Our route took us across four of the choppy and
unpredictable Great Lakes, out through the ripping currents
of the St Lawrence Seaway and into the Atlantic Ocean.
We were to cross the North Atlantic from St Johns in
Newfoundland to Falmouth, south-west England. I had
never been so terrified and never wanted something so
badly. Planning and executing this voyage took
everything we had mentally, physically, emotional, and
financially. Our relationship orbited Desireé, our
conversation rarely straying from the Atlantic Ocean. We
were completely consumed.
It took one month to get out of the Great Lakes and over
to Montreal, a wicked and arctic experience of frosty decks
with both water and air temperatures just a few degrees
above freezing. The Great Lakes were fierce, but my
motivation to sail the boat to the ocean was to gain the
confidence and to prepare for conditions that we
expected to be much fiercer.Heading for ‘Iceberg Alley’
Sailing double-handed on a classic boat was demanding.
Our first night out of Quebec City we had to short tack up
a narrow shipping channel, all hands required on deck.
With 9 knots of current and ships navigating the channel,
we both remained awake until the following day. Progress
was hampered on several occasions, by headwind gales
and wicked tidal currents pushing and shoving us as they
pleased. Time was ticking away and we were far behind
our ambitious schedule that had been based around
career obligations. ‘Iceberg Alley’ was up next, and it was
not the place to be rushing.
We opted to sail without radar, agreeing it was just
another distraction, another drain on the battery, andanother excuse for our eyes not to be on the horizon. A
controversial decision? Yes. We entered the iceberg zone
on the south coast of Newfoundland where seven bergs
had been reported. The sun had set, and I disliked that
night more than any other. It was foggy and windy, the
kind of fog that messes with your mind. We turned off our
running lights to eliminate the back glow, in hopes of
seeing just a few more feet ahead of the bow. We dropped
all canvas apart from two reefs in the main to slow down.
Lightning flashed twice a minute but there was nothing to
see besides birds circling, fog, wind, and blackness.Terrifying magnificence
We agreed to take shorter shifts and I went down below to
try and rest. I tried to sleep, unsuccessfully, and I smelled
ice. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t trust that it was
possible to smell ice.
When we switched shifts we sat together for a few
moments in the companionway, looking ahead into the
fog. I squinted to focus, and gripped Luke’s arm. “Look,
look!” Just 200 yards away a wall of white passed down the
port side of the boat. Visibility was so poor we hadn’t
spotted it until we were already passing it. A chunk of
glacier the size of a hotel silently drifted back out of sight.
It was terrifying and magnificent. I’m just a girl from
Michigan; this was hard for me to wrap my head around.
We decided to stop on Newfoundland’s south coast the
following morning and review our iceberg tactics.
The anticipation of crossing the ocean was the worst of
it. It was mental preparation for ultimate disaster. An
uninsured, borrowed, classic yawl in which I held huge
emotional value, captained by two opposites: Luke, a
dinghy racer and accomplished super sailor who thrives
on speed and efficiency; and myself, the slowest coastal
cruiser known to man who knew a thing or two about
diesel engines and virtually nothing about sails, a green
ocean sailor.
By the time we reached St Johns, Newfoundland, we had
learned a lot about the boat, and even more about each
other. We had done our studying. We’d read our books and
had a thousand conversations with experienced sailors.
We took every precaution. Information was everywhere, it
was just up to us to decide on the validity of that
information, to agree or disagree.
We had to make our own decisions based on ourThe famous great circle, or most direct, route
across the north Atlantic is shown on the
gnomonic Admiralty Chart 5095.
On Mercator charts, where lines of latitude
and longitude are parallel, rhumb lines will be
plotted as a straight line. Gnomonic charts,
where meridians converge and lines of latitude
are curved, show great circle routes as a
straight line and rhumb line courses as a curve.
Gnomonic charts are useful for devising
composite rhumb line courses on longer
passages of over 600 miles, particular east-
west or west-east voyages at higher latitudes.
‘A chunk of glacier the
size of a hotel silently
drifted out of sight’
GNOMONIC PROJECTIONS
i
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