Cleone - Leg 20 Day 5 - It's a Big Place, the Sea, but...

Sailing Yacht Martha was two miles off our port bow at six am this morning.

 

Martha is an Estonian Ketch that has been following us around the world.  Some say she tried to sign up to World ARC, but at the time the list and the waiting list was full.  Whatever, we first came across her in St Lucia, and we have met here at virtually every stop-over since.  It is a pity she is not on the Rally; Martha is an interesting boat, and the crew are reportedly good and friendly people who would, I am sure, be an asset.  As it is, they are in a half-way house.  They are welcome, friendly, fellow round-the-world yachtsmen, but not quite part of the World ARC family.  They left La Reunion on the same day as us, and we must have been reasonably close to them for all that time without actually seeing them.  We only spotted them when it got light, despite Alex's vigilance, so they may have been adopting that alarming habit of many yachtsmen, running without lights. Which makes me wonder - it's a common but scary tactic.

 

Apart from that, it's been good sailing.  But, apart from Martha, and a distant ship spotted by Norfy last night, we have been on our own.  We are obviously on a major shipping route, but the ships seem to travel in convoys.  Some days we see several, others (like yesterday) none.  The AIS helps here.  It is normally set to alarm when it detects a ship at 8 miles distance, but it will only do this if the other vessel's AIS is working and switched on.  You can sometimes see large ships further away than 8 miles, particularly at night, but normally 8 miles is the limit of visibility as far as their super-structure goes.  If a ship is coming straight towards us at 18 knots (about average - some of the very big container ships travel at over 20) and we are doing 6, unless something changed, we would collide in 20 minutes.  In the wide-open sea, steam still gives way to sail, whatever the relative sizes, and we must hold our course or get the blame for any subsequent accident; the onus is normally on the approaching ship to avoid us!  A fully-laden ship can take two miles or so to stop even in full reverse, and altering course is similarly ponderous.  So although 8 miles sounds a long way, there is not that much time for action if you think he's not spotted you.  Hopefully he will be keeping a good look-out (there might only be one man on the bridge, particularly at night) and his two radar sets (commercial ships must have two, each operating in a different wave-band) will detect us, and have their alarms turned on, otherwise it's only our radio call (or, in extremis, a torch or a white flare) that's going to alert him .  Thank goodness for AIS - it's hard for a watch-keeper to avoid answering a call to his ship's own name, and even harder to ignore the sound of the DSC (Digital Selective Calling) alarm!

 

We have weathered the crises arising from the Loss of the Kettle and the Mystery of the Disappearing Vegetable Oil with equanimity, and are getting used to the taste of butter-cooked meals.  And the skipper has not had to bake bread yet, so things could be worse (but he's cooking the evening meal tonight).

 

Yesterday's run was only 132 miles - unlike the rest of the fleet, we had a current against us all day.  Today the current is with us, and we should record a decent total of 150 miles or so.