Atlantic crossing by the numbers

Last year, I crossed the Atlantic Ocean three times, most recently delivering an 18-year-old superyacht to Nelson’s Dockyard, Antigua in time for the owner’s Christmas vacation.

Here are some stats from that trip:

(One nautical mile = 1.85 kilometres = 1.15 miles.)

Note: this article also appeared recently on Matador Travel. Thanks to David Miller for his help.

Distance travelled from Palma de Mallorca – Gibraltar – Gran Canaria – Cape Verdes -Antigua: 4266 nautical miles.

 Time taken: 20 days sailing plus 5 days of stopovers for fuel and provisions.

Cups of tea consumed: 200-250 cups.

Total days ‘proper’ sailing with engine off: 9.

Fuel consumed: 6500L of diesel. Fuel saved per hour when engine is off: 23L.

Fuel consumed per hour by a motor yacht of same size averaging 10 knots: 300-400L.

Fastest speed attained under sail in our 97 ton yacht: 14.2 knots (26kph).

Mainsail volume: 225 square metres.

Strongest wind gust: 42 knots.

Electrical fires on board: 2.

Crew response time to fires: Very, very fast. And improving.

Fish hooked: 14.

Fish kept: 4 (Viewing The End of the Line has led to new, extreme criteria for ‘keepers’.)

Meals from a good size mahi mahi: 4 meals for 7 people plus various raw appetisers.

Lures lost to unseen monsters: 4.

Best meal: Char-grilled mahi mahi with gremolata, chilli-infused poisson cru, and coleslaw with fresh-baked beer bread.

Most popular snack: The chef’s secret custom-trail mix and/or Mie Goreng noodles.

Number of times leaky deck hatches poured water down upon me: 3.

Total different sleeping locations to avoid leaky hatches: 4.

Number of flying fish which flew in through open hatches: 3.

Number of flying fish which landed in bed beside me: 1.

Proportion of books and magazines making up my luggage: Approximately 60%.

Titles read by me en route: 5 (Lush Life by Richard Price, South by Ernest Shackleton, Genghis Khan: Lords of the Bow and Bones of the Hills by Conn Iggulden and Underworld of the East by James Lee).

Books I read on the same yacht three years ago which are still on board: More than 15.

Watch system: 3 hours on and 6 hours off, in teams of 2.

Major world problems theoretically solved by crew during late-night watch: 3-4 nightly.

Major world problems actually solved by crew during late-night watch: Less than zero.

Most popular late-night musical choices: Into The Wild soundtrack – Eddie Vedder, Blue Sky Mining – Midnight Oil, Rated R – QOTSA, Music Monks – Seeed, Home – Spearhead and American IV: The Man Comes Around – Johnny Cash.

 Vagabond sailing yachts involved in near-misses due to their refusal to display lights at night: 2

Approximate depth at the location we took a swim: 4900 metres.

Speed at which it was possible to keep pace with the yacht while swimming: 1 knot or less.

Crew who thought it might be fun to jump from the first spreader up the mast: 1.

Positions/nationalities of crew: Captain (South African), Chef (British), Mate (Irish), Engineer (New Zealander), Stewardess (New Zealander), Delivery-monkey/consultant (Australian – me) and Captain’s mother/baker-extraordinaire (South African)

Total Atlantic crossings between all crew: 26.

Languages spoken between crew: 5 (English, Afrikaans, Spanish, Gaelic and Kiwi)

Personal Atlantic crossings this year: 3.

Miles sailed this year across giant oceans: 11,500nm.

Seas. Ick.

Something occurred to me this week, as I was whiling away the hours at Miami Airport during another forced US stopover.

Americans are quite odd? No, it was more than that.

What if there are a whole bunch of people who never go sailing because they fear seasickness?

Now bear with me here…..I love sailing. I’ve also been seasick and it’s truly horrible.

But I have a theory – seasickness can be both avoided and ultimately overcome.

However, I bet there are people who think they’re gonna feel ill every time and thus, avoid the ocean.

So, following more than a decade of salt-flecked, vomit-dodging research, allow me to present these findings to get you back on the water.

Prevention.

1. If you think there’s even a chance of becoming seasick, make a pre-emptive strike. Knock back at least one tablet an hour before you leave. My preferred brand is BioDramamina with caffeine. That’s right – it contains caffeine. There’s no excuse for modern seasickness remedies to leave you feeling drowsy.
2. Fresh air is your friend. Stay on deck. Even the saltiest seadogs feel ill if they go below decks. The air is stale, you can’t see the horizon, it probably smells of diesel. Don’t do it. Even if it means being wet and cold, that’s still better than being covered in your own warm vomit
3. Don’t go sailing with a hangover. Simple. But I can personally attest to this.
4. Stay busy. Chat to the crew. Ask to take the wheel. Take your focus off feeling ill.

Dealing with it

1. Bad luck. You feel like death and there’s no land in sight. Time to cope. Take the maximum dose of regular seasickness tabs [no caffeine], curl up somewhere and go to sleep. You’ll feel better as soon as you close your eyes.
2. When you wake up, take two more pills and head outside again. Getting rid of the nausea is tougher than preventing it in the first place.
3. Drink water and repeat as necessary.

Seasickness medications work.

Don’t try to be a tough guy and brave it out. You can’t.

Use the damn drugs and get back on deck in the fresh sea air.

You will feel better.

Drink lots of fluids and try to eat something bland.

Ginger tea is also awesome, but I can’t speak for those stick on holistic pads.

I’d be interested to hear what people think about all this.

Been sick? Never? Think they’re a bunch of whiny babies?

Do tell….

The sounds of sailing

Any one can take the helm when the sea is calm. – Pubilius Syrus.

the old girl stretches her legs

Silence. The sounds of silence.

After three days with the engine running, there’s an eerie quiet once it’s finally switched off.

At first it seems silent, anyway.

Then you notice the steady creak of the mast, the gurgle of waves on the hull, and the occasional curse as someone totters across the saloon which suddenly features a 20 degree slope.

The sounds of sailing, in fact.

There are other noises too.

The sound of salt water gushing through another leaky hatch.

The odd thump as 100 tones of yacht slams off the back of another wave.

The beep of the alarm signalling that another bilge is full of water.

But all these things are OK. Because we’re sailing.

Surging smoothly southward towards Las Canarias, borne by the wind alone.

Pretty cool really, and I’ll tell you why.

I’m going to let you in on a little secret about these flashy giant superyachts: they rarely sail.

What? Yes, it’s true.

For one thing there is often not enough wind. In anything less than 15 knots, Bolero wallows.

And then the wind is rarely out of the right direction.

The modern superyacht has schedules, deadlines. If sailing conditions are not optimal, they don’t bumble along in the approximate direction- it’s sails away, motor on, full speed ahead.

And then finally – and this one is a little embarrassing – there’s the convenience factor.

Bolero’s mainsail does not fill with wind at the touch of a button. And it sure doesn’t come down without a fight.

It took the captain and I a solid hour of dicking about in the freezing pre-dawn rain before we were ready to raise sail.

So if conditions look like they could change any second, we’ll probably just motor on.

But now and again, the elements play the game.

We unroll some canvas.

And shoot away to the south, smiling in the winter sunshine.

loving it

Hef and I fetch some sushi

ideal croatia

rovinj harbour flickr pic by ros aukett

My perfect day in Croatia might go something like this:

-         Wake up in my picturesque seaside village and wander to the square for coffee (real milk; not UHT) and a cherry danish.

-         Procure English-language newspaper and catch up on news from three days ago (close enough, right?)

waterside cafe flickr pic by markus spring

-         Stroll to the closest rocky outcrop for the first swim of the day in the postcard-perfect Adriatic.

-         Wander thru cicada-filled pine forests to a secluded cove or maybe take a sea-kayak to find my own private beach

lokrum flickr pic by jesus cm

-         Take a sail across to the nearest island (many are within an hour or so of each other) and compare the temperature of their local beers.

-         Go wakeboarding on impossibly flat seas once the wind drops. No swells to contend with here.

top spot for a few beers of a summer eve - dubrovnik old town

-         Finish up with a few more beers as the sun sets around 8 or 9pm. Grilled seafood at one of the many hundreds of harbourside restaurants.

-         Catch an international DJ touring thru the summer months. Croatia has a surprisingly progressive music scene.

-         Repeat as required…

one of my fave bars in the world flickr pic by rich ford

Croatia, you’ve still got it.

Maybe some secrets shouldn’t be kept.

And it’s hardly going to spoil things.

So here goes: Croatia.

Do yourself a favour and check it out. Soon.

Sure, it’s hardly a new destination and I’ve been telling people since 2007 that thought I thought the joint was tops.

But that opinion has been re-assessed and updated – it’s a must-see.

how good??

Even our two week superyacht blast down the coast with limited time ashore was enough to convince me that I’ll be back and you should go.

But why? Simply put, it does seaside European summer better than anywhere else I’ve seen.

Greece has the hundreds of rocky islands and crystal seas, but many of those islands are tacky, grubby and overdeveloped. Croatia is just…pristine.

Italy has the dramatic ocean cliffs and fresh grilled seafood too, but it’s filled with tourists. Croatia seems to be mostly chilled families on low-key holidays.

hvar old town and adjacent islands

France has impossibly pretentious ugly harbours, rubbish food, rude inhabitants and oh…never mind.

Plus I happen to particularly enjoy mucking about in boats and nowhere is better suited to a few weeks of leisurely ocean-going exploration than Croatia’s craggy string of forest-lined islands.

It’s windy for sailors. It has sheltered flat coves for watersports.

Croatia is peaceful. There’s no fuss and few crowds.

The people are friendly. The women are beautiful. And really tall.

The fruit is amazing. The cherry pastries can’t be found elsewhere.

Local beer is cold and delicious.

And everything is cheap

Needless to say I was pretty impressed.

the walled awesomeness of dubrovnik

Crossing Oceans

action stations

One of the best parts of being a yachting fellow is occasionally being required to take part in an ocean crossing.

And it’s hard not to feel like some sort of tough guy pioneering naval explorer, pushing off into the big blue under sail, just you, a few pals and 3000-odd kilometres of sea to tackle.

We may have autopilots and watermakers and satellite navigation and dvd players, but it’s pretty neat to trundle across such a big slab of the globe borne by the wind.

Braveheart’s ‘meagre’ 1400L fuel capacity meant we had to sail most of the way and luckily, we had reasonable winds with only a few calm days of motoring.

We also enjoyed a fishing bonanza, enjoying mahi mahi, tuna and wahoo almost every day.

best mahi mahi of the trip. super glassy conditions too.

As I write this, we’ve just hauled in the fourth fish of the day, before knocking off a lunch of fresh seared wahoo on a bed of mushroom pasta, washed down with some cold Rosé. Jodie sure looks after us.

Yellowfin tuna ceviche and wahoo sashimi were further fishy highlights.

Days are spent mostly lazing about the yacht, secure in the knowledge that most cleaning can be done on arrival (plenty of powerboats have their crews work 8hr days on the way across. Ick).

captain stupid

There’s a healthy supply of novels, fresh dvds, backgammon tournaments, ongoing poker battles and general relaxation.

As I said, crossings are a good time.

But you’re always glad when you arrive somewhere tropical.

The Heffernator kills again

halfway celebrations - 1200nm to go...!

 

cabo no es verde

Once upon a time, long, long ago, the Cape Verde archipelago was covered in a carpet of green. Apparently.

Now, I’m not sure when the drought struck, but at some point, it seems everything died, because there isn’t much you could call green about this little scattering of islands.

My yachting partners assure me there are a few little pockets of lush jungle here and there, but what I’ve seen could be better likened to the surface of the moon.

not at all representative of the other islands

Craggy volcanic rocks stretch skyward from cliff-lined coasts and everything is various shades of brown, grey and black. They’re fierce islands, not the type of spot you’d want to be shipwrecked.

A few fun rocks can be found to climb, but I managed to pick one with an osprey’s nest on top, they seem a little protective of those eggs.

Back on the water, Cape Verdes are quite the watersports mecca.

Islands such as Sal and Boa Vista are world-renowned for kiteboarding and windsurfing, there’s plenty of surf, diving and incredible fishing.

The local fishos roll into the docks each day with giant wahoo and tuna, often having caught them with spearguns. God knows how.

Scrappy little settlements doggedly cling to their slab of land beside the sea on many of the islands, but everything looks half finished; few houses bothering with a final coast of paint.

Apparently, one isn’t required to replay one’s foreign aid loan until one’s house is completed, so why would you finish the job?

surf's up just behind the yacht

looks a lot like west oz actually

sailing into trouble

all rugged up we were

So this one is for all those people who think us yacht crew simply cruise from port to port in glorious sunshine, sipping mojitos along the way.

Although this IS our preferred style, it’s rarely the reality.

The reality for the Braveheart gang these past few months has been a series of unwelcome delays in a series of uninviting ports, as we struggled to make our way south against the weather.

storm moving into Brest

The catchcry since September has been ‘It wasn’t ‘sposed to be like this…’ as we endeavoured to stay positive and stay busy holed up in spots like Jersey and Brest.

[I should like to note at this point that Jersey in fact turned out to be a bustling cosmopolitan metropolis in comparison to the concrete wasteland that was Brest, but we never appreciated this at the time…]

The major obstacle on this journey was the Bay of Biscay, a notoriously unpleasant stretch of water off north-western France and one which we needed a good two days of decent weather to clear.

This eventually arrived last week and we got a crack at Biscay, despite being uninsured for the trip – our insurers refuse to cover anyone crossing the bay after October – that’s how nasty it is.

We basically made it across unscathed after strapping down anything that moved and dosing up on seasickness pills.

Much of the early part of the trip followed this pattern – head out into the cockpit for watch / get drenched and freeze for 3 hours / retire to cabin / throw up / sleep / repeat.

But we got there and now Braveheart is enjoying the Portuguese sunshine as we figure out if we can make the Canary Islands for Christmas.

My personal preference was for Morocco, but strangely the owner was having none of it.

take that, Biscay

Stranded in Jersey

I’m stuck in Jersey, Channel Islands waiting for a break in the weather to get our yacht across to the Canary Islands and ultimately, some sunshine.

But there aint much to do in Jersey, unless you’re a banker, in which case you shuffle rich dudes’ money around and try to stay warm. It’s extremely dull here.

supercrew

There are 6 of us escorting a 75ft Hoek sloop to warmer climes, including my pals James and Jodie who have spent the past 8 months in Lymington, UK, overseeing an expensive and time-consuming keel repair. In that 8 months, they’ve sailed a grand total of 110 miles on ol’ Braveheart, from Lymo to Jersey and that’s it.

Daily we scour the weather reports for any break that will let us flee these northern waters, but we were around 2 weeks late getting out of the UK and with each passing storm, the European winter edges closer. Got. To. Leave.

The English owner had planned to compete in the ARC, a leisurely cruisers’ race from Gran Canaria to St Lucia, but delays in the shipyard and now the weather have seen us miss the start this week.

Eventually he plans for James and Jodes to pilot his fine yacht thru the Panama canal and onward thru the Pacific next year, but that’s only if we ever get out of Jersey.

If Jersey were a little more interesting it might be ok, but it suffers a weird lack of identity – an odd combination of English high street / nouveau financial hub / provincial French seaside village.

ask for maryanne

gorey castle jersey

ruins at elizabeth castle

st helier's house