At around 1300 miles to run to St Lucia, we thought that we would post a few notes on our experience so far. The final week in Gran Canaria was very hectic notwithstanding months of preparation. We only managed to get the Raymarine autohelm and plotter certified as fit for use in the last 24 hours and to get a handle on the satellite mail system in the last two hours. The boat was loaded with more groceries than the average SPAR and more wine than Odd Bins. At least we would not starve to death in the event of the helm getting us stuck in circles in the centre of the Atlantic. Stuart and Bernard painted a striking entry for the competition of best boat mural on the marina wall ( a red snake coiled around a black cross- the old alchemist symbol) and we expect to hear that we have triumphed when we get to St Lucia. We carefully stowed the 30 kilos of flour that Cyril brought from Ireland for the orgy of breadmaking that we were anticipating.
Departure day itself witnessed a frenzy of excitement. Brass bands marching up and down the quay, crowds out in their summery best, some guy on a loud speaker calling out the boat's name as each left harbour, very much like radio commentators shout " GO-AA-L!!!" in Mexico at football matches. Waving to Stuart's family on the jetty, bunting and flags flying, crews bustling to stow away and then the thrill of wondering whether we would ram something much bigger than ourselves as we jostled to get out of harbour.
We had one final chore to get through outside - to swing the compass and then we were ready. The racing boats went off with a bang and as we took a rather more leisurely approach to the start, befitting our collective maturity, we suspect that by the time that we crossed, the ARC committee were en route to enjoying a leisurely lunch back at their hotel. It was splendid seeing the whole fleet spread before us, and gradually disappearing as we became the easterly marker on the approach of night, having decided not take a direct line and to head south, maximising the wind force. We were on a course of around180 degrees for a couple of days. and got over mild bouts of seasickness. The winds tended to be around 17 to 20 knots apparent. Some crew members began to believe that we were intent on emigrating to Senegal, so on day three we surrendered to a collective moment of anxiety and turned onto 250 degrees.
We quickly settled into a watch routine which gives the cook of the day a watch off in tribute to his efforts. It has worked remarkably well and we are eating like kings. But it is sad to say that the shelf full of DVD and mound of books have remain untouched. We are finding the business of sailing the boat, preparing food, changing sail and dealing with the odd problems that arise to be quite enough to occupy our time. A lot of our time is spent sleeping as the maximum effective time for sleep is 6 hours which reduces to 5 and a half from a practical perspective.Not quite enough for chaps who are used to a more gentlemanly regime.
We have not been too bothered by the fact that the route that we have taken, whose key turning point was midway between the southern and middle recommended routes, seemed to be taking us away from the mass of other vessels. The SSB radio has been a complete bust as we have only been within talking range of the Net Controller for a couple of days. We sometimes hear other boats, but they do not appear to hear us. The Satphone/internet connections however works well.
After a few days, thanks to the organisers telling everyone each day boat positions, we began to sit up and take notice of the fact that there is a competitive element to all of this. That lead to the startling discovery that we had been given a handicap bigger than faster, larger and new boats for some extraordinary reason. We assumed that this is a tribute to the collective wisdom of the 278 years that the four us have compiled. Anyway, our superannuated blood was up and we decided to unleash our super weapon - the twistle rig, which in our case is an enormous foresail, fixed to a furler on the bowsprit and boomed out by twin poles that unite on a free swinging universal joint. It is a nightmare to get up and down but it worked well on the way down to the Canaries and one again it did not disappoint. It pulled the boat along like a demented elephant fed on testosterone, causing huge anxiety to the poor helmsman at night who can see nothing but a mass of vibrating canvass and two metal booms thrashing the sky. And once up, boy you do not want to get it down in a hurry on a pitching deck....unless of course it is taking you too far south, promising a land fall in Rio ( for which there is much to be said.) . In the middle of our twistling adventures, we had a friendly exchange with the only ARC vessel we have seen so far, Spalax, who enquired solicitously if we needed any help...No, but it was good to talk.
We owe our best day to the twistle which enabled us to cover 178 miles in 24 hours at a flying rate. We modified the rig at one point by dropping the booms and simply using the sail as an enormous spinnaker, whirling around the bows like a towel in a spin drier. Having shown that we could do it however, we decided in the words of our Irish savant, to stop stressing ourseves and just enjoy this trip.
Our one disappointment has been the fishing- Spalax had been hauling in tuna like a canning factory and we had the kind of pretty octopoidal lure that should surely have sent any self respecting tuna into a precoital orgy of salivation. ...Then we lost the line..... We have had some nice fish from the freezer to mitigate the disapointment.
We have seen lots of flying fish and the extraordinary sight of the sea boiling with dolphin - there must have been 100 of them in the sea for 50 metres around. The highpoint however was the visit that we received from a pilot whale which surged powerfully alongside and ran parallel for a while while before breaking off .
Family members reading the ARC website will have been worried no doubt by the reports of yachts breaking down and being abandoned. Everyone concerned has of course been rescued. We have experienced winds of up to 25 knots, seas of around 4 metres, sometimes quartering on our stern and lots of adrenaline fueled moments when we needed to do something with the sails. However, we have not felt in danger at any time and with the wind now set fair, the forecasts looking good over the new few days, and landfall not that far off ( we had our celebratory cake supplied by Cyril to mark 1500 miles yesterday) we have every reason to just sit back and enjoy ourselves.
The Irish have an expression for it, they call it the " Craic" - we have plenty on this boat .Conversation has ranged from "Judas, has he been falsely accused?" to gender reassignment ( wives note; none of us are yet in the advanced planning stage) . We also sing a lot, largely out of tune, from songs that used to be heard regularly on the light programme in the fifties ( but not Vera Lynn) to stuff that would not allow you to escape with your life from the Falls Road and the guitar greats. In short, we are having a great time, which is what the ARC is supposed to be about.
The Alchemy Crew.