LESSONS LEARNED
Sailing an 18ft open boat across
oceans presents risks which I
carefully considered. I’d already
sailed Chidiock Tichborne 7,000
miles before the pitch-pole which was
an explosive force beyond my
expectation and I’d previously made
a two-stop solo circumnavigation in
Egregious, an engineless 37ft cutter,
via Cape Horn in what was then
world record time, so I had some
experience. In rereading the passage
in my book and considering what I
might have done differently, I have
come to the following conclusions:
Q I had bags of supplies and plastic
water containers secured to a line
tied around the base of the mast.
Most were lost during the pitch-pole.
The water containers were collapsible
and pulled out of their handles. Solid
containers might have stayed with
the boat.
Q I should have secured the bags
and containers with a second line.
Q Hand-operated osmosis
watermakers were not available when
I was adrift. One certainly would have
been useful. Our bodies need water
and sleep every day. Food is a
distant third.
Q I don’t know if EPIRBs existed back
then. I don’t carry one because I
believe that those of us who choose
to leave society behind and sail
offshore alone have no right to
expect society to save us from
trouble of our own making.ADRIFT IN THE PACIFIC
I might never see again. A while later, a
column of smoke rose from farther up the
mountain side.
Once again, no matter how I tried to
sail, Chidiock was carried sideways by
the current. In the night the current had
saved us, now we were being carried
away from land.
When there were only three hours of
daylight remaining, I knew I could not get
Chidiock ashore before dark, if ever. Sadly
I returned to the inflatable, cast off, and
began to row. The gap between the boats
widened. The dinghy rowed well as I
quartered wind and wave. I was still too
far off to determine anything of the shore,
except that midway along the island mist
filled the air as though from heavy surf.
There was no question of rowing around
to the leeward side. I had neither the time
nor the strength, though I was buoyed by
the certainty that an end would come
before sunset.
As I rowed I gazed back at Chidiock
Tichborne. We had been through so
much: 7,000 miles since San Diego. I
waited for one last glimpse of her.
There she was on a crest, torn sails
fluttering, awash, valiant. I engraved this
image in my mind and then deliberately
turned away.
Breaking waves battle
For an hour I rowed hard, managing to
get across wind and current. Then I rested
and drank a Coke as we drifted closer.
Individual palm trees became
distinguishable, and a second house on
the hillside not far from the first, but no
village that might mark a pass or a
landing. The waves started to build before
I saw the beach. For a quarter mile out
from it lay the smooth turquoise waters of
a lagoon. Life. And between me and the
lagoon was the reef.
When I was close to the surf line, I
began rowing along the shore, searching
for a pass. There was none. Only an
unbroken line of surf, between three and
five breakers deep, increasing in violence
into the distance.
I turned and tried to row back but the
dinghy was caught in the sweep of the
seas. Suddenly the ocean changed colour
and I saw coral reaching toward me. Any
place was as good as any other. The coral
would slice me up, but if I could protect
my head, I should survive. I turned in.
At first I went slowly, trying to get a feel
for the rhythm of the waves. I backed
water as the dinghy trembled on a crest
Postscript
Against all odds, Chidiock Tichborne was saved – washed ashore
about a mile from where her skipper finally beached. Webb
Chiles continued his voyage as far as Saudi Arabia where he was
arrested as a spy and his boat impounded. As we went to press,
Chiles, now aged 77, had just arrived in San Diego after a hard
passage from Balboa, Panama, completing his sixth
circumnavigation on Gannet, his ultra-light Moore 24. His website
inthepresentsea.com is a must.A Single Wave,
Stories of
Storms and
SurvivalSheridan House, 1999.
ISBN: 1574090720that almost broke beneath us; then I
rowed as hard as I could. The next wave
rose. Still rowing I noted the lovely
translucent blue of the water as it climbed
to the sky. I even had time to think that this
might be the last thing I ever noticed.
The wave toppled and threw us out, up,
and forward. The dinghy’s bow was
dropping, and I dived toward the stern in
an attempt to balance it. The wave passed
and I came up for a breath, surprised to
find myself still inside the dinghy with the
oars in my hands.
The second wave was worse than the
first. My sense of direction was lost. I fell
backwards as the dinghy stood on its
head while the wave swept us along. I
forgot my intention to protect my head
with my arms, and rose once again with
oars in hand, rowing. The third wave was
smaller than the first two and less
dangerous. I was able to keep my head
above water, though neck deep in foam.
Then it too passed and instinctively I was
again rowing for my life. The moment
when I realised that there was no need,
that we were through, that we had made it
without even a scratch, came abruptly.
The wild ride over the reef, the days of
doubt adrift, the solitary struggle, and now
I was going to live. I really was going
to live.‘A quarter mile out lay
the smooth waters
of a lagoon. And
between me and the
lagoon was a reef’
The inflatable dinghy and
its contents taken minutes
after landing at Emae in
the New Hebrides”