The Grand Departure
A draw-bridge, lifted every two hours, separates Weymouth Marina from the sea. It represented the last physical barrier between the me that was talking about sailing across the Atlantic, and the me that was actually sailing across the Atlantic. We joined the flotilla of boats queuing for the 10am lift on a sweltering September Sunday which everyone had been calling ‘An Indian Summer’. There were sailing boats and fishing boats and motor boats. The bridge was raised like a start-line. We crossed beneath it, from our former lives to our new ones. Onlookers watched the procession of boats wend through Weymouth. They waved, their cameras flashing on either side of the river. ‘We’re sailing to the Caribbean,’ I wanted to yell, but it felt so ludicrously distant I didn’t believe it myself.
Finally, we rounded the harbour wall. The noise and smells of town faded away and the sight of a shimmering, open horizon quickened my pulse. ‘A ship is safe in harbour – but that’s not what ships are for,’ someone had once said. The adventure filled Ben, Jamie and I with adrenaline, and we sung, danced, shouted and whooped until land faded into the thick sea mist.
After several hours, our high spirits began to wane. We lay on deck, slightly seasick, and not going anywhere fast. The chartplotter recorded our speed as four knots (four miles an hour), and our first stop, Brest in France, still lay 190 miles away. 44 hours to go. There wasn’t much to see. We listened to a Mayday call (imminent threat to life) unfolding over the VHF radio. A nearby boat was taking on water, and a calm voice reassured the sinking vessel that the coastguard was on its way. We sympathised with them, but also selfishly thought of ourselves. Until now, I’d found it easy to imagine the risks were hypothetical and wouldn’t happen to us. The Mayday call demonstrated that thing do go wrong, and forced me to confront the inherent danger of sailing in open water. Scarier still, we were about to sail beyond the reach of the coastguard.
The Full Fear Sinks In
Despite Mayday Calls and the perils of sailing, I was unafraid of these dangers. I trusted the boat, the crew and my own abilities. My worries were more abstract.
‘Was I ready for a huge adventure all over again?’ I wondered. I’ve travelled enough to know that between the sunny pictures and enthralling stories, sacrifices are made. Covid had exposed my social and financial vulnerabilities. More significantly, I’d probably have to confess I’d enjoyed the last 12 months stuck at home. I’d liked falling into a routine of slurping morning coffees while reading a book, going running, and visiting friends week after week. I’d enjoyed going to work and I’d enjoyed collecting a paycheck. It was a nice life, so why make a radical change and swap it all? What was I hoping to find while sailing across the Atlantic?
I also feared opening myself to failure and criticism. I strive to live on the frontier between my comfort zone and the unknown, but when you push your limits, failure is inevitable. This is hard when you are judged on your most recent triumph or disappointment. As this was a team challenge, success equally depended on my teammates and I couldn’t rely on stubborn determination to get me through. Failure was a real possibility.
Adventure in the English Channel
We were still in English waters when the first cry of ‘Dolphins!’ sounded. We gathered on deck to watch a pod play at the bow of our boat. I’d seen dolphins as I’d left Australia. Captain Wyn had told me they were wishing us good luck to sail across the Indian Ocean. I hoped they were saying the same again now.
The English Channel is one of the world’s busiest shipping lanes. When Jamie shook me awake for my 4am night-shift, he warned we were in the middle of it and dodging goliath ships. He relayed several near-misses from his shift. One container ship had even radioed him, ‘Sailing Yacht Sula, Sailing Yacht Sula, what is your intention? Please adjust your course to port to avoid a collision.’
Jamie headed to bed, leaving me alone at the helm. It takes huge trust to leave your crewmates in charge while you sleep, but equally, it’s a hefty responsibility to be the only one awake. You make decisions with extreme consequences. Pinpricks of light signalled that ships surrounded us on every side. I struggled to gauge how close they were or in which direction they travelled. Until my eyes adjusted, I saw inky silhouettes of container ships on every wave. My only ‘near-miss’ came when three ships, each longer than two football pitches, raced towards us. Alarms beeped on the chart plotter. I stilled my rising panic. I wanted to wake the others to share the burden of decision-making. I judged their various speeds, visualised their trajectories and then set a course I hoped would pass between them. When we passed, having threaded the eye of a needle, I breathed a sigh of relief and diesel fumes, and let the welcome darkness engulf us again.
With no moon or artificial light, the night-sky dazzled with more stars than I’d ever seen in England. At sea, the stars are visible right down to the horizon and a few of the brightest stars and planets even burned reflections into the water. I chose a star that appeared just beyond the boat and navigated towards it. After half an hour, the star had moved away from our course, and I had to pick another.
Only one thing beats the splendour of the stars while sailing; bioluminescence. Bacteria in the water emit their own light (bioluminescence), and as our hull cleaved through the water, we left a glittery wake behind us. When it enthralled me in the Indian Ocean, I’d assumed it was a phenomena found in tropical waters. I was surprised and delighted to discover it just off the chilly, English Coast.
Arriving to Brest
We arrived into Brest at 04:00am in the thickest mist any of us had sailed in. Ben was worried he couldn’t even see the mast, until he realised his glasses had steamed up. We docked in the marina and quickly fell asleep.
Though close to home, crossing to France had been exciting. If anything, it felt even more exciting because we were close to home. We weren’t anywhere exotic, but still everything felt unfamiliar. I was reminded you needn’t travel far to find adventure.
