Alone Across The Atlantic

Prologue

The idea of this race was Blondie Hasler's. Colonel h. G. Hasler is well known as the ‘cockleshell hero'. As a marine commando he led some canoes up the Garonne to Bordeaux and sank several steamers in the town by fixing limpet mines to them. I think twelve marines started and only two returned.

He hoped that this race would result in getting rid of some of the chores of sailing. He thought that the competitors would more or less be forced to devise ways and means, probably novel ways and means, of simplifying their tackle and their tactics.

I saw his notice on the board of the royal Ocean racing Club and thought what a race of races it would be and a thrilling adventure. Unfortunately I was on my way to a hospital at the time and it looked as if my next sail would be across the Styx. However, I was one of the lucky ones and turned up again two years later to find the notice still on the board and myself fit enough to get excited about it.

I turned to and helped Blondie organize the race. It was Bill Waleran who suggested to me that the royal Western Yacht Club of England was the right and proper club to start the race from Plymouth. We wrote to them and they were very interested. But there were a lot of difficulties. Many of the leading ocean racers accustomed to racing with full and crack crews said the solo race was a crazy hazard and many people feared a public outcry if competing yachts disappeared. They would be accused of sending the gallant sons of Old England to their watery deaths.

We were having a committee meeting at Plymouth with the royal Western, Lindley Abbatt and Chris Brasher of the Observer who did so much to further the race, Blondie and myself, when it hung in the balance whether the royal Western would take over the starting of the race. It was then that I piped up and said that if no one would organize the race, as far as Blondie and I were concerned, we would race across the Atlantic for half-a-crown. The Americans fastened on this as a bet but not being at home with half-crowns, called it five shillings.

The race card read: Leave the Melampus buoy to starboard, (that's a buoy quite close to the starting line in Plymouth) and thence by any route to the Ambrose light vessel, New York.

Each competitor had his own theory of the best route to go. Hasler always maintained that the far north route was the quickest, that he would be in the north half of the depressions or lows up there and would have favourable east winds. Howells and Lacombe followed the low-powered steamer route, which went down near the Azores and then along the 36th parallel of latitude to end by cutting up north-west across the Gulf Stream to New York.

I carried out what we used to call in the Air Force in the war ‘dry swims'. The scheme of my ‘dry swim' or shall I say ‘dry sail' was to take from the U.S. Hydrographic chart the prevailing and other winds likely to occur in each rectangle of 5 degrees of latitude and 5 degrees of longitude and work out what would be my sailing speed for each of these winds. I then computed how long it would take to sail across that rectangle assuming I met these average winds. For example on the Great Circle route I followed, crossing the first rectangle from Start Point to 10°w. I estimated would take 62¼ hours if I had the average winds. The percentage times would be

In the event with a head-on Force 6 or more blow I reached 10°w. on June 15th at 1600 hrs. which was 102 hours after the start. Thus do the plans of mice and men go oft astray.

However, I believe this did not affect the value of comparing the different routes.

The chief routes I worked over were ones actually sailed by competitors. But I tried out many variations. The old wind-jammer route, followed incidentally by nearly all yachtsmen who cross the Atlantic, went down to the Canaries and thence along the trade-wind belt to the West Indies and from there up north-west to New York. This was over 5,000 miles, 2,000 miles longer than the Great Circle route, and I ruled it out of the question for a race. I also ruled out the other wind-jammer route far north which Blondie favoured.

The Great Circle route which I adopted is the shortest possible at 3,000 miles, but it has some serious disadvantages. According to the hydrographic charts there was a 10% probability of fog over 1,600 miles of it and a mean maximum iceberg area 550 miles wide to cross. Also a head-on North Atlantic current (continuation of the Gulf Stream) averaging 0.4 knot to battle against for 2,000 miles until the favourable Labrador Current was supposed to be met at Cape race, Newfoundland.

I consoled myself with the thought that I could heave to for twelve periods of fog of twelve hours each and still be no worse off than a competitor on the fog-free, ice-free route along the 36th parallel. Ha! what a joke, as it turned out. David Lewis in his boat Cardinal Vertue followed the same route that I took.

My boat is nearly 40 feet long (39' 7) overall with a waterline length of 28', beam of 10' 1¼, draft of 6' 5" and Thames measurement of 13 tons. Normally I would race it in the royal Ocean racing Club races in British waters with a crew of six. It has berths for six. The mast is 55' high from step to truck, the same height as my bedroom window at the top floor of my five-storied London house.

I should like to add something about the self-steering device. My Miranda is a 45-square-foot mizzen sail which weather-cocks with the wind so that the whole mast rotates. At the foot of the mast there are two arms which can be clamped tight to the mast in any position, and from each end of these arms a tiller-line leads to the tiller with the result that as long as the wind vane is weather-cocking the tiller will not be disturbed.

Immediately the heading of the boat changes the wind will press on one side of the wind vane, move it, with the result that it in turn moves the tiller which moves the rudder and brings the boat back to its former heading.

I designed my wind vane myself and I based it on the model boats. In fact in the winter I studied my Atlantic Ocean racing at the round Pond in Kensington Gardens where I went every Sunday morning for a short time and watched the model boys. I figured that if they could sail a model across the round Pond without a helmsman I could sail my yacht across the Atlantic in the same way. My wind vane is 4½ times the area of the rudder which it has to drive.

1. April 4th to 24th

First Day Aboard – Bumps in the Night – Working in the Rain – Rigging Jobs – First Sail Alone – G.M. is Obstinate – Busy Agenda – Hard Aground – Trouble with Anchors – The Snags in Reefing – More ‘Wants' – Blessing the Ship – on the Mud Again – Aground in Newtown Creek – Experiment in the Solent – Compass Adjusting – More Fun with Anchors – Disappointment over self-steering – Reefing much Improved – Sore hands

4th April 1960. We came down to Buckler's Hard on the 1st and I remained behind to go afloat on the 3rd. Usual despair the first day at the 1,001 things to do. It seemed hopeless and nothing worth while. It blew up in the evening gusting to Force 6 and I hoisted the dinghy aboard using the main halliard. I thought it would spare me a disturbed night due to the dinghy bumping against the side of the yacht and snatching at the painter.

I had the usual trouble getting to sleep after the first day aboard due to over-tiredness and all the noises but was asleep at midnight when I was woken by some dreaded bumps which I had hoped to escape. There was no doubt we were hitting something so I slipped some clothes over my pyjamas and emerged in the pouring rain and the wind. We were hitting Gardenia on the next mooring. She had no mast having only been launched that afternoon and was tide-rode¹ while Gipsy Moth with her 55-foot mast was wind-rode and headed in the opposite direction. Our two sterns were hitting. Gardenia had a bumpkin which I thought would be knocked off.

Now of course I regretted my dinghy was on the cabin top instead of in the water. Gardenia's tiller was not locked and hard over. I pushed it over to the other side with my long boat-hook and wondered if I must launch the dinghy, a horrid thought considering the dark, the pelting rain and the gusting wind. Just what would happen one's first night afloat. One's morale and wits are at a low ebb on being woken abruptly just after getting to sleep.

My wits began to return and I shortened my mooring chain, which, with Gardenia's changed helm, resulted in our sterns swinging clear of each other. However I still had a bad night of bangs and bumps. Several times I went on deck but could not trace the cause. I thought it was the rain shortening the new hemp halliard. The halliard was still fast to the dinghy and I imagined the shrunk rope was lifting one end of the dinghy clear of the cabin top. No, it wasn't that. Then I thought it was a can buoy which had become entangled in the mooring chain and was bumping the yacht. In the morning I decided it must have been the mooring itself jerking or snapping in some strange way due to the shortened chain.

Today I finished stowing the gear in the cabin, filled fifteen bottles with paraffin, started and checked over the motor, bent on the mainsail. It is a big heavy sail for me. I had difficulty in topping up the boom with the mainsail furled on it, though the topping lift has a two-part tackle. I must fit a three- or four-part tackle.

Everything seems fairly in order and I hope to go off for a little sailing tomorrow.

5th April. I never got off sailing today after all. It rained off and on all day. I could hear it pattering on the deck at 7 a.m. when I woke and I felt snug and lazy and lay in the blankets till eight when I got a time signal to check the battery-driven electric clock. Every time I poked my nose out it started to rain. This happened all day. So first I did my housework, sweeping out and cleaning up. Then I rigged a tackle for the topping lift of the main boom. I rigged shock cord tiller-lines combined with cod-lines and bowsies (bowsie is the piece of wood with two holes in it as used for tent-lines. I bought a dozen from the Girl Guides head shop). As I was working hard all day it is perhaps just as well the weather was bad and I didn't try to sail. Perhaps tomorrow. Various letters about starting or finishing the SHTAR (the Single-handed Trans-Atlantic race), obstacles, hitches, delays. I can't care any more. I am afloat, the race is on, what more could I want? Mrs. Fry says I'm mad to go in for the race. What do I care, I haven't enjoyed myself so much for years.

6th April on ‘Gipsy Moth III'. Well, I finally made it – sailed G.M. away on my own. A great thrill. The first time is always a thriller in anything. I suppose it is because one doesn't know what will happen. I used the motor to get away from the mooring because I was not sure how much room she needed to turn. That was just one of the things we could not find out on our trip home from Ireland with the helm and rudder jammed. She turns very well under main sail only. When tacking I would say she moves forward a boat's length after starting to turn. This may not sound much but when tacking across the river it does represent 40 feet and in places I suppose the river channel is only 200 feet wide.

It was a great boon to be able to tack up river without using a jib. That incessant sheeting in of a jib on short tacks is no joke. Of course the boat does not go as fast without a jib.

I had my arrangement of elastic cord etc. rigged for holding and adjusting the tiller but the boat seemed determined not to steer herself. At the best I could only leave the cockpit for a few minutes. I tried endless adjustments, sailing into wind, down wind and across wind. G.M. was not having any self-steering. She makes one think of her designer. I hope the wind vane is going to work, otherwise I shall take months to cross the Atlantic.

There were thousands of birds, gulls I think chiefly, on the spit at the Beaulieu river entrance. They made a terrific noise and I suppose were nesting there. I hove to at the E. Lepe buoy, with No. 2 jib. The boat fore reached slowly.

How marvellous at night to see the silhouette of the woods reflected black in the still river with cloud reflections in the moonlight.

7th April. While I write this eating my lunch, I saw old Gipsy Moth's scarlet mattresses go by in the fitting-out launch. Gipsy Moth II is lying two moorings up. It is fine and hot and I am in summer shirt-sleeves. But alas, no wind.

8.30 p.m. I don't seem to have achieved anything today and yet I have not stopped since I got up except to snatch two slabs of bread with lettuce, cheese, marmalade, tomatoes to brighten them up for lunch. The lovely sunny day ended about four o'clock and it has been unloading rain ever since.

8th April. After a good sail down river and about the Solent, when I tried out reefing, also the setting and lowering of the big genoa, I went into the Beaulieu river at only 1 hour after dead low water. There should have been 2' 6 + 8 = 3' 2" above chart datum. I crossed the bar safely and was tacking across the river just inside when I went hard aground on the channel side of the line of stakes marking the channel edge. I dropped the main and tried the engine without avail. Then I dropped a kedge overboard. This was a mistake. I ought to have carried it out to midstream.

I was on the putty just above Rae Pitt rivers' house. The slack of the cable enabled G.M. to drift downwind bumping on the mud until she reached the end of the kedge scope. In the end I ran out the main anchor with a heavy warp in the dinghy and dropped the anchor in midstream. I soon recovered the kedge but when G.M. floated free I could not recover the main anchor.

The wind drove the boat downstream hard on to the warp while the tide setting upstream caused the boat to lie across the direction of the anchor warp. I must have been trying for three-quarters of an hour heaving on the warp, starting and stopping the engine and trying various settings of the tiller. The trouble was that the anchor cable prevented the boat from gaining any speed with the engine on and it was impossible to steer the boat towards the anchor.

All good things come to an end, however, and when I finally got the anchor aboard I felt grateful to be strong enough to do all the heaving and hauling without having a heart attack or something and after all I had learned a very salutary lesson. The Beaulieu River is not a river to tack across at low water with 6½ feet of draught. I went aground well inside the line of stakes marking the edge of the channel. Anyway, leaving the putty episode out of it, I had a wonderful sail. What fun it is and how exciting trying out each new thing. What I learnt today includes:

(1) Under mainsail only, I can only make her steer herself by sailing close to the wind, i.e. by sacrificing speed. She will very nearly steer herself by frequent adjustment of the elastic cord tiller-lines and I hope the steering wind vane will look after the end-piece of the control.

(2) The main halliard is very difficult to operate even with the wind no more than Force 4. I mean after reefing, when one wants to haul up the mainsail. I must fit a two-part tackle.

(3) Some sort of tackle to outhaul the leech when reefing is quite essential. I wonder if an all shock-cord tackle would work with the changing load when rolling down the main?

(4) A good thick rope tail to the jib halliard is needed, something to haul on so that one does not have to handle wire rope on the jib winch or more important, get wire rope off the winch when lowering the jib.

(5) Item, bolt on starboard half of cabin door which bangs incessantly.

(6) Item, catch on liquor locker.

I think I should add that (A) the topping lift tackle which I fitted was a great success; (B) the quick-clip hooks for jib sheets to jib clews seemed very effective and are certainly very easy to handle.

12th April. Stormy. Tacked up and down the Beaulieu river for 2½ hours in Force 6½ sometimes 7 at entrance.

The roller reefing gear worked easily and with the outhaul arrangements the sail both rolled and set excellently. Also it is not too cumbersome when one remembers the different steps. Evidence of this is that I reefed while tacking down the river in Force 6 with the channel I would say 75 yards wide. I think it would be very easy with a self-steering device but the gusts made the load on the helm vary enormously, say, by 30 lb. pull, so that I could never leave the helm for long to get on with the reefing. Of course one must expect the big variation in helm load when setting a mainsail only. A headsail would at once take most of the change of load away. Meanwhile I could not be more grateful to have a boat which will handle easily with main only. Constant fiddling with jib-sheets on such a jaunt would be too much of a good thing.

(2) I was several times apprehensive of losing the reefing handle or the winch handle. Must think up some arrangement of lanyard whereby they will not go overboard if dropped or if they come loose.

(3) The boat was nearly down to her lee-rail at times and a main, twice reefed as today, is nearly enough sail in such conditions. She would be better with No. 3 jib and a third reef down perhaps.

(4) The mooring was hard for me to pick up with strong wind against strong tide. The boat really sails herself pretty fast down wind with no sail set (in such a Force 6 wind) and I ought to have allowed for this. I