JesseMartin.Net
3rd August 1999
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.