We (only bloody!) crossed the Atlantic

Tartuga rules the waves

Hey ppl. Have you heard the news?! I’m in love with a turtle. His name is Big John and I met him a couple of months ago in Cape Verde. Sadly our romance was quite fleeting because I had to go off and cross the Atlantic(!!!!!!!). But what we felt was real and I will never forget him.

Anyway. The Atlantic. Did I mentioned we crossed it? In two weeks and two hours precisely - which imo is pretty good considering that six months ago I truly did not know which side starboard was. Also not being funny but it’s no mean feat being trapped on a floating motorhome with your father-in-law for that length of time (Charlie’s dad Christian joined us for the voyage) (along with our pal Alec) (who you may or may not remember from the disco shower) (which will make a lot more sense if you’ve read this post).

Obviously, the trip was not without incident - starting with the inevitable panic about 20 minutes before we set sail that we hadn’t procured enough snacks. Al and I made a mad dash to the corner shop in Mindelo (which calls itself a supermarket lmao) but it was slim pickings and we had to settle on two sad slices of fruitcake, one carton of tropical juice drink (not even actual juice) and a bag of jelly snakes. Not ideal given that I profoundly dislike fruitcake, juice drinks and jellied sweets in general. But desperate times. I would have been stressed about the situation were it not for the fact that I had in fact purchased 12 bags of chocolate peanuts at the HiperDino in Las Palmas then hidden them under the floorboards in my room.

Anyway! We left Mindelo at 11AM then milled around with the other hundred-ish ARC vessels, waiting for the klaxon to sound. Once it did, we were off to a strong racing start, making full use of the katabatic winds (that blow down high land at speed) by keeping tight to the windward side of the starting line (the side the wind is coming from), to prevent any pesky boats from blocking our breeze. We had even rigged up our code zero (big orange sail for use in light winds) (sorry about all the sailing lingo) (and the arguably excessive use of parenthesis) in advance, so that as soon as the wind tailed off, we could unfurl it and glide seamlessly off into the sunset - overtaking some of our speediest competitors and almost weeing ourselves with excitement.

Admittedly I wasn’t totally focussed on any of this because I had at that very moment realised that all my Spotify downloads had failed - meaning I was staring down the barrel of several weeks at sea with one boring old episode of Desert Island Discs to entertain me - featuring Bono of all people. Thought I might as well just chuck myself overboard then and there (no disrespect to Bono) but resisted the urge and instead set about frantically downloading any old shite before we totally lost signal. (We have a Starlink satellite but were obvs far too stingy to keep it on all the time - agreeing to use it just once a day to check the weather/catch up on the latest news re Greg Wallace). By the time I was done, Cape Verde was a speck on the horizon and we were miles from the other boats. Just the Turtle bobbing about in the big blue.

As the sun set on that first night, we cracked open some tinnies and got stuck into intense negotiations over the night watch. Obviously everybody wanted the early shift (10-12), so that they could head to bed afterwards and not have to get up again until the next morning. Naturally Chazzle plumped for that one and I got lumbered with the graveyard slot (2-4). So, I headed below deck for some shuteye - trying to ignore the fact that every time we hit a wave (which was, I’d say, about every eight to ten seconds), my body would be lifted from the mattress, then violently slammed back down on to it again.

Still, I obviously slept like a baby (I can literally sleep anywhere - trains, cloakrooms, public toilets - it’s both my blessing and my curse), so the 1.50AM alarm somewhat startled me. But stepping into the galley and seeing Al’s ghostly face peering out from the darkness - illuminated by his highly practical head torch - certainly eased the pain. He and I had decided to combine our first shifts (2-4 and 4-6 respectively) together for solidarity. Although we were too tired/terrified to chat, so mostly just sat in silence, staring into oblivion.

Mercifully, it was an easy watch - light winds and no big scary cargo ships to avoid - so I cracked out my phone to see what pods I had actually managed to download (lots of Vanessa Feltz??!), then plugged in my headphone (singular - thought best to have one ear free in case of freak waves, whale attacks etc) and sat staring at the stars. Spectacular though they were, I couldn’t look up at them for too long as it brought on troubling existentialist thoughts about the expansiveness of the universe and the insignificance of man - then I’d have to go down to the galley and make myself a hot Bovril as a distraction. As you can imagine, it was a huge relief when the sun rose at around 7AM.

Interesting aside: as we sailed west, we crossed four different time zones - meaning that sunset/rise kept getting later and we had to keep putting our clocks back. Also! While I’m on the topic of celestial phenomena I don’t fully understand: the moon looks different in the southern hemisphere - waxing and waning more from top to bottom than side to side, so when it’s fully waned(?) (which it was at the start of the crossing - making things EXTREMELY dark) it looks like a smiling mouth. All very sinister if you ask me.

Anyway, aside from my troubling thoughts re the enormity of the universe (surely it must stop somewhere??) (but what happens when it stops???), that first week was a total breeze. The wind was light and consistent - coming from directly behind us - so we spent most of the time with the genoa hoisted up on one side using the whisker pole (literally a pole attached to the sail) to prevent any unwanted flapping. Then we hoiked out our trusty code zero (big orange) on the other side to create a spectacular “goose-wing” effect, effortlessly gliding through the water at a solid six knots.

goose-wing in full swing!

These clement conditions meant that we could really get into the swing of our daily routine…

• 6AM: Christian would march upstairs and tell us how he’d barely slept all night - even though he kept his door open for air circulation reasons and we could literally see him dribbling into his pillow by about 8PM. Al would then emerge and trump Christian’s lack of sleep by saying that he hadn’t slept AT ALL. Not one wink. Just lay there all night being bashed about in his berth (and not in a fun way). Then Chazzle would pipe up and say “WELL I HAVEN’T SLEPT THIS ENTIRE TRIP, YOU FUCKING FUCKERS” (I might be paraphrasing slightly), before promptly heading below deck for a nap. I kept shtum during these conversations because I actually sleep like a baby on a boat and didn’t think it helpful to say so.

• 7AM: With the sleep olympics out of the way, Christian would head below deck to make coffee, then breakfast was every man for himself (even in light conditions it was far too rocky to be doing bowls of Weetabix en masse). After that, we’d switch on Starlink to check our position in the race, which - to our total delight! - was hovering around the mid-thirties mark (which I realise might not sound impressive but there were almost 100 other boats - many captained by actual professionals) (sorry if I have shocked you by revealing that we are not actually professionals!!!).

• 11AM: I’d crank up the Sound of Silence club remix (choon!), signalling the start of our daily regime of squats, crunches and press-ups. At this point, Al would schlep off for a nap, while Chaz would point out he was still suffering from the reverberations of a recent bout of food poisoning (reckon it was the prawns but who can be sure?) and couldn’t make any sudden movements without severe consequences for his bowels.

• 1PM: After a quick shower (don’t believe what they tell you about ocean crossings - so long as you have a water-maker you really can wash every day) (although ngl things can still get pretty whiffy), it would suddenly be lunchtime - at which point Christian (who - for all of his sleep-related foibles - is an incredible cook) would dutifully disappear downstairs, re-emerging some 40 minutes later with a fish pie or a Thai green curry or a “fillet o fish” made using freshly-caught mahi topped with pickles and homemade coleslaw, secured between two brioche buns - which HONESTLY (and I do not say this lightly) was better than McDonalds.

• 3PM: After a quick post-lunch nap, the Scrabble DeLuxe board would be whipped out (almost inevitably by Christian) (who would almost inevitably win) and so would begin a tortuous two hour contest, which would almost inevitably leave me with a headache. Eventually, about a week in, I had to put the kibosh on this particular element of the routine. But I guess the pendulum swings both ways because when I tried to initiate group karaoke later that afternoon, nobody was having any of it - instead just stared out to sea, pretending it wasn’t happening.

• 5PM: Suddenly it would be sunset and Al would dash off below deck, emerging some 20 minutes later looking flustered while attempting to carry several glasses of whatever cocktail he’d had the ingenuity to invent that day (who says that whisky, pineapple juice, rum and slightly fermented raspberries don’t go together?).

Of course, there were minor variations to the schedule. One morning, the propeller started vibrating, causing the boat to violently shake, so Chazzle pulled on his flippers, tied a rope around his waist and hurled himself into the inky depths (which at this point spanned 6000 metres) (that’s over THREE MILES) (wtf!!!) to investigate: turns out it was just a bit of seaweed. Obvs we all wanted a dip after that, so took it in turns to hop in, have a minor panic attack, then hastily climb out again. But still: refreshing!

There were also, obviously, quite a lot of fish. We caught so much mahi we were practically eating it for every meal (although I did have to draw the line at breakfast). Then, one afternoon, we hooked a marlin so enormous that Chazzle had to quite literally bodyslam it to the transom in order to stop it from slithering off the side. Another day, Al spotted a huge school of skipjack tuna swimming alongside the boat - and without so much as a second’s hesitation Chaz darted downstairs, grabbed his spinning rod, plunged it into the water and hooked one on first attempt. Sashimi for dinner that night.

Sadly, not all catches were intentional: one night, I was up on deck minding my own business with a bowl of chocolate peanuts, when a flying fish landed quite literally right on my crotch. Another time, a booby (it’s a type of bird, don’t lower the tone) attempted to snatch Chazzle’s fuzzy pink lure - but obviously the lure snatched the booby instead. Al leapt into action and reeled it in, the poor animal’s plump feathery body being bashed inelegantly across the water, then yanked the hook from its talon - a valiant act for which he was rewarded with a vicious bite. Our attitude toward boobies improved temporarily when one decided to hitch a ride with us for several days. We all thought it was very sweet until we realised it had shat all over the tender.

Still we didn’t dwell on it, as by that time we’d reached the half way point - and Alec had organised a whole day of celebrations to celebrate. Proceedings kicked off with an 11AM HIIT class, followed by a dram of whisky and a ceremonial offering to Poseidon, god of the sea. After that, Christian did a quick knot-tying demo (with special focus on the famous sheep shank as seen in Jaws), before Charlie cracked on with his “Captain’s special orgasmic pasta” (which makes sense if you’ve read this post), followed by a highly energetic DJ set from Al, during which he used dinner plates as discs. Truly iconic.

Then, to finish: karaoke. I kicked off with Don Henley’s Boys of Summer which I actually thought was pretty good. But Al stole my thunder with the Eagles’ Take It Easy, which Charlie and Christian got really into, singing and laughing and taking videos (they just sort of sat there looking scared during my performance). Chazzle went for the classic Let Me Entertain You, using the boat hook as a mic stand, while Christian mixed up his usual Elvis with Bruce Springsteen’s Born To Run - which I think even he would admit was a bit sparse, on account of him not really knowing the words. Still, it had soul.

Anyway. That was the calm before the (literal) storm. That second week was a totally different ballgame - with big waves (one of which came crashing over the hull and onto my laptop - ffs), strong winds and stormy squalls that would hit at night when we least expected them.

We also received some incredibly sad news from ARC Rally Control when we turned on Starlink one morning. A member of crew from another boat went overboard in the night and had not been recovered. Separately, a catamaran sank after losing its rudder (the crew - thank god - all safely abandoned ship). Suddenly, things didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

Having said that - I find it can be extremely helpful to laugh through sad/scary times. Al made this extremely easy - pulling on his goggles then getting down on his hands and knees to peer up at the sky - believing this position provided the best vantage point to assess whether the stars were visible. If they were not, it meant that there was dense cloud cover, indicating an incoming squall.

Still, even with these highly professional weather-monitoring methods, sometimes squalls came out of nowhere. One night, I was on my 4AM watch, listening - inevitably - to a podcast featuring Vanessa Feltz, when the wind began whooshing and I realised the Turtle was being pulled sideways into it. I grabbed the helm and attempted to steady us - but ended up accidentally gybing (turning across the wind) causing the boat to heel over and spin out of control. Within literal seconds, the menfolk were all up on deck: Christian with his top on back-to-front and Chazzle wearing a bedsheet around his bottom half like puff-ball skirt (he always insists on sleeping naked, meaning that in emergency circumstances he has to work with whatever garment is closest). Skirt billowing in the breeze, he masterfully steered us back on course, then - with flourish of his hem - went back to bed.

The next evening was even more dramatic. At 4AM, Chazzle and I were woken by a violent jerk, followed by the sound of the whisker pole bashing against the hull. We darted upstairs to discover Al and Christian panic-stricken - trying to navigate through a big squall - having been pulled upwind with such force that the whisker pole had snapped in half. We hauled the sails in (v tricky when you’re battling big weather), then revved up the engine (it being much more sensible to motor through). Then, once we were out the other side, Al courageously clipped himself to the safety rail then strode up to the bow to bring in the broken pole. He said best not to mention any of this to his mum, although I believe reads this newsletter (hi Melanie!), so I guess the cat’s out of the bag: your son is a hero!!! (Also he looks very funny in goggles).

On the final evening, I was all for erring on the side of caution - keeping the sails tightly reefed (bringing them in to reduce the area - and thus the speed of the boat) to avoid any incidents. Unfortunately, when some of our ARC pals overtook us, the lads’ competitive side got the better of them - and they hoisted up the code zero (big orange: intended for use in LIGHT winds and most certainly not at night) to catch the others up. I cited the fable of Icarus but nobody listened or cared. But in fairness it was pretty epic: we gained three places, coming in at a cool 34th (well, we thought it was cool).

As you can imagine, it was quite the relief to spot Grenada in the distance on the morning of 6th December - and we cruised into the charming Port Louie marina exactly two weeks and two hours after we’d set sail from Cape Verde. Extraordinary to think we’d just sailed 3000 miles and STILL hadn’t touched the fruitcake. Or the juice drink. Or the jelly snakes. Although admittedly I had made quite a dent in the chocolate peanuts.