Crossing the Atlantic
Southerly 135RS - "Moodance"
I think most English sailors at least contemplate crossing the Atlantic Ocean at some point in their lives...
After all it does beckon you from the wide end of the channel's funnel. In 2004 we saw the impending opportunity of a year 'out' travelling and decided that the "one day" promise of an Atlantic crossing was the challenge. Having had relatively limited actual sailing experience I set about the various levels of required competency; Day Skipper, Coastal Skipper, Yachtmaster Ocean, Radio operator, Sea Survival, while at the same time we sourced an appropriate boat. It is a very long story cut short to say we chose a Southerly 135 for the purpose. We bought 'new' because under the circumstances it seemed the best way of being sure of the boat, and because we reasoned a Southerly was of good enough build quality to last us the next twenty years, which would just about see us through all of our sailing days ahead.
In July 2005, the month after 'Moondance' was launched we took part in the Blue Water Rally across Biscay to give ourselves and the boat a work-out. In July 2006 we set out on our Atlantic venture. For the first stretch (between Weymouth and Gibraltar) friends and family were scheduled to join us at various brief intervals, but most of the time we were three; myself (for the record aged 52) Sally my wife, significantly younger (!!) and seven year old Maddie, youngest of our three children. We 'home educated' Maddie throughout, with mixed success. Her great achievement (apart from being a splendid member of the crew, and social secretary ashore) was reading all the Harry Potter books on the Atlantic passage.
For reasons of both insurance (specifically requesting a minimum of three adults) and our own reassurance we looked for additional crew specifically for the Atlantic leg. Will, who had sailed with us across Biscay, joined us at Gibraltar and sailed the 5 days to Tenerife. There we were joined by Nigel and Sally (another Sally!) who had crewed on their friend's boat in the Biscay Rally. We asked Nigel and Sally without knowing them terribly well, but being relatively 'new' friends we reasoned we would all be polite and pleasant to each other for at least the early part of the crossing! They were a good choice, and remain good friends. We had chosen to join up with the Blue Water rally (who run the Biscay Rally), and organise a circumnavigation every other year, with an initial rendezvous at Gibraltar. This gave us the pleasure of sailing down the coast of southern Portugal and Spain from Cape St Vincent to Cape Trafalgar; an unexpected but superb sailing ground taking in a fantastic variety of environments including the wonderful Cadiz (and inland to Seville).
For the record, and since it was something that surprised us, for reasons of adverse or inadequate wind conditions we probably motored for almost 50% of the distance between England and Gibraltar. I suspect this may be the reality of cruising to predetermined destinations. We had chosen (largely on the advice of Robert at Northshore) to fit a basic 56hp Yanmar engine; as reliable, easy to repair and get parts for. Though unspectacular we motored at a decent 6-7 knots, and never had the slightest trouble from her; bless her (and Robert).
We found Gibraltar to be a bizarre place; a great sailing atmosphere made up of the many 'cruisers' mixed liberally with training boats learning their skills in the tricky waters of the Gibraltar Straits. All this set against a geographical oddity creating the most peculiar weather conditions, and a political situation that feels, at least from the outside, petty, inconvenient and anachronistic.It transpired that the main rally group were assembling at Tenerife. We did however easily meet other boats that were preparing for the Atlantic crossing and with whom we became good friends, and later met to occasionally sail together in the Caribbean.
For us the 'crossing' started from Gibraltar. The sail exiting the Straits is challenging in the same way as are the Alderney race, or the Raz de Sein. There is a constant menace in the complex flow of water in and out of the Med, and some of the surface movement is quite intimidating. The run down the north African coast is a serious leg which took us five days of exhilarating 20 plus knots of wind on or aft of the beam.
At Tenerife we met a total of two other boats that were to constitute our Atlantic Rally. Unfortunately one of these developed problems, so we ultimately became a rally of two, 'Moondance' and 'Aragorn', a J-Boat skippered by Dick from New York with his wife Leslie, who were on the final leg of their two year circumnavigation. Also on board were an English couple, crewing for the Atlantic leg.
Every year some 250 boats sail across the Atlantic in the ARC; and obviously numerous others also go independently. Because both the organisation and the technology have encouraged many more of us to take up a challenge that a few years ago might have seemed impossible there has developed something of an attitude that the Atlantic crossing is a "milk run". I would like to say, "it is not". The numbers and the odds are such that some boats will certainly find the crossing to be "a doddle". But the same statistics and probabilities dictate that there will also be a number of serious incidents and even deaths. The fact is the Atlantic throws up many challenges, physical and mental (with maybe a few spiritual!). I say this both as an encouragement, since the sense of achievement in crossing remains very real, and also as an appeal (to any Atlantic virgins) to take it seriously in terms of preparation and planning. We spent many hours afterwards hearing and discussing the sometimes horrendous problems other boats had mid-Atlantic. I am genuinely very pleased to have sailed in a boat built as well as Moondance.
At Tenerife preparations started in earnest. Back in England Moondance was equipped both specifically for the Atlantic and generally as a blue-water cruiser. For power support we had three small solar panels, a Airmarine 'Air X' wind generator and a Mastervolt 3.5 kilowatt generator (in addition to a six Trojan battery bank, which was part of our original build specification). The wind generator remains the only piece of equipment that we have been unhappy with; purely because of the noise it makes. The solar panels contributed without our noticing, and the generator performed magnificently, although we did have a water pump leak caused by my own neglect in not running her frequently enough on the passage from England to Gibraltar. We purchased a British made Seafresh water maker. Though water makers are expensive this was a fantastic (essential?) addition to the boat. It never let us down and provided us with enough extra water every day to enable all the crew to shower every other day. Boy was that a good feeling!
Moondance is cutter rigged, and we gambled that our staysail would be sufficient as a storm sail if needed. In addition we carry an MPG (Multi Purpose Genoa) , and specifically for the Atlantic we purchased a Twizzle rig (single furling line double headsail of light weight canvass, with double poles suspended on a single halyard, enabling us to sail more comfortably and effectively down-wind at up to approximately 15 knots). The Twizzle rig is tricky; undoubtedly excellent in ideal conditions, some of which we had, but I would probably take a heavier twin headsail arrangement of my own configuration next time. We had a few battles on the fore deck.
We fitted a Hydrovane self-steering unit. This was another good example of equipment that may be hard to justify in terms of cost (when you add up all that you spend purely for the propose of crossing the Atlantic it amounts to a number of first class flights!!). However we never doubted the wisdom or benefit of the purchase. The Hydrovane performed magnificently and provided endless hours of helm relief. For communications we had our standard VHF, plus an SSB radio. At a very late stage and against my original intentions, we decided to install an Iridium satellite phone. As things turned out we had some operating problems with the SSB, and the Sat phone was a reliable and comforting addition. My feeling is that if you take the time to become an experienced and frequent SSB user they are great pieces of equipment; but they remain quite complex and not tremendously user friendly; perhaps the later models have become unnecessarily complex; too many multi function button driven menus!
We spent our days in Tenerife being briefed, making minor equipment repairs, and provisioning. Provisioning strategy was down to the Sallys. All I can say is that we ate extremely well throughout the passage, never went short, seemed to have bread and fresh fruit for far longer than we imagined possible and overstocked on the booze. We were not a dry ship, but a healthy survival instinct prevented us from drinking more than a single beer at lunch and a glass of wine in the evening. Oh and a rum toast on crossing the Tropic of Capricorn. In the final days before embarking, Dick, on Aragorn, spent many worrying hours up the mast and all over his boat tightening and twiddling. I looked on nervously feeling there must be so many more things I should be doing, but comforted myself with the thought that ours was a relatively new boat, in need of less attention. My confidence was very badly shaken when, only six hours out we did discover loose screws in the gib furler. I had gone round how many times checking for just such a thing?! Fortunately it proved to be the only loose screw (discovered) on the trip! No jokes there.
Dick and Leslie's J-boat might just as well have been a U-boat for all the visual contact we had after leaving Tenerife, but we maintained a daily radio contact. Dick's speed took him well ahead of us, and he relayed back what he could of the weather ahead. Infact we found that weather patterns were such that a 24 hours separation could result in a very different weather experience. Whilst Dick tended to make frequent course alterations in pursuit of best conditions we tended to a more consistent line, and in the final analysis actually enjoyed a little better weather. Dick had the unfortunate and unpleasant experience of developing kidney stones while on passage; a situation that for a day or two threatened to become serious, but which 'passed' eventually with both considerable pain and great relief.
One day out from Tenerife and the wind dropped to nothing, necessitating (the gamble of) 17 hours motoring. It proved to be the only time we lacked wind. Shortly after this we had a sudden blow of 46 knots which came out of nowhere, but fortunately blew over a still calm sea. For many of the early days we were troubled by disturbed weather from the West African coast. On one memorable night an immense hammer-head of cloud and lightening approached us from the south on what seemed like an unavoidable collision course. How it passed astern of us I have no idea but after it did the whole of the northern horizon was for some hours ablaze with continuous lightening. It was remarkable that afterwards we realised we had all been so transfixed by it that nobody had taken a single photo or video shot. They will never believe us back home!
For Sally (one)'s birthday, November 26th we were near the Tropic of Capricorn and had two glorious days of sunny sailing, fishing and trailing feet in the water from the bathing ladder. These were the only such days. For most of the first two weeks we dealt with uncertain and changeable weather and trade winds and current that refused to settle down. The big swells seemed to be constantly undermined by a smaller cross sea that was running from some other direction. Occasional rain and inevitable squalls, especially at night, kept us on our toes.
Somewhere around day five we sighted a small yacht, of perhaps no more than 30ft bobbing along on the horizon of a lively sea. It made us grateful for the comparative progress we were making and the relative comfort we seemed to be enjoying. Radio contact established that our neighbours were a French couple on their way across; merry greetings and "bon voyages" were exchanged and we moved gradually apart, pursuing our own course. There would be one other yacht (and two distant commercial ships) sighted between then and Antigua; not exactly a crowded sea. The sense of being deeply absorbed into the rhythm of nature and ocean life was constant, but the outstanding highlight was undoubtedly the visit of three passing humpback whales, which we assumed to be mother and calf, plus male. The first two appeared quite without announcement within 100 metres of our starboard side. The largest of the three only became apparent when we became aware of a large head breaking the water aft. He drew himself closer and higher in the water until he lay immediately behind our stern, then executed a graceful roll to appear momentarily belly up alongside the rest of the family. One of those wonderful moments you long to replay...
We also enjoyed the company of a White Egret for five days, on the way, we assumed, back home to Antigua. "Hedwig" as Maddie christened him relaxed on the aft deck and enjoyed the spoils of the ship's fishing exploits, or the frequently suicidal offerings of flying fish. At night Hedwig slept contentedly with head under wing, swaying instinctively to the rock and roll of the boat.
Night was always the most challenging time, as the sea invariably picked up (especially at time of full moon) and rain squalls crept up out of the night sky. We trimmed the sails more conservatively, with a watch system that left one person on the helm and a crew member asleep within calling distance (infact any call tended to rally all). But alone on watch was also an opportunity to sit peacefully and contemplate - fantastic!
After the scary incident with the Twizzle rig our passage established a pace and pattern which lasted the five days to Antigua. We had a constant 20+ knots and a big following sea which we had fun estimating at anywhere between 10 and 20 foot waves (depending on who was doing the estimating). It was seriously exhilarating and sometimes a little 'heart in mouth' as we surfed the waves, goose winged. We had developed a great deal of confidence in Moondance's robustness and seaworthiness, and now flying towards Antigua at 6-8 knots we had the full appreciation of her sailing qualities. I raised her keel by about half and found she was always responsive to her twin rudders, keeping her nose down the wave. This was not a sea I would have liked to turn back in.
After twenty one days we had first sight of land, on a surprisingly misty early morning.
By the time the sun had risen we were off the coast of Antigua in the exquisitely turquoise water near Jolly Harbour. It was with a deep sense of satisfaction, and some relief that we dived into the water to make an illegal (pre-immigration) landing on a deserted but most welcoming sandy shore. What a wonderful feeling.
