Practical Boat Owner – September 2019

LEARNING FROM EXPERIENCE

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slammed into the cliff.
We were not going to clear this end of
the island. The cliff was now less than 300
yards away and the waves were
becoming steeper. Without warning a
wave broke. Because she was already
beneath the sea, Chidiock could not really
capsize, but she rolled ponderously onto
her side and I was washed away. My legs
were useless. They trailed like vestigial
appendages on whatever form of life I
was evolving into, as I fought to swim
back to the yawl using only my arms.
Chidiock Tichborne remained on her side.
This view of her no longer seemed
unusual. If anything, in the 13 days since
the pitchpole, I had come to have
unlimited confidence in her. The sea
could strip everything movable from her,
toss her around like a toy, fill her with
water; and she would patiently survive.
My legs persisted in their refusal to
function, so I could not stand on the
centreboard, but the weight of my upper
body was enough to right the yawl. We
had drifted closer to the island, but we
also seemed to have drifted along.
Perhaps all my struggling had been
unnecessary. Perhaps if I had simply let
us drift, we would have been saved by
blind chance, for it was now obvious that
we were being carried along the coast
faster than we were being carried in.
I could not yet be certain that we were
moving fast enough, so I remained at the
tiller, more or less holding the bow in the
right direction.
Riding sideways up great curling waves
just beyond a line of thundering surf, I fell
asleep. My eyes closed and my head fell
forward. Reflex snapped it back, which
ignited the flames along my spine. Each
spasm had been worse than the one
before, and this was a summation. I

wondered if it would ever end. Could so

much pain come from a muscle spasm?

Whatever the cause, the pain served to

keep me awake until we were carried

safely past the island, and I was able to

collapse into the relative dryness of the

dinghy alongside, and rest.

Dawn was delayed by a squall. When it

passed I saw that six or seven miles

directly ahead of us lay two more islands:

one, a small, sheer peak jutting from the

sea; the other with three 2,000ft peaks,

about which the squall line lingered.

I pushed myself up and ate a breakfast

of half a dozen crackers, raspberry jam, a

can of pears, and a handful of peanuts,

washed down with unlimited water. At the

first sight of land, rationing ended. The

need for energy far outweighed the

possibility that I might not be able to get

ashore and have to drift on. I even drank

two precious bottles of Coca-Cola.

I had predicted landfall in the New

Hebrides at two weeks from the pitchpole,

and here we were, two weeks later to the

day, but I still had to reach shore alive. The

size of the waves worried me, as did the

nature of the shore.

First outpost of man

Of a few things I was certain: beyond the

island ahead of me lay only the open

ocean for 1,400 miles to Australia; landing

would be safer on the leeward side of the

island; I must be on land before night; I

dreaded the physical pain of returning to

Chidiock, but I did so anyway.

The first moment of re-immersion was

almost unbearable, but then my feet and

legs went numb and I forgot them. As I

tried to sail Chidiock, the sun broke

through the clouds and turned the small

island bright green. For another hour the

larger island remained shrouded, but then

the sky cleared and it too turned emerald.

And I saw a house. I could not take my

eyes from it, the first outpost of man,

which during the days adrift I had thought

LEFT Chidiock

Tichborne after the

pitchpole, drifiting

west with inflatable

dingy (out of picture)

in tow

BELOW The inflatable

dinghy that served as

a Pacific liferaft