Above left:
Anchored off
Dominica
Above right:
Atlantic sunset
Above main:
enjoying the end
of the Caribbean
dry seasonTHE VOYAGE OF FLYING CLOUD
my only option is to keep on top of it. Thankfully, I had
a hunch that this was going to be a problem, and
installed a manual twin bilge pump inside the cabin.
While lying in bed, I can reach the handle with my foot,
meaning the bilge can be completely emptied without my
having to put down my book.
One day, I manage to collect five litres of rainwater,
as well as landing a dorado big enough to stretch to
three meals. My first taste of self-sufficiency at sea brings
with it a powerful sense of satisfaction. Like my first
crossing, I find contentment and euphoria in being alone
in such a wild place. Each day is defined by an unusualevent of nature. A turtle scrapes along the waterline.
A squid lands on top of the cabin. A group of small pilot
fish swims beneath the bow wave, and then a dorado
makes a bold attempt to eat them. Portuguese man
o’war swarm. A bird lands in the cockpit. Whales
breach. Storms are electric. Each occurrence adds variety,
breaking up the endless monotony of sea and sky.
After 32 days, Flores stands up out of the horizon. In
my fluid world, it’s strange to see something motionless.
Even though Flores is 120 miles closer, some unexplained
emotion persuades me to carry on sailing to Horta. A
north-westerly wind means that the last two days are