The Westerly wind continued during the night, during which we flew along at 5/6 and sometimes 7 knots. It looks as if, at long last we are out of the variables and 'running the Easting down" in the approved style. I suppose we can't have everything and our Westerlies are accompanied by a heavy Southerly swell which makes "Penelope" roll mercilessly. Nothing in the cabin nor to deck will stay "put" unless lashed down. In the galley all is chaos; the lentil soup pours over, half over the stove and half into the fruit salad, whilst the mixture of fruit salad and lentil soup, in it's turn, pours over the table and on to the deck or down into the cupboard where we keep canned goods for immediate use.
Cups, plates, pans and jars jump clear of their brackets and shoot across the galley, whilst the "Primus" stove fails to vaporize the kerosene and big white flames shoot out from under the pans, adding gusts of black smoke and acrid fumes to the medley and the mess.
How the skipper managed to produce our lunch today I wouldn't know. His curses - enough to make a parson blush - were heard all over the ship, even above the sound of the wind in the rigging. Nevertheless we partook of: -
Cold fresh tunny and caper sauce
Hot (canned) steak and kidney pie and potatoes in their jackets
Canned marron glace paste
in the cockpit (our dining room).
We have suspended trolling as the fish have taken all the spinners!
Logged 3,000 miles from Rio.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Chapter 2 - Z: Monday 27th, February - Logged 36 miles
We have now reached the point ⊗ on the square of the U.S. NAVY S. Atlantic pilot chart which serves as our wind and current guide.
An excellent document (No.2600 Dec. Jan. Feb., price 30 cents). The arrows around the centre ring show percentages of prevailing winds; the feathers the average force to be expected and the small figures in the circles, the number of days in every hundred when calms may be expected. The red figure is the average number of gales to be expected in every 100 days. Today we got a real Westerly wind for the first time, after a rain squall, which may mean that we are at last "on the run" for the cape.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Chapter 2 - Y: Sunday 26th, February - Logged 65 miles
Launched bottle No.5 in :- Lat. 35° 55'S
Long. 00° 00'
with dark green stopper and a cork, in addition.
The Chronometer has been very erratic lately and we are very grateful to get the time signals over the ship's Stomberg Carlson radio receiver, from Washington D.C. observatory, which always come through very clearly at night, more so than the English signals. In addition to this radio we have a radio direction finder - useful in the British seas and narrow waters in thick weather and, finally, a portable radio, stowed in a yellow waterproof jacket, next to the RFD dinghy (see Feb 20) to be placed in the dinghy in the event of our having to abandon ship. This is a remarkable little generator-radio, which generates its own power by having a handle turned. A shipwrecked mariner, therefore, as long as he has any strength left, can turn the handle with one hand and press the S.O.S. button, which transmits automatically the S.O.S. signal, continuously. There are in all 3 buttons, as follows:-
a) - S.O.S. transmitter button
b) - Morse radio transmission (to indicate position of survivors)
c) - Morse lamp transmission
There is a telescopic steel aerial, to cover about 15 miles and a flying Aerial, sent aloft either on a kite or a hydrogen-gas balloon (both supplied with the apparatus) which covers a radius of several hundred miles.
The radio is packed in a small attache case, on which there are printed full instructions including the Morse code.
Today we sounded the fresh water tank again, which showed 50 litres only. Lucky the skipper has three carboys of Bahia water and some flagons from Rio in reserve. The water situation is now extremely serious and will become critical if we don't get sufficient rain soon to try out the P.D.C.D. on the mainsail. An hour's good rain (with no spray!) would be sufficient, we think to fill the tank.
Slatting around all day practically no wind.
No trolling.
Long. 00° 00'
with dark green stopper and a cork, in addition.
The Chronometer has been very erratic lately and we are very grateful to get the time signals over the ship's Stomberg Carlson radio receiver, from Washington D.C. observatory, which always come through very clearly at night, more so than the English signals. In addition to this radio we have a radio direction finder - useful in the British seas and narrow waters in thick weather and, finally, a portable radio, stowed in a yellow waterproof jacket, next to the RFD dinghy (see Feb 20) to be placed in the dinghy in the event of our having to abandon ship. This is a remarkable little generator-radio, which generates its own power by having a handle turned. A shipwrecked mariner, therefore, as long as he has any strength left, can turn the handle with one hand and press the S.O.S. button, which transmits automatically the S.O.S. signal, continuously. There are in all 3 buttons, as follows:-
a) - S.O.S. transmitter button
b) - Morse radio transmission (to indicate position of survivors)
c) - Morse lamp transmission
There is a telescopic steel aerial, to cover about 15 miles and a flying Aerial, sent aloft either on a kite or a hydrogen-gas balloon (both supplied with the apparatus) which covers a radius of several hundred miles.
The radio is packed in a small attache case, on which there are printed full instructions including the Morse code.
Today we sounded the fresh water tank again, which showed 50 litres only. Lucky the skipper has three carboys of Bahia water and some flagons from Rio in reserve. The water situation is now extremely serious and will become critical if we don't get sufficient rain soon to try out the P.D.C.D. on the mainsail. An hour's good rain (with no spray!) would be sufficient, we think to fill the tank.
Slatting around all day practically no wind.
No trolling.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Chapter 2 - X: Saturday 25th, February - Logged 115 miles
"Wham" went the trip-line on the troll in Lat. 35°17'S, Long 02°00'W at 9.00h, on Olivers watch, indicating that: -
a) a bunch of seaweed (we have seen a lot floating around recently)
or b) a big fish
had attached itself to the spinner.
Juan started hauling the 5mm nylon line - some job too - whilst I called the skipper, who was taking a cat nap. Soon a huge white Tunny came into view. Too heavy to haul on board directly the skipper harpooned the fish, exceedingly skilfully I thought, and we hauled him on board in the net.
a) a bunch of seaweed (we have seen a lot floating around recently)
or b) a big fish
had attached itself to the spinner.
Juan started hauling the 5mm nylon line - some job too - whilst I called the skipper, who was taking a cat nap. Soon a huge white Tunny came into view. Too heavy to haul on board directly the skipper harpooned the fish, exceedingly skilfully I thought, and we hauled him on board in the net.
A beauty, estimated at 60 lbs, and big enough to keep us going on fresh fish until the end of the voyage D.V.
After preliminary photographing and filming - some filming of the skipper cuddling the fish, and cutting it up, was done by me - the real work of carving, sorting and preparing parts for preserving commenced.
The filming on this voyage is being done for the French (Govt. Controlled) television, with whom the skipper has a £1.000 contract. As there is close cooperation between the French television and the B.B.C. it is possible that some of our escapades will be shown in England in due course.
The bulk of the meat of the tunny is being cooked and kept soaking in olive oil. Today's menu for lunch:-
Gin and orange
Fresh boiled Tunny; potatoes and sauce
Argentine peaches (canned)
Orangeade (from bottled O.J)
Coffee
How good fresh fish tastes, after 28 days at sea!
We are now down in the 36º parallel and have experienced already some light westerly winds.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Chapter 2 - W: Friday 24th, February - Logged 88 miles
The weather improved during the night and dawn broke with a nearly cloudless sky, the wind having fallen considerably. The aftermath of the swell remains but it is now once more possible to take a step across the deck without grabbing some part of the rigging previously or being thrown on one's neck.
In the afternoon the wind died completely and we ran for 12 hours almost due South, on power in search of "the Westerlies".
Sighted, about 2 miles ahead, a large school of Tunny Fish jumping out of the water, apparently feeding on lesser fish and obviously having a great time.
The skipper went forward with the harpoon but the Tunny were evidently moving southwards at a greater speed than "Penelope" and we failed to catch up with them.
Observed considerable quantities of kelp.
Trolling for fish. No Catch.
In the afternoon the wind died completely and we ran for 12 hours almost due South, on power in search of "the Westerlies".
Sighted, about 2 miles ahead, a large school of Tunny Fish jumping out of the water, apparently feeding on lesser fish and obviously having a great time.
The skipper went forward with the harpoon but the Tunny were evidently moving southwards at a greater speed than "Penelope" and we failed to catch up with them.
Observed considerable quantities of kelp.
Trolling for fish. No Catch.
Chapter 2 - V: Thursday 23nd, February - Logged 129 miles
Discovered a large (1,50m long) piece of Tristan seaweed on "Penelope's" fore deck at day-break. Caught in the halyards, having been thrown up by the sea.
Last night was bedlam let loose. We reefed the mainsail at 01,00h and ran on our course, at a good speed, averaging 6 knots through the night.
In addition to the fresh breeze we ran into a succession of squalls of gale force and some downpours of rain. "Penelope", as a boat, behaved splendidly, but what a motion!
In the past I have sympathized with, from the broad deck of a steamer, the dogger-bank fishermen working in their drifters in the shallow, steep, north sea, and wondered how they could possibly work, or even think, in all that tossing. Last night we had some of it ourselves. Normally running with lee gunwales awash "Penelope" rode majestically over each successive swell, only to roll steeply over to the other side on the downward plunge into the trough. From crest to trough was about the height of our masts. Losing part of the wind, in the trough, she would right herself with a vicious jerk and then roll again to leeward as she picked up the wind again. Then, approaching the crest again she would give a corkscrew motion apparently in defiance of the treatment, and resume her downward plunge. In addition to this, at the end of each sudden gust she would go into a quick see-saw motion, one moment with the bowsprit buried in the sea and the next with it rearing drunkenly up in the air. It was terrific. No stomach could resist such motion.
My watches were 19.00-22.00h and 04.00-07.00h but I was called out in addition at 01.00h to take the wheel whilst the skipper and Juan reefed the mainsail.
Around midnight I was lying in the cabin, fully clothed and sea-booted waiting for the emergency and listening to the deafening cacophony of the wind howling and the rigging, the straining of halyards, topping lifts, sheets, guys and lashings, the pounding of the sea on "Penelope's" foredeck and the constant wash of water over the port holes when, half dreaming I thought I heard the staysail being lowered.
The skipper was on watch at the time and I thought to myself "That crazy man has left the wheel to lower the staysail by himself, in order not to disturb (!) the crew" - he is most considerate always in that respect. Shortly afterwards "Penelope" started her see-saw motion and quietened down a trifle. I had the impression that we had hove-to. Everything was suddenly so quiet, relatively, that I had the feeling he had gone overboard - a very easy thing to do on a night like this. I leaped up the deck ladder and happily was most relieved and reassured to see his familiar outline in the faint glare of the binnacle lamp, crouched over the wheel in a cloud of flying spindrift. I gave him a cheery hail and went below again.
The sun rose like a big red ball, during my morning watch, and plunged immediately into a dense black cloud bringing a further heavy rain squall to wash off the salt caked on my oilskins!
Oliver relieved me at 07.00h, pausing to vomit over the side before grabbing the wheel manfully, with a wan smile. He looked rather pathetic with his little red beard and sou'wester rammed down his ears. Bully for 01.
Yesterday the skipper spontaneously voiced my sentiments, as he said to me "I am profoundly grateful to Oliver for having, in spite of his continued sea-sickness, maintained his day watches all through this voyage, thus relieving us to get some sleep during the day and maintain the routine running of the ship. I don't know how we could have managed, without his help".
All day long we ploughed through the heavy seas, fighting our way eastwards in a running battle against the equinox.
130 miles made good from noon to noon.
Trolling for fish. No catch.
Last night was bedlam let loose. We reefed the mainsail at 01,00h and ran on our course, at a good speed, averaging 6 knots through the night.
In addition to the fresh breeze we ran into a succession of squalls of gale force and some downpours of rain. "Penelope", as a boat, behaved splendidly, but what a motion!
In the past I have sympathized with, from the broad deck of a steamer, the dogger-bank fishermen working in their drifters in the shallow, steep, north sea, and wondered how they could possibly work, or even think, in all that tossing. Last night we had some of it ourselves. Normally running with lee gunwales awash "Penelope" rode majestically over each successive swell, only to roll steeply over to the other side on the downward plunge into the trough. From crest to trough was about the height of our masts. Losing part of the wind, in the trough, she would right herself with a vicious jerk and then roll again to leeward as she picked up the wind again. Then, approaching the crest again she would give a corkscrew motion apparently in defiance of the treatment, and resume her downward plunge. In addition to this, at the end of each sudden gust she would go into a quick see-saw motion, one moment with the bowsprit buried in the sea and the next with it rearing drunkenly up in the air. It was terrific. No stomach could resist such motion.
My watches were 19.00-22.00h and 04.00-07.00h but I was called out in addition at 01.00h to take the wheel whilst the skipper and Juan reefed the mainsail.
Around midnight I was lying in the cabin, fully clothed and sea-booted waiting for the emergency and listening to the deafening cacophony of the wind howling and the rigging, the straining of halyards, topping lifts, sheets, guys and lashings, the pounding of the sea on "Penelope's" foredeck and the constant wash of water over the port holes when, half dreaming I thought I heard the staysail being lowered.
The skipper was on watch at the time and I thought to myself "That crazy man has left the wheel to lower the staysail by himself, in order not to disturb (!) the crew" - he is most considerate always in that respect. Shortly afterwards "Penelope" started her see-saw motion and quietened down a trifle. I had the impression that we had hove-to. Everything was suddenly so quiet, relatively, that I had the feeling he had gone overboard - a very easy thing to do on a night like this. I leaped up the deck ladder and happily was most relieved and reassured to see his familiar outline in the faint glare of the binnacle lamp, crouched over the wheel in a cloud of flying spindrift. I gave him a cheery hail and went below again.
The sun rose like a big red ball, during my morning watch, and plunged immediately into a dense black cloud bringing a further heavy rain squall to wash off the salt caked on my oilskins!
Oliver relieved me at 07.00h, pausing to vomit over the side before grabbing the wheel manfully, with a wan smile. He looked rather pathetic with his little red beard and sou'wester rammed down his ears. Bully for 01.
Yesterday the skipper spontaneously voiced my sentiments, as he said to me "I am profoundly grateful to Oliver for having, in spite of his continued sea-sickness, maintained his day watches all through this voyage, thus relieving us to get some sleep during the day and maintain the routine running of the ship. I don't know how we could have managed, without his help".
All day long we ploughed through the heavy seas, fighting our way eastwards in a running battle against the equinox.
130 miles made good from noon to noon.
Trolling for fish. No catch.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Chapter 2 - U: Wednesday 22nd, February - Logged 82 miles
The skipper is worried about the increase of water accumulating in the bilges, seeping as it does, through the bob-stay bolt in the stem, which was examined carefully today from both in-board and out-board:-
This bolt was made - by some criminal, before "Penelope" was acquired by the skipper- of iron and not, as it should have been, or non ferrous metal, The jib pulls off the jib boom, subjecting the bolt-stay and bolt to considerable strain. It is possible that this bolt may soon carry away. We hope not. It is very rusted up.
After noon today the weather became more threatening and the heavy SWly swell lengthened as the wind freshened. Blowing hard we struck the mizzen sail at 22.00h
Trolling for fish. No catch.
This bolt was made - by some criminal, before "Penelope" was acquired by the skipper- of iron and not, as it should have been, or non ferrous metal, The jib pulls off the jib boom, subjecting the bolt-stay and bolt to considerable strain. It is possible that this bolt may soon carry away. We hope not. It is very rusted up.
After noon today the weather became more threatening and the heavy SWly swell lengthened as the wind freshened. Blowing hard we struck the mizzen sail at 22.00h
Trolling for fish. No catch.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Chapter 2 - T: Tuesday 21st, February - Logged 126 miles
Launched bottle No.4 in: - Lat. 34° 10'S
Long. 7° 50'W
with a pale green stopper.
During the afternoon the wind veered two points, enabling us to steer a slightly more Southerly course, much to everyone's satisfaction.
Paraffin (kerosene) has now become a very important item, as stocks are visibly dwindling and without it we cannot work the primus stove, hence no hot food, which would be disastrous. The skipper considers the food question almost if not quite as important as the navigation.
A crew must be well fed, not only to maintain their physique but their morale, apt to slip on a long voyage uninterrupted by ports of call.
So far there have been no signs of this, though we are beginning to tire of tinned food. Fresh, we still have left:-
Potatoes - +\- 2 weeks
Onions - +\- 1 weeks
Pumpkins - 2
Sweet Potatoes - 5
All the fresh fruit has gone, but it lasted well so we cannot grumble.
I hope the Jap radioed Lloyd's yesterday, as then the folk in Rio will know we are still in the land of the living. It seems strange to be in Limbo for a month.
Have told the skipper that he must not grumble about his crew, signed on at 48 hours notice, as their efficiency cannot be compared with that of his previous crew, which took 3 months to engage and had 9 months' practical experience when they deserted Rio. He seems very happy all-in-all in spite of the fact we are a bit slow in changing sails, and are very undisciplined. He is trying to sign me on for a round the world cruise, in 1959.
Sounded the fresh water tank again, which showed that supplies are getting uncomfortably low. With the idea of controlling our fresh water, reserved strictly for cooking and drinking we have been all along rationed to one mug-full per day each, for toothcleaning. Apparently Juan misunderstood these instructions and has been too liberal at the pump. This, coupled to the lack of rain, has caused the present serious shortage.
Trolling for fish. No catch.
Long. 7° 50'W
with a pale green stopper.
During the afternoon the wind veered two points, enabling us to steer a slightly more Southerly course, much to everyone's satisfaction.
Paraffin (kerosene) has now become a very important item, as stocks are visibly dwindling and without it we cannot work the primus stove, hence no hot food, which would be disastrous. The skipper considers the food question almost if not quite as important as the navigation.
A crew must be well fed, not only to maintain their physique but their morale, apt to slip on a long voyage uninterrupted by ports of call.
So far there have been no signs of this, though we are beginning to tire of tinned food. Fresh, we still have left:-
Potatoes - +\- 2 weeks
Onions - +\- 1 weeks
Pumpkins - 2
Sweet Potatoes - 5
All the fresh fruit has gone, but it lasted well so we cannot grumble.
I hope the Jap radioed Lloyd's yesterday, as then the folk in Rio will know we are still in the land of the living. It seems strange to be in Limbo for a month.
Have told the skipper that he must not grumble about his crew, signed on at 48 hours notice, as their efficiency cannot be compared with that of his previous crew, which took 3 months to engage and had 9 months' practical experience when they deserted Rio. He seems very happy all-in-all in spite of the fact we are a bit slow in changing sails, and are very undisciplined. He is trying to sign me on for a round the world cruise, in 1959.
Sounded the fresh water tank again, which showed that supplies are getting uncomfortably low. With the idea of controlling our fresh water, reserved strictly for cooking and drinking we have been all along rationed to one mug-full per day each, for toothcleaning. Apparently Juan misunderstood these instructions and has been too liberal at the pump. This, coupled to the lack of rain, has caused the present serious shortage.
Trolling for fish. No catch.
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