Shif ting gears across
the Atlantic
F
ather Christmas must have known
what we wanted because the wind
eased and the sun brought colour
to our grey world. A shower, oh
a hot shower, breakfast, bucks fi zz,
presents and a call to the family.
We were a week into the fi rst
ocean crossing for both Tracey
and Pearl. It had been tough, but they’d come through
with fl ying colours and felt good about themselves.
The weather exceeded the forecast and we had strong
winds that built up very big seas. Our best was four
consecutive days of 180 miles each, with everything
on board strapped down.
It was not what I had sold
Tracey, or myself for that matter –
a rough week in thermals. If there
were highlights though, they were
the miles we covered, and Pearl
herself. She has been a revelation.
Once you lift the centreboard, all
lateral resistance moves aft and there is nothing to trip
you into a broach. I understand the theory, but the
practice brought a smile to my face as the stern lifted
on a big wave, the bow buried as confl icting forces
compete for control, some malevolent, and all you
can do is watch. The outcome was in the hands of the
designers and builders. Pearl shrugged it all off and
surged down the wave with confi dence, the autopilot
tweaking. It happened time and time again, and with
it came a unique confi dence.
As the trade winds eased into our lives like a balm,
we were able to change gear from ‘getting through it’
to ‘enjoying it’. We sat on deck with a cuppa to watch
the sunrise. Sunset earned a sundowner and some vibes
on the cockpit speakers. It was a special time away from
the madness of modern society and our turbocharged
life started to spool down. We read, cooked, took the
wheel for a while and just enjoyed each other’s company.
I don’t fi sh. I just don’t feel inclined to, and I was putoff by being told that if you catch a mahi-mahi, you have
to get the line straight back in because they mate for life.
I have always loved nature and we have spent a couple
of years living in a yurt surrounded by Cornish woods.
To rend these pairs apart just doesn’t feel right and so,
we watched and waited for nature to come to us. And
it did. Flying fi sh are a joy as they fl ash out of the water,
liberated, like squadrons of Spitfi res before gravity
drags them back to the predators that energise them.
Dolphins were a constant lift as they came dancing in
from afar to play on the bow. A turn with their streamer
tails; elegant, with a grace that comes from aeons of
hydrodynamic evolution. A big spout in the wake close
enough to hear had us dancing
about in excitement at the sight
of two 30ft minke whale. They
stayed with us for four days,
surfi ng past in the body of waves,
mere feet away. One lifted its head
clear of the water to check the
topsides. They became friends
and we named them Charles and Camilla – the Wales.
Another week into the trip, the wind eased to 14 knots
and the spinnaker went up. It ought to have gone up
earlier but I reined in my racing instinct to give Tracey
a couple more hours’ sleep; they’re worth more than
a few extra miles in this new cruising life. There was
a new exchange rate and I liked it – I relaxed and sank
into it, as did Tracey. She has really taken to this life.
It has its ups and downs but experience is already
tempering the downs, and she now compensates for
the boat’s rolling motion without conscious thought.
‘Land ho!’ The shout went out with great gusto as
Antigua rose out of the haze. It seemed ages since we
had to worry about rocks. I needed not to forget the
buoys are the other way round. We picked up a mooring
in Falmouth Harbor. Blissful silence. A champaign cork
broke the silence with a pop, and a lush tropical scent
fi lled the air as the sun set over the island. We had done
it, the three of us, and it felt amazing.‘The trade winds
ease into our lives
like a balm’
COLUMNPETE
GOSS