JesseMartin.Net
13th July 1999
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.