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Bulletin - 30 December 2000 |
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Writing from St Anne, Martinique We left Mindelo on Saturday, December 2nd, motoring out into a notoriously rough and windy channel, to find it quite gentle for us, to head for Martinique. Two hours later, with the wind dying away altogether, the main propeller drive shaft bolts sheared and John's next two hours were spent head down in the bilges, replacing the bolts. Experiments with Cecile, our wind vane self steering gear gave us little cause for celebration, and once more she failed to come up to our hopes, if not our expectations. Faced with the prospect of hand steering the 2080 miles to Martinique, we decided on a watch system of 2 hours on, 2 hours off for the passage. 3 hours had earlier proved too long in the very rolly conditions, although 2 hours off is definitely too short! We subsequently modified the regime to two 3 hour watches each during the night, with longer watches during the day, giving sleeping time to whoever had slept the least during the night. We did also sleep when we could during the day, when off watch. We were fortunate with the wind, with the North East trades blowing just as they should, varying in strength between about 15 and 30 knots, giving us daily runs of 140 to 150 miles a day, occasionally 160, and, on one particularly good day, 172 miles (an average of over 7.1 knots). We took our daily run at the same time as the radio schedule (1800 GMT), when we had to report our position, wind direction and strength and distance to go to the day's "net controller", always another yachtsman sailing broadly the same route. Again, this added shape to the days, and it was good to hear how other people were faring. We were pleased to find that it had been worth the slightly extra distance to the Cape Verdes, as we had wind all the way, bar the last 10 hours or so, whereas many of the boats leaving from the Canaries had to motor to make progress for the first few days. We are rather conservative (when we can be) about motoring. Our Perkins 4107 is not the quietest of engines and we carry a relatively small quantity of fuel compared to some of our fellow boats, so we tend to be very sparing in our use of it at the beginning of a trip, never knowing when one might really need it, for example if something were to happen to limit our sailing ability. We were listening to the only voice weather forecast for our sea areas, which is in French, rather than wrestling with weatherfax reception onto the PC. We tape recorded it, to make sure we would be able to listen till we were certain we understood the forecast, but as the days wore on we found we could grasp the bulk of it without the tape. (It was good preparation for arriving in Martinique, which is merely a departement of France, and tuned our ears back into French again!) During our crossing there was some really fearsome weather, thankfully well to the North of us, but which made its appearance in the early parts of our broadcasts. Our worst forecast was for a force 7 for an area we were just leaving. The French are so expressive: instead of Force 10, 11 and 12, (which were all being forecast quite frequently, it seemed) they talk of tempete, tempete violent and ourigan, which somehow sound even worse. These were the storms which engulfed poor Team Phillips, though we didn't know that at the time. I suppose it's like listening to the weather in South East Iceland, which appears in the BBC's shipping forecast, but I have never before been at sea while hearing such weather forecast and it was quite a strange experience! We put our clocks back one hour for every 15º of longitude, and that added another rhythm to the passage. It did mean though that the time available for catching up on sleep after lunch and before the radio net got shorter and shorter, so we left the final time change till we arrived. Days and nights were highlighted with large waves down which Flame would surf with apparent glee, this time we hit 11 knots several times going down waves; our "speedometer" only reads up to twelve! A good discipline at such times was not to look astern as the larger waves towered above one's head briefly, before passing harmlessly underneath us. Our twin booms and headsails worked very well and we were able to make minor modifications or reef down sail without too much difficulty as the squalls rolled through, which they did fairly regularly at times and with no indication as to their strength, which in our case ranged from 25 to 35 knots, accompanied by torrential rain, but little sea. Occasionally we took down the working jib and replaced it with a storm jib and a very heavily furled genoa. We started out with an almost full moon, so were fortunate to have part of each night lit throughout the entire passage. The moon was so bright, you could read a digital watch by its light, and it cast strange shadows, making our spreaders (straight horizontal braces about halfway up the mast which are there to hold the wire rigging at the correct angle) look like huge bulls' horns across the foresails. The stars were wonderful before or after moon rise or set, but difficult to identify without recourse to the various books we have on board, which was hard while steering. One seems to see either only the constellations one knows; Orion, Great Bear, Cassiopea; or so many stars one can't distinguish one from another. We think we have found Leo, but he seems to be in the wrong place compared to the other stars, and since the night when John found "five saucepans" we are reluctant to make a positive identification. Our only possible helper, a stellarscope, it now transpires will not work below 20º North and up to 20º South (We are already at 14º North)! Towards the end of the last night watch, dawn breaking provided a welcome fillip. We were rather amazed to see very little wildlife; a few flying fish, though there were fewer of these than on the approach to the Cape Verdes, where one actually flew into John and hit him on the shoulder! It was not at all unusual to find a number of flying fish on the decks in the morning, and, during the day we would also put them up, rather like birds in a field, as we passed and send them flying, often for considerable distances, across the waves. The radio net held that they were good fried for breakfast, but frankly that was more than we felt up to by breakfast, so we left that delight for another time. Subsequently, we learnt that they should be filleted before being cooked, to avoid the many small bones; useful to know. About 70 miles away from Martinique, the wind died away and we had to turn our engine on until a few hours before landfall, but we were able to sail the last few miles of the crossing into the anchorage at Ste Anne, Martinique, arriving at about 0900 on Sunday morning, 17th December, where we were greeted by some New Zealand friends (Just Magic again) with a fresh baguette and a local, sweet, pineapple. We had achieved an average of 6.25 knots, sailed almost all the way, and celebrated our arrival with a small bottle of champagne! We will send more about Martinique itself in another update. We will be spending a few weeks here while Cecile is despatched to Canada to be repaired and returned. John & Helen
Fleming |
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