ARC 2019 Finish

We finally crossed the finish line in Rodney Bay, St Lucia at 10:10 local time on Thursday 12^th December.  I am pleased to say that the genoa is in it's bag, the forestay has been repaired, the boat is spotless and we are all on our way home for Christmas. Thank you for all the comments, emails and feedback.  

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

Last day at sea

We wake to an amazing dawn. Oults very kindly stands my night watch, andby 5am, after eight glorious hours of uninterrupted sleep I am in the cockpit, refreshed and ready for our last day at sea. Rosie comes on watch at 6am but Oults can't drag himself to his bunk, away from the marvel thatis taking place on the huge stage in front of us. Massive cumulus clouds soaring thousands of feet into the sky behind us, are suffused by the glow of dawn, creating a tangerine sky that becomes more intense and then, by degrees, is washed out by the glare of the risen sun. We gaze in rapture at the beauty and enormity of this spectacle, conscious that by this time tomorrow, land will obscure this endless horizon and we may never see this sight again.

All bets are off

Black cats crossing one's path are supposed to be a sign of good luck. Not so with ETA, who has caused nothing but trouble ever since she scrambled onto our decks, tempting us with rum punches, steel drums and flights home.

Guest blog written by Oults

Magellan's journal: Nov/Dec 2019

Setting sail in the good ship Hera from Las Palmas, armed with only a sextant and a pair of binoculars (with nifty compass embedded within), many of my correspondents, and most especially my crew mates, cast doubt on the likelihood of our ever reaching landfall in the right ocean, let alone on the right Caribbean island, if I was to take any part in the navigation. And to be fair, my first few readings were a little erratic, reaching a somewhat dangerous low when I placed us in the middle of the Sahara desert on 28th November, some 5 days' out to sea.

Guest blog written by Andrew

Crossing the Atlantic by Catamaran, by Andrew

In 2012 I was one of Paul's crew who crossed the Atlantic on Juno, a mono hull. I was very happy to be invited to make the same crossing in a catamaran("cat") so that I could experience a cat and make a judgement as to what I preferred. As prep for this I re-read Steven's 2012 guest blog on life on a mono hull – I would recommend digging it out and having a read.

The cat's out

Oults is mother again; a diligent cook and a truly great housekeeper, vacuuming and mopping floors, scrubbing decks, and generally making Hera look pristine. ETA, a new crew member who I shall introduce shortly, is at the supper table, monopolising the conversation as usual, when Oults conjures up from the galley, Mahi Mahi, cooked with Harissa (if you don't know what this is go to any Waitrose in the home counties, and follow the frenzy of Ottolenghists, hoovering the jars off the shelves).

Guest blog written by Rosie

Classified Advert - AirSeaAndSea November 2019

Hera, a small deluxe short or medium let exquisitely furnished boutique Hotel, conveniently located near the ocean. All rooms have sea views. This ultra modern hotel comprises three double rooms with snug en suite facilities, a very comfortable kitchen, diner with lounge and office fit together well in the centre of the property.

Disaster Averted

Venture Capitalists like me, who invest in young technology companies, tend to fall into two categories. There are those who "optimise the upside" and those who focus more on "downside protection". While I have high hopes for all my investments, I am definitely in the latter camp, and I always like to have a plan to deal with the worst possible outcomes, or better still to take pre-emptive action to minimise the likelihood of a disaster.

Bandit Country

When Andrew wakes me for my watch I am in a deep sleep. I remember reading that in warfare, commanders plan their night raids for 3am when the body is at its lowest ebb, and I can see why.

Molly

Leaning back languidly against the guard rail, hair ruffled by the wind, making no contribution to sailing the boat, never touching a winch handle or a sheet, but appearing in every photograph, is Molly. Not Mervyns new nickname, not a stowaway, but our floor mop, much admired by Oults, exercised by some more than others, Molly always retires to the cockpit when her work is done, drying her j-cloth locks in the sunshine. When I draw attention to this now permanent feature of the cockpit, Andrew announces that he doesn't like Molly any more, and would prefer a sponge. Maybe it was just a wave that caught the boat but I'm sure that I saw her flinch at this rejection.

Half Way

Black squalls, blown by the trade winds, chase up from behind us like marauding thugs; they wander the skies, becoming more crazed and unstable, intoxicated by the limitless supply of warm tropical water. Eventually, they overdose, unable to hold the moisture as water vapour any longer; it falls as rain, the cooler air descending rapidly and as it hits the ocean it fans out in all directions.

Lazarus

Overnight the wind has risen, gusting at up to 30 knots, creating a big
following sea that chases in behind us. The water is pure cobalt blue,
shot through with streaks of brilliant white where the crests of the waves break in the bright sunshine. We have definitely found the trade winds and we blast downwind on a broad reach, covering over 200 miles in the past 24 hours.

Fast as a hare

Every day, during the ARC, there is a roll call held on long-range radio. Not everyone has these sets as they are expensive to install and of limited use in coastal sailing. But when sailing offshore, where the distances are far greater, the SSB radio comes into its own and allows us to keep in touch with other yachts who could be many hundreds of miles away, far out of the range of a VHF radio. 

A Trio of Tuna

We have been sailing all day, making a modest 6 knots, but in the right direction and with the prospect of more wind to come. Oults is back on Mother watch, however these days he is rarely parted from his sextant, his map of the stars, his note book; sometimes he can be persuaded to take the helm for a few moments, before the autopilot is re-engaged and he can return to his life as a midshipman on a square rigger. However he makes time to run up a lunch of pasta with sweet corn and tuna for which we are grateful.