Solitaire Spirit: Three Times Around the World Single-Handed (30 page)

At 8.30am GMT a large white fishing boat cut across
Solitaire
's bow, giving me a few grey hairs. I had watched his approach for some time, waving my red ensign. I thought he was going astern of me when he suddenly turned and nearly removed
Solitaire
's bow. I dropped my camera, with which I was trying to take pictures, and dashed to release the self-steering. When I straightened up he was past us showing his stern.

For the first time since leaving England I tried to speak to someone. ‘You bloody bastaaaard,' I called but I don't think that was his name. On the side of his white hull was HHJE, which was unpronounceable.

0855 Second fishing boat passed astern, JRIU. I think they must be Japanese. A few small dolphins, first for months, are around. Ships are coming from the south. Must be returning to Australia from fishing grounds.

2200 Sight shows us 141°38´E. Sunday in Australia. Have just heard
Family Favourites
with Pete Murray. Makes one a bit homesick.

Sunday, December 14th
.
0225 GMT. Noon position, 45°38´S 142°15´E, 120 miles south of Tasmania.

Monday
.
Black sky, storms from south-south-east. Hard on the wind under main with three reefs and storm jib. Melbourne Radio reports a low pressure area over Tasmania. Must keep hard on the wind as I don't want to be pushed north. Bit down last night to see my tri-navigation light hanging over the side at the top of the mast. Not that I've used it much apart from the odd ship.

Tuesday
.
Becalmed for eight hours. Slight breeze from the south-east with a high swell inhibiting progress. Charts show no winds from the east or south-east and no calms. They have been useless since Cape Town. Harry Secombe has just been on Hobart Radio, now 190 miles to the north of us. Seems he is doing a show there. Very tempting to spend Christmas in Hobart after all this bouncing about but I can't let
Solitaire
down with these thoughts. Have just checked the trailing log, three bloody miles in five hours and Hobart Radio forecasts light bloody winds tomorrow from the south bloody east. Blast, blast, bloody blast. I was hoping to be well past New Zealand by Christmas. Now I have no chance and Hobart keeps offering water to a man dying of thirst.

Wednesday, December 17th
.
Hobart's weather report gives temperatures around 50°F with rain to come. At present we have blue skies, scattered clouds and light airs from south bloody east. Full main and working jib as I'm trying to save number two genoa for later. We have now passed under our third cape.
Solitaire
is one of the few to sail so low in this area. Chichester, Alex Rose and Knox-Johnston all sailed above Tasmania. One day we will have to visit this island, which seems to have taken the best that England can offer and improved on it. Hobart's radio broadcasts are some of the friendliest I have ever heard. As I write they are talking about a Christmas tree in Hobart Square and asking for tins of dog food to be put under it for the stray dogs' home. The only thing stopping me from going in is the desire to see family and friends. And I can't let
Solitaire
down because of a mere tug on the heartstrings. This afternoon it's bright and sunny and we have more wind. Strangely although south of Hobart and closer to the icebergs our temperature, 13°C, is higher than theirs. More
Japanese fishing boats in sight. Week's run 547 miles, can't even break the 600 mark.

Week 24 started with high swells and heaving seas as we dropped south to latitude 49° to round our third cape below New Zealand. The lower reaches of the Tasman Sea have a high percentage of gales. Chichester and my American friend had capsized in the Tasman, both rolled over in hurricane force winds in a sea whose bed alternates between anything from 2,000 to a few hundred fathoms.

Our route would take us between Stewart Island and Auckland Island, 200 miles apart (between them the smaller Snares Island), just below New Zealand. I planned to sail between Snares and Auckland as it seemed the safest way, preferring, as I do, to keep clear of shelving seabeds. Now there was no choice. The waters we would be sailing through drop to 80 fathoms. The chart showed names like Sub Antarctic Slope, Solander Trough, Pukaki Rise, Campbell Plateau... if the beautiful names of the South Pacific islands fell from the tongue like poetry, these belonged to a horror story. That we were sailing through the Roaring Forties, reaching for the Furious Fifties, did nothing to stop the hairs on the back of my neck rising.

Hobart's friendly radio station gave a final warning, gales from Brisbane down to Tasmania, then a last song from Cilla Black, ‘Day by Day' from the show
Godspell
. I have never really liked Miss Black's voice, a bit too high and shrill for my taste, but at that moment everything seemed perfect... the fading, friendly island, Christmas shopping, that lovely dog food under the tree, the words of the song, ‘Day by day, dear Lord, I pray to see thee more clearly, love thee more dearly.' Someone turned on a tap and tears flooded my eyes while two rivers ran down my face. When the song ended the tap was turned off.

Solitaire
rode the Tasman Sea as on a big dipper. Pushing her way through head-on gales she rolled drunkenly in confused swells that were enormous. Despite those seas we received a small Christmas present: we broke the 600-mile barrier with a run of 617
miles for the week ending December 24th and that Christmas Eve I spent listening to New Zealand's local radio. The next day, with the parcel from Rome and Annegret, would certainly prove my big day:

Christmas Day, 1980, the start of my 25th week at sea. Food is now a problem. For two weeks I have been cooking rice to last three days, mixing in a tin of soup or mixed vegetables. My yeast has gone but I still try to bake the flour by itself. Yesterday, for a change, I tried to fry this hard bread with a tin of beans, and finished having to suck the fried bread as if I were eating a stick of rock. The morning is grey and miserable with a faint breeze on our nose from the east, the sails just about filling and the self-steering struggling to hold a course. We are 260 miles west of Snares Island, drifting to pass below this island and New Zealand. I have managed to get a few unreliable sun sights through the misty haze but they do tie up with dead reckoning.

Now for my parcel, after a wash and a change of clothes. Just about to open my present, I heard a splash at
Solitaire
's stern and found a seal jumping out of the water to reach a flock of small grey birds that were teasing it. The way he snapped and whirled around with just his head out of the water reminded me of my old dog. Then I opened my present and started crying. It was not that my friends had remembered me on the other side of the world – and Lord knows I needed the things inside – it was the caring and effort, the thought behind their gift. There was a Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, pudding, a cake with a candle to put on top, a cracker, a bottle of wine, chocolate, a lovely tin of salmon and, perhaps best of all, a Christmas card. Rome and Annegret apologised for omitting the traditional Christmas tree. What puzzled me was how they managed to find all these things in July when I left.

I cried not because I was lonely, or hurt or sad. I was doing something I had wanted to achieve in life but there are times when people show acts of kindness for which words can express no real gratitude. At such times the only way you can show your feeling is with tears. At that moment I would have given anything to wish another human being, ‘Merry Christmas'.

I ate only half my dinner, saving the rest for Boxing Day, then spent the afternoon listening to the New Zealand parties whom I toasted with wine. For tea I had cake, and for supper a few squares of chocolate. I could not remember the last time I had had so many meals in one day. The salmon was something to look forward to in the future and, with rice, it would last for two days.
Solitaire
had a holiday, too. The wind died completely. As we both slept, dreaming of the future and Cape Horn, the current carried us three miles in 12 hours.

Boxing Day, 1980
.
The weatherman gave me a late Christmas present with a clear blue sky for 30 minutes, sufficient to obtain some good sights after three days of fog and drizzle. There are less than 200 miles to Snares and Auckland Islands, which lie some 150 miles apart. After months of sailing in open seas I feel
Solitaire
is trying to thread a needle.

We threaded it in week 25, a week when more baby black seals came to play around us, and a week when I discovered I had only 22 gallons of fresh water left. I tried to make progress by using the old number two genoa, watching it like a hawk for fear it should split in the breeze. It was also the week in which we picked up a new radio station, Dunedin, our nearest possible port, where I heard of the murder of a young girl by five boys. Several weapons had been used, including a cricket bat. It seemed particularly horrible that something that can give so much pleasure should be used in this way, and to kill at a time when the human race was giving thanks. A tragedy for the victim's parents and for the boys as well.
Solitaire
and I often felt that we were from another planet, circling mother earth, puzzled by the means of destruction – planes, tanks, rockets, cricket bats.

Week 25 and 1980 ended on Wednesday, December 31st. I made an entry in the ship's log: ‘1200 GMT, 2359 New Year's Eve in New Zealand, and spent the night listening to New Zealand welcoming in the New Year. Still 12 hours to go back home. And in large letters I added, “Happy New Year to Folks Back Home”.'

If puzzled by the outside world I tried to bring sanity and order into my own by logging our position and objectives on December 30th:

Distance (by Walker trailing log): 15,300 miles.

Time at sea: 175 days.

The four most southerly Capes rounded:

1. October 6th, 1980, week 13, Cape of Good Hope, South Africa.

2. November 28th, 1980, week 21, Cape Leeuwin, Australia.

3. December 17th, 1980, week 23, Tasmania.

4. December 30th, 1980, week 25, Stewart Island, New Zealand. Cape Horn, 5,000 miles to the east, will be the fifth and last. Yacht
Solitaire:
At present in good shape, her hull clean apart from barnacles on her stern and weed trailing from around her propeller and the bottom of her skeg. I can't be sure of the keel's condition. This is better than I could have expected and I'm pleased with Herbert Ochs' antifoul paint. It is possible the hull will clean when in southern ice.

Rigging: Always a worry, but no problems so far.

Sails: Very good. Have used only the mainsail, working jib and storm jib since the Cape of Good Hope. Shortage of sails a major problem. My old number two genoa is in reserve for the return trip from Cape Horn.

Self-steering: Good at present, if a bit noisy. Have not had to waste time at tiller.

Food: Have cut down over past weeks. Rome's food parcels have been a godsend. Should be OK.

Water: My main worry at present as I have only 22 gallons left out of the original 80 and still 5,500 miles to go to next possible port, Falkland Islands. Hope to catch rainwater off mainsail before then. Weather so far: Surprised by winds from east and south-east. From Equator to halfway across the Indian Ocean pilot charts hideously wrong, but pleased with temperature, never much below 50°F. And I'm still not wearing sea boots. Sweaters and trousers worn in sleeping bag.

Crew: His worst time was in Cape of Good Hope storm. Feels his
slow progress has let down friends. Keenly anticipating rounding Cape Horn to be on the home straight. Worried about mother and father, having had no contact for six months.

Week 26, Thursday, January 1st, 1981 found
Solitaire
sailing away from the east coast of New Zealand with only two small islands, Antipodes and Bounty (90 miles apart and some 250 miles dead ahead), separating her from her goal, Cape Horn. The islands themselves posed no navigational problems, and at worst I could sail above Bounty Island into the Pacific. But they were the last land before Cape Horn, the point where the shelf that extends around New Zealand with its shallows would end, the seas dropping from a mere 200 to around 2,500 fathoms.

With the start of the New Year we had to change over to our 1981 Almanac, which Rome had managed to buy at a reduced price along with my few charts. The parcel he had given me for rounding the bottom of New Zealand was still in reserve. If this was cheating at least it was cheating on the right side. The problem was that it came too close to the Christmas present. Food, or the lack of it, was becoming more and more of a worry. First it had been my bleeding gums, then back sores, now I was noticing more bodily changes. My knee bones and hips were starting to project, and using
Solitaire
's winches was proving an increasing strain. When I noticed a new symptom I tended to eat more than my official ration and next day would examine my arms, expecting to see developing layers of fat. Alas, it made no difference. All that happened was the loss of another tin of stew or fruit.

The parcel for rounding New Zealand was opened as we passed 35 miles below Bounty Island, with one more present, the Cold Weather Parcel, to open before Cape Horn.

The biggest bonus on the voyage so far had been how much warmer it had been than I had anticipated. During the Cape of Good Hope storm I froze, and firmly expected something similar of the Southern Ocean. In fact, off South Africa had proved the coldest part of the voyage to date. Now we were sailing at latitude 49°S, well below the iceberg limit, although the seas were bitterly
cold. To have fallen over the side would have meant death in minutes, but the cabin temperature was still around 50°F, whereas I had anticipated frost on the deck and icicles on the rigging. As it was I was still running around barefoot.
Solitaire
was wet below and a line I had strung to dry my smalls had little effect, but lying under my two sleeping bags was not the teeth-chattering experience I had anticipated.