When we left Vila Real de Santo Antonio in Portugal there was no hint of the weather to come. The wind was light as we motored out through the mouth of the river early on Saturday morning (22 November 2008). We were two boats of two and we were to sail a course of 219 degrees towards the Gran Canaria.
We started our shift pattern straight away; it was to be three hours on and three hours off 24 hours a day for the next seven days. The first 36 or so hours were quiet, Chuck could steer if a little sloppily and apart from sticking my head up regularly to look for ships, I could lie back and take in the waves. During this time I had a lot of time to think and I started to miss my family and think about my Mum. I decided when we got to the Canaries I was going to sort out going back to Australia for Christmas instead of sailing on to the Caribbean.
Vaquero, our little 32ft yacht, wasn’t in the best of shape as she’d spent a lot of time in the Guatemalan jungle not being looked after. Keith had spent a considerable amount of time fixing another boat and when he bought Vaquero he simply wanted to set sail again. Our VHF radio didn’t have a very big range, the bilge pump would go on the blink, the stove was a normal domestic gas stove and didn’t swing on the gimble very well, but she was sea worthy and kept us both alive when we hit the rough stuff.
A couple of days out the weather came from the North West and we began to get more wind combined with a serious swell. I don’t think I’d ever seen a swell quite like it, not even off Bass Strait where I grew up. When below deck I was thrown around so much I got some serious bruising, when above deck I had to be in full wet weather gear as the waves rolled over the deck as they went by.
Here is the evidence!
I still have no idea if the clamping in my stomach was seasickness or fear for I never threw up. I simply had no appetite and my stomach refused to let me eat for most of the time at sea. The waves were huge (around 20ft) and I had to hang on and strap myself in with my harness so as to not be lost overboard. I was becoming convinced that the old sailors superstitions of not having a woman on board were accurate and that Neptune had taken a serious dislike to me thinking I could cross the Atlantic.
On day four the wind was so bad we had to put up the storm jib and trysail, still we were doing over 5 knots over land (about 6.5 through the water which was the maximum Vaquero could do). By this stage I was starting to get use to the rolling and I could see the end of my ordeal was nigh, the GPS was ticking off the nautical miles. I was setting myself goals to get through each shift; I’d give myself a target of how many miles I could travel in three hours – 15 was the target.
It was on one of these shifts when I’d wrapped myself up in my boots, overalls, jacket, and beanie and had my hood up that something broke. Keith’s voice came up from below deck “What broke?” I hadn’t heard anything as my ears were covered and the wind was howling around me, “I can’t see anything” went the reply. His head popped up through the companionway and looked around and he quickly spotted a broken stay. Not very happy he was going to come out without any of his gear on to fix it.
By this time I was tired and grumpy and just shouted at him to stay below, give me the tools and watch me in case I fell overboard. I went forward and screwed the stay back together while the waves rolled up onto the deck at my feet. For me it was a tense couple of minutes while I worked out which way the thread on the bolt went. The boat was on an angle and I was on the low side, if it weren’t for the harness and safety rope and a bit of balance I was looking at a very cold and watery grave lapping at my ankles.
After this little adventure things started to settle down and the weather eased overnight. By the next morning we were becalmed and had to motor. It was an opportunity to catch up with our companion vessel and cook some proper food. The last day and night were spent motoring and I could finally get out the camera and take some photos.
As we’d been motoring for some time it was also an opportunity to have a much-needed shower. I’d been living on board for three weeks and the last time I had showered had been two weeks previously. My hair was lank and I’d pretty much been living in my thermals since we left the river. I was desperate to feel clean and wash my hair. That shower in the tiny area set aside for the head was the best shower I have EVER experienced. There are no words to describe how wonderful it was to feel clean again.
We eventually motored into Las Palmas on Saturday morning, a week after we’d set out from Portugal. For hours before we arrived I could see the lights of the city and kept a steady course towards them. My first steps on land were strange, I found myself rolling as though I was still at sea. The guys had told me stories of people who found they were land sick after being at sea and I could understand why. It was the most peculiar feeling and took a week to subside completely. I would wake up in bed on land and feel the waves rolling beneath me.
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