Solitaire Spirit: Three Times Around the World Single-Handed (32 page)

Food was a constant worry. The problems I had faced with my bleeding back and gums had been only the beginning of many problems caused by a lack of fresh food and vitamins.
Solitaire
's movement did more than irritate the sores; it seemed to wear away the flesh. First I noticed my thighs, elbows and knees starting to stand out, then the fat disappeared. I still had muscles but no body weight with which to use them. Side effects included headaches, blurred vision and blackened toenails. I had enough food aboard to gorge myself silly for a few weeks and would often take some of Rome's chocolate and suck it as long as I could make it last, then I would spend the rest of the night with the remains of the bar lying only inches away from my watering mouth, trying to keep my mind on other things, particularly Cape Horn, now only 500 miles ahead.

Cape Horn – Lymington

February – June 1981

Week 32 saw my dreams of rounding Cape Horn come true, six years after hitting the reef off Brazil, five-and-a-half years after the birth of the idea in Tahiti.

Wednesday, February 18th, 1981
.
Noon position. 57°30´S, 80°23´W. Sights are not good as sky changes every few seconds. Sun shoots through scurrying grey clouds. Changed up from storm to working jib this morning although winds very strong at times. We don't want to go much further south as we are well into the extreme limit for icebergs. If we could pass Ramirez Island at this latitude all would be fine, 90 miles south of Cape Horn with 2,000 fathoms or more below our keel. Approximately 360 miles to go. Very, very cold on deck. It will be good to sail north into warmer seas.

Thursday, February 19th
.
Noon position 56°48´S, 77°41´W, some 290 miles from the Cape and 18 miles south of the Diego Ramirez Islands. Log shows 20,061 miles sailed non-stop. Light winds from the south so we have up a full main for the first time in days. Spent last night without my wet weather jacket. Hard to believe we are so close to the desolate Cape Horn in such conditions, with no winds howling in the rigging and the seas flat apart from a constant high swell. Temperatures up to 45°F so we have spent the morning with the carpets drying on the cockpit.

Friday, February 20th
.
Latitude 57°01´S, 60 miles further south than Cape Horn and we have just spent the night becalmed! I left up the main to stop our swaying in the swells. The chart shows that we have added only 30 miles in the past 24 hours. Now we have gusting southerlies Force 3 to 7 under a main with one reef and working jib. Engine turned by hand seems free enough. A look over our stern for the first time in many a day reveals a crop of goose barnacles that could give trouble. The cold seas are not killing them off as expected.

Saturday, February 21st
.
Lovely sailing yesterday afternoon on a bright blue sea under a bright blue sky. Winds went to the west Force 5. Gorgeous night with a full low moon, the sky covered with a carpet of stars. Two hours before dawn we ran into our present conditions when the winds died for three hours, then came back gusting from the north to north-east, anything from Force 4 to 7. Reaching under a main with two reefs and working jib occasionally luffing into the gusts on top of the waves. No visibility at times thanks to heavy rain so no sights today so far, but dead reckoning shows us 60 miles below Ramirez Island, with about 200 miles to reach Cape Horn's longitude. And Rome's parcel! Good sight for longitude during afternoon, which confirms our position. Clouds have cleared away. Should not have said anything – we're back to black squalls!

Sunday, February 22nd
.
Strong squalls through the night reduced us to working jib only. Winds perfect this morning, Force 5 to 6 from the west, for doubly reefed main. Have been taking sights all morning, which confirm that we are still 60 miles clear of Ramirez Island. No noon sight. Winds have dropped and given way to rain and drizzly fog. Would have liked sights but at least we are well clear of land and lee shores. At one time I had considered closing Cape Horn but decided it was asking too much of our guardian angel. I would have welcomed a few photos to replace those I ruined, but Chichester nearly lost his yacht by cutting in too close so it is much safer to stay in these deep waters rather than risk the Horn's shallows just for a few pictures.

1650 GMT. I believe Diego Ramirez is 90 miles and Cape Horn 150 miles north-east of us. With reasonable winds we should have reached Cape Horn's longitude by tomorrow evening. At present becalmed in heavy rain.

1832 GMT. Our position 57°30´S, 70°55´W with winds again gusting from the west Force 5 to 6, higher in squalls. Only 75 miles to Ramirez' longitude of 151°W. Shallow waters extend for 40 miles below these islands so our present position is fine.

Monday, February 23rd
.
Lowered main yesterday evening during fierce gusts. Sea remained quite flat so I had a peaceful night after all and winds dropped to Force 3 to 4. Awoke to heavy rain so after hoisting the main with one reef I spent the morning catching rain water for drinking and taking photographs of the operation.

1640 GMT. Noon position 57°03´S, 68°19´W. Distance run 20,380 miles. We are about 10 miles beyond Ramirez Island with 35 miles to go to reach Cape Horn's longitude. Good conditions at the moment so with luck we should pass soon after dark. I have opened Rome's parcel after cheating a bit. It's such a glorious day I wanted to take some photographs, with their letter attached to the flagstaff. I have included Peter's bottle of champagne by tying it to the pulpit rail.

2100 GMT. Further sight confirms previous position. Now only 16 miles to pass Cape Horn's longitude.
Solitaire
is pointing due east on latitude 57°S, 60 miles below the Cape in a perfect position with 2,000 fathoms below our keel. Black squalls keep building up astern of us and passing through. How about the navigation? Must have improved since Brazil. Wish the cook could do as well. He dished up Bloody Rice again today.

Tuesday, February 24th
.
The end of our 33rd week at sea, 231 days in all. We passed Cape Horn at 0100 GMT this morning, 20,473 miles from home. Yesterday's sunshine has turned into a mixture of gales dying to whispers, rain, fog, drizzle gusting back with squalls then storm force winds again and changing so quickly that I'm leaving up just the storm jib. Below, everything is wet and miserable. I have just taken off my socks for the first time
in more than a week. My feet look like two dead cods and surprisingly white.

I knew something was missing but could not figure out what until I realised that I was minus my black toenails. When I turned the socks inside out I found them nestling at the bottom. I was now fleshless, toenail-less and my gums bled so badly that I would soon be toothless as well. What else I had to give before this voyage ended I shuddered to think. All I wanted now was to head north and sail into warmer seas, opening hatches and washing myself and clothes if only in boiled sea water. The thought of sitting in a sunny cockpit with cooling breezes that soothed my blistered, itching back was a dream of paradise. I could imagine a shrivelled old man with wrinkles around his eyes eating his daily rice with a gummy smile on his face.

There was no feeling of achievement, only gratitude that the seas had allowed
Solitaire
to pass over them without making too many demands, and relief that the oceans were now open to us. I had my celebration dinner on February 25th, the start of
Solitaire
's 34th week at sea. We had been becalmed all morning following the previous day's storms. The afternoon was like an English spring day, clear blue skies with a bite in the crystal air. As the carpets dried in the cockpit the temperature went up to 59°F.
Solitaire
started to make her way north with an escort of dolphins to welcome us back into the South Atlantic.

For that night's dinner I reckoned on half a tin of meatballs accompanied by beans and finishing with a third of a tin of sponge cake. Between courses the instructions on the champagne were adhered to: not to be opened until Cape Horn is abaft the beam (although I wasn't too sure what that meant).

The second part of the instructions – ‘for internal use only, contents to be consumed in one sitting' – gave no problem. Following these orders I realised how warm and cosy the cabin had become. The saucepan's water had boiled away and my tin of sponge was virtually glowing! In my inebriated condition I forgot about saving some of the sponge for the following day and
scoffed the lot, and for a few hours drifted warmly in sleep until a screeching night awoke me. I staggered on deck into biting spume flying from the tops of freezing breaking seas. After reducing to the storm jib I returned to my damp, stinking prison, and lay shivering under a sodden sleeping bag.

With the broad Atlantic stretching ahead navigation was less important. Had I lost the last spinner on my trailing log, or had the portable radio packed up it would not now be too serious. We still had 8,000 miles to go before we reached Lymington, if the charts proved correct and we did not have too many calms. Provided the antifouling prevented our hull from turning into a wet sponge, we would make it home non-stop. All rather iffy.

Two days after rounding Cape Horn we were becalmed again. To sit for hours without movement watching my scant food supplies dwindle was stressful and only partially relieved by my remarks in the log.

It seems hard to believe but we are once more becalmed.
Solitaire
is lying with just her mainsail and one reef. For the second day we have waves and a high swell but we don't have the most important ingredient, WIND. The red telltales are hanging straight down from the backstays like a girl's skirts, our sails slamming back and forth with frustration. I wonder what the price of property is around here. Might pay us to rent a house while we're sculling about. The log line is visible only for a few feet, dropping out of sight into the sea's black depths. There must be some forward movement as we have progressed two miles in three-and-a-half hours. The Falkland Islands are 230 miles due north so at this speed we could be there next Christmas. After our celebration meal we are back to skipper's choice: half a cup of rice, a third of a tin of peas with curry powder. Sounds bloody delicious. Bet you any money the cook serves up the dish again tomorrow. If we have wind – if – we will soon be sailing over the Burwood Bank where the ocean depth shelves from 2,000 fathoms to 40. Let's hope the winds don't about face. I would not fancy these shallow waters during a storm.

There were good days. On one I was looking over
Solitaire
's stern when a whale surfaced. A few seconds earlier he would have certainly given us a lift in life. Near the Falklands I picked up some lovely music on the restricted medium wave, probably from Argentina as the announcer appeared to be speaking Spanish. All my old favourites, played by a string orchestra, came across:
Tales from the Vienna Woods, Maria
, and what seemed appropriate at the time,
All the Lonely People
.

We were carried over the Burwood Bank shallows by current and wave rather than by wind. At times the boat's forward speed was faster than the following breeze, the mainsail backing itself so that for a few seconds the wind seemed to come over our bow. As we dropped off the shallows into the 1,000 fathom line we ran into a vicious storm and were thankful it had not arrived a day earlier. The rest of the week passed in a mixture of gales, storms and breaking seas,
Solitaire
dragging herself north to break the Southern Ocean's icy grip.

On Monday, March 2nd,
Solitaire
slipped unnoticed past the Falkland Islands, 60 miles to the west. Only their local radio playing request music proved their existence. Next day we ran out of the Furious Fifties and fell off the end of our last decent chart. Now all we had for navigation was a pilot chart, which proved sufficient. The South Atlantic lay before us, its welcoming arms opening wide for a thousand miles.

Week 34 ended with the Falklands 185 miles in our wake, having logged 575 miles despite the calms, 21,117 miles in all, but it would be another week before
Solitaire
cleared the limit of the icebergs and the high storm areas. My log ended with good and bad news. The good news was that the temperature in
Solitaire
's cabin topped 50°F, the bad was disguised in a few words: ‘Checked food supply. Not good'. In fact it was serious. As the food had disappeared from under the bunks the space had been filled by other pieces of equipment. My main food supply, the rice, was kept in a sealed bucket adjoining Rome's last two parcels and such other food as remained was stored behind the main bunks.

Sometimes I failed to understand the speed of its disappearance, as if I were spending £5 notes and finding each was worth only two pence. No sooner had I broken into a fresh cache of food than it seemed to vanish, despite cutting down on my rations so that my bones cried out in protest. At one period I found I had more powdered milk than I needed for tea so I started mixing two spoonfuls of powdered milk, sugar, flour and water which turned out like soft toffee when fried. I would have a little of this at night and cut my rice to half a cup a day.