MONDAY MARCH 14, 2016: PHOTOS NOW ADDED - BETTER LATE THAN NEVER!
Now, without further ado, I am handing over to our 2nd guest blogger, Warren (aka Deckhand no. 1), for his thoughts post-voyage. It's a tad longer than the average post but then he has alot to say ... and the photos will follow in due course. Internetting is not so easy here in the laid-back atmosphere of the Caribbean!
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Having been an avid contributor to this blog via the
comments section only over the past few years, I was deeply honoured when Mum
handed over the reins to my sole charge for my deckhand’s take on the longest,
shortest time aboard the good ship FollyFin as she made her maiden voyage across
the Great Atlantic. As landfall is within touching distance, just a touch over
one hundred miles away, I reflect on a journey that could be compared to
travelling at a shade more than a speed-walking pace from the East to the West
coast of America, for 24 hours a day over 3 weeks, without stopping, even once;
all while confined to an area the size of a London flat with 4 other people. A
time at sea of such length that it has spanned my son’s birthday (Happy
Birthday Noah), my little girl’s first successful standing attempt (well done
Bella), the birth of my first niece (congratulations Laurel, Will & Flora),
and the untimely passing of David Bowie.
Day blended seamlessly into night, and back into day again
as we maintained our round-the-clock vigil at 3-4 hourly intervals, but each
sunrise together with the day that followed would have a distinct character
that was different from any other. Often convivial, sometimes testy, and
frequently rowdy, the joining crew quickly learned the many unique systems of a
boat where every bowl has its place, and every shackle its key; and our
communication improved in proportion to volume. While I’m totally in agreement
in principle with a ‘dry boat’ given the potentially hazardous nature of the
crossing, I think the general atmosphere of jollity owed much to the regular slackening
of the rule.
Sometime becalmed and unable to sail in our first week,
plans were hatched for an unexpected detour and restocking stop in Cape Verde.
The cabin took on a nightmarish quality at night with comatose bodies
recuperating from their previous watch, the motor beating out its reverberating
rhythm, the boat lurching drunkenly on the swell, the various glowing
night-sight-preserving red head torches of the Night’s Watch and the slightest
hint of nausea accompanying my first period at sea for longer than 8 hours.
Moving in a more Westerly direction during our second week,
picking up the Easterly trade winds boosted everyone’s will to persevere, which
was lucky really because when at least 1000 miles from the nearest land in
every direction there is little else that can be done. Much to everyone’s
delight, we also started catching some delicious fish; and never has seafood
been so fresh. When the fish were not biting, we were amply and fully served
with an amazing provisioning of adventurous meals from the galley, meticulously
planned by the First Mate and deftly executed by all (but mostly by the First
Mate, well done Mum!). While the majority of our fresh fruit and vegetables
were almost completely finished midway through week 2, we discovered the
awesome power of the humble cabbage to resist decomposition, enjoying fresh and
nourishing cabbage salads daily, right up to docking in Martinique. Jim the
Cabin Boy also came of age in week 2, earning his stripes as our Master Baker
by putting his recent baking course to good use and producing a constant supply
of freshly baked split tins for all the crew. Thank you Jim for an additional
beacon of freshness in our diets when only the cabbage remained.
Week 3 saw further relaxation of the dry boat rule with
further daily celebration at every decrease of 100 miles and a repeat of the always-popular-chickpea-and-locally-sourced
fish curry night. Further fish were caught, including an even larger second
Dorado following on from the Second Mate’s heroic account of landing the first.
A positively festive atmosphere prevails as we count down the miles to our
first real shower, iced beer and mixed salad in 3 weeks. Of particular
fascination was our daily position report relative to the rest of the fleet,
the First Mate insisting that it was NOT a race at the outset, but becoming
increasingly animated as a top 10 or even top 5 finish became a reality. How we
dreamed of the champagne popping, the ticker tape streaming and the flash bulbs
popping as we crossed the line just a scant few places off the podium, from a
field of 17. With landfall imminent, and our nearest rival for the title of 8th
a few 10’s of miles behind, we hove to for the first time and jumped in for our
one and only deep sea dip. Jumping in to the drink with nothing else for miles
and miles around, blue sky above and 4 miles of all manner of beasts lurking
below gives a totally new perspective to the event. The golden rule is always
to check under the boat before diving in. This final week also saw our well-drilled
team able to both put in and shake out a reefed sail in under an hour, a skill
which contributed strongly to our final finishing position.
Throughout our voyage, our days were punctuated by huge pods
of dolphins stampeding across the waves to gambol playfully at our bow, and by hourly
displays put on by herds of flying fish leaping clear of the water, and
sometimes the boat, occasionally slapping into members of the crew with a slimy,
fishy, fleshy thud. Our first nights were spent mostly in total darkness, which
at a steady 7 knots feels like hurtling into impending doom at all times and
very exhilarating. As the moon waxed full, and with the sky mostly clear, we
were persistently bathed in an eerie twilight that gave me the distinct
impression that we were travelling downhill. At all points, the boiling water
around our wake glowed with the natural bioluminescence of the millions of tiny
sea creatures that produce such marvels, sometimes with such ferocity that the
very sea seemed bathed in unholy fire…I also managed to read five Wilbur Smith novels,
complete with resplendent hyperbole.
I also now know the true meaning of messing about on boats.
Not a day goes by without our Skipper donning his kneepads to get down and
dirty with the physics of it all to effect maintenance or repair. Without his
timely interventions, most of the cupboards and doors would be jammed shut, and
we would still be in the middle of the ocean and probably without power. Thank
you dad!
Ivor, you did try to warn me first hand about the very close
quarters, the ‘hot-bedding’ concept and the extreme difficulty of every task
when inside a constantly swaying cabin with no obvious steady point of
reference but, being my younger brother, I naturally ignored you. Thank you for
your humour and timely jibes at all the right moments.
To sum it all up, it has been an epic journey, the voyage of
a lifetime, and one that is, for me at least, unlikely to ever be repeated. I
am so thankful to have been able to follow through on my promise many years ago
to accompany my parents on the #Ruby Cruise; it is a testament to, and
by the grace of my wonderful Lara’s forbearance that I am here on the high seas
while she and our 2 under 2’s are at home in Jersey City. Lara, I look forward
to repaying your grace and favour throughout the coming decades.
I think Jim summed it up best with one of his earlier and
more lucid toasts to “Mick & Fiona’s dream”. So, thank you Mum & Dad
for having a dream, for following through on it, and for bringing us along for
the ride.
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