There was a time when sailors used to judge their closeness to land by smell of it,the birds, the swell,the colour of the sea. Now, it's the first welcome message from Vodafone shortly followed by the first wifi. And so I write this in the most westerly (and most exposed!) marina in Europe - Flores, in the Azores. The last 48 hours have been the worst of my sailing life. After a very rough 36 hours hove-to in an easterly gale, I made sail again for Flores with a pilot book promise of a good anchorage on the western side. It crossed my mind that if I failed to make that, next stop was America. I made good progress in big seas and soon raised Corvo, but Flores was shrouded in mist as the pilot book warned. But I found the northern tip and started to make my way down the west coast, only 5 miles to Faja Grande. The difficulty soon became clear - ferocious williwas of over 40 knots with light winds inbetween. I identified the anchorage and it didn't look good but I had no alternative. I started to beat in, but the gusts blew me out every time. The boat wouldn't tack in the rough sea and so I had to wear round losing much distance in doing so. It was on one of these gybes that thr mainsail split. I was now beating with yankee and staysail - impossible. I tacked till my arms dropped off, at least 30 times, but with darkness falling and the wind still howling I was forced to drop the anchor. I gave her 60 metres of chain and she came ub with a hell of a bang- so she'd bit. I was not in a good position: no mainsail, no engine, no electricty to raise the anchor, and the wind freshening even further. I rang Falmouth Coastguard who passed the problem to Azores CG who rang me within 15 minutes. I told them I was OK for the night. The phone rang the next morning, The marina were sending a boat to tow me the ten miles south. Looking at the state of the sea, I hoped it was a strong one. But no problem. A stout pilot launch appeared with a skilful driver and four big, jolly lads landed on my deck and took over. I made the tea. It took 45 minutes to get the snchor up, hand over hand, five of us hauling at one stagr. I was a wild ride. The tow rope broke five times, once so close to rocks I couldn't look. Two hours later I was alongside. I wondered what it wouls be like to confront the human race once again after 66 days alone at sea. I never expected it would be like this.

(thanks to Libby for keeping this going through my computer failure, and to you for reading)