Day 18: Bermuda to Maine – 31/07/12

I have never sailed in conditions that change all the time.  When we crossed oceans, east to west, the weather stayed the same for days.  Now when the weather is shit that’s not necessarily a good thing but at least you know where you are.  Here, it’s all wind then no wind then high seas then flat seas, engines off, engines on, sails out, sails away.  It’s beginning to get on my nerves!

Photo:  A chilly sunrise

I start the day playing with a fishing boat that seems determined to get in my way.  Maritime law says he has right of way because he is working and I am out enjoying myself (oh really?) so I try to do just that but as I change direction, he does too, or at least it looks that way.  I keep an eye on him with the binoculars but I can see his port light and it is getting closer.

It doesn’t seem quite as cold as yesterday but my morning nap is taken with a single blanket doubled over and I’m nice and toasty warm.  The sea is calm and for a few hours we have good wind speeds which is a good combination for a smooth glide through the water.

I look through the fridge and aware that the immigration authorities will want to know what fresh stuff I have on board, I cook it all so that I will not be called upon to dispose of it.  Not that the authorities here are as ruthless as the Australian ones, at least I hope they aren’t anyway otherwise I will be losing the contents of my freezer too and given the amount of shrimp still in there, I would just cry (or stand there in front of them and cook and eat them).

It’s smooth enough for me to cut my hair and paint my toes ready for civilization again.  The hair cut is a bit more ruthless than usual – but not by the standards of one given to me by a mental Australian hairdresser – I still have nightmares about that one - and it gives me money to spend on something else.  Actually, I should have been adding up all costs for the hair cuts and dyeing sessions that I have not had and present the findings to Mike but as that would mean admitting how much I actually used to spend on my hair, I had better keep my trap firmly shut!  He’s far better left in ignorance.  Bless!

During the afternoon we are able to sail properly.  If it had been in the right direction it would have been fantastic but I guess in this lark you can’t have everything.  The winds move from being from the south west to the south east and we start heading towards New Hampshire instead of Maine but we don’t have any real speed so rather than wake Mike I just let us go.  As we don’t want to arrive in the middle of the night we have plenty of time to play with.

In the early evening we have a visitor – a lovely big bird arrives on the bow seat of the boat and hitches a ride.  He looks a little perturbed when we mess around with the genoa but makes no move to leave us even though he nearly falls off a couple of times and flaps around getting his balance back.  He’s still there when I go to bed.

Photo:  Flapping wildly to keep his balance

Photo:  Balance restored

 

Position:  43 deg 06 min N, 70 deg 05 mins W

Distance so far:  1539 miles

Day 17: Bermuda to Maine – 30/07/12

What a difference another day makes – it’s not a saying but it should be!

It’s all change again as when the sun rises there is a thick blanket of cloud and low visibility – and it’s bloody cold!  During the night the sea has been getting rougher and rougher – totally unavoidable – as we cross the continental shelf and a cold wind is coming from the north east.  The sails are still up but the engine is going too and we are still only making 4 to 5 knots.

Amazingly I get to sleep for my morning catch up, probably because it took me so long last night to actually drop off at all and I probably lost about 2 hours trying.  But immediately I wake up and open my eyes, I know it’s going to be bad.  Crash, bang, thump, lurch, tip forwards, tip backwards – oh Jeannius is pitching all over the place and nausea starts to creep up on me.  For all the good I am I may as well stay in bed but I decide I may as well lie on the sofa and keep Mike company (take that to mean make sure he knows I am suffering) rather than lie alone in bed and complain to myself.

Not for the first time this morning, a large vessel bears down on us.  I have just sent Mike down for a little sleep and when I see AIS telling me that his course is going to take us within 0.012 of a mile of a collision, I hesitate as Mike has not told me how much tolerance I have with the amount of sail that I have.  I’m great at avoidance tactics when just powered by the engine but bring those flappy bits into the picture and I’m clueless.  I have to wake him up.  And it’s just as well.  Mike changes course and we head at 90 degrees to our previous course.  We would have had to do this at some time in the next couple of hours anyway to avoid being in the north-south shipping lane to Boston.  We end up spending 4 hours to get to 4 miles on from where we started before we had to tack.

Mike is not happy and not just because of the waste of time.  One engine is refusing to charge the house batteries and the inverter only produces charge when it wants to.  Seeing his miserable face is enough to kick me up the backside – we both can’t be pissed off at the same time – so I decide it’s my turn to be the cheerful one and shovelling sea sickness tablets down my throat, I make a start on the washing up.

Within half an hour, I feel fine.  No, it’s not the healing and restorative powers of housework, it’s just that the wind dies down and with it, the sea.  Completely.  An hour later and it is totally flat, eerily flat calm.  It’s the weirdest looking sea since the last time I saw one this weird, but it’s wonderful.

Photo:  Now this is what you call ‘dead calm’

For the third time today we see dolphins.  It is much easier to see them when the sea is this calm but they refuse to come over to the side of the boat which is in shade and I can’t film them as they are right in the line of the sun.  I’m not surprised they want to play though.  By late in the afternoon we are getting an average of 8 knots.  Although there is virtually no wind and the engines are only giving us about 4.5 knots, we have over 3 knots of current with us.  We are gliding!  However, we would have to keep this speed up all the way to Portland if we are going to make it during light tomorrow and as Mike says, that just isn’t going to happen. 

Civilisation is all around us.  There are more container ships, tankers and fishing boats than you can shake a stick at.  At one point we are surrounded by 6 boats all going in different directions.  The fishing boats mill around in no particular direction and getting past them and their nets is like being on a slalom course but then we are in shallow seas now so it is to be expected.  I just keep thinking of all that crab, lobster and shrimp I am going to eat when I hit Maine.

  Photos:  Fishing boat pulling up it’s nets

Photo:  A tanker at sunset

The trousers, socks and fleeces came out today – during the day no less – and the water temperature dropped another 3 degrees to 16 degrees.  No wonder they get so much coastal fog here.  It’s just like being in UK territorial waters – only warmer.  I’m glad I kept the blankets on board!

 

Position:  41 deg 24 min N, 69 deg 00 mins W

Distance so far:  1427 miles

Day 16: Bermuda to Maine – 29/07/12

What a difference a day makes, as they say.

Today we have blue sky and almost no cloud.  In the morning the wind is in the right direction and strong enough to give us 6 to 7 knots.  Unfortunately this doesn’t last and by the middle of the afternoon, and as predicted, the wind starts to die down and within an hour we have gone from great wind to babies’ burps.

I spend nearly an hour playing cat and mouse with the wind, putting an engine on when the wind drops, only to switch it off ten minutes later when it picks up and we can sail properly for a short while.  Eventually I give up when Samantha, having been set to steer to the wind, gives up and throws her toys out of the pram leaving me nearly 90 degrees off course because she has no wind to steer to.  I put the engine back on and it stays on.

When Mike gets up in the late afternoon we put all the sail up to get as much help as possible for the engine.  As I start to haul the rest of the main up, however, it makes a nasty grinding noise on the winch.  I know something is wrong and manage to spot the problem before Mike does.  Once again I have failed as first mate by putting the bloody topping lift on the winch instead of the main halyard.  Why, why, why did he have to put those stupid bloody helpful labels on for me?  Ever since they have gone on I have done it wrong.  Hugely embarrassed and not helped by the fact that Mr Smartypants Captain is smirking and not even trying to hide it, I put the right one on.

My day is made worse, however, by reading our e-mails.  Both mine and Mike’s drop into the same inbox – it makes it easier to download them using our terminally slow satellite phone.  I spot the weather forecast for tomorrow and read it.  Now with me, a little nautical information is a bad thing – I don’t normally bother reading these forecasts as they are unintelligible to me with their talk of frontal boundaries, low pressure disturbances and high pressure ridges but I understand the bit that says the sea will be “rougher when crossing into the shallower waters of the continental shelf (unavoidable)”.  Oh great.  How much ‘rougher’?  I understand that it is ‘unavoidable’.  We have to cross the continental shelf somewhere, and any stretch of water where the depth of the sea bed goes from 2500 metres to just over 200 metres is going to be turbulent to put it mildly.  Now I have it to look forward to.  Mike normally keeps these unpleasant facts under wraps until they are almost upon us as there is nothing to do but get on with it.  I will just worry about it now.  Presumably Mike thinks he may as well get all the bad news out of the way in one go, as he tells me there is no way we can now hope to make it to Portland before dark on Tuesday as we are going so slowly.  Therefore, instead of hammering the engines and trying, we will stay at a slightly slower than normal speed and get in comfortably on Wednesday.

Still, with the calm sea that we have today, it means that I can make inroads into editing some of my photos of the World ARC rally and this has an added bonus of keeping me occupied.  I have literally thousands of photographs and although I have culled them as I have gone along (ie deleted the ones which show me as I do not wish to look) there are still far too many.  I can’t be too choosy though – if I delete anything where I do not match the fantasy of what I think I look like (that little picture in my head that somehow fails to live up to the thing that faces me in the mirror every morning) there will be none of me.  Anyway, I spend a few happy hours doing this, and Mike practically has to prise me away from the keyboard and send me to bed.

It’s getting chillier by the day – we are now out of the Gulf Stream and the sea temperature has dropped once more.  The boat is covered with a thick layer of salt that the heavy condensation fails to melt away and there is not enough heat to fully dry the cockpit.  Even the sofas are starting to feel tacky with the constant salt and moisture laden air.  Brrrr.  Mike brings his slippers out for his night watch and keeps a pair of trousers nearby.  Soon it’ll be the blanket and fleece jackets at this rate!

 

Position:  39 deg 34 min N, 68 deg 27 mins W

Distance so far:  1314 miles

Day 15: Bermuda to Maine – 28/07/12

The best thing I can say about today is that I'm not actually sick - really, that's it.

About half an hour into my night watch, Samantha, our auto pilot, goes all premenstrual on me and flips out and the problem is that she hasn't done it for so long that I don't immediately recognise the symptoms.

The sheets bang furiously on the coach roof, making enough din to wake the dead and Mike who has just got to sleep.  He comes flying out of the cabin while I am still doing my startled rabbit act.  I tell him there's something wrong (no shit Sherlock!) and then realise what has actually happened when I see the difference on the radar between our plotted course and our actual course.  Luckily Mike reacts so fast that no harm is done and he goes back to bed leaving me once again feeling pretty stupid.  I'll never get this sailing lark.

The rest of the day is pretty miserable on all fronts.  After yesterday's clear sky, today all we have is wall to wall cloud and as we are now in the Gulf Stream, the humidity has arrived.  On top of that, the seas are lumpy, uncomfortable and very confused with the swell going one way and the surface waves going another.  Mike and I spend our nap times in the stern cabin and our watch time on the sofa with the alarm clock, neither of us wanting to venture outside very much thanks to the return of the salt crust and the slimy feel of the boat - how different to yesterday.  Lying down is preferable to trying to move around as the boat lurches all over the place and as I feel slightly sick all day, it seems a good plan to me.

One good thing is that we have strong, steady winds so however revolting this part of the trip might turn out to be, we will be through it quicker.

 

Position:  37 deg 33 min N, 67 deg 49 mins W

Distance so far:  1190 miles

Day 14: Bermuda to Maine – 27/07/12

Last night there had been three birds which continually circled the boat looking like they were about to land but never actually plucking up the courage to do it.  Today there are two more birds and by the afternoon I can count ten all together.  It's a bit weird.  Where are they coming from and how can they continue to flap around without landing?  It's almost spooky and I start to feel like I am in some maritime version of Alfred Hitchcock's film 'The Birds'.

Apart from the birds, there is absolutely nothing to look at, just sky and sea - not even any clouds today.

Towards the end of the afternoon the wind starts to pick up as predicted and at last we are able to switch the engine off and put the genoa out as well as the main.  But they always say be careful what you wish for don't they?  With the wind comes uncomfortable sea and by the time I go to bed the waves are crashing against the boat sounding as though their very reason for being is to smash Jeannius into little bits.  Gone are my nice clean feeling surfaces out in the cockpit.  Salt has made its comeback!

 

Our position is:  35 deg 15 min N, 66 deg 17 min W

Distance so far:  1035 nautical miles

Day 13: Bermuda to Maine – 26/07/12

We wake to a beautiful day – not a cloud in the sky, the harbour like a mil pond and only a breath of wind – the perfect day to stay and go sight seeing a little more of this lovely island but we are itchy to get going so perhaps we can return to do that another time.

We take the dinghy over to the customs dock and check out – they are so friendly and polite and it makes such a change.

We get Mike a typical Bermuda t-shirt – a dark and stormy one – his favourite drink - and top up on our supplies at the supermarket, then it’s back to the boat and off to fill up with diesel and water.

We pull up at the petrol station for this.  It seems really bizarre to turn up at a proper one, complete with cars filling up, although filling Jeannius up takes a lot longer than it would a car.  While Mike stands in the cockpit with the diesel pump, I do the same on the bow with the water hose, filling up the empty bottles as well because the local water is totally potable.

Photo:  Filling up

Unfortunately Bermuda does not offer the facility to buy diesel duty free once you have checked out, or at least, it does if you order it specially, need about three times more than our tank will hold and are prepared to go all the way around to the western tip of the island to do it then come all the way back to St Georges as that’s the only way through the reef.  Basically, Mike can’t be bothered.

Photos:  St Georges, Bermuda, pretty as a picture

Filled up, we ship out through the town cut and into the area of shallow water that surrounds Bermuda.  The sea over this area is confused and lumpy and ploughing through it, both engines running and the main up just in case we get any wind to help us along, it’s an uncomfortable three hours.  Once into the deep water outside the reef the sea should settle down – but it doesn’t, at least not for a few hours and late in the afternoon I feel the old sea sick business making a return.  I lie miserably on the side cushion in the cockpit.  The sea is not what you could call rough – I really don’t understand why this is happening to me.  It can’t be hormonal – I haven’t got any of those left.  I eye up the bucket which Mike has left lying around in the cockpit – just in case – but I don’t need to grab it just yet.

I’ve prepared dinner and it’s easy for Mike to just pop it into a frying pan.  He’s surprised when I want some but soon after eating it, sitting in the cockpit watching the sun go down, I feel better. 

 

Photos:  A sunset – and suddenly it all fees better

By the time I go to bed, the breeze, when it does come, comes from all directions, but as it’s pretty pathetic, it doesn’t really make much difference.  When it’s from the wrong direction it isn’t strong enough to hinder us, and when it’s from the right one, it just gives us little extra nudge.  For the first time there is no need to run the air conditioning, and sitting outside I feel a very slight evening chill.  The boat doesn’t even feel slimy.  I could get used to this latitude!

 

Position:  33 deg 15 min N, 64 deg 54 mins W

Distance so far:  901 miles

Day 12: Bermuda – 25/07/12

I’m getting really bored now.  Although there’s sunshine and a blue sky, the wind is howling through the harbour, constantly gusting around 35-40 knots.  There is no way I am getting in the dinghy in that even if I am going a little stir crazy!

We watch the huge ferry have three goes at trying to get to the dock.  They don’t tie up alongside here, they just nudge up gently to the dock, bows against it and hold it there with the engines going full blast.  Well, that’s the principle.  Today, however, the poor captain just can’t get the ferry aligned because the wind keeps pushing him sideways before he can make contact and he can’t come screaming in otherwise all the passengers would go flying when the ferry hits the concrete dock.

Mike sits, entertained, then goes for an afternoon nap.  I follow an hour later after trying unsuccessfully to publish a last bit of blog from the previous October.  After having wonderful, free internet since we arrived, today it is totally crap.

The weather forecast says that the wind will start to die out overnight so hopefully we can leave tomorrow.  I just hope the sea has subsided too!  I do not fancy looking into the abyss of the bucket.

 

Position:  32 deg 22 min N, 64 deg 40 mins W

Distance so far:  841 miles

Day 11: Bermuda – 24/07/12

More spectacular thunder, lightning and rain arrives first thing in the morning but at least the boat is parked in the same place we left her last night.

We spend the day doing nothing really.  Looking at the forecast, going ashore in the dinghy doesn’t look appealing and the free internet here in the harbour is good.

Things still look good for Thursday – well not good, exactly – more a case of as good as they are going to get!

In the early evening, Mike gets in the dinghy to go and pick up Rachel and David.  David has contacted Mike as he has bought the first Privilege 435 ever made and has ripped the innards out to rebuild.  He is interesting to see what a sea-going version looks like and pick Mike’s brains a little.

We spend a happy couple of hours chatting away in the air conditioning and when no rain appears, contrary to the weather reports, I begin to regret my decision about not going out to dinner with them.  I had been worried about being in the dinghy, in the dark, in the promised thunderstorm.  However, just as they clamber into the dinghy, it starts to rain.  By the time Mike returns, he is soaked to the skin – and he has his waterproof jacket on – they must be totally waterlogged!  My decision was the right one after all -  I even get soaked just taking the dinghy line from Mike and tying it on.

We eat a late supper, watch a bit of a movie and go our separate ways – Mike on anchor chain watch.  At least it is cool enough (just) for me not to moan about not having the air conditioning on.

 

Position:  32 deg 22 min N, 64 deg 40 mins W

Distance so far:  841 miles

Day 10: Bermuda – 23/07/12

Well, actually, we don’t sail off again today.

The early morning weather forecast is not good.  The weather front has moved in fast and if we venture out now we would be in the thick of it for longer.  It just isn’t worth the risk.  We’ve been in much worse weather but if you don’t have to go, it’s better not to and we can afford to sit this out for a few days.

During the morning the wind picks up and the rain starts to lash the island.  Gusts of over 50 knots blow through the harbour and cause Jeannius to swing like a pendulum from her anchor and by lunchtime we are surrounded by lightning, with claps of thunder that make me jump out of my seat.  The sky is very, very dark.

Suddenly the anchor alarm goes off.  Now, with us swinging at anchor the way we are, this is likely to happen, so I am not immediately worried, but I check out of the door anyway, only to notice that the half sunken wreck that was lying about 500 yards behind us is – bloody hell – somewhat considerably closer!

I call Mike out of the cabin and thrust his waterproofs at him.  “We’re dragging” I shout and stand back to watch the master at work.  He guns the engine and pulls the boat forward while I get my waterproofs on too, but slowly, as we are now not in any danger with Mike at the helm, and after all, I don’t want to be called upon to help while it’s still lashing it down outside.

When the worst is over, I go out and begin to bring the anchor up.  There was enough chain down before, but this time we lay even more down.  Forget the anchor, we lay enough chain down to hold the boat even if we didn’t have an anchor down as well.

“Where are my knickers?” I suddenly ask Mike.  He glances down at me, relieved that I actually seem to be wearing some.  “You’re wearing them” he says.  Duh!  But  I’m not talking about those.  Last night, after my shower, he had hung a pair on the end of the boat hook for me - they have obviously blown off and there is now a pair of cream lace ones floating around the harbour.  I just hope they don’t get sucked into someone’s inlet pipe or foul a propeller!

The gale force winds abate and checking the weather through the day, Mike discovers that there is more to come and we would now not be wise to leave before Thursday, so we baton down the hatches and prepare to wait it out.  Bermuda radio starts to warn passing boats from coming within 30 miles of Bermuda due to the danger of being blown on to the reefs and forbids any oil tanker from entering the harbours.  There is a general small craft warning out.  All adds to the … fun?

During a break in the weather when checking some nautical thing or other, Mike finds my knickers on the bottom step of the transom.  Thank god I didn’t put out an obstacle alert on the radio!

If I think the lightning is spectacular in the morning, the evening’s performance is totally awe inspiring.  Sheets of lightning illuminate the sky on both sides of the boat – we are sandwiched in the middle.  It’s so amazing that I even go out to film it from the cockpit – making sure that I wear my flip flops as they are rubber.  It seems a sensible precaution to me although Mike assures me that the whole boat is insulated.  Still, you can’t be too sure.

Photo:  Lightning striking over Bermuda

We sleep without the air conditioning so that we can hear the anchor alarm if it should have the audacity to go off after all that chain laying, and sleep apart, Mike in the stern cabin so that he is even closer to the alarm.  Me, I shut the door and turn the fan on high.  At times like this, it’s definitely HIS boat!!!

 

 

Position:  32 degs 22 mins N, 64 degs 40 mins W

Distance so far:  841 miles

Day 9: Bermuda – 22/07/12

Listening to the weather forecast this morning Mike decides that the approaching weather front really doesn’t look very pleasant and that we might be better to head out tomorrow and get ahead of the worst of it.  To that end we go into town to get the last of our supplies and find out about filling up with diesel and water.

St George is like a ghost town.  There are more people in cars than walking around, and that’s not saying much.  Only two little shops and the supermarket are open.

We get our supplies, head back to the boat and get on with our respective little jobs for passage preparation.  I tidy, clean and change the bed, making up the stern cabin as well – just in case – and Mike does things with oil and engines.

Although there is now no time to explore this little island, neither of us feel cheated.  We have seen so many beautiful small islands – more beautiful in fact - that this is not a big deal.

Tomorrow, we sail again.

 

Position:  32 degs 22 mins N, 64 degs 40 mins W

Distance so far:  841 miles

Day 8: Bermuda – 21/07/12

I spend the night in a comfortable bed, that doesn’t move and that doesn’t have tanker loads of water being thrown over it all night, and guess what?  I still don’t sleep well.

I actually get up to make the tea this morning as Mike refuses to wake up properly then I start clattering about tidying up the post passage holocaust that is the interior of the boat – just to make a point! 

By mid morning we are in the dinghy heading for town.  The dinghy ride is not good.  It’s rough, and the distance is such that I quickly realise that drastic measures are called for if I am to prevent getting soaked.  I stand up, grab the painter, and hope like hell that I don’t do something stupid like lose my balance and my dignity.  I think Mike can just about see past my bum – well he doesn’t hit anything.

We tie up at the dinghy dock and walk along to King’s Square where the St George’s Town Crier and others are about to re-enact an 18th century trial including the ducking of a nagging wench.

He asks for volunteers, and I fear that Mike will push me forward as a nagging wench (and I don’t nag, I correct and instruct), but he’s actually after volunteers to operate the ducking stool and Mike agrees.  Four other men are found Mike discovers to his horror that he is to operate the side of the stool next to a young American lad (who obviously doesn’t understand the politics) wearing a Manchester United football shirt.  Being a staunch Liverpool supporter, Mike shouts that he will not stand next to him, and the lad is dragged, confused, around to the other side.  It’s now actually worse because instead of having ‘the offensive shirt’ behind him and out of sight, it is now opposite.

Photo:  The nearest Mike has stood next to a Manchester United shirt – ever 

The re-enactment is actually quite amusing and is watched by  tourists and locals alike  The poor ‘nag’ is ducked seven times in all.

Photos:  Before, during and after the duckings

After that Mike and I go on a walkabout.  It doesn’t take long – the town of St George is small, but it is beautifully preserved and extremely pretty.  There’s no litter and everyone is really friendly.  I suppose there must be some grumpy, miserable old Bermudians, but I don’t find any.  They all say hello when they pass you and smile – so different to the BVIs.  The only thing that is the same is the price of everything so we don’t do a mega provision, just fresh stuff to tide us over.  Amazingly the supermarket has quite a lot of Waitrose own-brand products.  How weird.  They must have heard I was coming!

Photo:  Replica of ‘Deliverance’, the ship built here to take British settlers on to Virginia

  Photo:  King’s Square, St George’s

Photo:  St George’s town hall

Photos:  Pretty St George

We stop for ice cream and cake – real tourists – and wander around the Saturday market but after a couple of hours we are done with the town.  We decide to take the island buses tomorrow or Monday to explore a bit further. 

I like Bermuda but it seems almost … unreal – a bit like a film set.

 

Position:  32 degs 22 mins N, 64 degs 40 mins W

Distance so far:  841 miles

Day 7: Tortola, BVI to Bermuda – 20/07/12

It’s a bumpy old night and I don’t sleep well – again.  Just as I am preparing to go to bed for my morning catch-up (huh, fat chance) Mike shouts that there is something very big swimming alongside the boat.  I rush out to look.  At first we think it’s a whale, but as it moves to the bow and we get a proper look, we can see that it’s a HUGE dolphin, the biggest one we’ve ever seen.

It’s soon joined by a second one, just as large, then maybe a third – it’s difficult to tell because they keep moving out of sight.

They swim right at the surface and one of them keeps tapping the side of the boat with his tail.  I am at the bow seat, leaning over, and he rolls slightly to one side looking up at me.  I’ve never seen them do this before, but he really is looking.  Then I hear him making high pitched squeaks – again the first time I have ever heard it although I’ve heard it on wildlife stuff.  I can see the thin stream of bubbles coming from his blow hole which an indication of when he is going to surface, but in my excitement, I just take photos (which are crap) and forget about the video facility – duh!

Photo:  One hell of a dolphin

Of course, excitement before bed means no sleep, and along with all the banging and crashing, I only last an hour or so before giving up and joining Mike in the cockpit.

I spend the next hour cutting up and freezing all my fresh vegetables – onions, garlic, tomatoes and ginger.  As with most places, they don’t like the fresh stuff, and if the customs people come on board they just might take it.

By noon, Bermuda is well in sight but all you can see though is a low island covered in white buildings.  Ten miles out and there are sea vessels galore – tankers, liners, sports fishing boats - but no other yachts.

At 1 pm Mike calls Bermuda radio to announce our imminent arrival.  We are greeted by a Scotsman who acknowledges that he has received our paperwork and we are free to come in and dock at the customs and immigration dock at St Georges.  We are confused by the time though.  Although Bermuda is dead north of the BVIs, they are an hour ahead, so now we are four hours behind the UK and not five.  Oh well.  No matter.

We follow the channel into the cut – literally a cut in the land to allow the boats through and make our way to the customs office on Ordnance Island.  There is no one there to take our lines and I realise that I will have to jump from the boat onto the concrete dock – in flip flops as I have yet to find my deck shoes.  This could be interesting, especially as obviously the ferry is due in and there are loads of people on the opposite side with nothing to do but watch me.

Luckily, there are no mishap, although I bugger the line up and it tries to unravel itself resulting in me having to stand and hold it to stop Jeannius pulling away.  After a couple of minutes Mike manages to bring the bow around and jump off himself to tie the other end on too.  Phew, job done!

The formalities are completed quickly, efficiently and in a very friendly manner.  They even give me tourist information stuff to save me having to walk around the corner to get it.

Photo:  Against the customs dock

We move from the dock and anchor in St George’s Harbour.  We could go and explore but are both too knackered.  Bermuda will be there tomorrow!  We are still unsure how long we will spend here.  It was just intended as a bit of breathing and sleeping space -  somewhere to re-fuel and top up our supplies, but from our vantage point and after reading the blurb, we might like a little longer to explore.  I guess it all depends on the weather!

 

Position:  32 degs 22 mins N, 64 degs 40 mins W

Distance so far:  841 miles

Day 6: Tortola, BVI to Bermuda - 19/07/12

Mike wakes early and comes up to take over.  There has been a big white cloud behind the boat, growing bigger for about half an hour but it suddenly becomes visible on the radar and glancing at it I can see that it is now quite dark.

While I finish writing the blog Mike wanders out to the cockpit and announces that the big black cloud now has a ‘thing’ dangling from it.  Indeed it does.  A bloody great waterspout – a tornado of sorts over the water – and it’s only a few miles behind us.

Photo:  You can see the cloud with the waterspout just forming

Given that there is no wind to speak of which means that it’s travelling almost as slowly as we are, we are in no imminent danger but Mike takes decisive action by rapidly changing course to make certain we are out of harm’s way.

We watch the spectacle for about 15 minutes.  You can clearly see the disturbance on the water and that on the right hand side of the cloud it is raining hard. 

Photo:  Impressive and a bit worrying when it comes up behind you!

Eventually the spout twists which seems to make it lose power and the disturbance on the surface of the water stops.  Within minutes, the cloud starts to turn a lighter grey and then back to white as it has now dumped all its water content into the sea.  Mike puts us back on course and we continue towards Bermuda rather than Europe.

All the excitement wakes me up just at the point when I should be going back to bed so unsurprisingly I cannot sleep.  The pathetic breaths of wind are coming from behind and there is no cooling breeze coming in through the hatches.  It is stifling everywhere on the boat.  After about an hour’s fitful sleep, I give up and come back up again.

There’s no further excitement until late in the afternoon when a freighter that I can clearly see does not show on AIS until it is very close.  Unable to work out for myself exactly how close he will come I wake Mike up so that’s two of us with not enough sleep under our belts today and irritatingly (from the perspective of waking Mike unnecessarily) the freighter passes almost two miles in front of us.  It looks a lot bloody closer.

With virtually no wind and a current of 0.5 knots against us, we make pathetic headway.  Gone are our thoughts of arriving on Friday morning.  We will now be lucky if we make it before Customs and Immigration close on Friday afternoon.  We take the main sail down – it’s doing no good anyway – and Mike ties the genoa out to the side to try to capture any wind that may come from the SW.

By the evening, the sea state is lumpy, but only little lumps.  It makes for a bit of a jerky ride but not one to induce sickness.

Nearly there!

Our position is:   31degs, 10 mins N, 64 degs 34 mins W

Distance so far:  769 miles

           

Day 5: Tortola, BVI to Bermuda - 18/07/12

Today we have more of the same except we use one engine for most of it instead of two.  For a short while, we turn them off completely, which is bliss as it coincides with my morning nap.  I lie in bed and all I can hear is the gentle lapping of the boat moving through the water.  No waves crashing against the boat.  No bouncing up and down over short, choppy waves.  Just smoothness.  For just a little while.

I discover a stowaway.  Having been completely mosquito bite-free for two weeks in the BVI (unheard of even with the application of noxious chemicals and the wearing of long trousers), I discover two mosquito bites and Mike finds one.  A little bugger has joined us on the trip.  His days are numbered though.  One more bite and I’m spraying the boat.

I see two vapour trails crisscrossing the sky today and then … great excitement – suddenly on the horizon I see a vision of skyscrapers and even though I know it’s a container ship or liner, it really does look like a huge city.  It’s about 12 miles away and never comes any closer, just goes across our path on its way to America.

In the early evening I am transfixed by the sunset and if that’s not beautiful enough, the reflection on the opposite horizon is even more awe inspiring.  Huge columns of cumulus clouds tower all around us, their tops billowing out and spreading like huge atomic mushroom clouds. 

Photos:  Beautiful cloud formations fill the sky

At first it’s just the shape which is beautiful but in the setting sun, the reflections turn from shades of pale gold, dusky pink and lilac to deep gold and blood red.  Even the sea turns red.  I sit for nearly an hour watching this continual transformation.  How lucky am I to see this picture of Mother Nature in all her magnificent beauty?

Photos:  Can they get more beautiful?

Our position is:   29 degs, 31 mins N, 64 degs 37 mins W

Distance so far:  687 miles

Day 4: Tortola, BVI to Bermuda - 17/07/12

We continue to motor sail with both engines on all through the night.  The wind is light and right on the nose.  The sea is like a mill pond.  No sickness in sight.  The bucket has been tucked away.

During his watch Mike starts to watch a TV mini series called ‘The Bermuda Triangle’ so when I get up and see it on the computer screen ready to run, I watch it too.  How bright is that?  Watching something about ships that disappear into thin air when you are sailing less than 80 miles from one of the triangle’s sides!?  Good job it’s really crap otherwise I would have been really spooked.  It’s almost as good as me watching ‘The Perfect Storm’ when Mike was crossing the Atlantic and I hadn’t heard from him that day.  Jeez.

For the first time since starting out, I risk doing my sudoku then read.  My morning nap time is spent lying sideways across my bed so the sun can’t get me but with the hatch wide open so I have a lovely breeze blowing across me drifting in and out of sleep.

The sea in the afternoon sun looks so beautiful.  Being so calm, and with a clearer sky than we have seen for days, the sun makes it sparkle like it is sprinkled with a million diamonds.  The camera can’t capture it but I’m happy to sit and stare.  I see nothing all afternoon except one solitary bird which circles the boat for a while then takes off.  Then I see a line in the sky – a plane – the first I have seen.  So there is still life out there!

Mike checks the diesel situation when he gets up and discovers that so far we have only used about a quarter of a tank so we will be fine even if we have to motor all the way there.

By the evening the wind has started to come south a little and picks up just enough for us to turn one engine off.  For a while, we can turn them off completely.

Photo:  Calm sea at sunset

I know I am a fair weather sailor and today is a lovely day for one of those!

Our position is:   27 degs, 11 mins N, 64 degs 38 mins W

Distance so far:  529 miles

Day 3: Tortola, BVI to Bermuda - 16/07/12

Well, I’m back at my computer which must mean that my head is out of the bucket.  What a wonderful start, but actually, the start was OK, the OK bit just didn’t last very long.

Mike woke me up at 7 am with a cup of tea.  The cup of tea part was good but the being woken wasn’t.  So much for the ‘we’ll get up and go when we wake up”, the ‘we’ part figuring high on my agenda.

I frantically got the blog up to date and posted and after last minute preparations, we slipped the lines at 9 am.

There was a good wind, around 20-25 knots, and we started to make great time almost immediately, doing around 8-9 knots.  We were on a beam reach and even with two reefs in the main and half the genoa we were flying.

However, the sea got lumpier and lumpier the further we sailed from Tortola.  By mid afternoon, what was just a bit uncomfortable in the morning had become pretty bloody intolerable.  We were both being thrown around whenever we tried to move.  And then that sick feeling descended.  I called for the bucket.  When the sea is that rough, a bucket is preferable to going anywhere near the side, hideous as looking at your own vomit may be.

I was keeping it together, just, until I had to go to the loo.  That finished me and Mike quickly handed me the bucket while I was still sitting there on the throne.

Everything was downhill after that.  All I was capable of was lying in a sweaty little heap on the sofa.  Every time I sat up, a fresh wave of nausea would wash over me and I would lie back down again.  My watches were done lying on the sofa with the alarm clock set every 15 minutes.  I couldn’t work out which stage of sea sickness I was at – the one where you are frightened you are going to die, or the one where you’re frightened you’re not going to!

And it just carried on.

By the next day, I still couldn’t keep stuff down.  The record for holding onto a drink was about 2 minutes.  Having just cleaned out the bucket with half of a can of coke I had just thrown up, I drank the other half just to watch it make its reappearance.  I decided that if I fancied any more coke, I would just cut out the middle man and tip it straight into the bucket!

The sea conditions did not change although Mike kept telling me that they would be better the next day.

I ached all over, actually we both did.  The effort of just staying still when the boat is moving relentlessly like that is enormous.  Pain killers would not take the headache away, probably because it was caused by dehydration.  I felt as weak as a kitten and longed for a shower and hair wash but wasn’t strong enough or brave enough to attempt one.  I was so tired that I had no trouble sleeping, fitful sleep though it was.  We didn’t stick rigidly to our 5 hours on/5 hours off, we took our sleep when we needed it.

Then when I went on watch at midnight, the sea had started to calm down a little.  I lay on the sofa again with the alarm clock, taking two large mouthfuls of water every time the alarm sounded, and ate a couple of the dry rosemary biscuits Heather had left behind.  I still felt sick every time I moved, but I didn’t have to reach for the bucket.

Gradually during the day the sea state improved.  By lunch time I had improved so much I really fancied the chicken salad I’d planned, and happily it felt the same about my tummy as it stayed put.  The headache still persisted for some hours until a couple of bottles of ‘Ting’ sorted it out.  When I woke from my afternoon nap, I felt normal.

But all good things obviously have their flip sides.  In order for my to feel so good, the sea had become almost flat calm and with the wind dropping to 7 knots we were getting under 4 knots of speed.  Just not enough.  So an engine went on.  By late in the evening, the pathetically small amount of wind had moved around to come from almost due north and Mike had to put both engines on.  That in turn means that we can’t have the generator on as well for the air conditioning.  Yuk.  Still, I had a really hot shower and loved every second of it.  Maybe we’ll get just a little bit of wind tomorrow.  But please, please, please, no rough seas.

Our position is:   25 degs, 01 mins N, 64 degs 40 mins W

Distance so far:  400 miles

Day 2: Tortola, BVI to Bermuda - 15/07/12

Mike again… Jean still seasick so can’t do the blog again today. Conditions still the same as yesterday for most of the day but quietening down by the evening. Virtually no wind or waves promised by the forecaster for tomorrow so hopefully Jean will be better in time for the next blog.

Our position is:  22 deg 54 min N, 64 deg 40 min W

Distance so far:  273 nautical miles

Day 1: Tortola, BVI to Bermuda - 14/07/12

Just a quick note from Mike…Jean is feeling seasick so can’t do the blog today. Apart from that, all is well. The nice gentle 15-20 knot breeze promised by the weather forecaster has yet to arrive. Instead we have a constant 25-30 knots with lumpy seas. Lovely.

Our position is:  20 deg 15 min N, 64 deg 38 min W

Distance so far:  113 nautical miles

Preparing For The High Seas: 09/07/12 – 13/07/12

It’s sad to see Heather, Joe and Graysen packing their bags, probably for the last time on Jeannius if we go ahead and sell her some time next year.  Well put her on the market anyway, after all, in this economic climate, selling anything is difficult.

While she’s not looking, I slip the plaque that we won for coming last in the Anegada Lobster Race into Heather’s bag as a surprise.  I never actually understood why we won that.  Yes, we came last, but we had officially retired from the race so weren’t in it anyway.

Linda comes over early to pick up the laundry and comes back with the first just as the Conklins are leaving for the airport.  It is a sad little farewell as we stand in the dusty carpark at Conch, basking in the smell of the overflowing rubbish skip.  Ah, the Caribbean!

Mike and I busy ourselves doing jobs on the boat, and this is really how the week continues.  We unpack all the boxes we stored at Conch and find the contents to be absolutely fine – no damp or mould at all.  In fact, even the huge bag of soft furnishings has remained fragrant.  The same cannot be said of the stuff in the bow compartment of the boat.  As Mike breaks it open, a hot, fetid smell emerges.  Everything is hot and damp and covered disgusting black, sooty mould.  He takes out a couple of things then decides to just leave the hatch open for a day or so.  A little man comes to service the engines and generator so with the cabins stripped, it gives me the opportunity to have a good sweep around and also search for Diane’s earrings which disappeared some time during the week, but they are nowhere to be found.

Mike contacts the main rigging guy on the island to arrange for him to go to the top of the mast to retrieve the main halyard and replace its sheave but when he is told we are at the dock at Conch, he tells us we will have to take the boat around to the shelter of TMM or a marina as he won’t go up the mast with the ferries going past.  What a wuss!  I go up the mast at sea outside Capetown and a guy who does it professionally won’t do it tied to the dock because of a bit of wake.  Actually, it’s a bloody lot of wake when the ferries pass but still.

Linda arrives at the dock on Tuesday morning to say goodbye - now it is her time for going home.

I decide to go into town to do a bit of provisioning.  The office tell me that Bobby's will come and collect me within 5 minutes of them placing the call, and sure enough, half an hour and 3 phone calls later, they do.  Sigh, I will never get used to ‘island time’.

Walking around Bobby’s I am dismayed at what I see.  The shop has really gone downhill.  Over half the frozen display units are completely empty, the fresh fruit and vegetables look anything but fresh and lots of the produce I pick up is out of date or barely in date.  The new Rite Way must be hitting them hard – and their answer seems to be to increase the price of everything they do have to make up the income shortfall – everything is so expensive.  One bag of groceries (with no meat or alcohol) comes to nearly $90.  Ridiculous!  I can’t find half the stuff I want so slip out and make my way over to SupaValue to buy all my chicken and shrimp.  On the way back I spot the same driver loading another crew and their provisioning into the taxi, and nonchalantly slide into the front, even though it was bloody obvious I had just come from another shop.  When he drops me off, I slip him $5 for not ‘noticing’.  Well, if you can’t beat them …

I cook garlic and chilli prawns on toast for tea.  We haven’t had it for ages and as I munch into the succulent little critters, I bemoan the fact that I only bought one pack.  And at $20 for 1.5 kilos, they are much better value than the small tube of tomato puree which cost me nearly $10 at Bobby’s.

On Wednesday, we move Jeannius round to TMM.  There is no room on the dock so we raft up three deep against another Catamaran and wait for the rigger.  Penny comes to see us, bringing back our breakmaker which has been on loan to her since last summer.  It turns out she liked it so much that Pete bought her one for Christmas so she’s happy to return mine.  We catch up on our respective family news then she offers to drop me in town so I can buy some more shrimp.  I pop into Capriccios to say hello to Pete and her daughter who she is meeting for lunch then walk back hoping the prawns don’t defrost, even though I have wrapped them in towels in my bag.  As I pass the riggers place, I note that his car is still in the driveway even though it is now past his appointment time with us.  Island time again!

I cannot pass Crandalls without buying some of their salt fish patties for lunch, and throw a beef one in for good measure too.  These things are delicious.  A tasty filling pinched up 'Cornish pasty style’ in doughnut dough and deep fried.  Heart attack on a plate, theoretically disgusting, but in reality, anything but.  Yummy.

Eventually the rigger arrives and I leave him to it with Mike to go to say hi to some of the staff at TMM.  Ten minutes later, I am just leaving to pop to the Rite Way door, when I see the rigger leave.  Asking him if it is all done, he replies ‘no, and you’ve got a bigger problem than you thought’.  Terrific.  It would appear that a terrible grinding noise occurred as he was winched up the mast and he is unwilling to risk it, preferring to dangle from a crane at Nanny Cay which he can do for us tomorrow as he will be there with said crane for another boat.

I do my heavy shopping then tramp it all across two boats to Mike.  He’s not as pissed off as I am about the rigging but he’s generally more ‘philosophical’ than I am about boat expenditure.  We collect the main sail from the sail makers above TMM and Mike, dragging it once more across the two rafted boats, not an easy task and one which I accomplish from the air conditioned comfort of the boat while Mike sweats it out with someone else.  We take the boat back out of the mosquito hell hole that is TMM (the down side of being sheltered) and pop it back on Conch’s dock.  When Mike sees the manager and explains what has happened he says the grinding noise was because they had swapped the grinding shreve for another one and they know another rigger who will do it.  One phone call and it’s arranged for tomorrow morning.

The afternoon is spent washing black mould off everything in the bow compartment and leaving it out to dry.

Early Thursday morning the other rigger arrives and half an hour later the job is done.  The nasty grinding noise did happen again but the rigger was unconcerned, probably because he sent his little apprentice up there.  Anyway Mike explains that the grinding noise is not a problem as it was caused by using a metal bit that’s not used by anything else.  So that’s alright then!  And the black mould cleaning continues.  We also get another winch put on for the genoa so that Mike doesn’t have to keep swapping the sheets over, something he has been meaning to do for ages (evidenced by the fact that the bloody winch has been sitting in one of his tool boxes for nearly two years!)

On Friday our main sail is finally fitted back on, Mike organises his tools and spare parts then goes to check out from Customs while I fill the boat with water.  It’s getting exciting now that we are nearly ready to go.  While I have command of the dock hose and a ferocious supply of water, I give the deck a really good scrub, finally managing to remove the last of Malcolm’s red wine. 

Finally we say goodbye to the staff at Conch and pull away from the dock, heading over to the fuel dock.  The man waves us over to the other side, away from all the wood guard rails and huge fenders, and towards a nasty solid concrete side.  I hastily rearrange our fenders just as we come alongside.  Telling me that the diesel will automatically switch off when the tank is full, I stand and squeeze the handle.  Of course, it doesn’t do what it should do and about two pints of bright orange diesel spurts out all over my newly cleaned cockpit.  I am not amused.  But Mike is distracted and happy about the news that he can get the diesel duty free as we have already checked out and the news of saving $100 allows my complaining to just wash straight over him.

While it’s duty free, Mike fills all the jerry cans too.  The winds are forecast to be light and there might be a lot of motoring for the second half of the trip to Bermuda.

We head for Cane Garden Bay where we are due to stay for the night before setting off tomorrow.  Apparently you don’t set sail for a long passage on any Friday, let alone a Friday 13th.  As we pass Nanny Cay we notice a nasty squall coming which looks like it might miss us.  We see lots of flapping sails as yachts are caught out and try to get their sails down quickly.  As we watch, the squall spreads out and it is soon obvious that it is going to get us too.  I head inside to shut the hatches and Mike dons his waterproofs – then it’s bucket time as the water comes down and the wind picks up to over 40 knots.  At least it helps get rid of the salt water and detergent that we poured over the cockpit to get rid of the diesel.  Every cloud and all that – literally in this case.

Photo:  Mike, the jerry cans and my not-so-clean cockpit

Rounding Steel Point, Mike decides to check the rigging.  I assume my position by my newly labelled jammers and attempt to pull the main up.  It won’t move more than about a foot.  Shit.  Mike walks all around the boom and mast checking everything, then glances over at me and my jammers.  Having gone all around the world with the bloody things unlabelled and never having a problem, I have now managed to attempt to pull up the main by having the topping lift sheet on the winch.  What a dork!  I swap them over looking sheepish and all is well.  The sail and it’s rigging arrangement work just fine.

We pick up a mooring ball in Cane Garden Bay because Mike wants a good night’s sleep without having to worry, shower and then go over to The Elm to have dinner with Malcolm and Candace.  As usual it is good and tonight the Elmtones are playing.  They wish us good luck and dedicate a song to our journey.  Not sure of the relevance as it’s Steve’s train song, but he’s British so maybe that’s it.

Photo:  That Cane Garden sunset again

Photo:  The Elmtones doing their thing

Photo:  Mike, Mal, Howard, Candace and me

We say a reluctant goodbye to our friends and go back to the boat.  Tomorrow our new adventure starts!  Bermuda and the US, here we come!!