Before I had even landed back in the UK, I had been asked to survey two flood damaged properties; one in London, which was virtually behind Kensington Palace and the other in Portsmouth, which was less than a mile from where my old boat (and formally my home), Ambassador, was moored in Gosport. Had I had more time, I would have driven around to check all was OK but it was a short week with the Easter bank holiday. To be truthful, I didn't really want the work and I certainly didn't want to sit writing survey reports over the Easter weekend. What I wanted was to dig over our land in preparation for planting root crops and add a tier to our hydroponic system, to grow more salad. Eventually, all this was done, with time to enjoy a couple of nights camping in the Yorkshire Dales too but it was all a bit of a rush.
With my comfort zones reset and my old normals sitting comfortably on the sofa of my mind, I could focus on the sailing plan again. Without the apprehension and the feeling of impending doom, I could relax and focus on the things I had previously taken for granted. Some of my best holidays and experiences have started with me opening my suitcase to find that my shower gel had shat its entire contents into the clothing in my suitcase. It happens so regularly, I take it for granted but I always forget to wash the tooth brush and suffer for it later. So with my clarity of thought, I slid the shower gel into a plastic bag, then slipped it into a shoe, to be totally safe. Shoes are definitely best for protecting clothing. I had a hydraulic steering failure on Ambassador many years ago when a pipe burst; I knew it had burst as I felt the bang vibrate through the hull, then the wheel became slack and we had no steering. I went down to the aft cabin and opened the cupboard which housed the rudder stock and expected to find it awash with hydraulic oil but this was not the case. When the free end of the hose blew off, it landed in one of Tegs' new shoes and filled it to the brim. From this I concluded that shoes contain leakages and I will bear this in mind as I approach old age.
Thursday
The evening before my departure I had a couple of ciders whilst Tegs and I snuggled up on the sofa and watched Highlander on the DVD. Everything was normal - perhaps not Highlander, which was definitely not normal and despite being quite an iconic film of the mid 80's, I actually thought it was pretty crap. But apart from that, everything was normal. So I was going away in the morning but so what? I regularly go away for a few days and this was no different. To be fair, things were much calmer as the Covid rules had changed and proof of immunisation was all the Spanish needed. Having been caught out before and not knowing how many more digits I could add to my passport number, I downloaded and printed everything, including the 'pain in the arse' QR code that was now not needed. With these weapons in my armoury, I was invincible and I was right.
Friday
At the airport, I wasn't challenged and there was no mention of Covid at all. More surprisingly was the meatball and goat cheese wrap that I had made that morning went straight through the airport scanner despite being wrapped in foil. Anything could have been in that wrap and since it contained meatballs, everything probably was. Thinking about the half empty plane that I had enjoyed a week earlier, we had loads of garlic with our tea and with that and the goat cheese and meatball wrap, I was stinking. As it turned out, the plane was quite busy but the mask (still compulsory on the plane) hid my childish giggling every time I farted. It was bad too, my garlic breath trapped in the mask had me on the edge of retching.
At Alicante, my luck was in as for the second time. My bag was one of the first on the carousel so I grabbed it and ran. The prior knowledge of the airport layout was beneficial here, as I made it to the Torrevieja bus stop with three minutes to spare.
Pete had been on an earlier flight and had already moved Muirgen from the boat yard to the marina, before I arrived. It was an exposed hammerhead berth and we were bashed about by a big rolling swell. Through the night, this worsened and at 0130 hours we were both out adjusting the mooring lines. By 0230 hours we were being hit with 40 knot winds, which bounced us about like Tigger on steroids. Despite this, I slept quite well. The wonderful thing about Tiggers is Tiggers are wonderful things, their front half's made out of rubber, their back half's are made out of springs (AA Milne). I find the rocking of the sea quite therapeutic.
Saturday
The alarm went off at 0600 hours and all was calm. The sea was flat and there was no wind. This was to be expected, as the forecast showed the storm to be heading east so, after a quick cup of tea, we slipped the mooring and motored out onto a flat calm sea. The time was 0700 hours. Half an hour out, I phoned Tegs. She was asleep as I'd forgotten that we were one hour ahead. At 0930 I phoned her again. This time she was at Slimming World and again I had forgotten we were one hour ahead. On the positive, she was pleased to announce that she had lost 6lb and I was pleased for her too. It was a shame she couldn't have been with me just then because scarcely had I put the phone down and a dolphin jumped out of the water right beside me.
Pete was disappointed by the lack of wind, as our fuel reserves were not enough to motor all the way to Sardinia and if the wind didn't pick up, we would have to motor slightly further north and stop at Mallorca to refuel. However, not long after that, I felt a light breeze from the south west and a minute or two later, the ensign started to flutter. With that we killed the engine, raised the sails and whilst initially making 4 knots headway, we set a course of 083 degrees (east) for Sardinia. Soon that light wind increased in strength and the sea lifted into a lumpy swell. We had caught up the tail end of the last night's storm and were running with it. Through the rest of the morning, the wind speed increased and so did the wave height. By lunchtime we had put two reefs in and the 25 knot wind, with 3 metre swell on the starboard quarter made the most horrible motion. Not long after that, I was sick.
By mid-afternoon, the wind was at 30 knots and gusting to 35 with waves of nearly 4 metres. Pete made us a mug of soup but I owned it for barely two hours before hurling it over the side. By 1700 hours, the wind was at 35 knots with gusts at over 40, which screamed through the rigging. The sea was truly awful, with cresting waves touching 5 metres towering above us. They were relentless and came at us like rows of terrace houses, picking us up and tossing us sideways into the troughs and dumping water on us with an annoying regularity. It's at times like these where one needs total confidence in the boat as there cannot be a shred of doubt. A loss of faith would lead to poor decision making which, in dire situations, could lead to a loss of the boat, a life or worse. We put the third reef in and this made our motion a little easier, although it didn't slow us down any and we still hit 12 knots from time to time, as we surfed down the waves. Pete took the late night watch and me the early morning.
Despite the incessant banging and creaking of the hull and the howling of the wind, as it thrashed the sails, I had slept well, with the usual comforting rock-a-by baby but I didn't feel too good when I awoke. Pete had cooked a pizza during the night and I forced myself to have a slice but this had a shorter lease than the soup and I'd hurled it up less than 20 minutes later. On the positive, it tasted really good and since it didn't have time to be digested, it tasted quite good the second time too.
Whilst I disliked the waves that came with the wind, we were taken in the direction which we wished to go and we were taken there quickly too. We had hoped to average 6 knots throughout our journey but although that wind pushed us along at a breath-taking pace, the big seas drove us into a constant zig-zag so we averaged only 6.25 knots over the ground. Nevertheless, we covered an impressive 150 miles in the first 24 hours.
Sunday
Throughout the morning, the wind slowly reduced its strength and very slowly, the wave height reduced too. By lunchtime, things were getting good; not only was it great sailing but we had seen a number of turtles swim by too. They were all heading west, or perhaps they were stationary and we were heading east; anyway, all bar one were about the size of a dustbin lid or perhaps slightly bigger. A brief discussion about turtle meat then commenced but we collectively thought that butchering one would make an unholy mess of the deck and anyway, we were happy (privileged) to see them swim by.
We had shaken the reefs out of the sail and were making great progress under a 20 knot wind but it was obvious that it wouldn't last and by 1800 hours the wind was too light for sailing and the sea state had calmed. It was clear that the tail end of the storm winds had passed us and we would have to start the engine. Under engine, we were able to carry out some running repairs to the lazy jacks, which was handy but by 1930 hours we had caught the tail end of the storm again. Sadly there was no usable wind left in it and only the lumpy sea to endure again.
I took the evening watch rota and watched a fabulous sunset, then watched on as the sunset faded into darkness and the stars appeared. Yes, I know we have stars at home but here, without any light pollution whatsoever, the stars were brighter and more plentiful than I had ever seen before. They stretched out along the horizons and were so bright it looked like a line of small ships marking the edge of the black disk that we were sailing across. Phosphorescent plankton illuminated the water in our wake, with beautiful bright flecks of green and to put a finishing touch to the magic, I watched a shooting star streak across the sky. I wished that Tegs was with me to share this moment; she would have hated the rough sea but so enjoyed the spectacle in front of me. Sitting here in the dark, in the very centre of a black disk in the middle of nowhere, I can reflect on my life; where I've been, where I'm going and what I have accomplished and I owe so much to Tegs. She is the shiniest star in my sky and I'm going to make it my plan to marry her when I get home.
Monday
That setting sun, that pesky setting sun. As we headed east, I had spent my watch sitting in the cockpit with the setting sun shining right at me but whilst my head was protected with a wide brimmed hat, the sun shone on the water which reflected the sun's rays back. This turned my face from the standard English white to the standard tomato red of a Brit abroad.
Pete woke me at 0830 hours, with a cup of tea and boiled eggs on toast. If it wasn't for wanting to marry Tegs, then Pete would be a good second best. The sea was very calm; not quite glassy but with small undulations of perhaps 20cm and it remained that way throughout the day. On my morning watch, I saw a huge tanker, about 3 miles away but apart from that we saw only turtles, Portuguese men-o-war and a pink kid's inflatable, in the shape of a dolphin.
There was still no wind so we were forced to carry on under engine. We did some quick maths then topped up the fuel tank from two large jerry cans. It would appear that, at 2000rpm, we consume 2.13 litres of fuel per hour and this equates to about 3 nautical miles to one litre of fuel. At this rate, we would burn through another 40 litres before we arrived at Sardinia.
Motoring across our turquoise disk, under a light blue dome of a sky, with only the turtles to spare our blushes, it seemed like a good opportunity to freshen up. This was the first proper wash since we left Spain, as the sea state before had ranked survival considerably higher than hygiene but now, Pete's feet and my armpits smelled like we had a tramp as a stow-away and washing was in order. Pete filled the black shower bag and placed it on the deck and after a lunch of pate, tinned octopus and French toast (which was fab by the way), the sun had heated the water to a perfect temperature. The bag was tied to the boom and we were ready. I was pleased to see that my shower gel had indeed spewed its contents and was relieved that it was contained in a bag. No flannel required now, just a rub with a soapy bag is all that was needed. So there we were, each in turn standing naked on the aft of the cockpit with nothing but the Mediterranean air on our skin. Wetting, soaping and rinsing. We are all human and whilst we vary in size and shape, we are basically all the same, so we had nothing to hide. That said, I warned Pete that if he tea-bagged me on the way past, he was going overboard. Afterwards, I felt truly invigorated, not just because I had been sticky and sweaty but also because of the raw freedom that washing in this way gave. The sun was blisteringly hot, so we spent some of the afternoon trying to dodge it, although it wasn't easy since it shone straight in the cockpit.
In the evening we had meatballs with pasta and we dined in the cockpit, in the sun. It was a fab meal but by the end of it there had been too many balls in the cockpit so I retired for some sleep before my watch, it being Pete's turn to appreciate being burnt by the setting sun.
I took my watch at 2200 hours. The sky was again filled with an abundance of stars but by then a faint glow on the starboard marked the rim of our dark disk whilst a faint glow at the port bow showed Sardinia, where we could rest a while. That evening we heard some odd calls on the VHF radio and knowing that pirates still target small boats along the north African coast line, we turned off the AIS tracking and navigation lights and kept an extra vigilant watch until the glow of north Africa disappeared and the glow of Sardinia grew brighter. With nothing else to focus on, bar sweeping the southern horizon for pirates and nothing to distract me bar the rhythmic rumble of the engine and the bright flecks of phosphorescence that marked our wake (this may be called bio-luminescence), I lay back and watched the stars and found that if I watched them for long enough, they do stuff, although I'm not sure if they were actually doing stuff or whether sitting alone on the deck in the darkness caused my mind to play tricks on me. There were no signs of pirates on my watch, no Jonnie Depp and no Keira Knightly either, although the latter was the cause of some disappointment.
An odd sighting did break the monotony a little, just before my shift change was due. I spotted two lights in the distance. They were right on our bow but I had no idea what they were or whether it was a big thing that was a long way away or a small thing that we were almost on top of. As it drew nearer, I saw it as two lights then another two lights and I figured that this was either a ship bigger than 50 metres or it was two fishing boats towing a net between them. I woke Pete for his shift and we watched the lights for a while and once we were sure it was nothing threatening, I went to bed and was asleep within 5 minutes. It turned out to be a huge cruise liner which was lit up like a Christmas tree and I'd seen it from more than 12 miles away and whilst I'd thought we were running into it, it was still more than 4 miles away when it passed us.
Tuesday
I went to sleep in the daylight and woke up in the dark, then I went to bed again in the dark and when I awoke again it was still dark. Three hours on and three hours off is an odd shift pattern but it's one I've worked before and it's okay once you get into the swing of it. The moon started to appear above the horizon off the starboard bow and I watched this in fascination then saw a single light to the left. Scanning with the radar I could see no vessels, so I watched some more. The light grew brighter and higher and I thought it was an all round white light on a yacht mast but as it rose higher I realised it was a planet. No idea which one though but apart from the moon, it was by far the biggest and brightest thing in the sky. Had we not been at sea, I would have sworn there would have been a stable below it.
Whilst I missed the last night's dawn, on this shift, I watched the start of this new day as the sky began to lighten at the bow. First with a faint bluish tinge below the black night, then a band of yellow and then red as the sun's white light was being refracted into its colours. More fascinating was that in the middle of this band of faint colouration, I could see the outline of land.... this was Sardinia. Over the next hour, the bands of colour grew larger and brighter until I could identify all of the colours of the rainbow. Soon after, the sky became a shade of very light blue and the stars that dominated the night sky slowly disappeared leaving only the moon behind. I could have written that I saw dawn coming but given that I used to know a girl called Dawn, I'll save it for another time. The time was 0600 hours, which was an hour earlier than the dawn at Torrevieja. We were sailing through time and from this I can conclude that I am an hour younger that I was when we set off. It was a good half an hour before the sun's rays started to peak above the land as an orange hew which brightened in intensity until it became dazzling and from then until then end of my watch I was nearly blinded by it.
A wind had started to blow but it wasn't in our favour. It was right on our bow and had lifted a short chop in the sea. I tried to get my head down but only really cat-napped for an hour, the constant lifting, dropping and banging was too much and anyway, I wanted to see the Sardinian coast. Pete didn't like the chop much either so we did some maths and decided to stop at Porto Di Teulada, as we realised this storm would be against us for the next 3 days and we needed fuel if we were to motor on. Better that we wait a few days for the wind change so we could sail.