, and even at the best of times, it’s the world’s most terrifying ocean. Whether you’re 16, or 55 years old is irrelevant.

nick.

The weathermen told me to expect winds between 30 to 40kts (60 to 80kmh) within the next 24 hours. I was so disappointed, as the day had started so perfectly – We were literally flying (a relative term…) on a flat, grey sea. Alas, things worsened as the afternoon took over, and I lessened sail with every gust. Before long, Constellation was shipping green water over the deck, and progress was futile. By 6pm I hove-to (stalled the boat), and lay below, listening to the crashing, and watching as waves rose through the companionway. I get a shiver down my spine when the wind hits a certain note, at sea, and now even on land. There is an equally nervous feeling in my stomach when the foam begins to streak across the surface of the water. The physique of the ripples change in shape to a hard chine, creating a louder ’slap’ with each connection to the hull.

I slept on and off through the night, until all at once, we were hit so incredibly hard by a breaking wave, things that had never fallen out of their places, flew across the cabin. Immediately after the hit, there was a loud hissing sound, and with alarming calm, I heaved out of bed to assess with my feet how much water was entering the boat. I noted there was no water as yet, and made a mental checklist of what I needed to get to abandon ship: Grab bag (containing offshore flares, flare gun, EPIRB, and some chocolate. Actually no, there is no chocolate, I ate it in a fit of despair…) and lifejacket. I then made another quick mental note to get my survival suit because I didn’t trust the liferaft. As all this was going through my head (the time-scale was milliseconds), I reached for the red navigation lamp, so I could see, but not destroy my night vision, and saw to my amusement and relief, there was in fact no water at all entering the boat, or even a hole in sight. The hissing was from a self-inflating lifejacket that had had its release cord caught on the wet locker clothes hook, and sprung to life when the boat jerked.

This might all seem overly dramatic to you, but the sailor leans a great deal on his or her sense of hearing: An almost sixth sense develops and notes every single sound that is deemed ‘normal’ on the boat – Anything that deviates from that list is immediately cause for great concern, and even in a deep sleep, one is often alerted to any acoustic change in the environment. I remember a similar incident in the Atlantic, when a flying fish flew through the hatch, and lay sputtering and flapping on the cabin sole – To my dimly awakened state, it was the sound of the electrical system short-circuiting…

Fortunately today, things have calmed down, and my frayed nerves are regenerating with each cup of tea. I have decided, and I must apologise to Brisbane, that I will in fact be sailing into Coffs Harbour – The northern most entrance into NSW where I can clear customs and quarantine. This decision is based mostly on the fact that my trajectory seems to naturally be pointing me that way, and also it appears to be a much easier entrance than Brisbane, or even Sydney: Just a simple breakwater on the coast, and a buoy to hang off of and await clearance. I am trying to sail home, and in a fit of anger a few posts ago, I declared Brisbane was it – But, I’ve come this far; I will sail as planned into Melbourne, and land hopefully in Docklands Marina. I hope to see some familiar faces there… Ones ready to stay up all night and paint the town red. I think I’ll call the party ‘Shore Leave.’

And so, we soldier on, 14 days out of Tonga. I don’t like to predict my landfall, because there are many things which hinter progress (namely, weather), but, with 550nm to go, it would be nice to be seeing land within five or six days…

My recent posts have been rather anguished. I’ve been in a very odd state of mind, there is no doubt about it. Someone left a comment on my last post saying I was sounding more and more like Moitessier. And he wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing… Well, having recently watched Deep Water (maybe not the best film to be watching at sea…), at least I was not likened to Crowhurst! There is a certain something that happens when you place yourself in solitary confinement: You often wonder why you’re torturing yourself. However, the quirk is, in this form of torture, there is always the possibility of experiencing something divine, and simply told, that’s why people do it. I don’t necessarily mean a spiritual divine; the simplest things at the oddest moments can make their ranking: Days of hard weather, and the taste of coffee in a dwindling swell can be enough to light the spark. Anyway, I’m out here now, after 778 days of voyaging – It’s the finishing leg to Australia, and my little handheld GPS is pointing right towards that sunburnt continent where I was born.

Hauling up the anchor in Vava’u was miserable. I could barely muster the strength to do it. It was a perfect day, the wind was blowing south east, and I’d just spent two really nice days with my new friends Rob & Sarah at anchor – Spearfishing, talking, drinking local rum, and all those good things that can be done in the company of others. Not only was I hesitant about leaving for a potential month of solitary confinement, but my time in Vava’u had actually been quite social: I met a few young sailors with their own boats (a rare sight), compared notes with a couple nice fellow singlehanders, and even had a connection through a friend of a friend at the infamous and great Aquarium Cafe. The ‘cruising community’ was quite large, maybe the biggest I’ve been part of so far. I seem to have sailed a very different route to everyone else, and often just out of season: Many of these sailors had met months ago on both sides of Panama.

After the first 24 hours of sailing, my worries disolved into the sea ahead, and the wind switched direction. I beat into a light south west wind for a few days; but frankly, I didn’t care – I was so happy to have broken my spell and let go of everything. The weather at these latitudes is much cooler than most of my Pacific sailing thus far – At long last I was able to lay in my bunk and enjoy readng again. The heat previously had been so much, the sweat so prolific, all I could do was feel my brain melt and my organs evaporate. Now, I was back! And with such a catalogue of great books, my confinement finally produced some cerebral activity beyond that of trimming sails and eating cans of chilli.

Two days ago, to my great excitement, Constellation and I found ourselves on the exact opposite side of the planet to England. We had sailed so far west of Greenwich, we were now east of it. I remember crossing zero degrees longitude, with Johannes Erdmann as we tried to sail to Hamburg. I watched in wonderment as the GPS slowly ticked over to 180degrees 0minutes 0seconds. In a flash, it was gone, and the seconds of longitude began to decrease, as the unit started the countdown back to zero degrees.

Of the books I’ve read so far, the book by food critic Ruth Reichl has been the most torturous. The finest food on this dry ship, is three cloves garlic and two miserable looking tomatoes. As I read about lobster risotto, or latte cotto, a light lemon custard served with marinated berries, my mouth flopped open and vowed never to sail again. So I got to the chapter on a Japanese sushi restuarant, and decided to go fishing.

Thanks to Rob and Sarah, my fishing knowledge doubled (from nothing to something), and they even donated several lures to my cause. So, listening to music in my bunk, I hear the the handline spinning. I jump outside and catch the 400 pound line with my bare hands, cleat it, and watch in wonderment as the largest Dorado I’ve ever seen is jumping a mile high into the sky. I was trying to catch Sashimi for one, but instead I had caught enough for an entire restaurant. Constellation literally slowed down under the power of the fish. Terrified, I rolled in the genoa to make battle.

With the fish swimming under full thrust, I couldn’t hold it, even after I put on a pair of gloves. So I decided to let it tire, and watched miserably as it thrashed about. All I could think about was that this was tantamount to killing an entire cow for a single steak. So I decided to catch and release, if only I could get the damn thing near the boat… Eventually I could reel the fish in, but, due to my poor knowledge of such things, the fish sounded, and came up on the other side of the boat in an instant. I tried to let slack out, but it was too late. This thrashing enormity broke the line on the keel, and vanished, forever to have a very large pink plastic squid stuck in its mouth. And so, I decided fishing once more, was not for me, and read a book on Alexander Von Humboldt: “… Yet what we feel when we begin our long-distance voyage is nonetheless accompanied by a deep emotion, unlike any we may have felt in our youth. Separated from objects of our dearest affections, and entering into a new life, we are forced to fall back on ourselves, and we feel more isolated than we have ever felt before.”

nick.

(Thank you everyone for your SMS messages and nice comments to my posts. I receive them all out here. And to answer your questions, no I haven’t seen Jessica Watson, but, I think we are probably very close to each other right now. My radio has terrible range, and we could pass within 20miles and not see each other… But, it’s nice to know she’s out here, and I have a good feeling that she’s going to take the record from Jesse, with gusto.)

Watching the GPS, and looking at the compass, I noticed a disparity 50nm short of Palmyra. Almost 2kts of equitorial current was pushing us east, and with no wind, waking up every morning was depressing, as we were pushed further and further away from landfall. Eventually we struggled within 31nm of the Atoll, and I decided enough was enough: The mighty Yanmar was doing the rest of the work. Unfortunately through a set of circumstances I’ve yet to fathom, the engine was full of cream coloured oil.With the help of John out of Brewer Yacht Yard, in Greenport Long Island, satellite email, and my books, it was ascertained the water must have come in through the exhaust, or through the seacock. I spent dizzying hours with my head in the bilge, draining the oil into water containers. Putting half a litre of fresh oil back in the engine, I started her up, and noticed no new water. I let the oil warm, drained it, and filled it up again, and we were off. I have to say, that little Yanmar is an extraordinary engine.

With wide-eyes, Palmyra Atoll was approached from the East, with distant waves crashing at sea on reefs, dozens of new birds, palm lined beaches, and strange military structures abound… At last, land was found in the middle of nowhere. On channel 16, I called Palmyra Station. Amanda, the Fish and Wildlife representative and refuge manager, answered with excitement – Yes, Constellation was finally here! Having no idea who, or how many people were on the Atoll, I was suprised with the amount of radio traffic, as Constellation rounded the top of the island, and skirted reefs to the infamous channel entrance. Not sure of who or what to expect, it was even more suprising to be given an escort through the channel by Brad, the marine operations manager. Brad had us anchor just off of the main station, whch was an encampment of small bungalows, mess hall, generators, science labs, satellite dishes, sheds with tractors, and even the world famous Palmyra Yacht Club.

Invited to dinner on the first night, the sight of freshly cooked and crumbed Ahi (tuna), vegetables, and other delights not found on a boat (especially mine, where absolutely no fish have been tempted by lures…), all the pain of getting to the atoll was gone in an instant. Special thanks to Franklin and Amanda for the invitations, and to Anthony for possibly being the worlds most isolated chef.

Palmyra Atoll has quickly become the most interesting, beautiful, and unusual place I’ve visited on my entire voyage. It has always been my dream to visit places that may otherwise be impossible to gain access to by any other means of transport – And being allowed to visit the now privatised island (owned by The Nature Conservancy) was a great highlight. Thank you to The Nature Conservancy for keeping the island open to sailors, and also many thanks to the Fish and Wildlife Service for ,handling the details and particulars of our visit. I can’t embed photos while at sea, however all my photos of Palmyra are online here

And so now, just 465nm from Western Samoa, I am also in the southern hemisphere after nearly exactly two years en route to Australia. Jeff, thank you for the French champagne to celebrate 0 degrees, however I must say, it was room temperature, and room temperature on the equator is, well… Hot!

For now, I’m going back to lying on my bunk, as sweat drips into my eyes, and the large tradewind seas toss Constellation around like a piece of driftwood… It’s beautiful and special out here, but it’s also tough going.

Nick.

Surrounded by odd weather systems, and Tropical Storm Hilda hovering around to our east, the weather as I’ve been trying to explain has been unpredictable, and frankly not what I expected. Not to mention the fishing: Are there any fish left, may I ask? Or have the great Tuna clippers drained the Pacific? I’ve seen the pictures in Kontiki, as Thor hauled fish after fish aboard: I’ve hauled nothing aboard except an empty line. Not only have I not seen fish, I’ve not really seen anything at all. Not a ship, not a plane, just a few bits of rubbish, and a coconut drifting by.

There is however, no point displaying disappointment in all this, because it is what it is, but I guess I just expected steady trades all the way down to Palmyra, and a fish or two to keep my cans of beef stew unopened… And so, with 280nm to go, the wind is predicted to shift right onto my nose, and I have no idea when we might make landfall…

For those interested, I’m in the Inter Tropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ) right now, which is a band of strangeness (yes, I am a meteorologist…) hovering near the equator, creating hot, humid and squally conditions. It’s too hot outside to enjoy the cooling breeze, and down below it feels like the chart table is melting and my mind is turning to mush. There is no escape… And yes, I have seriously considered redirecting to British Columbia.

[Sorry folks, this should have gone up a few days ago, but it got spam-trapped for some reason. - Marty.]

My sail out of Half Moon Bay was idyllic, with my friends whom I wrote about in my last post, coming all the way back down from San Francisco to visit and escort me out. I spent the week waiting in Half Moon for good weather, and it coincided with their visit. Rob, Ted, and Adam sailed with me for around 10nm offshore, before pairing off and leaving me to my devices. It was a nice foray into the multi-day tack I had setup, and as they petered off behind me, so did the coast of California. Being left alone, I slowly became mildly seasick. This always happens, and it doesn’t help that it’s been nearly a year since my last sail when I landed in New York. For the next 36hrs, I didn’t eat or sleep, as my nerves adjusted and my ear got used to the roll of Constellation: At 26ft, and weighted down, Constellation ‘hobby-horses’ about, and so I then begin to wish I had another 10ft of waterline to lessen the motion. Of course my wish never comes true, and so I remember we’re out here doing it, and we get back to dealing with our respective environments; mine of feeling ill, and Constellation’s of generally being a rock-star Contessa 26.

As I sit in my bunk, writing this, a tiny squall is overhead creating a ruckus in the sails, and a slight chill. The water of the Pacific is that gorgeous blue, akin to the Atlantic before one hits the gulf stream. I’ve spent the day reading, and fault finding an electrical problem with my tri-light, which I’ve finally repaired, in the usual & aesthetically unpleasing, but entirely utilitarian manner which Constellation has become used to.

I feel quite at home here, but I must say the Pacific has an aura of a vast and empty desert, quite unlike the Atlantic. The Atlantic ocean always felt like a ‘working ocean’ to me – A vast watery highway of trade and bustle. Even if I only did come across three tankers on my crossing, it just somehow felt different. I have no logical reasoning for any of this, but what’s a blog post without an expression of unfounded feeling…

So as I drift rather than sail, (which could possibly end up being be my hallmark maneuver) closer to home, I can’t help but feel somewhat melancholy about friendships made, and friendships now abandoned. In ‘A Voyage for Madmen’, Peter Nichols talks about the driving factors behind the men who raced in the first Golden Globe race – A race nonstop and singlehanded around the world; the first of its kind. He classifies the archetypal solo sailor as being driven by ‘imagination, self-discipline, selfishness, endurance, fear, courage, and social instability’. I don’t really call myself a solo sailor, and wouldn’t for a second put myself near the likes of the men that raced, however Nichols’ characterisations do ring true to an extent, and I think the Pacific will be a nice time to reflect on all the things that have put me here, and kept me going. I sometimes feel like I’m driving an old car around the world, and people run up to give me a push, whom I thank, and then roll on. I’m hardly on the ‘home stretch’, as technically we’re only half-way, but for some reason, there not being a continent between myself and Australia, makes this piece of water a better place to contemplate such questions.

And what better place to have such lofty thoughts, than in a 26ft boat with 6×8ft of livable space, and a sunning lounge of similar proportions (the cockpit)!

Nick.

(My position on the tracking page has been updated, and the messaging page is back up for those who feel the urge to send a cheeky message)

The two podcasts that went AWOL when the site went down (days 24 and 30) can be played here:

Day 24
Day 30

I have a few photos on my Photos page, however as I said, my camera broke pretty early on – I have a video camera on loan from Jack, which I took some photos with, but it’s really for video, not for stills!

A regular but sorry sight! Kamikaze flying fish on deck

Also a fairly regular sight – Line squalls.

Windy the Windpilot, rocking it for 2700nm across the Atlantic. Look Ma, no hands!

The last photo is at Port St Charles, Barbados, at the clearance dock for immigration/customs and health. You can’t tell, but there was swell surging around the breakwater, and poor Constellation was being crushed. I put tons of lines on after that photo, and high-tailed it out of there to the anchorage after the paperwork was done with.

Check the few other photos I have (but I have tons of video, although I don’t have a fast enough computer to extract it!!) here.

And last but not least, are the the days from 15 – 30 of my crossing. As I said earlier, the quotes are from books I was reading at the time.:

—

Day 16

I.am.bored.

“We seem to be born to be dissatisfied” -Steiner

Day 17

Felling a little stir crazy and impatient now, with still at least 12 days to go, assuming wind stays as is. Thinking way too much… It’s impossible to stop all this mental junk coming into your head and invading your thoughts. On land you can distract yourself. Here there is nothing, but to battle it in an mental arena. Except *I* (or is it the id?) always lose…! Days, nights and weeks are all one. Or none. I ate jelly beans for breakfast.

“God growed us up till we could wear long pants, then he licensed his name to dollar bills, left some car keys on the table, and got the fuck outta town… Don’t be lookin up at the sky for no help. Look down here, at us twisted dreamers.” -DBC Pierre

Day 18

I found some old cough drops in my jacket pocket. I don’t have a cough, but they taste good. The first tanker I’ve seen in two weeks steamed past today, and was picked up by the radar detecter. We did 125nm today.

“Those who steer a boat across the sea, or drive a horse over the earth till they succumb to the weight of the years, spend every minute of their lives travelling” -Basho

Day 19

Hairy sail change at dawn… At least the water is warm now, because I got an involuntary shower, the bow dunking heavily. But the boat is happier now, not have so much canvas up. Swell is annoyingly choppy, and we are doing 5.5kts under my smallest Jib (one before Storm jib). I would be intrigued to know exactly what speed the wind is at the moment… We did 135nm today (our record).

“We live as we dream; alone” -Joseph Conrad

Day 20

Very bad day. Squall, then contrary winds. Boat rolling around like crazy. Curled up in my bunk, bracing myself with knees and back just to hold me still. It’s difficult to explain, but there is this little thing underneath your psyche out here all the time, which is silently aware that some things are just chance. No matter how good you are at sailing, there is always the possibility you will be hit with bad luck, and this is a thing that goes over in your mind out here when you’re alone. You suppress it 99% of the time, but today, I guess I weakened up. I feel like crying, Ellen McArthur style, but what I’m doing is nothing in comparison so I don’t. Much’o extra respect for her.

“See, it’s a brave man that weeps!” (Starbuck exclaims to Ahab) -Melville

Day 21

Three weeks. Two more ships picked up on the radar detector. Today I feel much better. We’re still rolling a lot, but that’s life. My noodles are balanced on a washboard, on my lap. I raised more sail to ensure we did the minimum 120nm/day quota. I think we are in good shape to make landfall in eight days. Night fell with an ominous squally horizon. Reduced sail just before dark.

Day 22

Increased sail this morning, and cleaned the deck of flying fish. Man, they get everywhere! Today is as was yesterday, as was the day before, yet one day closer to land….

“I’ve neer been lonely. I’ve been in a room. I’ve felt suicidal. I’ve been depressed. I’ve felt awful beyond all, but I’ve never felt that one other person, could enter that room and make a difference. In other words, loneliness is something I’ve never been bothered with, because I’ve always had this terrible itch for solitude.” -Charles Bukowski

Day 23

I have a bit of a sore throat today, which I suspect is the result of 23 days of bad food. The wind died down a bit today… Argh! I’m not sure if we’ll do our 120nm today. I found a rusty old can of tinned Tesco Rice Pudding in the caverness depths of Constellations storage crannies. Great day! The Genoa is flogging in the light airs. This annoys me.

“No, I must lie alone
Till it comes for me;
Till it takes the sky, the sand
And the lonely sea.” -Thomas Pynchon

Day 24

Woke up again with a sore throat. I also feel tired. Rummaging around I managed to find a bottle of expired vitamin C tablets. I overdosed. Last night a flying fish some how landed in the cabin, and buzzed around the floor. I was asleep, and dreamt of short circuiting wires. All of a sudden I realised it was a localised sound, and thought the boat was short circuiting! And then I looked down to see a smelly fish on the floor – Still flapping, I picked it up with the frying pan and hurled it out the door. I estimate the wind to be blowing F3 now. This is frustrating, because it’s consistent, and I’m concerned we’ve simply hit the belt of light-airs. But, it’s a perfect sunny day, and the swell is much less, so I can’t really complain.

Day 25

We have really slowed down now… Doing around 90nm/day. Some parts of the day I am frustrated by this, others I’m non-plussed. The only problem is, I’m really running out of nice things to eat! (’Nice’ being a relative term…!)

“Without serious storms my small ship of fate sailed through the sea of life; and if on the occasion it took the wrong course, then providential navigation steered it back in the right direction”. Xaver Scharwenka

Day 26

Ok, now speed is really frustrating me a lot. Forget the zen stuff, I’m fucking annoyed. I decided to try out a goosewing configuration with the rig, which all up took 35 minutes to put up, including the time to dismantle my previous setup. I smashed my elbow raising the mainsail, and it’s bleeding and really hurts. I jumped around on deck yelling profanities for quite some time, remembering soon after my sore throat. Which is worse now. Finally up, it turned out to be useless. The swell simply kicks the boat sideways, and we gybe. I thought maybe we’d get away with it, but no… I should have trusted my instincts. Now I have to put everything back. We’re doing a whopping 3kts, and now the wind keeps changing, so the windvane sends us off course. Already three squalls have blown over, leaving behind a windshadow, and rain. I suspect it’s these squalls hovering around that have been playing with the wind. Every morning I have such a feeling of urgency, and glancing at the GPS ‘To Go’ field makes me furious at our slow progress. However, by mid to late-afternoon, my anger subsides, and I don’t really care if we have another 1000nm’s to go. Mornings are for impatient youth/evenings for more gentlemanly thoughts/and aspirations.

“Let others bemoan the maliciousness of their age. What irks me, is its pettiness, for ours is an age without passion… My life comes out all one colour.” -Kierkegaard

Day 27

At our current pace we’ll be in Barbados within three nights! Why am I complaining about progress again!? It won’t be long before I start feeling nostalgic about this whole voyage… A tanker steamed past me last night on the starboard side. I gave it a solute and went back to bed. As you know I always salute cardinal buoys for guiding me away from dangers – As such, tankers should be thanked, for not running you down! It’s hot in here… I spent the afternoon listening to Jeff Bucky bootlegs.

“Waiting for joyous tomorrows, is what kills joyous todays.” Raoul Vaniegem

Day 28

Closer, closer! It’s Friday, we’ll be in port by Sunday. I know it. I feel i’ll be stuck on the boat till Monday though due to customs clearance… Maybe I’ll sneak ashore though, during the night, just to make sure a place to stand that doesn’t pitch and roll actually exists.

“Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, like great winds, have blown me hither and thither, in a wayward course, over a deep ocean of anguish, reaching to the very edge of despair.” -Bertrand Russel

Day 29

I was hoping to break the 30 day barrier by arriving today, but I still have 24hours to go! Nevermind. I’m so happy, I virtually done it… It’s strange though, I don’t feel particularly excited, or even anxious right now. I guess now I’m just so used to being out here…

“For nonconformity the world whips you with its displeasure.” -Emerson

Day 30

Wow, it’s done. I arrived at 14:10 in Port St Charles. I docked on the fuel birth, and stood on land. It was an incredibly odd feeling. I had to see Customs, Immigration and Health before being allowed back on my boat… I went out and anchored in Six Mans Bay. The water is warm, there are kids playing on the beach, the sand is white, and I just can’t believe it. How beautiful; great day.

“The concept of freedom has two aspects; the first concerns the individual, who is free to do as he pleases; the second, more important, has to do with sharing the fruit of our free actions with others.” -Lucrezia De Domizio Durini

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nick.

The website has been down for awhile, and it’s taken me four hours of solid work to figure out and fix the problems. Thank you to Marty for spending a lot of time also attempting to fix it, and for dealing with the podcasts over the last month – I hope you enjoyed them. I know I certainly enjoyed having ’someone’ to tell my stories to. The last two are in the archives if you’re interested. It was pretty neat to think I was calling from the middle of nowhere, sending information back onto the web, being listened to by many. Thanks for all the comments of support, and I must say, having them forwarded to my phone certainly made some of the dark days light again. Thanks Dad for forwarding them – Sorry I couldn’t reply, but my phone is not equipped to – It can only receive.

Over the thirty days I wrote a little journal, which I’m including below. The quotes are all from books or music I was reading or listening to at the time – In the next post I’ll paste the remaining 30 days.

Thank you so much to everyone, and I’ll post with some photos and anything else I can think of soon – Unfortunately my camera broke, so I only have a few photos… But I’ll dig something up!

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Day 1

I left today, with nice winds and a birthday present at the marina office from Tudor (thanks again!). The man at the Diesel pump also gave me some tshirts and explained to his friend that yes, I was actually leaving to cross the Atlantic right now, singlehanded! To which he didn’t believe.

Day 2

Conditions went from nice sailing to moderate… Feeling seasick.

“I’m a seasick sailor on a ship up north, I got my maps all backwards” -Beck

Day 3

Tired and very annoyed. Large cross swell. Thrown across cabin from bunk by slamming cross wave, frankly I’m amazed nothing broke (including me)… Constellation is a battle axe. Very little sleep and am overpowered but I’m too tired to change the headsail down.

Day 4

Everything is wet. Copious amounts of water entering the cockpit from breaking waves. Lying in bunk with eyes closed, but unable to sleep. Again, thrown out of bed violently by a cross wave. Is the whole trip going to be like this? I couldn’t do 25 days of this.

Day 5

Conditions getting much better. Boat rolling a lot. I’ve spent so much time trying to stabalise things, but nothing works. From staysail-like configurations to even attempting to haul the storm jib up the main! (I cobbled something together, but it didn’t really help). Finally got some good sleep last night.

Day 6

Called my Dad, and asked him to email Rich in Oregon for some weather advice, and to see if the Tradewinds were far enough North to consider turn for Barbados yet. (Writing again in the afternoon) The wind has strangely has disappeared! I’m becalmed! I caught an enormous fish today. It was too big for me to eat alone, and I couldn’t bear the thought of killing it and only eating half. Sent it back to sea. Getting a little frustrated by the lack of wind…

Day 7

One week at sea. Becalmed all night, but at least I slept well. The wind has now turned Westerly??? Strange. At least I can sail South West quite comfortably… Lots of water over the deck though, as the swell is a little confused, and choppy. Drank coffee and ate muffins for breakfast and finished one of my books today. (Thanks Mai Ly!). Stood on deck for awhile and yelled for no real reason. (Writing again in the afternoon) Received Iridium SMS from Rich regarding weather… Which to paraphrase was “You might sail into a wind hole if you keep going that direction” … Too late, I already did! Because of the large cross swell in the first few days, I spent too much time going West, and now I’m paying for it. Based on a projected course, Rich gave me weather updates and gave me a waypoint to aim for where I might find good winds again.

Day 8

I didn’t sleep very well last night, with variable winds fooling the windvane, having me up and down out of bed trying to adjust it and get every mile out of what was available. Which didn’t really add up to much… I should have just sailed in circles and gone to sleep. Depressed most of the day, and spent some time in the sun to try and cheer up. It didn’t work, just giving me a headache. Made scrambled eggs with canned asparagus for lunch, and tried to read a little, while listening to Miles Davis. Unfortunately I have one of Miles’ albums from the early 1990’s – My god, what a terrible period in his career… I haven’t plotted my position for two days now, because I know we will have progressed so little. Which would probably make my depression even worst. Ate mashed potatoes for dinner.

Day 9

It’s incredible how overwhelming the smell of things is out here. The smell of a match is amazing!

“The majority of men lead lives of quiet desperation” -Thoreau

Day 10

Made pancackes and phoned in another podcast. I also received comments from the website as well as friends from home, which really made my day. That little contact lit me right up! My high spirits were dampened somewhat by a squall in the afternoon and lack of wind…

“To be truly challenging, like life, a voyage must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest” -Stirling Hayden

Day 11

Wind still light and coming from the wrong freaking direction (West/West South West)… Really confused about the weather now. Ended up calling Takir in the Kazak ship to see how he was going. Their vessel is about 600nm in front of me, and they left on the same day! I guess in those first few days of hairy sailing they got a good few miles under their belts, and got closer to the trades before the wind change. Having said that, Takhir said there was only light wind at his current position…

“Every ship is a romantic object, except the one we sail in. Embark, and the romance quits our vessel and hangs on every other sail on the horizon” -Emerson

Day 12

Ok, new forecast from Rich, predicting one more day of WSW wind, then calm, then a reappearance of the trades! Hooorah!! Bored today. It’s hot and I have another headache.

“I look out of my window in the morning when I rise, as I would out of a port-hole of a ship in the Atlantic” -Melville

Day 13

At last! The forecast was out a day on the emergence of the NE winds (a good thing). A gentle F3 wind is now coming from the North, and we’re on a beam reach heading WEST!! Doing 4kts, boat stable with the main up, very enjoyable. A flat bank of clouds is overhead, extending to the horizon. The sailing is perfect!

“For whatever its merits, I would like to think that there is just as much of frustration and failure as there is of free-swinging, fare rolling times when, however rough the going, you have the feeling “Fuck it! I wouldn’t swap places with anyone else for anything on this earth” -Stirling Hayden

Day 14

Wow, two weeks at sea. There is something so driving about the sun rising from the stern, and setting on the bow… It’s like a the sun is giving you a navigational wink, and an aesthetic burst before illuminating another hemisphere.

“Fear by day; terror by night” -British small boat lore

Day 15

Depressed. Hardly slept last night. Boat is rolling like hell (Wind shifted to ENE am under Genoa alone). Lay on the floor of the boat, as it’s the lowest centre of gravity, but still, impossible to sleep. 1700nm to go .. Boat going fast. Found my first flying fish on deck.

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I’ll post the remaining 15 days soon!

-nick

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nick