[ Diary from the SeaOpens in new window ]
When we left home on our sailboat, Rogue Trader, myself and my partner Nick, perhaps dubious about the success of our venture, looked only as far ahead as reaching the Caribbean. When we finally got there last November, we embarked on a whole new adventure exploring our surroundings, but it soon dawned on us that we would have to get the old tub home again eventually.
We decided we would depart for Europe in mid-April, and with that in mind, put down anchor in Antigua for our last six weeks, preparing the boat again for sea. Thankfully, she didn't need quite the same, insane amount of work as she did before the first ocean crossing. We carried out maintenance and repairs at our leisure; like fixing leaks in the windows, and giving the rig a thorough check-over.
Yet in spite of all our preparations, we found ourselves on April 26th still in want of crew. This was not unusual for us. On every other leg of the trip, whether down to bad luck or poor planning, we always seemed to be desperately seeking crew until the last minute to help us continue on our journey. We tended to uncover such people online or along the docks. It might sound risky inviting strangers to live with you in a tiny space for weeks on end at the last minute. But it has always worked out, so far at least.
But this time, we had advertised for crew well in advance. We found a German guy, David, quite easily through a crew-seeking website. But our search for a necessary fourth was proving fruitless, and time was pushing on.
We were on the brink of having to reschedule our voyage, when - aha! We received a phone call. Peter, an Irish fellow living in Dominica, had seen our ad and would fly in that night. We rushed around for the rest of the day, getting ship-shape to leave on the following. And in a classically Irish twist of fate, it transpired that we had mutual friends in common with this adventurous chap.
The next day, we weighed anchor at Jolly Harbour, Antigua, set Rogue Trader's sails for a northwards course, and headed off into the evening. There was barely a moon that night, and it was completely dark by the time we reached the island of Barbuda, discernible only by the lights visible along its shore. Once beyond it, we altered our course to the East and outwards into the open Atlantic Ocean. We were bound for the Azores, about 2100 Nautical Miles away.
Of the four of us on board, only Nick and I were familiar with the boat. Incidentally, we were also the only two with Ocean sailing experience; David had never sailed offshore, and Peter had barely sailed at all. But both more than compensated with bags of enthusiasm about the journey ahead.
It was nerve-wracking all the same, that first night, setting out to sea. None of us were quite sure what to expect in the following two and a half weeks. But the weather forecast showed us favourable winds for the next few days.
We operated a watch system that first night in pairs, Nick teaming up with Peter and I with David, alternating three hours on, three off. This was to help the new crew to familiarise themselves with the boat, but was also good support for all of us as we settled into those early miles.
The first few days of a long passage, especially with new people on board, are crucial to the rest of the trip. Everybody feels bad to some degree in the beginning, though some certainly fare worse than others. Seasickness is horrible, and I have seen quite a few hale and hearty sailors succumb to its effects. A persistent state of nausea is bad enough, but at its worst seasickness can induce an overwhelming paralytic apathy, which is distressing for the patient and the others on board.
It becomes imperative that the crew carefully watch out for each other. Aside from the obvious dangers associated with hanging over the side of a moving boat (always puke in a bucket - it doesn’t matter if it’s embarrassing!) there are real risks of dehydration and fatigue to manage, while always bearing in mind that you are collectively responsible for a large vehicle at the mercy of the elements.
Our first few days were delicate and we ate little while we adjusted to the large, strange motion of the sea. We had a brisk 20 knots of wind from the north east to get us going, which gave the boat great speed, but with it a steep 30* lean to the port side. The sensation of a heeling boat can be uncomfortable if you’re not used to it, especially on wobbly legs. But after a day or two, we got settled into the rhythm of life aboard, and appetites returned - in a big way.
Since then we have been getting along just great. We soon began a night watch routine of three hour shifts each, and so enjoy great rest periods in between our turns on the helm. The wind for those first few days was wonderful, and the boat clipped along. It’s remarkable, with the wind set right in her sails, the boat is so well balanced that she holds her course perfectly with minimum effort from the helm.
It feels as if the boat is thoroughly enjoying herself, shooting ahead like a racehorse at full gallop. There is no better feeling - once the seasickness subsides.
Claire McCluskey is writing a weekly diary from the sea for The Irish Times for the duration of their journey. Follow their progress at facebook.com/sailingroguetrader
