Wow, I’ve finally made it. It took a little longer than expected, totaling 30 days at sea. I could have increased speed with a better sail configuration, having sailed 90% of the way on a single headsail. Don’t ever cross without at least one spinnaker pole! Anyway, it’s amazing to be here, and thank you so much to everyone who donated to my Fundraising project, and to those who even sent some money directly so I could have some nice food on arrival! I’m really quite overwhelmed, with emails, comments, and a whole new list of things to do and organise. Life sure was a lot simpler at sea… But then again, that simplicity bulked up over time, and now I’m snowed under!

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

Currently I am at sea, somewhere in the Atlantic – Below is another podcast update sent in via satellite phone! Please don’t forget I am trying to raise funds to build bridges in Cambodia – More information is available on my Fundraising page.

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Click the ‘Play’ button to hear the latest satellite update:

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If you are running iTunes or similar, you can subscribe the Bridge over the Atlantic podcast here for automated updates. Accompanying each update is my latest position, visible on the Position page. If you have some spare time and feel like transcribing this update as a comment, I’d be most appreciative – Thanks, and I’ll be back online in the Caribbean!

nick

It’s the 21st of Feb today, which means, in five days I will have been here for one entire month. I’ve only spent that long in two other places so far, the last La Coruna, and the one before that, Amsterdam. So far, Amsterdam/Holland was the most interesting place to be stuck. No offence to Spain, but I haven’t exactly been stuck in Barcelona or Madrid, which I think would both be pretty interesting places to spend a month. In La Coruna or Las Palmas, there is only so much one can do without a penny. I’ve done all the exploring I can, I’ve done all the park bench sitting you could ever want to, and I’ve sampled all the 50cent ice creams you can buy.

Lying in my bunk, I remembered back to my brief encounter with Montreal, back in 2004. I travelled up from New York City, and found myself in a city I couldn’t speak the language, wondering how I got there. Which is a lot of what I do these days… But I was so excited at the time, it felt like the train had gone across the Atlantic, and I really was in Europe. After eating a croissant and finding my Hostel, I explored the city like I always do: By walking and getting myself lost, and avoiding anywhere that might have tourists. As I did so, I learnt about the Quebecois, or more specifically, the strong undercurrent of locals who wanted to separate from Canada and become and independent country. I searched out these revolutionaries, but since all I could say in French was “Hello, Good Night, and I can’t speak French”, my investigations were severely hindered. Not to give up, I visited a small record store, asking for music on the subject, and bought a hip-hop CD which was supposed to be all about the fight. Of course, I couldn’t understand a word, but it had a nice beat track, and we all know how stupidly hip it is to be listening to French lyrics you can’t understand – It’s some weird anglo saxon thing. Anyway, I know, you’re wondering where the hell this can be going…

There I am, hobbling about my boat (shuffling around with my head down, because there is no standing headroom), when wondered if there might be an undercurrent of people wanting independence from Spain, here in the Canaries. I mean, look at the map – The Canaries are nowhere near Spain, and I can’t really imagine there is much economic importance for either country. Or maybe mainland Spain has a hankering for Canarian bananas, i don’t know. The Canaries surely make all their money from German tourists, requiring little if any handouts from the mainland.

So I went hunting for Canarian Revolutionaries. I started my survey with the people I had met, and they laughed at me. So i went to the marina office, and asked the marina guy. Now he fancies me, and thinks I have nice eyes. But, he does think the Canaries should be independent. “Great”! I thought, there is the possibility for leading a revolt! I had decided I would write up a manifesto on small vessel naval warfare, and test it out here in Gran Canaria. Since my gift to the Canaries would be to lead the naval arm of the fight for independence from Spain, I thought I would ask for naming rights of the islands. I think it’s a fair trade for my skills in sea based fighting. Other decisions will include the official language becoming a cross between Esperanto and Gomerian mountain whistling. I’ve been practicing my Gomerian whistling, and I can now understand myself. I’m not sure if it’s just me whistling, and then talking to myself, but it certainly feels like I’ve mastered the craft. If you think I’m just pulling your leg about the whistling thing, do your research. As for Esperanto, I’ve had a long standing love of this curious language, because it was such a brilliant but failed idea. All those old text books will be on eBay somewhere, so changing languages for the people should be relatively cheap. We will use all profits from the sale of German sausage on the islands to fund the new linguistic program.

Any good navy revolt must also involve an overland mission. This is to rustle the feathers of my overland detractors, and also to give Constellation an opportunity to be the first boat in history to do a Sea to Summit in honour of Timothy Macartney Snape. Remember, the tallest mountain in Spain, is on the Canarian island of Tenerife.

Here is the proposal for the order in which I will conquer the islands, and also my renaming scheme. I think some of you will recognise my naming format. As you can see, I had some trouble with New ACT. Back home in Australia, we had a similar problem with the original ACT… In this case, New New South Wales (more on that later) and New Victoria were fighting over who would be the capital. I made the executive decision to just build another island in the middle. In the design of New ACT, you can see that the island is a perfect sphere. All roads are also circular, and lead nowhere; it is a purpose built island for Government officials, and has no laws, a large red light district and is also the place where the New Years fireworks are launched from, for all the islands to see.

I made New Queensland the smallest, in hopes that it will curb the breeding of any possible political leaders. New Western Canaria is just far away off in the corner, New Northern Territory, is, well, North, and New South Canaria (which erm, isn’t south…) is quite large, because they will be the main grape growing producer, making crisp white wines, since it is the perfect climate for such beverages. New New South Wales was a bit of a naming issue, and I spent a lot of time thinking about it. In the end, I decided that it would be local law to abbreviate it as New² South Wales. New Victoria is central, easy to get to, and generally the best island of the set. What about New Tasmania you ask? Well, it’s the island everyone always forgets…

As the captain of HMS Constellation, I’ve also had to consider who may strike out against the revolt. I’ve done a lot of research, and believe the authorities of differing ranks, are so caught up in their own policing, that I should be relatively safe. I’m quite convinced that there are so many minor authorities (Port Police, Local Police, Guardia Civil, Minor Military Units etc) that they will all be looking after their own concerns, unable to comprehend the goings on of the revolution. Any thoughts of policing outside of the pre-described arena would probably result in some kind of bureaucratic hernia, considering the Spanish have a deep love of red tape.

At this stage, I only seem to have piqued the interest of the marina guy, and I think he has other things on his mind. But I will keep recruiting, searching and planning, unless of course the damn package I’ve been waiting for suddenly arrives. If that’s the case, I’m really just going to have to leave in a hurry. I’ll have a lot of time to hone my skills for the Australian War of Independence on this trip, so not all will be lost.

My apologies to the people of the Canaries, and also to non-Australians who probably don’t get this post at all. It’s really just to articulate how the mind wonders when stuck in warm climates, alone, with little to do. I get a ton of email saying “oh you’re living the dream”, or “you’re so lucky” etc etc. Which in some cases is right, but my god, I promise you it’s not all amazing. Some days I want just go into work, see a movie, see my long lost friends, drink overpriced coffee, or be a vegetable on a comfortable couch somewhere. I would never trade this for the world, but it’s certainly not easy at times, and it definitely is not an incredible adventure every day.

The Germans have a saying, that goes something like “may you always have a handspan of water under your keel”, which basically means don’t ground your boat. My saying is a derivative of the German one, and goes “may there always be at least six knots flowing beneath your keel”. I think for someone who has money, spending a lot of time in port, is an enjoyable thing. You can go do things, like see movies, buy books, spend loads of time sampling restaurants, go shopping etc. But for me, its becoming more and more about the sailing, than the landfall. I think back and almost regret (but not enough to actually really regret anything at all) doing all that damn coastal hopping. I had my reasons, but I’m beginning to think my route should have been: Amsterdam->Brest->La Coruna->Lisbon->Canaries. I don’t have the cash to be a tourist, I only have just enough to keep going… Funnily enough, it’s actually cheaper for me to be making progress, which is what I want to be doing anyway – I’m going to make a concerted effort from now on, to spend more time offshore, making heavy miles. Thankfully I have the Atlantic in front of me!

Nick.

(Happy Birthday Celeste).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This post was carefully crafted at sea level, nick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

nick

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

nick.