Homeward bound!

Day 9 saw the wind rise again by midday, so turned the motor off and started sailing with 1 reef in the main, Dave and the staysail. I then took it upon myself to rewire the whole bilge pump system, which was all a bit messy and had failed a good few times lately. The constant leaking of the boat was a fact of life, and a pump system which not only kept the bilge dry, but also indicated the leak rate, was essential. When coming down from Canada, we were pumping by hand, which is the most accurate way of counting the water ingress, but you need a strong crew who can cope with the work. For the Atlantic crossing with just 3, we would have had to have been a crew of supermen to sail the boat and also pump the ocean back out, so it was really important that this 12v system worked well. It was functional, but messy, and located at the top of the bilge well, where it was vulnerable to wetness. So with Oz manfully taking a 5 hour stretch at the helm, and Tim ably assisting me, we produced a pretty bombproof system mounted near the batteries, which would not have looked out of place on a superyacht! This extra effort, with everyone losing a watch of sleep, was to take its toll however. By dusk the wind had risen, and the boat was becoming tricky to control with Dave up, so we dropped him and rigged the staysail poled out to starboard for the night. Day 10 had us sailing fast at 8 kts through dawn, and at 0700 we hove to to reef down. We took this opportunity to put another longsplice in the mainsheet, and move the second reef pendant along the boom a bit, where it worked better. Inspection showed the long scarph in the boom end had moved a bit more, open now for around a foot, but the stout seizing on it was helping to prevent this opening more. When we were sailing again it was fast and tricky, a fast and short wave period had established itself and the wind was force 6 and looking like rising. By the afternoon we were broadreaching in a 5 metre sea, fast and spectacular sailing. In the evening the bilge pump failed again, and it appeared the wiring in the actual float itself had failed. I took it apart, and spent a couple of hours fixing it, intricate work in a big sea, trying to splice wires together which were incredibly short, and had to be totally waterproof. I succeeded eventually(I filled the thing with Vaseline when I put it back together, and it lasted us all the way home!)although whilst doing so the weather worsened and culminated in a big crash gybe, the preventer thankfully holding. I took the helm and weighed our options. The sea was big and punchy. Heaving to would have been thoroughly unpleasant, and in all probability a lot harder on the boat than just manning it out and sailing on, which is what we did. By the end of a five hour stint on the helm in probably the worst conditions we had faced since passing the Santa Rosa islands off California, the wind eased and I handed over to Tim. There's no doubt that the extra effort of rewiring the bilge pump system the day before had messed with all our body clocks and made this spell a whole lot more difficult. Day eleven started with us still headed southeast, a stint which I did not mind too much as it was miles gained away from the heavier weather in the north; we gybed at 0600, and headed east for the Azores again. A breakfast of japatis, eggs and beans followed, which included me covering myself and the galley in half cooked egg as a big roller left over from the previous nights confused sea turned up my pan! The boys are doing well, although it is noticeable that a lot less domestic work is happening, due to everyone being dog tired. We could really do with some more clement weather for us all to recharge our batteries. The wind continued easing and the sea slowly dropped, leaving me quite concerned that we could potentially be getting engulfed by a large Azores high. I was expecting, and indeed heading for the western edge of this high, which I had been forewarned was building thanks to a forecast from my trusty weather router, Mark. I expected there to find winds from the southerly sector, whereupon we would begin our turn northward, trying to sail along the isobars, in light wind between the high and the Atlantic low. The thought that my plans were all wrong was eventually dispelled on the morning of day twelve, when the breeze sprang up from the southwest, and we once again were sailing with dave up. There must be exceedingly high marks given to Tim, who the previous day, in a still pretty unsettled sea, spent nearly all afternoon in the galley thumping and kneading a dough to make a brioche, a feat he completed in the early evening, and a great sweet chilli sauce to boot! Breakfast the following morning was a treat, thick slices of the best Brioche I have ever eaten in mid atlantic( to be fair, it would not have been out of place in the best French boulangerie), with jam or Nutella, depending on your taste! We shifted the clock forward an hour, and I made some intensely sugary cereal/oat bars later on, a real energy boost after a rather mundane diet of the previous week or two! Dipping the tanks showed us that we had consumed 210 litres of diesel. Not bad. One fifth of our capacity, for close approaching half the distance back to falmouth. We continued with dave until the early evening, when the darkening sky and oncoming night gave prudence the nod and we shifted down gear and sailed with just the staysail for the night. A little slow, but we all slept well and regained some energy. Day 13 saw us put Dave back up again at 0600, and shake a reef out soon after, sailing well in a 4/5 at 7kts plus. 280 miles to Flores at this point, and my thoughts were very much being to close the island in case of any emergency, and hopefully to pick up some Internet on a close fly by to get a forecast for the return to Falmouth. After some deliberation we dropped Dave for the next night as well, and ended up gybing and motorsailing Northeast for a few hours, as the wind fell very light, and I was fearful of sailing into the Azores high. Thick fog descended but the wind picked up again allowing us to continue sailing, and already my mind was changing to bypass Flores, cut the corner, and head straight for home. When the fog cleared on the morning of day 14 we got a new forecast from Mark of winds up to 30 kts in a few days. This was a bit of a blow as we were all getting deeply fatigued by this point, and another gale was all we and the boat needed. Tim got into the galley and produced an excellent chocolate cake, which took our minds off it for a while, a shark and a turtle were also spotted. We dropped Dave and tucked the second reef in for the night, and kept sailing with the staysail poled out at 6/7 kts, in a good 3/4 m sea. It was good sailing, but the warm nights of the Caribbean were now a long way behind. It was pretty chilly, and good clothing was definitely required for the nights. At midday on day 15 we cleared a trough and we gybed, making much smoother progress due to the swell direction. The wind increased into the night, but not more than a force 6, and at 0330, we were hit by a large random wave. I was at the helm, and the sea was not at all exceptional, yet my hackles rose at the sound of a wave behind me, and before I knew it, I was engulfed by the sea. I was sitting on the steering box, put my head down to the wheel and hung on, as I was submerged completely whilst the wave broke over us. As soon as it had passed, I surveyed the scene and saw that the poles lashed to the starboard stanchion had broken free. In fact the stanchion itself had ripped out of the deck. These poles were now being dragged along beside us, still attached at the shrouds. We were certainly going to lose them before too long, so I reached for the bell rope and gave a sharp tug, only to feel that the rope did not move. I was later to find that the towing warp, which was lashed to the aft skylight, had been dislodged and was now on top of the bell rope. <we had moved the ships bell down below and attached a line which went up through the hatch and was secured next to the helm, so the man on watch could alert the sleeping crew when something was amiss>. Not knowing this, and unable to leave the helm, I tooted the foghorn continuously, and before long the guys had arrived on deck to help. We hove to for a while, mainly for me to regain my composure, but after an hour or so, after the poles were secured and the guys back down below, I let the headsail sheets draw and started sailing again. Day 16 continued with the sea state moderating, and we shook out a reef at 1400 and continued with good sailing in a WNW breeze through the night. Day 17 saw us making good way, doing a little sextant work, and having a chat with an oil tanker headed for New York from Milford haven. A force 4 from the Nw was perfect for us, but unfortunately, midday day 18 saw us having to drop the main. This is an operation which is very difficult at sea, unless the conditions are very good, and one which always makes me worry. My preferred technique is to run dead downwind, then let the throat halyard go until the gaff is almost vertical, then haul the peak down by either the topsail sheet or the gaff vang(if you have one rigged, which offshore I invariably do). We performed this operation three times during the crossing, and it works. Much better in my opinion than heading up into the wind(under motor)making the boat bang and crash around etc. Or heaving to and dropping it into the water, whereupon the boat pays off and makes it all a real struggle. We had to drop the main this time as it had chafed on the spreader, and needed a patch. Having seen the old thing explode once already from a small weakness on the way to Bermuda, I was ill inclined to take any chances now. The drop went well, and we cut a patch out of the tiger cage cover( which was basically rag material anyway) and fixed the sail. We took the opportunity to fill the day tank, change the diesel filters, and do a couple more jobs at the same time. Whilst still working on the sail, standing back aft near the wheel, with the mainsail stowed and Tim steering downwind in an easy sea under poled out staysail and tickover engine, I heard a rather urgent call of 'Simon!'. Oz had been working at the mast tidying away ropes, and I turned to look forward and he was nowhere to be seen. Tim was unsighted to the port side as the boom and all the mainsail was down, obscuring his vision, and I scanned the deck, turning my gaze aft again before I heard an even more urgent 'Simon!' I looked forward again, and again nothing, until suddenly Oz emerged out of the sea, about 10ft to leeward, being towed along by the boat. He had been sweating a line on the spiderband at the mast, and the rope had slipped from its pin as he put his weight behind it, sending him flying backwards, over the side. Being the tenacious and strong fellow that he is, he had not loosened his grip, despite being submerged completely twice, his oilies filling with water and creating an enormous drag. He had managed to turn himself now so he was skidding across the top of the water, we were probably only doing about 4 kts, but he was way too far away from the boat to reach. I was going to crack a joke about his precarious predicament, but his grim expression alerted me to his potential sense of humour failure .It was obvious that his grip would not last too much longer so I had to do something fast; I was just about to go forward to find the line he was on to pull him in to the boat that way, when a wave brought him close enough to reach, so I grabbed him by the jacket and popped him back on the boat. All over in a very short time, but it felt like an age. Down below to get warm, a full change of clothes, a cut to the head dressed with superglue, and Oz was right as rain again. Looking back on it it reminded me of a gybe midatlantic years ago, when the spinnaker pole lift went down too quick and I got caught upside down underneath it over the side of the boat hanging on to the pole with my head and upper body submerged, feet in the air. Afterwards, Simon the skipper said he had never worried a minute for me, as he knew I would hang on. I felt the same way as this about Oz. I have never come across someone quite so tenacious and determined to not give up. On anything. So his grip held and all was good. It could have been a miserable end otherwise. It must be mentioned that we had all got very lax on lifejackets at that point in the trip, having been very good up until a day or two before. We were none of us wearing one at that point, as the winds had been relatively benign for the last few days. This was poor seamanship, although in that situation, the inflated lifejacket could well have kept Ozs face under the water during the tow. But all things considered, the rule of always wearing a life jacket whilst on deck, no matter what the conditions, is a good rule, and one we stuck to religiously for the rest of the trip. So, after a chastising for making me miss my noonsight with his self indulgent swim, we hoisted the repaired main and set off again. We had a bit of electrics to do as dusk fell as the compass light failed, but a little hunt around in the electrics box found an old instrument we could steal the light from and fit, with the aid of a roll of electricians tape... Day 19 saw us sailing well towards home, but a bad forecast came through from Mark, predicting a large depression with gale force winds to welcome us home to the UK. With all things considered, I did not fancy taking any chances, so by evening we had dropped the mainsail again, all went smoothly, set the trysail, and were motorsailing, with our well conserved fuel, towards home. The sky was busy, obviously showing a disturbance approaching, and although the trysail offered us little drive, we were content to use the engine, and save ourselves a whole bunch of work shortening sail when the wind was a whole lot stronger. By the evening of day 20 the wind was up to force 6, and we were streaming the warp to aid steering, and running the engine to change the batteries. We shortened the watches to two hours, as three was proving too long at the helm. The wind and sea picked up, and I resisted the temptation to heave to, as the miles we were making were all towards our goal, and Anne Marie, once again, was behaving impeccably. At midday on day 21 the cold front passed, in a large sea and force 8 winds. The sea was still very messy and we could not make great speeds, but I was elated to know that the worst was basically over, and hopefully we could get home before another blow had the chance to come in. 282 miles to falmouth. Day 22 saw the westerly breeze dropping further, and us fully making use of the engine to keep our speed up, as we were still under trysail, and had not a lot of inclination or strength to reset the main. At this point the little shortwave radio started picking up the BBC, and it was fantastic to be able to listen to a little test match special, and also hear the Shipping Forecast, which had Storm Force 10 hitting Thames, and gales in every U.K. area, due to the low which had just passed. Unfortunately a cheeky little wave slopped into the tiger cage not long after, directly onto the radio. Ah well.... At this point we were all dead beat, and I was getting concerned about closing land, as fatigue is a creeper, and although one can keep going indefinitely at sea, when closing land, with the traffic issues and navigational hazards, mistakes are all too easy to make. I have sailed around the coast of Cornwall since a nipper, and know all too well the hazards it presents. By the late afternoon it was apparent that we were in poor visibility, with rain showers cutting vis down to a couple of boatlengths, still in a large sea, and approaching the shipping lanes of Lands End and the Isles of Scilly with dark soon upon us. 'I am thinking of going to Scilly for the night, Oz, what do you think?' I asked . We had shortly before been surprised by a ship looming out of the murk no less than 500m from us on a collision course. 'I don't know' was the response, firmly leaving it in my hands! A quick calculation, and I reckoned that we could be tied up to a bouy in St Mary's by dusk, or headed for the Lizard on a grotty night. I chose the former, and swiftly cranked the engine up, and headed the ship north. Scilly obviously has a bad reputation for wrecks and whatnot, so at the end of this epic passage, the three of us peered anxiously into the gloom trying to make landfall. 'Landho!' Was the cry, and what a landfall it was! The Western Rocks, barely 2 miles away, cold, somber, as heartless a bit of land as one could wish to see, but to me it was heaven! I remembered sailing Shoo Shoo all around the rocks a couple of years ago, the hundreds of seals, the surging sea and tidal swirls all forming a most impressive and daunting place. St Agnes then reared from the gloom, and before you know it we are past Spanish Ledge and into St Mary's sound, dropping the trysail, coming around the newly built harbour wall, and making fast to a friendly green buoy. For the first time in over 60 years, Anne Marie is back In home waters!