Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Our body's barometers were telling us a different story though. It started getting noticeably
cooler and a strange, even, grey cloud cover began filling the skies around us. The seas
appeared to be oily and sluggish, and the normal daylight started to fade. “I don't like the
look of this weather,” warned Gavin ominously, as he looked about the skies. “Something
is brewing,” he stated, almost theatrically. He was usually quite accurate, as he is very sens-
itive. I felt something odd too, an old fear crept over me, and I couldn't quite put my finger
on it.
All day the barometer dropped, slowly but surely. By afternoon the cloud cover had turned
the skies quite dark; the waves were noticeably bigger, and it was evident that we were in
for a blow. We hadn't had a really bad storm since leaving South Africa. We had had the
usual thirty knot blows that you get when a front passes through (usually an increase in the
prevailing trades, forcing one to reduce sail dramatically, ride it out and carry on). This one
seemed different. It was taking too long to build up.
When we knew we were in for it, I began thinking of what advice experienced sailors had
written about in their books on sailing. I recalled Eric and Susan Hiscock in their wonderful
book, Cruising Under Sail, a veritable bible to any would-be or veteran sailor. In this topic,
Eric talked about preparation as being the key to success in weathering virtually all storms,
apart from having complete faith in one's vessel, without which one should not venture
beyond the shores. The preparation he talked about first and foremost was getting some
hot, nourishing food into the crew. I suggested this to Gavin, and he went below wide-eyed
to make a good meal while I busied myself above deck with other preparations.
Quite coincidentally, I had bought a large sea anchor in Fiji from one of the sailors a few
months back. It had been lying in the lazarette gathering rust, and now I groveled about and
dragged it out. Next, I fished out the spare anchor line that we had used to drag Southern
Star off the mudflats in the bay of Suva. It was a very long three strand polyester coil of
rope, set aside for just this use. I tied the end to the swivel of the large blue plastic sea an-
chor and made sure that the swivel was free and working. I also went below and dragged
out an old working Genoa that we seldom used and a couple of spare coils of jib sheets that
we had in the rope locker next to the sink where Gavin was now cooking up a meal.
“What the hell is that for?” he asked nervously.
“It's for slowing us down; you'll see,” I tried to sound reassuring, even calm, but I knew
I wasn't fooling him. He could see quite plainly that I was very nervous too. Up on deck
again I noticed the wind had freshened somewhat, and the seas were building up. I said
nothing but continued with tying the spare jib sheets in a long line and secured the one end
to the head cringle on the old Genoa sail. I scrambled about in the spacious lazarette locker
again, dragging out a motor car tire that had been there since I had launched Déjà vu sev-
