Watch Keeping on the Atlantic

The cockpit glows in the light of fluorescent tails that snake out from behind each hull. Phosphorescence sparkles in our wake and occasionally a larger glow, like a depth charge, drifts to the surface, then floats away and fades. The sound is like waves breaking on a shore as we surge through the night, spoilt only by the rumble of our engine, propelling us in the absence of wind. In the distance, with some envy, I can make out the faint red glow of a spinnaker, its gossamer fabric floating in the light wind, illuminated by a navigation light, drawing its cargo quietly but purposefully downwind. Once I am awake, the 3 am watch is quite magical, and improves daily as night temperatures increase and skies become more dramatic.

Mother with a sextant

Today has been an easy day, with glorious sunny weather and great food from the galley, but it has also been a frustrating day as the trade winds remain as illusive as ever and we continue to motor south. The watches on Hera change every three hours and as usual I am on watch from 3am to 6am when Andrew takes over. I do a short handover and then go back to my bunk for a few hours. Oults is on Mother Watch today, which means that he runs the galley, making all our meals, serving drinks and generally doing any housekeeping, and by the time that I surface from my cabin he is already preparing breakfast. It's remarkable how the smell of cooking draws everyone from their bunks and we congregate around the saloon table for cereal, scrambled egg on toast and freshly brewed coffee.

The Start of ARC 2019

We time our run for the start. Ahead, a large grey Spanish warship is acting as committee boat, marking the inshore end of the start line and we cross under her bows as the gun booms out, announcing the start of ARC 2019. We are in the multi-hull division and the first group to start, and as we get clear air, away from the fleet and anchored oil tankers, our boat speed builds and we are off. The sun has broken through the clouds and it's an exhilarating  start to the largest ocean yacht race in the world.

We leave tomorrow

It’s the day before the start of the ARC. Unbelievably, every item on my list is ticked; a feat that has never before been achieved and this is largely down to our fantastic crew. Mervyn has worked through my list, applying his practical and methodical approach to everything and each day he takes a few more items from my list, allowing  me time to co-ordinate and plan. On this trip we have decided to give ourselves a clear 24 hour rest period prior to the start and by midday today we are largely done.

Lanzarote to Las Palmas

It’s 3 a.m. when we cast off our lines and motor out of the marina under a full moon. Our friends Max, Heloise, Chris and Claire have woken up early to see us off and as we leave the shelter of the breakwater, the wind is already starting to build. We are finally leaving Lanzarote, heading south 100 miles to Las Palmas on the island of Gran Canaria for the start of the ARC.  The wind has been blowing hard for the past week and we are expecting a fast ride in a big following sea; and that’s exactly what we get.

Introducing Hera

We sold Juno with the slightly vague and dreamy idea to buy a catamaran and sail back to the South Pacific where we spent such a wonderful time with our friends on the World ARC in 2015. Our plan was to spend the northern hemisphere winter cruising the islands of Polynesia, and summers back at our new home on the Isle of Wight. With the ink barely dry on Juno’s transfer documents, we complete on the purchase of a Catana 50 catamaran, now named Hera, with a view to an Atlantic crossing in autumn 2018 and the Pacific in 2020.  And then I have a blood test.

Juno Sold

Just before Christmas we completed the sale of Juno with very mixed emotions. I am pleased that she has been bought by a charming Dutch couple who i know will be pleased with their new boat. But i am also sad.  Sad because when i look through the photo library, it brings back many happy memories and i feel quite melancholy knowing that those moments are behind us. So now its time to create some new memories and later this month we travel to the Caribbean to test sail some catamarans so that we can head back to the Pacific. 

Juno is for sale

Oyster 575
Juno of London.

Having been meticulously maintained by her owners, this immaculate first generation Oyster 575 in now available for private sale.

A Change of Plan

With great regret we have decided that we will not to cross the Atlantic this year. Due to the storm damage in the Caribbean some of the islands now have no infrastructure, no facilities and in fact I believe that some islands will be unable to accommodate yachts for several years while they rebuild. So we have postponed our entry on the ARC until next year – on a Catamaran.  Yes that’s right, a catamaran.

The Next Episode

After an indolent summer last year in the Greek islands watching the barnacles grow on the hull and the anchor slowly rusting into the sea bed, we have decided, (or rather Fatty has conceded) that it is once again time to reach out for distant shores. So, after much consideration we have decided to cross the Atlantic on Juno for the third time. Just writing these words I feel my pulse quicken at the prospect of another ocean crossing. 

A Lifetime Ambition

What do you do once you have achieved your lifetime ambition?  25 years ago I decided that I wanted to buy an Oyster and sail across the world’s oceans; and last year, in the company of family and good friends that’s what we did.

Single-handed to Mallorca

It is not often that you find yourself completely alone.  We have all been at home alone for a weekend, seeing no-one, maybe a trip to the shops for  a paper. But even then the TV, the radio, and the knowledge that outside the door and at the end of the phone there are friends and family, and if need be, the emergency services.  But today I find myself sailing Juno alone from Sardinia to Mallorca. 

Ionian Sea

The anchor chain snakes over the bow roller and disappears into the deep blue waters of the bay; a long line from our stern is tied around an olive tree on the shore, holding us off the rocks creating a perfect swimming pool beneath the bathing platform. The screech of cicadas is the only sound in the heavy midday heat that has settled over the boat, snuffing out the breeze. We are anchored in Abelike bay on the island of Meganissi, in the Greek Ionian Islands.  We came for a swim and a short overnight stop; a week later we are still here.

Taormina

We slip quietly out of the port of Lipari just after dawn, our bow slicing through the flat, mirrored surface of the lazy morning sea.  The Aeolian Islands slowly merge in our wake, then fade and disappear into the haze.  We are heading for the Straits of Messina, a strip of water just a mile wide that separates Sicily from the Italian mainland, where the currents run fast between the Tyrrhenian Sea in the North and the Ionian to the South. We plan to catch the last of the south-setting current to push us down the East coast of Sicily to the famous hilltop town of Taormina.

Filicudi

A deep ravine cuts a jagged line down the steep slopes to the waters edge where a cluster of pastel-coloured houses nestle above the shoreline, each one framed in white stucco, a gallery of water colours on the shore.  

The new season starts

The mountains of Sardinia lie low on the horizon, the morning haze softening the harsh silhouette of jagged peaks and plunging cliffs; a single clump of white cumulus cloud hangs over the land, the only feature in the powder-blue morning sky.  As we leave our anchorage, a light wind pushes us slowly east towards Filicudi, an island in the Aeolian group, off the north coast of Sicily, where we plan to make landfall tomorrow.

Queensland, Australia

The wind has come up again; blowing over 30 knots as we approach Hydrographers Passage, the pass through the Great Barrier Reef.  We identify the westerly cardinal buoy and the tower marking the opposite side of the channel. This is the finish line for our last leg of the World ARC and we cross the line in the lead, around seven hours ahead of the nearest boat. As we close the pass we can see white water breaking on the reef and then we are though; inside this huge reef but still a hundred miles from the coast of Queensland.

Vanuatu

Silver threads of rain glisten in the glow of our deck lights as we ghost into Port Resolution bay. It is pitch black with no moon. We follow the waypoints on our chart to take us between the reefs and into the shelter of this deeply indented bay.  It is very unsettling anchoring in a shallow bay at night with no ambient light and reefs and shoals on all sides.  I kill the engine and the silence is profound.  This is the island of Tanna, in Vanuatu, devastated by a hurricane only a few months ago and we are here with much-needed supplies for the villagers.

Fiji

The ratchet on our big Penn reel screams as the strong monofilament line is stripped off at high speed. The rod arcs in its holder and the fish makes its first run. In our wake I see the distinctive bill of the famous blue Marlin, the king of game fish, thrashing in the water trying to throw the hook.

Tonga

The Kingdom of Tonga is an archipelago of 176 islands, of which 52 are inhabited. In 1900 Tonga signed a treaty of friendship with Britain and in 1970 Tonga became independent. The consequence of this is that it lives off its own resources without the colonial subsidies of most South Pacific Islands. But the great advantage is that its traditions and culture have been preserved without compromise and visitors like us can experience an authentic Polynesian experience first hand.