A near gale.
It's ten to three in the morning, and Alex calls me awake; it's time for me
to go on watch. The wind is blowing at nearly thirty knots, with gusts up
to thirty five. There is a cup of tea waiting, and as I struggle into my
life-jacket by the companionway, Alex grins down towards me, his face
barely illumiated by the glow of the compass light. "I'd get a waterproof"
he says. "Why, is it raining?". "No, but it might be, and
there is a lot of spray around". So I stagger back aft, grab my Musto
jacket, remove my life-jacket, get my Musto on, and disentangle the
life-jacket - getting into it again is even worse. I clip on, climb
into the cockpit and wolf down the tea whilst Alex briefs me.
"There's been nothing to see, and the steering's fine except for when the waves
catch her. And the course is still 270 degrees." Then he's down
below to fill in the log and plot our position on the chart before
levelling off peacefully on his bunk for 6 straight hours.
I am on my own now. Cleone is well powered-up, even though there are
two reefs in the Genoa, three in the Mainsail and another two in the
Mizzen. But despite the gusts, she answers the helm sweetly. It's
overcast, but above the clouds can be seen the faint glow of the moon. The
cockpit is dimly lit by the warm glow of the red instrument lights. Dials
flicker to show me wind-speed and direction, distance to go, boat speed,
cross-track error and all sorts of other things. I concentrate on
the swinging compass plate (no needles these days) and the simple wind-arrow up
high, illuminated by the mast-head tri-light.
The bright green particularly emphasises the phosphoresence
sparkling in the wake on the starboard side, but even in the red of the port
side it's impressive. I look behind; more phosphoresence bubbles in the
wake astern, and a huge wave with a breaking crest as it rushes
towards us. Cleone lifts her stern to it, the wave passes beneath us and
thrusts us forward, a touch on the helm (more a powerful heave, actually - Ed)
and we corkscrew over the top and rush down the front of it, the GPS briefly
showing a speed of 13 knots. I recover the course, and manage to hold it
until the next wave catches us, this time throwing us sideways onto our
beam ends. The toe-rail submerges, and the cockpit is showered with
spray. Cleone recovers again, shrugs the water off her decks and sails
serenely on. It may be a dark,cloudy night, there may be rain showers
about, there may be spray thrown at you every so often, and the wind may be
moaning in the rigging (and it does). But this is not the North Sea in an
October gale or even a computer screen in an office in London - it's the warm
Indian Ocean and we are heading for Mauritius at over 7 knots. But
Cleone's weight, and her long, heavy keel (a disatvantage when it comes to
beating or running in a light breeze) give her an easy motion and good
directional stability even in a sea as confused as these. Believe me, gale
or not, there are a lot worse places to be.
The rest of the fleet is making great progress too. Many of them are
reporting uncomfortably bumpy rides, and the light-weight Chantelle is streaming
a warp to slow her down and to help prevent her broaching. It's the sort
of weather that tests boats and crews. But crews are well acclimatised,
and all are well and happy, and Cleone is still up with the pack, even if it's
the tail-enders!
It's been more classic trade-wind sailing (again) and we are another 170
miles to the good.
All well with us, and best wishes to
everyone,
James, Norfy (Chris) and Alex
Yacht Cleone