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Another sunset on the ocean´s calm waters.
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One of our friends wrote in our log book before we left our home port of Niagara-on-the-Lake three years ago: “Always remember, the difference between an ordeal and an adventure is your frame of mind ”. Hmmm... We had the adventure of our lives getting this far, but not without the ordeals …
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We pulled anchor from the sandy bottom of Simpson Bay in St. Maarten on May 19 after spending a frantic month readying Chinook physically and provisioning her for the long journey. No salt pork and hard tack was stowed, but as much fresh fruit and vegetables as could be put in the fridge, many and varied cans of fish and meats, and 120 1.5 litre bottles of water. Water, propane and diesel tanks were filled with extra jerry jugs lashed on deck. A new galley stove had been recently installed, the sails checked and repaired, rigging thoroughly gone over, the autopilot repaired, oil and filter changes made, and a thousand and one other jobs completed, all cumulatively taking time (and money). We were looking forward to relaxing at sea and not being able to spend any more dollars or euros.

Our intentions were to head almost due north to Bermuda (865 nm), spend a week or two there and then east to the Azores – about 1850 nm. Three months were planned in those stunning Portugese mid-Atlantic islands before the last 800 nm leg to Portugal and the Mediterranean. We had intended to do this trip three years ago when we were real wet-behind-the-ears sailors, and are so thankful now we delayed the crossing to take the time to get to know Chinook and our own sailing capabilities. Those three, warm, fun years in the Caribbean were not too difficult to wait anyway!
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There is always the temptation to make the Atlantic crossing early in the season. The weather is always super in the Caribbean and that, in ones mind, masks the late spring low pressure cells and accompanying fronts and high winds further north. We did not want to begin until the summer weather patterns had set in; that is the huge stationary “Azores High” in the centre of the Atlantic and the tamer lows north of 40 degrees. Several boats had left what we considered “early” and we watched with a certain amount of smugness on the internet weather sites the beatings they were taking.. Having deadlines to adhere to is not a good thing, any cruiser will tell you. To wait is the traditional wisdom - the weather for your passage will eventually turn in your favour, then leave.
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Navigation these days is far from difficult with the advent of GPS (global positioning system), in fact the one we used and our most user-friendly GPS, was an older one we had found at a garage sale for $10! (Yes, we also had backups). Atlantic pilot charts, great circle charts, charts of the islands were purchased and pored over, shipping routes noted, and our intended courses plotted with the waypoints entered into the GPS. Radio frequencies for weather information, emergencies, safety and security “nets” were entered into our daily log book for easy reference.
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The decision to “go it by ourselves” rather than take crew was heavily weighted on logistics. Chinook is a smaller boat by today’s ocean cruising standards, and we saw our lack of physical space as a problem for more than two persons for an extended period of time – the extra food and water, sleeping accomodations would mean that extra “closeness”. One of our sons would have been very welcome, however all four were busy with school and jobs. We heard stories of crews quitting after a short time and were willing to chance it by ourselves. However, there were a dozen or more sailboats leaving within a week of us from the same harbour including our good friends Bill and Pat on Callipygia and we all had met together several times and swapped plans and put together a radio net for the journey.
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So it was with a great deal of excitement and a greater deal of apprehension we set out. The first six days gave us some excellent winds: a steady 15 knots on the beam, and it looked as if we would have little trouble in reaching Bermuda in a week. Then an unpredicted (by the weather forecasting gurus) low pressure cell moved quickly off the Bahamas and directly over us bringing 30 – 35 knot winds and high seas. We hove to triple-reefed with a scrap of jib, and more comfortably waited the storm out, but lost a day and a half in time. After the front had passed, the wind direction switched to a strong westerly and it was to be a hard beat for the remaining 160 miles to Bermuda.
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Reading: a serious pastime – Brian reads book number 50
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Brian gets seasick, a “condition” he was bound to face on this trip. For the first three days he was very queasy . Heave Ho! was the cry, and he was kept alive by crackers and water . After the fifth day, he became hungry and less lethargic, but he was never 100 percent during the whole trip. Never was the rough-tough sailor, but the leg to Bermuda was to be the make or break test. Debby, of course was a real trooper through all of it, cheerfully spending time below preparing meals, and only becoming a little queasy once,
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However, the headwinds did not abate. It was a difficult decision to bypass Bermuda and turn east - discussed at length Bermuda was a planned stop for a break we might need, replenish our provisions and we wanted to met up with friends who were there already. Callipygia had had a terrible passage from St.Maarten and that was a final straw in their decision to quit cruising and become land lubbers again – we had to say goodbye to them Hanoah was there – we had not seen them for two years; Peregrine was also there, and besides, how can one miss beautiful Bermuda when it is so close? But the hard slog to reach Bermuda after the storm, the thought of going through another bout of mal de mer, and knowing we would meet up with our friends eventually, it was a turn eastbound to face the next 1850 nautical miles.
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The wind was now directly behind us at 15 to 20 knots and the forecast was excellent for the next 4 days. However our wind vane steering, affectionately named “Pete” (after the designer/manufacturer), did not like that. Pete had reliably steered us for five days and nights toward Bermuda (a reach), but could not perform with a following wind. “Otto” out autopilot was pressed into service. He did well except when the seas were heavy. The third option was hand steering. Only the romantics have visions of crusty mariners steering their vessels for 24 hours through calms and storms. Realists have mechanical and electronic systems – and learn to balance sails so the boat can almost steer itself (the key to using self steering). Otto coped well but tended to get very hot when working hard, then we had to turn him off, let him cool down and hand steer. Otto takes power, and using the navigation lights all night (and radar even for short periods), as well as the fridge, meant the ship’s battery bank may have to be recharged by running the engine in the morning. More often, however, the wind generator and solar panels kept up with power requirements.
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We had settled into routines fairly early in the trip. Watches were shared during the day when we would both be on deck reading, eating meals and doing boat checks. Night watches were three hours alternatively on/off. There were two “nets” we were part of, so talking to other boats making the crossing on certain frequencies on the shortwave (ham) radio became part of the routine. As did gathering weather information via weather fax and listening to “Southbound II” based in Burlington, Ontario, in the personage of Herb Hilgenberg who routes boats in the Atlantic according to the day-by-day changes in the weather systems. Hours passed surprisingly quickly, During night watches alone on deck we listened to music on a Sony walkman CD player and to the shortwave BBC, CBC, Australia and NZ radio stations while keeping a regular lookout for the lights of ships and other sailboats. A little calisthetic-type exercise would be thrown in to keep muscles supple. There is no doubt that establishing routines early cut boredom and allowed the time to pass enjoyably and thus fast.
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We were never alone in the wide Atlantic. A total of eleven ships were sighted, and seven other sailboats. VHF radio contact was made with some of them; several of the ships were quite friendly and wanted to chat. One asked us if we were in some kind of race as he had seen five other sailboats that day. We explained that this was the prime month for small craft to make the trek east and that close to one thousand others would do so this season. Our radar pinpointed bearings and distances from us which was comforting although one cargo ship, The Black Orchid passed a disconcerting half kilometer from and shone a bright spotlight on our sails. We had seen her early and watched her approach directly on our bow, but at the speed big ships travel it can be difficult to keep good separation. We thought if Chinook were to sink, there would always be several vessels nearby to pick us up at any given time.
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Flying the gennaker/drifter – while she lasted…
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We ate well. Debby made a batch of yoghurt every three days for breakfasts (served with fresh/canned fruit and granola). Lunches were typically bread/crackers, cheese, pickles, fruit (fresh/dried) and nuts. A hot meal at night was always appreciated – usually a one-pot dish (we became quite creative with the endless cans of salmon, tuna and chicken) - always with a salad or cole slaw. Treats (candies, chocolates) and granola bar snacks were always welcome anytime night or day, as was a hot tea or coffee on night watches.. However, for all the food and lack of real exercise, we both lost a couple of kilograms of weight.
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On the fourteenth day we were becalmed and only made 15 miles. The sails were taken down to stop the constant slapping and chafing, and we rolled around. Although the wind may be absent, the sea swells are always present and make the boat’s motion extremely uncomfortable. We noticed that our mainsail had suffered considerable damage along the luff, so we took it off and replaced it with our old (original) main, first having to transfer all of the track slides A few days later, still in light winds, our gennaker/drifter ripped across the girth in a previously repaired weak panel. We still had a light air genoa, a yankee and two staysails as backups if necessary, but for the remainder of the trip the combinatoin of the old mainsail and jib worked well. We would reef early and accept a lower speed rather than chance any more damage.
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Another low pressure system with its accompanying front caught up with us on the 21st day. High winds, again 25 – 30 knots and heavy seas meant having to hand steer for long periods during the day. We hove to for the dark hours to get some respite and much-needed rest. The en-route changes to our planned route, deviations from our rhum line to avoid the weather disturbances, had us moving 120 to 180 nautical miles south of it, adding more days to the total. We did not motor in the calms, adding yet more days – we actually took five to six days longer than if perfect weather was encountered. C’est la vie.
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Checking the water tanks the next day gave us quite a surprise. They were full – of salty water. While we had heaved to, sea water had siphoned in through the breather tube. It was still usable for rinsing dishes, and we had plenty of bottled water for drinking so it was not a real calamity. Had we relied on tank water for drinking, we would have been in serious trouble (and there was no beer on board!). The older mainsail has only two reefing points giving us quite a heel when we hove to and that must have been the time it occurred. The stuffing box had begun to drip faster by now, not enough for real concern, but enough to keep the bilge pump active – and making sure the bilge was high on the daily check list..
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OCEAN WILDLIFE:
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Disappointingly there was not as much as we had hoped for in the middle of our nowhere. Often, pods of dolphins and porpoises would visit for 10 – 15 minutes, swimming at the bow until they became bored with Chinook who did not play back and swam too slowly anyway. Two sperm whales, much to Debby’s consternation, lazily swam by headed in the opposite direction. Turtles with backs covered in seaweed popped their heads up, and hundreds of Portugese Man O’ War jellyfish floated by. Flying fish had to be picked of the deck in the morning. Two shearwater gulls visited, one staying a few hours in our cockpit, the other spent a day on the foredeck, refusing offered crackers. There were always gulls with us, flying ahead, then resting in the water until we caught up, repeating this until they found we were not giving handouts. Garbage floated by in the form of bottles and cans.
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A few days of light winds followed.. Slow progress again, and our hoped for 100 nautical miles-a-day average was long shot down. The days were cool but often sunny. No swimming overboard in the calms for us (always the thought of sharks) and the few showers on deck were quick cold affairs. Chinook’s teak decks, although pretty are not as quite as watertight as we previously thought. Taking water over the bow, it found its way below. Damp inside, mold began to grow on all surfaces, thriving on the salt water. Poor air circulation was also a factor that contributed to the successful mushroom farm below.
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On June 19 the island of Faial came into view from 25 miles out – this last part of the journey dragged, and we have to admit we rather impatiently motored for eight hours that day (in light winds). Chinook slid into do Porta da Horta at 3 p.m., 30 days to the hour from leaving Sint Maarten. Marina check-in and customs and immigration procedures were quick and easy with the friendly officials.
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Later,meeting the crews from other boats who had traveled at the same time and with whom we had chatted on the shortwave radio in the famous Peter’s Café and Sport (of course quaffing many a Sagres beer) superbly rounded off this leg of the Atlantic crossing.
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THE AZORES: TOO BRIEF A SUMMARY FOR A PARADISE
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The next three months were spent in these beautiful islands, visiting five out of the nine in the group. Faial, where we had made landfall, being the first was interesting and made the greatest impression on us. Blue skies day after day, warm – never hot, green hills and mountains, roadsides lined with blooming hydrangea bushes, “olde worlde” stone cottages, donkeys, orange terracotta roofs, vineyards (and their wines), active volcanic areas, banana plantations, fig trees, tea plantations, tobacco drying houses, ruins of old windmills, contented cows in green pastures enclosed by stone walls, were all vivid and lasting images of our time there. Forts were almost common landscape fixtures, whaling station ruins, the fresh fruits and vegetables of the old markets complemented them. Yet the Azores are quite European and progressive in other respects. Cell phones attached to many ears, modern vehicles, large well-stocked supermarkets and shopping malls sporting the latest European fashions, tall futuristic wind turbine generators and (unfortunately) MacDonalds are seen there too. Everyone smokes. Tourism is slowly beginning to “catch on” in the Azores, and we hope that the friendliness of the locals will not be overtaxed by visitor’s demands. .
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Photo: Chinooks painting on the wall in Horta one of thousands of the tradition
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Brian resumed jogging, and Debby bought a bicycle to do her morning “bikefit”. To be able to move around without holding on for dear life, and sleep in a still boat again was heaven. Being in a marina was a change for us from the last three years of anchoring, but was not expensive in the Azores.
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Faial’s anchorage faced the island if Pico with its awesome 7600 foot (3500metres) high volcanic cone which we climbed one cloudless windless day. We could see five islands from the amazing view at the top.
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Sao Jorge was the third island we visited. Deciding to splurge and take our bikes over on the ferry and hotel it for a night (again because of a small less-protected anchorage) we did just that. The cheese factory was on the way to northern lighthouse, and the 25 kilometers we biked the first day were felt the next. Sao Jorge is a very high and hilly island.
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It was only a 10 hour daysail to the small island of Graciosa, the first to be discovered (1450). It has a protected anchorage in all but easterly winds (no marina). Another very pretty island, and the least mountainous of them all - perfect for bicycles
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The island of Terceira was another day sail from Graciosa, and we spent two weeks there, anchoring for a few days, but then went into in the brand spanking new (inexpensive) marina with the approach of some bad weather. While there we saw a “running of the bulls” festival, a Moody Blues rock concert, visited yet another winery in Biscoitos (a grape growing area), biked a lot, swam in the cool ocean, visited many historic buildings in the proud and historic city of Angra do Heroismo – a world heritage site.
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The last island we stopped at was Sao Miguel, the largest and perhaps the most interesting, although probably irrelevant to make that distinction. A 90 nm overnight sail further east on our Atlantic crossing. Here we soaked in hot thermal pools, camped in a volcanic valley, hiked around stunning lakes, took our bicycles on buses to all points of the island and always picnicked with fresh bread, cheese and fruit.
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We had met cruising couples on several sailboats who became good friends, and we visited places together sharing taxi and rental van costs, or simply hopping a bus. Joe and Michele on Peregrine whom we met in the Bahamas three years previously, Kester and Blanche on Windsong whom we had met in Grenada, the Canadian Richards family on Tioga, John, Kim and 4 year-old Hannah on Nai’a, Greg and Danielle on Mary Madeline.
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THE LAST LEG
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It was on Sao Miguel that we had to "get serious" about the last 800 nm of the Atlantic crossing - from the Azores to Portugal. Meal plans and provisioning, topping up with diesel fuel and water, checking rigging, route planning seemed all much easier this time.
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However, the weather simply would not cooperate. There was day after day after day of no wind. Boats who left before us and with whom we talked on the shortwave radio, told us of the amount of motoring they were doing – most of them 200 nm. We wanted to sail, not motor, so we decided to wait. Finally, on September 15, the weather forecast gave us several days of wind – but after that no promises. For two days the wind was out of the north (our heading to Lisbon was 91 degrees magnetic – almost due east – and with a nice beam reach making an average of 4 knots, it was a great start. We ran the engine to recharge the batteries after they stood their nightly duties of navigation lights, autohelm (“Otto”) steering, radar and refrigerator.
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On the third day the wind dropped to 2 knots gusting to 5. On starting the engine, it died after 30 seconds. Tried that several times, same thing, and after an hour or so of trouble shooting and trying the obvious we found that the exhaust pipe had been blocked with chunks of carbon. Taking it apart to clear it from the inside first was the usual gymnastics trick around the steering cables in the “back 40”, then, having no wind, we were able to lower the dinghy and finish the job from the outside. To celebrate we motored a total of 4 hours that day to make at least a few miles.
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Pods of dolphins would almost daily accompany Chinook, but apart from a few seabirds little else was seen.
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The wind did pick up the next day and we were back in business. Brian caught a fish (a 5 pound jack) which was cleaned and eaten for dinner the next night. Nothing like fresh fish, pan-fried in butter with boiled potatoes! No wind with large swells on day 5, and, as luck would have it, a beautiful 10 pound tuna was on the line at 5 p.m.– for a while. It broke the line as we were hauling it on board.
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For the next few days the wind was 15 – 18 knots, but on the nose, so we could only make large tacks. Chinook does not point well and although the daily mileage was good, progress in a straight line toward Lisbon was not. It was also a very bumpy ride with a reefed main and staysail. Brian’s mal de mer returned. Not even the thought of fishing The wind generator was keeping up easily with power demands now. By the ninth day 214 nm remained, with a dismal daily average of 60 nm.
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Photo: Us two after 30 days approaching the Portugese mainland
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Approaching the shipping lanes off the coast of Portugal we became wary. We had seen ships most days and nights, but were expecting to see dozens near the mainland – especially near Lisbon which is a busy port. And dozens we did see. Radar helped pinpoint their relative bearing and distance from us. Rather than crossing the lanes at night, we hove to, got some sleep, and at 3:00 a.m. began motoring the 35 nm across the defined lanes to time our arrival for mid-morning. Dodging fish trap markers, we reached the anchorage in Cascais, a town outside Lisbon at 10:30 a.m. on 27 September, twelve days after leaving the Azores.
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Celebrating the finish with a bottle of icewine
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Joe and Michele (Peregrine) were waiting for us – we had been in radio contact with them for the duration of the journey - and immediately dinghied over with a bottle of champagne. Rather ready for sleep, we still thankfully shared the bottle with them. That night we had a celebratory potluck dinner party aboard Tioga with Peregrine, Nai’a and Haven. The precious bottle of icewine given to us “for a very special occasion” when we left Niagara three years ago was shared with the partying crews. It was a very special night. Our journey across the Atlantic was complete.

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REFLECTING ON THE JOURNEY
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It was a long trip. A total of 42 days and nights. Chinook is a slower boat, we are very thankful if we make five knots, and would be very happy with 100 nm a day – that is, four knots. We averaged three knots given the weather conditions we had. But the days did “blend” into each other as our routines were settled into. Meal times were looked forward to, we read a lot of novels, and the lonely watches at night were not slow ones with music to listen to.
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Good preparation is absolutely essential. Having enough food and water should be a given, yet one sailboat which left a few days after us had to change plans making an unscheduled stop in Bermuda to replenish fast dwindling water supplies. The potentially serious situation of our water tanks siphoning in sea water mad us thankful that we had purchased bottled water for the journey and we would recommend that to everyone.
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Weather fax forecasts are not essential, but nice to have. Connecting a SSB or ham radio to a laptop and downloading weather faxes enables you to at least be prepared for a frontal system , and the fronts are generally weak in the crossing season, if not change your course to avoid the worst if you are fast enough. Of course there are dedicated weather fax electronics on the market also.
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Our shortwave radio let us listen daily to Herb Hilgenberg the weather forecaster in Canada who is world renown for his weather routing skills. We did not converse with him directly, but there were so many other sailboats near to us that we noted his forecasts to them. He is accurate. But, as in our case, if you do not have a boat fast enough to avoid weather disturbances or pick up favourable ocean currents...
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It is all a blur now. Reading the notes in our log book brings it all back. Would we do it again? Probably, but we have forgotten the discomforts. Then again, people ROW across the Atlantic. What is the big deal...
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Photo: weather fax received June 4, 2004
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