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The following logs were e-mailed via Sailmail from the Atlantic by HF
radio & PactorII between May 30 and July 20, 2003:
2000gmt
Wedy. N36.56 W075.42
Hello,
Friends:
OK
-- we finally made it. After a rollicking start out of the Chesapeake
this morning, helped by outgoing tide and a sunny breeze on the port
bow, we're now in the Atlantic heading for England. We escaped
with a typical east coast American thunderstorm on our tail,
making over seven knots out to sea on the edge of the squall wind. But
it didn't last. The wind's died and we're down to a couple of knots or
less, drifting north with the Gulf Stream. Overhead we're getting
numerous displays of American airforce and navy power -- the
Chesapeake's the US navy's home. The sun's out, it's pleasant and we've
just eaten our first supper at sea -- stewed everything prepared in
advance in the pressure cooker. At least Lydia B's giving us a gentle
entry into the ocean while we find our sea legs again. I've no doubt
that somewhere along the next 3200 miles to Maryport we'll run into much
harder weather.
For
now, though, it's goodbye to the United States. We spent our last US
dollars yesterday on lunch at Salt Ponds marina, a little way up the
Chesapeake from Hampton, where we went to replace Lydia's starter
battery. When we got there we found we didn't need it. The current
battery's fine, save for a faulty connection. But the marina was
hospitality itself, offering us free dockage and showers for a few
hours. It's useful being British here since Iraq.
The
wind's picking up from the southeast. Down here at the nav station I can
hear the wind generator whirring again.
We'll
be settling into our first night at sea soon. Dave, my Canadian crew, is
at the helm hardening the main, yankee and staysail sheets. I can hear
the sea gurgling along the hull. Lydia's off again.
More
anon,
Love & best wishes,
Ian & Dave,
Lydia
B.
PS:
This is being sent from ZQLW6@sailmail.com via HF radio routed
automatically through ian@ianlaval. com. I won't see replies to ian@ianlaval.com
until we land. If you send to ZQLW6, pse keep replies short and pse
don't send my text back or include attachments.
N36.57,
W074.01
Thurs 1625gmt
Hello,
Friends:
Well,
if ever there was an easy way to start an Atlantic crossing, this was
it. We had a quiet night aboard Lydia B, tramping quietly along with no
more than a fitful ten-knot breeze on the starboard beam. Still, we
covered 103 miles in our first 24 hours out of the Chesapeake before the
wind died to barely a breath just before first light and a new system
picked up from the south-west. We've both had some useful sleep, eaten,
shaved and the rest and are back up to 6 knots right now in a freshening
breeze and bright sun. A new weatherfax from Boston says we're about in
the right position, going due east just below the 37th parallel. A cold
front chasing us from ashore will probably give us a lively time when it
arrives sometime in the next 48 hours, but a gale system a few hundred
miles ahead seems to be moving southwards out of our way.
We've
been dodging US warships all night. Streams of them -- returning from
Iraq? -- have been passing us in-bound.
We're
about to get the fishing gear out and see what we can find.
Love
& best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
Dave
& guitar
Friday,
May 30.
N36.58, W071.43
Hello,
Friends:
Well,
no sooner than we'd remarked what an easy entry to the Atlantic we'd
had, we were on deck yesterday dragging sail down as the first of a
series of thunderstorms arrived. It was quite a show. Lightning for
miles and ugly skies all along the horizon. Plus, of course, the sudden
inrush of wind and heavy rain as cold air met warm. It's nothing unusual
around here. Thunderstorms are common here most summer afternoons --
though we'd thought that 150 miles out to sea we'd be beginning to leave
them behind.
So
we spent the rest of the night double-reefed and with a staysail up,
pottering along in a fitful, increasing ocean swell, and little woind.
Everything that could clatter, above and below deck, clattered . Still,
our second day of miles covered is another 96. We should beat that with
the current run. Today we found an east-bound offshoot current of the
Gulf Stream pushing us along at bonus two knots. That, plus a following
20-knot westerly, means we've been bowling along all day at a leisurely
seven knots and above. It's been sunny and the ocean's that incredible
deep blue, uncontaminated by land. We've heard no traffic on the VHF all
day, nor have we seen another boat. We've just put the first reef in the
main for today's thunderstorm edition. Dave's at the helm, ready with
his foulies on. For supper, we thought tortillas and something. Total
haul from yesterday's fishing exploits was a bunch of seaweed.
More
anon,
Love and best wishes.
Ian & Dave,
Lydia B.
Saty,
May 31 1350gmt. N37.08, W069.50.
Hello,
Friends:
Start
of day four and Lydia B's now 322 miles out from the US east coast,
still hugging latitude 37N. The sun's up, a 10-15 knot breeze on the
starboard beam's freshening and we're reaching eastwards under full
cutter rig at a steady 6 to 7 knots and more. I'm glad I bought the new
-- second-hand -- staysail before we left Virginia. It's slightly bigger
than Lydia's old one, better shaped and much stronger. She just loves
driving with a staysail up.
Dave's
in his bunk, catching up on sleep after coming off watch at daybreak and
listening to Radio Canada International's transmission of Stuart Maclean
and The Vinyl Cafe; I'm on the computer at the nav station and Lydia's
happily sailing herself with the Monitor servo-pendulum steering system.
We do little except tweak the wind-vane now and again, at either a
wind-shift or a gust, to which the boat responds with weather-helm. I'm
being surprised at Lydia's turn of speed after weighing into the water
at Deltaville at almost 17,000 pounds -- and a clean bottom.
We've
split the night into two halves, with me taking the first stint. Not
much happened in the dark hours (which really aren't dark but star-lit
down to the horizon, even without a moon), with the southerly breeze
doing little more than maintaining a presence, not really enough to stop
us slopping and slatting in the troughs. Before midnight a freighter
came up three miles astern close to our track. I switched on a few more
lights and called him on the VHF to make sure he knew we were there. A
Russian--sounding voice
replied, asked us to go to channel 10, went silent and then the boat
stopped and disappeared. We don't know why, but haven't seen it since.
The ocean looks pretty empty now.
The
VHF's permanently switched on channel 16, the hailing and emergency
channel. Two days ago we listened to the skipper of a fishing boat off
the North Carolina coast shouting a 'may-day' with an engine-room fire.
Then.... "I can't get out.....!!" and nothing more. Several
hours later the US coast guard reported finding the vessel, but we know
no more.
Alas
-- when I pulled in the fishing line we've been trailing -- no lure. The
big squid and hook had gone, a swivel having been burst open. A big
fish? Of course! I've put out a bright gold-and-silver spoon in its
place.
Morning's
the best time on Lydia. When the night and its sleeplessness is over,
the ocean's bright blue again and it's time for coffee and breakfast, to
do a few tidying chores and generally freshen up. Then shake out any
overnight reefs, trim the sails, clean up a little below, check progress
across the ocean on all our information sources -- GPS, radio and
weatherfax -- and get the ship generally under control.
I
never stop being amazed out here on the ocean. At its size and moods.
How friendly and familiar it often is, and how quickly it can change
from gentle blue to warning grey. You take advantage of what it offers
and do what it tells you to do. Far from thousands of miles of sameness,
each mile is like crossing an interesting new place.
More
anon.
Love and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
Skipper & Lydia B in
mid-Atlantic
Sun
June i. 2355 gmt.N37.06, W066.56
Hello,
Friends:
This
is just the briefest position update -- more soonest. We ran into a mega
storm and are now on the outside edge going east.
Details tomorrow.
Love
and best wishes,
Ian & Dave,Lydia B.
N37.31,
W065.36
Monday, June 2.
Hello,
Friends:
Well,
shortly after sending Saturday's jolly little message about pleasant
life aboard Lydia B on the ocean blue, we got our come-uppance (which is
the reason for the brevity of my last log entry.
Shortly
after I sent it off into the afternoon sunshine we were overtaken by the
MV Oleander, a freighter heading from Bermuda to Newfoundland. Clearly
himself a Newfie himself, going by his Irish-Canadian accent, he called
us on the VHF. For a chat, we thought. But it was really to ask if we
were aware of the weather ahead on our easterly track. 20-30 knots of
wind and 8 -14 foot seas east of N70, he said. Right on our doorstep.
We'd be uncomfortable for a night, then high pressure would build on the
other side of this system. We felt we could handle 20-30 knots of wind.
Even 14-foot seas (though they really wouldn't happen. Would they?
Realists just wouldn't go voyaging).
That
night we got caught in the strongest weather we ever want to see.
Southerly winds were soon screaming and seas building. We hove to,
already down to second (and last) reef and storm jib. The sight and the
noise were extraordinary. Big seas began to pile up, streaked with blown
foam. Lydia B, with its crew anxiously listening for sounds of
moderation, spent the whole night on her beam-ends, stationary except
for a northerly drift of about 1.5 knots. Breaking waves regularly
crashed over her. She was so far down that we watched solid water
flowing over the starboard portholes. How on earth could she take it?
We
got little sleep. It was a bleak time, in darkness. At first light, with
the storm still as hearty as ever, we tied ourselves to the boat and
crawled up the deck in driving rain to drag down the reefed main and get
the boat more upright. Then we did the same to the storm jib. Lydia B
then lay a-hull in more or less the same place, with the rudder lashed.
Then we found water coming in and, unable to trace the source --
the bilge was still dry -- we sent out a Pan-Pan on the HF radio, unsure
if it had been heard. Then we discovered that the boat had been pushed
so far down hove-to that it had simply come in over the top. It stopped
when we brought her upright.
By
this time Lydia B is in chaos below, everything moveable having flown --
including a topless jar of coffee-creamer. Coffee-creamer turns to
toffee when sea-water is applied. It makes a wonderful slide on a
varnished cabin sole.
A
couple of hours after first light we got a call from Tony, English
skipper of 'Wings of Time', a 50-ft ketch about a mile from us, on
passage from Bermuda to Maine, NE USA. He'd clocked a wind of 61 knots
during the night, with the remainder steady at 50 knots. We know he's
right. We cancelled our Pan-Pan on the HF and got Tony to contact a ham
radio colleague in Bermuda to phone the coast guard in Canada and the US
in case our original message had been heard. It probably wasn't.
Two
hours later we put the still screeching southerly back on Lydia's
starboard beam, started the engine and motored back into the Gulf
Stream, still offering a 2.6-knot ride on our easterly heading. By now,
the seas had really risen to classic Atlantic height. We spent all
yesterday rushing along with current and wind -- we did the last 30
miles to 4.0am this morning under bare pole, with neither engine nor
sail power, but still running at up to eight knots. Lydia's eight tons
picked up and hoisted to the top of a newly forming wave. Then the wave
foams at its height, sometimes breaking, Lydia dips her stern, then her
bow goes down and she takes off downhill into the next trough. Time and
again a cross-wave chases Lydia, breaks on her gunwale and crashes
aboard, filling the cockpit (and occasionally knocking down Dave or
myself, tethered to the boat). The scene is impossible to describe. By
then there was blue sky and sun, so these gigantic waves, with
foam-streaked troughs between them something the size of a ski-run, and
the height to match, were blue too. Awesome's the word. And awesome that
little Lydia B survived -- though we felt constantly secure in her. She
needs some tlc below (we probably don't smell too sweet by this time
either); her cockpit lee-cloths were torn to shreds by the sheer force
of the wind. We lost a few items blown out of the cockpit but otherwise
she's fit and well.
It's
been the toughest imaginable entry to offshore sailing for Dave, who's
had a bad dose of debilitating sea-sickness.
Today
the wind's calmed and we're sailing again, happy with five docile knots
and nearing the outer wall of the Gulf Stream. We're 560 nautical miles
out of the US east coast.
Love
and best wishes
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
The
US NOAA weatherfax showing the storm system that hit Lydia B. Her
position is marked by the red 'X' -- about the worst possible.
N36.37,
W063.43. 1604gmt Tuesday June 3.
Hello,
Friends:
First,
so many thanks for all your concerns and good wishes over the last
couple of days. We knew very few boats were near during the storm, but
were thankful to be in touch with you. Today it's sunny again, there's a
warm breeze of about ten knots on Lydia's starboard quarter and the
ocean's back to its familiar alluring, sparkling blue. We've both had
sleep, are eating again and are ambling along, still under storm jib and
reefed main, at four or so knots. The ocean's calming down. Seas are
down to eight feet. It'll take a while for the storm swell to subside.
We're
dropping south-east to get under 37 degrees North and out of the
influence of the series of low pressure systems that spawned our big one
two days ago. The barometer's already risen and we're coming under the
influence of the Azores high. When we've slipped another half degree
south, to 36, we'll head due east. From there we hear from Herb, an
amateur who runs an HF radio net daily for Atlantic sailors, that
weather prospects for Europe-bound boats are good at least until the end
of the week.
Today,
rather than pile on more sail immediately, we'll give Lydia B the rest
she deserves. And ourselves. We got no sleep and little food, and are
sore from banging about inside the lurching boat. Like living inside a
washing machine, said a colleague ashore.
The
tally of loss and damage is small: a dinghy oar, outboard fuel and a
two-gallon can of water washed from the side decks. The lee cloths
shredded, a cockpit sheet bag gone and -- much the greatest loss -- the
top of my Nissan insulated mug, which got sucked out when the cockpit
filled up. This is serious. Tea and my Nissan are of major importance.
No damage to the boat, sails or rigging is evident; all the nav gear's
working and the Monitor self-steering's intact, save for a battered vane
(I have three spares) -- though Dave spotted and repaired a control line
that had nearly chafed through in the storm.
But
how short is the memory! It was awesome while it lasted, and looked like
a place human beings shouldn't be. But Lydia B took care of us, we must
have done some right things and it's just great to be out here. Dave's
sea-sickness is on the wane, his confidence is rising in the light of
experience and we'll get cracking again shortly. As things stand we've
maintained an average of 110 miles daily and are content, even though
the last 24 hours has been fifty percent in a slightly less useful
direction. We only want to get there, not just fast. From here we
understand better what drove Bernard Moitessier as he described it in
"The Long Way". Not content with completing a racing circuit
of the world, he kept on going past the finishing line, starting a
second time round to everyone's consternation ashore. The ocean's a box
of questions and magical tricks. It's a pity so few people get to look
inside.
More
anon,
Love and best wishes,
Ian and Dave.
N36.02,
W063.06.
Wedy June 4, 1730 gmt.
Hello,
Friends:
No
news is good news. Nothing's happening. The wind died completely late
last night, so we dowsed sail and lay a-hull, wallowing in the ocean,
for a few hours. By sunrise a gentle southerly had awoken and soon we
were bowling along under spinnaker, blue sky and warm 15kt breeze.
Yesterday was a rest day while we dropped gently south. Right now Lydia
B's headed due east, skirting the low pressure systems to the north,
where there's another gale brewing, and riding the south-westerlies on
their southern edge. We've probably lost a few miles from our daily
average with this dip in our course, but there's plenty of time to catch
up. It's fascinating getting to understand the weather systems in the
Atlantic. So far we've covered 769nm since leaving the United States, a
daily average of 106nm.
All's well aboard. The wind's freshening. More of this saga tomorrow.
Love
and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
Flying
fish comes aboard. Good for bait.
N36.01,
W060.52. Thursday June 5. 1712 gmt.
Hello,
Friends:
871
nautical miles out of the US east coast -- that's about a quarter of the
way. We're hoping it's the most exciting quarter. We've now sailed far
enough east to come within the influence of the Azores high pressure
system. It's good to see the barometer up, and staying up. For now, it
means sunshine, warmth and less chance of a passing gale. We have 20
knots of steady wind on the starboard quarter and quite boisterous,
eight-foot seas. So we've kept the overnight mainsail reef in, plus the
new staysail and are plodding eastwards at five-and-a-half knots. A
west-setting current of two knots delayed us last night; we could find
no reference to it on either American or British Atlantic pilot charts,
nor did a passing container ship we called up offer any further
enlightenment. Just nature at work.
So
to today's problems. Only one, really. A blocked head (toilet, that is).
Now that might seem small beer to you folks ashore, but believe me,
availability of an unblocked head on a boat in the middle of a bumpy
ocean is supremely inmportant. It was blocked all yesterday, so today we
just had to get down to clearing it. I can't, out of sheer politeness,
go into details. Nothing to do with etiquette, more a question of
fascinating science. Except to say there's an entry in Lydia B's log, in
Dave's own handwriting, that says (please excuse this coarse bit of
seamen's language) "Dave banned from sh....r." You'll have to
ask Dave. It's OK now, I'm happy to say. And that's REALLY happy.
We
had a little more encouragement with the fishing business, too. We've
been trailing a line for the last couple of days. Today I watched a
10-lb tuna flying through the air to dive on the gold-and-silver spoon,
gobble it and stretch the bungee attaching the line to the boat to its
limit. We both sprang out of out of head-janitor mode and started
hauling the line in. But the tuna took the first opportunity of an
accidental slack on my part to shake loose and get off. Encouraging
though, isn't it?
During
the night I got a smack in the eye from a flailing sheet when I went
forward to drop the Yankee headsail in a blow. Then we had a painful
reminder of our escape from the storm three days ago. A searching US
coastguard aircraft called us on the VHF to ask if we'd seen anything of
a 45-foot sailing vessel called Christina. It had put out an HF radio
distress call around the time of the storm and hasn't been seen since.
We hadn't, we said, though we'd just passed through the search area. At
present we know no more. We feel for our colleagues, whoever they are.
More
anon,
Love and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
N35.01.269,
W058.30.473
Hello,
Friends:
Friday
June 6. 1934gmt
Briefly: Lydia's bowling along latitude 35, keeping her head under the
parapet while a gale spends itself a few degrees further north. We're
getting smarter by the day and spending more time on the weatherfaxes.
We've just achieved 1,000 nautical miles out of the US and making about
110nm a day. Today's been uneventful. There's a 20 knot southerly, clear
sky and sun, I'm just getting ready to prepare supper (potatoes, cabbage
and whatever meat we can find in the lockers) and things are just dandy
aboard, so I'll keep this one short.
Love
and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
N34.51,
W056.08. Saty 2125 gmt.
Hello,
Friends:
Another
uneventful day. We're just plugging along on our easterly track in fine
weather and light winds adjacent to the Azores high and out of harm's
way of low pressure next-door to the north. The latest 24-hour run put
another 119 nautical miles on the clock. From here it's a nearly
straight line to the Azores -- another ten days or so. Today was spent
watching the ocean go by, and looking out for two or three other
Europe-bound boats we know are near. It'll be good to
have a chat if we meet up.
More
anon,
Love and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia
B.
N34.42,
W054.31. Sunday June 8. 1953gmt
Hello,
Friends:
Another
uneventful day which had us running goose-winged since this morning, a
fifteen knot breeze directly on our tail as we continue our easterly
heading towards the Azores, 1,200 miles distant. Right now the wind's
sagging, leaving us to the mercy of an annoying, lumpy swell and not
enough wind to keep Lydia steady. It'll be a trying night. We're just
about to tackle curried chicken as an alternative to hard sailing. My
birthday whisky and ginger's already down the hatch. All's well aboard.
More
later,
Love and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia
B.
Monday
June 9, 1935gmt.
Hello,
Friends:
Again
not a lot to report. Lydia's now at N35.23, W053.14, 1,307 miles
out on her journey to Maryport UK. We're still skirting the Azores high
pressure system, which is now weakening a little. A gale system to the
north is keeping pace with us along latitude 40N, so were staying down
at 35N until we have to head up to the Azores somewhere before 40N --
but that's week or so away yet.
The
fishing is stubbornly unproductive. My big gold-and-silver lure got
bitten off, so we discovered we've been trailing nothing but line for
the past 36 hours. We put out a fake squid and got an immediate bite.
Bites, alas, don't make good suppers. Keep trying, eh?
We're
shortly going to tune into Herb. Herb's the guy ashore (somewhere in
coastal northeastern US, I think) who's an amateur weather expert (and
clearly a sailor) who shepherd's sailing boats through various bits of
the north Atlantic. He co-ordinates the Southbound 2 net for a couple of
hours each day, steering sailors around potentially difficult weather
areas and towards the better winds. We haven't actually checked in yet
but listen in each day. Several boats are near us, heading for the
Azores, so we benefit from
Herb's information to them. It's a free service, using single sideband
radio, and is enormously informed about weather. If you want to know
what dedication is, listen to Herb. He's there on the dot, talking to
his flock of 60 or so boats at a time. We've only seen one other sailing
vessel, but we know we're not alone out here.
Our
own weather picture: 20 knots of wind astern. We tracked north a little
overnight to get nearer the low pressure system to the north and pick up
a little more wind. Having got it, we've been running all day, partly
with twin headsails goosewinged, plus the full main. Just our luck to
have got into a counter-current for part of the day. That cost us a knot
or more. But Lydia's chugging along. It's damp below; everything's
salt-laden and the place no longer smells of roses. But we're chugging
along quite well.
Love
and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
Lydia B reaching across
the Atlantic.
N35.18,
W050.37. Tuesday June 10, 23.28gmt.
Hello,
Friends:
Still
pushing along, in fine weather, light tail-winds and delightful blue
ocean. It's been hot today. But we'll make the most of it. After 40 west
we'll start heading north for the Azores, and from then on it gets
cooler. At the same time the days will start getting longer as we
approach more northerly latitudes. That's something I've been without
for all the years I've been away from England and am looking forward to.
So
-- another routine day in the Atlantic. We ran most of the day with the
yankee headsail and the staysail goosewinged in typical trade-wind
sailing style. It's been interesting to see how Lydia steers herself
downwind with headsails alone. For night-time we've put the wind aft of
the beam again. It's rising a bit, so we'll probably take down the
yankee soon and give ourselves a quiet night.
No
events to speak of. Except this afternoon Dave spotted a large shark
cruising nearby. We punctured a tin of Vienna sausages and towed it
behind Lydia, hoping to attract the big fish for a closer look. But it
didn't take the bait and as dusk fell, with a moon rising, and the sea
surface taking on the oily, myterious, shimmering look it wears at night
we retreated into our superstitions and hauled tghe Vienna sausages
inboard. And as far as our own fishing atempts are concerned, we have
potatoes but as yet no fish to go with them.
Radio
propagation conditions have been poor and as we head further from land
I'll be sending the daily log after dark, when conditions are generally
better.
Otherwise,
everything's fine.
Love
and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
N35.07,
W048.16. Wedy June 11. 2300gmt
Hello,
Friends:
Same
easterly track as before, and Lydia's now 1551 nautical miles into her
Atlantic trip. Today's been as near perfect sailing as you could wish
for. Blue sky and ocean, solid sun, steady 15 to 20 knot breeze on our
tail and we're moving along at quite a brisk pace, covering 120 nautical
miles in the 24-hours to mid-morning.
Right
now we have a front on top of us so it's turned grey. We'll probably
pick up a little wind in the night.
Tonight
we dined on a six-pound dorado landed with a squid Dave found caught on
the Monitor self-steering gear. It's good to have got one aboard at
last, after several missed attempts. The evidence is that up to now our
lures have been bitten off.
All's
well aboard.
Love
and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
Atlantic Dorado for
supper.
N35.04,
W046.53. Thurs June 12, 2227gmt
Hello,
Friends.
Becalmed!
The Atlantic's nothing if not contrary. The wind died completely today
after we crossed a front during the night, briefly got northwest breezes
and sailed through sunrise. For the first time on Lydia's current
passage the ocean flattened out and we could see the horizon all round,
instead of momentarily from the top of a wave, then blind at the bottom
of a trough. It's a big place, is the chief message. There's not a thing
in sight. Nevertheless it's extraordinarily impressive in this benign
state, with deep blue water as far as you can see in the
middle-of-the-day sun. And not at all hostile. It'll send us a wind in
its own time. After a couple of hours rolling about in the swell, sails
slatting back and forth, we started the engine to recharge Lydia's
batteries and motored on eastwards. We've been using battery power
faster than the wind generator and solar panel is replacing it.
We've
eaten the last of the dorado fillets from yesterday's catch (needless to
say the line's out again), cooked in olive oil, garlic and lemon juice.
Dare I say how good it was?!
Love
and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
School
notes for Ryan:
Some
things we've seen in the Atlantic: sharks, dorado (a tuna-like fish
which we caught and ate!), flying fish and squid (which leap out of the
water and land on Lydia B during the night -- I believe they're
generally trying to escape other fish predators) and what I think are
called sailfish. These are about six inches long and look like bits of
blown-up bubble-wrap. I think the idea is that they inflate themselves
into a sail and the wind blows them over the ocean. They look like toys
that somebody's dropped overboard. Rather clever, don't you think! You
might want to check on that one in class. By the way, the ocean here is
nearly three miles deep beneath Lydia B. I'm still keeping my eyes
peeled for Tracey Island.
N35.00,
W045.16. Friday June 13, 0002gmt
Hello,
Friends:
So
we finally gave up trying to sail with no wind at dusk last night. We
dowsed the cruising chute, hardened the staysail to keep Lydia headed
upwind, parked in the ocean and went to bed, rolling clumsily in the
dying swell. Four hours later, at 0500gmt, we awoke to a new motion. The
rolling had stopped and I could hear water gurgling past the hull. A new
wind had arrived and Lydia B took off on her own, going northeast off
our easterly track. Dave slumbered on, but the early morning scene was
one to remember. As the yellowing moon sank onto our western horizon the
new day's sun, streaked with thin cloud of a new pressure system, was
reddening the dawn sky in the east across calmed but still heaving, oily
sea. Sun, earth and moon nearly in line. That powerful, mysterious time
again that tells you without doubt why you've come voyaging.
All
day since then, with a new south-west wind on the right side of the
weather front that killed yesterday's northwest breeze, we've been
creaming along under full cutter rig, Lydia B climbing again and again
onto her bow-wave trying to escape her hull-speed. We bless the
uncomplaining Monitor. It's kept us faithfully on course with no more
than an occasional tweak of the control lines. I've no doubt we'll pay
with tougher times on the run north from the Azores to the Channel
approaches and England -- a wicked-looking low's been hovering off
Europe for many days now, stubbornly refusing to clear off north
-- but the last few days have been sailing at their very best.
Another
degree or so of eastward longtitude and we'll be changing our clocks two
hours forward. Lydia B's got us about half-way home. This afternoon, now
going faster with new winds, we were overtaken by the first sailing
vessel we've seen since leaving the Chesapeake, a French catamaran bound
for Narbonne on the Mediterranean. We had a brief chat in French on the
VHF and promised to pass greetings to a colleague in the Azores.
Love
and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
N34.55,
W043.34. Friday June 14, 21.27gmt.
Hello,
Friends:
Progress
has slowed a little. Yesterday we had no wind, then a front caught up
with us and today we have less helpful northerlies. So we're trundling
slowly eastwards at reduced speed, part of the day with the wind hard on
the nose and bent down on our starboard beam. The last 24 hours saw only
94 miles added to the tally. We're now 1,785 miles out from the US,
about another 750 to the Azores (where I think we're going to spend a
couple of days washing salt and sweat out of ourselves, our clothes and
Lydia before heading on up past Spain etc to England). We chatted with
"Whoosh" today -- an American 42-ft ketch sailing from Florida
to the Azores (that's 'Ay-zores') with Jack and Patricia aboard. It's
the fascinating thing about voyaging in small boats; you're guaranteed
to meet interesting new people. 'Whoosh' came up abeam, photographed
Lydia B ploughing reefed in the sunshine through an eight-foot swell and
sparkling crests and we did the same for "Whoosh".
The
channel ten conversation goes something like: "She's a fine sight
on the high seas, Jack. I got the picture...!" Jack: "Is she a
Baba 30?" "Yes". "A sweet, sweet boat. We'll see you
in Horta and swap photographs". "Lydia B standing by
one-six".
When you've been in the big ocean on a little boat for a couple of weeks
you tend to cherish these meetings.
There's general agreement that we both probably stink by now, but we're
well fed, reasonably well rested and all's well aboard.
Love
& best wishes,
Ian & Dave.
Whoosh abeam in the
Atlantic
N34.52,
W039.36. Monday June 16. 2227gmt.
Hello,
Friends,
Well,
after three days of disappointing or no winds, Lydia finally picked up
her skirts and ran with her favourite breeze all day today, still
heading east below N35, driven by a southerly just ahead of her
starboard beam. We made 104 nautical miles yesterday and should do a bit
better today -- day 20. The total's now 1,962 miles covered, so we're
well over half-way. We should be washing salt out of our hair in the
Azores on Saturday or Sunday, then studying the weather charts past
Iberia to the Western Approaches for the final leg.
Today's
been just another brilliant sailing day -- unbroken sun, deep blue
ocean, surprisingly little swell to speak of and a steady, 15-knot
breeze. We've been cracking along at six knots. One distant freighter
spotted on the horizon, a gaggle of conversations on Herb's Southbound 2
weather net on the HF radio (we listen avidly every evening); the sun's
just dipped below the horizon, leaving a band of fire behind Lydia's
stern and the moon, waning since yesterday, will be up shortly on our
starboard bow to light the clear night for us. Dave's in his bunk and
I'm on watch in a dew-sodden cockpit until one in the morning. All's
well on Lydia B.
Love
and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
N34.56,
W037.20. Tuesday 2254gmt.
Hello,
Friends:
We've
just altered course to make a direct run for Horta in the Azores, about
400 miles northeast of our present position. Night's fallen, the moon
will be up soon, we've got a 15-knot breeze on the starboard quarter and
Lydia's going like the clappers. We want to be on the north side of a
high pressure ridge when it passes us in a couple of days' time, so that
we have north or north-west winds on the approach to Horta. We should be
there on Saturday. All's well.
Love
and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
Hello,
Friends:
Our
position tonight (2310gmt Wedy June 18) is N36.04, W035.09. All's
well.
I
& D,
Lydia B.
N37.07,
W033.34. Thursday June 19 2147gmt.
Hello,
Friends:
We're
now 240 miles from Horta in the Azores, beating our way up to N38
degrees against 25-knot north-easterlies. They seem to be calming a bit,
so maybe we'll get a reasonably quiet night. Tonight's beef curry, at
the usual time, was cooked at about 30 degrees off-plumb. And that's
with only a deep-reefed main and staysail up. Unless we get two really
good days tomorrow and Saturday it'll be Sunday morning by the time we
turn past the breakwater at Faial and dock at Horta. First stop will be
the shower, next real, greasy food and next the laundry to wash out the
ton or so of salt in our clothes and everywhere else. (Martine et Ol:
douche, frites et vetements sans sel -- c'est une fantasie?? Et quesque
Ol cherchait dans le jardin? Tu n'a jamais dit!).
More
tomorrow.
Love
and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
N
37.45, W032.08. Friday June 20 2210gmt.
Hello,
Friends:
And
good evening from a lumpy, frustrating Atlantic sea that's doing nothing
to speed us on our approach to the Azores. To tell the truth, it's been
a lovely day: unbroken sun, warm temperature with just a hint of welcome
northern freshness in it, 15 knot breeze. Perfect for sailing -- that
is, in any direction but Horta. We clawed northwards all last night to
get away from this north-easter, left behind by yesterday's passing high
pressure ridge. But alas, we couldn't quite make enough headway and
found ourselves trapped with wind solidly on the nose. We tried
sacrificing some of our precious easting to head west of north, only
confirming after a couple of hours with tight rigging on our beam ends
slamming through waves in a rolling swell that gentlemen really should
not go to windward. So we started the motor today to help the sails and
have resumed our track to the Azores, now less than 200 miles
north-east. The word (Herb's word, that is) is that the wind should
begin to back north-west
tomorrow morning, so all will soon be dandy again. Herb's never wrong.
We still expect to be in Horta by Sunday.
Otherwise
-- routine. Pasta-in-the-pan for supper, Dave slumbers and I'm starting
the night-shift. I've just switched on the mast-head tricolour in case
anybody bumps into us. A torch will have to do for the steering compass
tonight because the light's gone out, corroded by constant dousing in
Atlantic salt. By this time we feel slightly corroded ourselves.
Love
and best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
N38.16,
W030.09. Saty June 21, 2245gmt.
Hello,
Friends:
Lydia
B is now 75 miles from the Azores and we expect to dock at Horta early
tomorrow (Sunday) afternoon. All's well aboard.
Love
& best wishes,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
Azores landfall
Horta,
Azores, Sunday 2100gmt.
Hello,
Friends:
There's
no hot water in the showers, the shower doesn't drain, the shower-room's
awash with water on the floor, the official soap doesn't work. The
streets are cobbled, the cars little and they drive very fast. People
speak a strange language. I don't know about Euros. I'm on firm land. A
little wobbly after 22 days at sea, but on terra firma. It's heaven.
European heaven, Portugese style. I haven't a ghost of a complaint to
make.
Lydia
B docked this afternoon at this little mid-Atlantic port, belonging
totally to another seafaring, colonial era centuries ago.
Land feels funny after three weeks at sea but the whisky and
ginger went down fine. If I could give Lydia B one I'd do so. She's been
spectacular and taken care of us in tough ocean sailing conditions.
We're now two and a half thousand miles from Deltaville, Virginia and
there are 11,100 nautical miles on the clock since leaving Victoria BC
via the Pacific and Central America some 20 months ago.
Dave's
gone to try his legs out ashore and I expect we'll have a meal shortly.
The Azores are astonishingly beautiful, in a volcanic way; Horta's
narrow streets are the neatest place (especially with the prospect of
real food, water without salt and a laundry). Most especially for me,
after four years as a guest in North America, the impact of being in a
European culture again is immense. Horta is old, Portuguese and
European. The senses and reference points are chaotic. It's all utterly
fascinating. It justifies all the struggles of the last three weeks at
sea -- including the storm.
More
later,
Ian and Dave,
Lydia B.
Butchers take five in
Horta
Dave paints the traditional boat name on Horta dock.
Horta,
Sunday eng.
Hello,
Friends:
We
nearly made it. The engine was running and we were about to cast off the
mooring lines and I decided to do a final engine check -- only to
discover a leaking sea-water pump. So we're still in Horta, hoping we
can pick up a new oil seal tomorrow. It's the name of the game. Nothing
runs to schedule.
More
anon.
Love,
Ian,
Lydia B.
Horta harbour
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