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Friday 4th February 2005
A funny sort of day – the conditions ought to have been ideal. Light north easterly and patchy sunshine, but I just could not get the boat to go in a straight line and at more than two knots. I don’t know, but I’m not going to worry about it.
I had a most enjoyable afternoon listening to New Orleans jazz and then had a phone call from Tom McCarthy and family in Slidell, about 25 miles from down town New Orleans. The usual crowd of relatives and friends had arrived from Minnesota and all were heading for Mardi Gras. I’ll be with you there next year boys – no excuses. After all the excitement, I made myself a delicious orange cheesecake.
What have I done? I asked an innocent question about the gender of waves, and wow – so many messages!
I am reliably informed by Norman Williams that waves are female unless they’re tidal waves. That helps me select a suitable analogy for the next bit.
There is a special type of wave. They occur every half an hour or sooner depending on whether or not you are trying to prepare food, or trying to use the toilet, or any other task that requires a level platform. The wave is a giant. It resembles a hospital Matron at full steam, always preceded by a couple of large bustling Sisters and followed by a pair of giggling chanting acolytes.
Matron can be seen from a great distance and has a huge white hat. She moves at great speed and nothing gets in her way, not even the other waves which are simply sucked in and absorbed.
Her main job seems to be to encourage all the others to keep pace. When your innocent boat gets in the way, it is carried rapidly up her front and up to the hat which is the part that does the humiliating whack, and tosses you and boat to one side for the acolytes to snigger at as they speed along behind. In the time it has taken me to write this, we have been hit twice. It must me rounds.
It is two weeks today since I left La Gomera. I think they’ve been the fastest two weeks of my life. No doubt time will slow down now as I settle into passage routine and I start finding my pace.
Thanks to all who have sent kind messages and jokes – keep them coming.
Saturday 5th February 2005
A fine day for rowing and no mistake. After a poor start at 0600, I waited half an hour to see if conditions would improve and I was rewarded. Steady miles and moderate effort.
The gas stove has been difficult to light, but I am getting the hang of it. Last week I thought I might incur repetitive strain injury from the quartz igniter. You just know that your granny walk in, fire it up with a single click, and then look at you as though you were washed up on the last tide. I can now just get it going before the canister of gas runs out.
Tonight I would like to say "hello and greetings from the ocean" to the Hewitt School, Norwich and especially to Mr Ian Hawthorn and the year groups I met at assemblies. You were all brilliant audiences and I really enjoyed the mornings I spent with you. A special mention for Mr Walsh’s year 11 English class and their guest. Keep up the Hemmingway, I’ll be back to show you what a real Santiago looks like.
Trip 312 miles.
Sunday 6th February 2005
Not such good conditions today I’m afraid. The wind was in the right direction but the sea just did not want to play. I slept very little last night due to buffeting and so I had my first late lie in of the trip today. To date I’ve rowed the sun up and down each day so I feel guilty about today. Never mind I can make it up later.
Whilst rowing today I was considering how many of my friends are in the nursing profession, and how they might be after my blood for the comparison with the big waves. In my defence I shall say that to my knowledge the Matron is a long extinct feature of our hospitals. And although there are some moves afoot to reinstate them, none yet exist. So I could not have been referring to any one person or group. Anyway, it is helped to civilise my relation with the big waves. When I received a drenching this morning I was able to call out "morning matron" instead of shouting an expletive.
I was talking to my friend Henry Dale yesterday on the subject of hallucinations when I told him about hearing the raucous laugh of Alex regular Mary McNally. Last night I turned on my MP3 player to the sound of "Never Mind the Ballards", by Norwich band, The Last Straw, and what should I hear, none other than Mary’s distinctive laugh.
My MP3 is a Creative Nomad Jukebox containing 40 GB of space, expertly loaded with thousands of tracks and amusements by Alex front corner sounds man Dave Morgan. Thank you Dave, this system is the biz.
Trip 324.
Monday 7th February 2005
With good intentions of rowing, I rose at 4 a.m. today to give it a try. Within ten minutes I had to give up. The sea was just too high to row safely in the dark. At 0730 I was rowing. With a short break for breakfast at 1000, I rowed until 1700 but for an hour for dinner. I then rowed until 1940 when I couldn’t see anymore. I think I rowed about 25 miles, but they were hard fort miles today. The mixed swell made it very difficult to keep on the wind.
At 1830 however we were visited by dolphins – thousands of them – they were leaping and playing for about and an hour and they were in every wave as far as the eye could see. I managed to get some of it on film but it was impossible to convey the whole scene.
I’ve been at sea since I was seventeen, this is my eighth Atlantic crossing and I’ve never seen so many dolphins in one place. The sea was rough, and they were loving it.
Trip 350.
Tuesday 8th February 2005
At midnight last night a very large matronly body of water hit us and snapped the starboard steering line. The rudder then started whacking around until I spent sometime dangling over the side trying to fix a line to the broken end. I finished at about 2 a.m. and soaking wet, climbed into cold soaking bedding. We’ve had very few opportunities to dry out over the last few days and with the salt spray leaving crystals everywhere, we are in a somewhat messy state.
At 0800 I tried rowing but it was hopeless, so I stopped for breakfast. I tried again and managed three miles in four hours. At midday Matron gave me a bath and washed all of my clothes at the same time. Queue lunch. Afternoon progress was a little, but not much better.
The ocean knows what you are thinking. I’d wondered where all the debris was that was supposed to be floating around. Until today I’d seen very little, just a few bits here and there. Well today has been debris day. I spotted hundreds of pale blue sheets of something, probably plastic about A4 size, floating just below the surface. Then I saw a yellow bucket, which I tied to retrieve, but could not row against the wind and waves. I then saw what looked like the side of a curtain-side lorry and the biggest piece of polystyrene I’ve yet seen. There have been all manner of things in the sea today, but to my disappointment I was unable to collect any of it.
Thank you for the kind words Lisa Perrens and John and Elaine Peck.
Trip 365.
Wednesday 9th February 2005
After a frustrating early morning where nothing seemed to go to plan, the day kicked off with good rowing conditions. I set myself a target and started rowing. During the afternoon I noticed a drop in performance and took a break. Whilst replenishing my energy stocks, I checked the hull under the side to found that it was quite badly fouled and needs urgent scraping to give me back some speed. It shall be done as soon as the seascape permits.
Drying out the cabin and Womble was possible today with light winds and sunshine. It makes a huge difference to life board when the comfort factor is high.
My target for tomorrow is to reach the 23rd parallel by noon. We are now on the trip across to Cape Verde, which should take around five weeks. During the transit our heading will be changing gradually from south west to due west, and we should then pick up the north equatorial current to help progress towards Antigua.
Trip 393.
Thursday 10th February 2005
Rowing began at 0715 and was suspended at 0800. An usable sea, therefore time for breakfast. Soon after resuming rowing, it was again stopped, this time for a huge thunder storm. I’m not sure if there is any danger from the lightning, but to sit at the oars (which are made of carbon fibre, a material that sounds as though it ought to conduct electricity quite well) seems a little foolhardy. If anyone has any science on this please let me know.
Starting the day again at noon, I rowed until 1700 when we reached the 23rd parallel. I am presently holed up in Womble Warren waiting for a squall to pass before the evening shift. On reading my web log I realised I hadn’t explained about the oranges. The morning I left La Gomara, I went to the farmer’s market and bought a sack of oranges. I know that there are not enough in the sack to allow me one a day, so I ration them to one each day that I manage to row 30 miles. They have not been refrigerated and should last a while. However I have had to throw a couple of them away so far, and if they start to go off I will be feasting on them in one go.
Trip 407.
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