Above left:
leaving the
Azores under
spinnaker
Above right: Max
lets the windvane
do the workTHE VOYAGE OF FLYING CLOUD
upwind. Everything is damp, and for some reason the
self-steering only works with three reefs in the main.
I spend the entire last day in the cockpit, completely
transfi xed on the alien shape growing slowly out of the
horizon. At midnight, I fi nally motor into Horta and
drop my anchor within a stone’s throw of the shore.MOVING ON
Of all the popular stops on the Atlantic circuit, Horta
must be my favourite. Sailors are generally warm and
friendly people, and I think this is truer in Horta than
anywhere else. Its remote location fi lters out all but the
most committed of sailors. As usual, I quickly fall in with
an eccentric clique of single-handers. They are always
unusual; surprisingly extroverted and always trading
crazy stories of surviving hurricanes, being imprisoned in
foreign countries, losing boats, dismastings, and, of
course, one raging fi re during an Atlantic crossing.
A French single-hander becomes one of my closest
friends. He sails a 21ft original Mini Transat, and
together we discuss the beauty of tiny cruising boats.
We leave Horta in convoy, in an attempt to sail the entire
1,200 miles back to the UK together. For the fi rst four
days, it works. We chat on the VHF, and occasionally
throw items of food between the two yachts. It’s beyond
surreal. Two tiny boats, alone together in the massive
expanse of the ocean. Sometimes the euphoria becomes
too overwhelming, and we scream out to each other in
disbelief. I have spent so much time in this lonely world,
and now, for the fi rst time, I have another human to
share it with.
The wind strengthens, and it becomes harder and
harder to stay together. My rig is bigger, so I reef sooner,
and, as a result, struggle to keep up. On the fi fth day,
with 20 knots on the bum, we fi nally lose each other.
A rain squall brings visibility right down, and once it
clears there’s no sight of the little yellow boat.
Nine days go by, and as I pass Bishop Rock, west of
the Isles of Scilly, my phone manages to collect a trickle
of signal. I’m still a few miles from land, scrolling
through social media and catching up on emails when
I get a call through from an unknown French number.
Jerome, my French companion, has beaten me by onlysix hours. I tack into The Cove, St Agnes, and pull up
straight alongside my family, who are holidaying here
on their big blue fi shing boat. A perfect landfall, unlike
my fi rst crossing.
It’s been two years since Flying Cloud last saw the
quiet banks of Mylor Creek, and I must still shake away
the feeling of admiration as I look at her, standing on her
legs in the same muddy berth. I am in awe of my boat.
The deep emotional attachment is like an intense fi re that
burns inside me. There’s no logic to owning an old
wooden boat; it’s all emotion. What Flying Cloud and
I have is a relationship. We’ve shared highs and lows,
we understand how to keep the other happy, and,
essentially, we complete each other. She’s become an
extension of my personality, and it’s weird to imagine
myself devoting the same love to any other boat.
I always knew that Flying Cloud wasn’t ideal for the
kind of long-distance voyaging that I wanted to do, but
she was the only boat that made it possible at the time.
And now it’s time to pass her on to someone else,
someone with the same adventurous desire. Someone
who wants to challenge the expectations of society, to
escape the shackles of life on land and grasp the true
freedom that the ocean has to offer (please get in touch
if you’re genuinely interested).
My goal now is simple: to sail around the world on
a bigger boat. Since being back from my adventure,
I have started work on a new project. A 1970s S&S
Swan 37, found buried under a blanket of moss and
rotten leaves. She needs a lot of work, and my bank
balance needs time to recover, but she’s cheap and
proven and brings me the same fl eeting fl utter of
emotion that I felt with Flying Cloud when I fi rst saw
her buried under tarpaulin at the back of the yard.
The experiences that I’ve had while sailing have been
so incredible – experiences that I now want to share
with as many people as possible. With a crew of two
of my closest friends, we plan to leave before the onset
of winter storms.Follow the restoration and journey of Elixir at
http://www.un-tide.com or by following @fl yingcloud_max
on Instagram