Like most dinghy sailors, I used to have fun sailing my boat without a rudder. One could learn a lot about the optimum set of the sails, heel and fore and aft trim in order to keep a straight course as well as to tack and to gybe. Doing it for real in a 39ft. yacht weighing 9 tons in mid Atlantic at night with a force 7 wind and 4m waves was an experience we could have done without.

We departed Mindelo in the Cape Verde Islands at 1500 on Tuesday 6th December. and shot through the acceleration zone between Sao Vicente and Santo Antao in 30 knots of wind, then continued 50 miles south before turning west in order to avoid the islands' huge wind shadow. By midday the next morning we were heading directly towards Barbados, 1,950 nautical miles away, with full main and the cruising chute set under a blue sky with a few puffy clouds; we were in the trade-winds. In the evening, whilst swapping the chute for a poled out genoa, a large pod of dolphins came alongside and started performing some extraordinary antics, leaping vertically out of their water and gyrating on their tail before dropping back in with a big splash.

As usual, we took part in the evening "Magellan Net" over the SSB radio, an informal "sked" hosted by Fatty, an entertaining US yachting writer, whom we'd first met in Lanzarote. Any boat can report their position and talk about the important matters of the day, such as the quantity and size fish caught - the Kiwis being particularly competitive in this field. The morning net is more formal, with a role call of all boats at sea, each giving their position, course, distance to go and wind and sea state. We are in contact with about 25 boats strung out across the Atlantic, with a few arrived in the Caribbean and a dozen still in the Canaries or Cape Verdes. It is very comforting to hear so many friendly voices over the air waves when you're alone in mid ocean.

On the 4th day, with freshening winds, we decided it was time to try our new trade-wind rig. This comprised the genoa poled out on one side and our new, extra wide staysail, hanked onto the inner forestay and poled out the other. I'd approached several sailmakers with the idea of a "downwind staysail" and none had heard of one, but my old friend Dick Batt was keen to have a go and made a beautiful job of making it in blue and white striped storm spinnaker cloth. We were delighted to find that the arrangement worked perfectly, and Egret flew down the rhumb line, rock steady, at about 7 knots. Everything became much quieter and more comfortable down below as well. That evening we celebrated 1,500 miles to go to Barbados.

The joy of surfing down waves under a full moon ended abruptly with a sickening graunching noise from beneath and the flogging of sails above as Egret careered off course. We thought at first that the autopilot had malfunctioned, but we couldn't get her back under control with the wheel so we hurriedly furled the sails and lay a-hull to assess the situation. Our next theory was that the linkage between the rudder shaft and wheel had failed, but when the emergency tiller fitted to the top of the shaft couldn't steer either, we knew the problem was below the waterline. Concerned that the force required to break the rudder could also have damaged the hull, we checked the bilge for water and inspected the area where the shaft penetrates the hull and were relieved to find nothing untoward. By now it was daybreak, so we decided to have breakfast and a rest until 0900, when we would be able to report our predicament to the "Magellan Net".