Lionheart 8

WHOEVER said solo sailing wasn't dangerous? It has nothing to do with the sailing . . . just watch out for those nasty Saladas. I was munching on one of these dry biscuits when a sharp piece broke off and took a chunk out of my gum. OUCH. My progress this past week has been dismal. It has been either strong head winds or no wind at all. I was surprised several days ago to find an island on the horizon. Talk about a shock. I knew Trindade Island was out there somewhere, but for the past three days I had been trying to steer clear of it. Wind conditions changed, however, and took me into its immediate area. I thought I would be far enough away not to spot it, but obviously not. The quirky part is that out of all the sea area in the Atlantic and the effort to steer clear, I came across this rock which is only 5km long. Ha. A few days ago while becalmed I came across a floating bottle - the perfect type to hold a letter. It took me 30 minutes to turn the boat around by pumping the rudder and coaxing the sails to fill until I made two passes of it.

Unfortunately I could not manoeuvre the boat to get it. Oh well. A few people have been wondering why I am so close to Brazil and why I didn't head straight for South Africa. There is a high-pressure system in the South Atlantic and if I headed where I needed to go I would be left in the centre of the high with no wind.

I have been forced to head around the side of it into the south-east winds. The plan is that when I get to the mid-30s latitude, the wind changes and slowly becomes the more westerly flow of the Southern Ocean.

On days when it is wet outside and the boat is bucking around, making it hard to type, I spend most of my time in my bunk reading or snoozing. As it gets dark I can pick up the BBC on the radio, so I stay up late listening. In fact, I am addicted to the World Service and wouldn't be surprised if I get square ears. This is the least of my worries, though . . . I'm terrified at the possibility I might be badly influenced and return in disgrace . . . with a pommy accent.

13.07.99

THE wind is turning westerly and I'm moving at a respectable speed towards South Africa. My weather adviser, Roger, tells me I should drop to about 36 degrees south, so I'll slowly angle my way down but keep heading mainly east. Without being too exact, if I average 100 nautical miles a day I'll be home at the end of September. If I average 120nm, as I hope to, then I'll be back towards the beginning of September.

I was asked by Bryan Stamp at Camberwell Grammar about the electrical requirements for everything on board. I have a 12-volt electric system. A digital read-out tells me the charge within the batteries. When they are full it reads 00Ah (amp hour). I can let it drop back to -240Ah before I have to stop using everything. This would take about three days if I were generating no power at all and using a liberal amount of energy. The instruments drain electricity and their consumption is rated in amp hours, which means how many amps they draw in an hour. If, for example, the batteries are full, then I will run whatever I need for the day. In 24 hours time I can expect the batteries to be around -60Ah to -80Ah. But don't forget I am generating power nearly all the time. Another digital read-out tells me how many amps I am receiving from either the solar panels or the wind generator. Two of my three solar panels no longer work because of the knockdowns, but the wind generator is enough when there is a steady wind blowing. Bridgett and Ashley at Leopold PS, near Geelong, ask what Lionheart is made of. The outside fittings are made of stainless steel, which doesn't rust easily, and the interior is made of teak, timber which comes from Indonesia. The trees are cut down, then lie in the swamps for 40 years to mature before they are milled.

It is a very good timber for boats because its natural oils aren't affected by salt water. Lionheart's hull was constructed about 20 years ago in Perth from fibreglass out of a mould. These are actually thin fibres of glass arranged into mats which are set together with a hard resin into the shape of the design.

20.07.99

SEVERAL days after last week's gale, it was again blowing 30 knots but the seas weren't too bad. As night fell it started dropping back to 20 knots and I was pleased at the situation, but soon after getting into my bunk the boat was knocked down (rolled 90 degrees onto its side). A few heavy cases went flying and water spurted over the chart and galley. However, it wasn't until I was replacing the washboards protecting the companionway after I had stepped outside that a second wave broke into Lionheart, sending water pouring down below and totally drenching me. I wasn't wearing full wet-weather gear either so I was soaked to the bone and am still puzzled because the sea conditions weren't that bad. All the rope clutches on the starboard side came undone from the water pressure, presumably as we surfed on our side and the plywood wind vane snapped right off. I came to the conclusion that it must have been a couple of rogue waves. Damn those rogue waves. The next day the cabin looked like it belonged to a washerwoman, and it did because I had clothes hanging up all over the place with the stove turned up full. I have been moving quite well over the past week, averaging about 110 miles a day. My Global Positioning System and wind instruments stopped working but I think it is a problem at the switchboard which I will try and repair when things calm down. I have resorted to using my spare hand-held GPS and worked out that some time today I should hit the point where I have 6572 nautical miles to go. In other words, I will have completed three quarters of my journey. The good news is that it should only take one fifth of the total time to complete now that I've got the westerly airflow behind me. If I average 110 nautical miles per day then I should be back on October 6, exactly the same age as David Dicks when he returned home - 18 years and 41 days.

God willing, I'll also have done the trip unassisted. Even though, with 10 miles more or less per day, it could be a week before or after this date. But I'm out on the ocean where you could say that time doesn't exist. All I can do is take advantage of every breath of wind and tackle each day as it comes. The past few days have been excessively cold but should go back to normal soon. All of last night it rained with baby hailstones and, combined with the wind-chill factor, only allows about five minutes outside in bare hands and even then they need to be thawed out over the methylated spirit flame. I am grateful though for my small luxuries. A warm and dry (if not salty) bunk, enough food and water and my old friend, the BBC, to keep me company. Goodnight.

03.08.99

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