Atlantic Crossing on Sailing Vessel Relias

On the day we set sail, our new crew Jason and I rowed to the nearby village for one final supply of fresh vegetables, bread, and passage snacks – the essentials. As we neared the beach, a large swell picked up the dingy and for a split second we balanced like a leaf on the crest of a wave. Then it flipped us upside down and crashed over us. I flew out and got nailed into pebbles while the upturned dingy landed on Jason’s head. After quickly checking that he was okay, I ran back into the surf to rescue the oars, which were being sucked out to sea. Then we both hauled the dingy out of the water. Note to self: Waves that looks small and friendly from the ship may be larger than they appear. 


Streaming saltwater, we walked the sailor’s “walk of shame” into the dusty town, past a group of fishermen by the shore, who were grinning from the free entertainment. We shopped quickly, trying to politely pretend that there weren’t little puddles around our feet. After heading back to the dingy, we discovered that one of the oarlocks had been ripped out. We swam the boat out through the breaking surf, then hobbled to the ship with one functional oar. This was not going to be an omen for the trip, we decided, as we stowed supplies, took the mainsail cover off and began to raise anchor. 



The 36-ft sailing boat, Relias, slipped away from the anchorage obediently and without drama. As the shores of West Africa shrunk in the distance, the boat began to rise and fall with the large rolling ocean waves, and we set a course for the Caribbean. 


The first few days of passage were a bit of a blur, as we got into the routine of watches and adjusted to the rolling of the ocean. Jason and I alternated 3 hours-on and 3 hours-off around the clock, while Sammer was up assisting during most watches, reefing or un-reefing the mainsail, depending on the wind’s whims. 


When you are on watch, you’re responsible for the safety of the boat and your sleeping shipmates. It involves monitoring the compass and sails, looking for chafing points on the lines, and doing a scan for other ships every five minutes. With the constant motion, lines can chafe through very quickly over a sharp edge while large freighters can move from a small dot on the horizon to a colliding freight train in the time it takes to brew a cup of coffee. At all times, whoever was on watch was tethered by a safety line to the boat. There are too many stories of shipmates waking up to find the watch-person missing, swept away by a large wave or having lost their balance as they tried to pee over the side. 


My bunk - conveniently located just below the snacks.
The canvas is to keep you from falling out in rough seas


During the night watches, the wooden rudder carved a glowing green path of bioluminescence through the hills of water behind us, the sparkling waves alongside matching the stars above. Night and day, flying fish zipped out of the water and landed on the deck, fluttering their silver wings. These beauties leave the water and can soar for many meters before diving down again. Occasionally we saw a “by the wind sailor,” a tiny jelly-like creature that floats on the surface and has its own little sail that moves it through the water. The direction of its little sail along its body will determine whether or not this little sailor floats on a port or starboard tack. 


One night, just as we were getting into the rhythm of things, a rogue wave hit the boat with the sound and force of a truck. It forced water through the closed hatches, soaking the floor and the cushions below. Sammer and I who were off-watch, rushed up to make sure that Jason was okay outside. He was wet, but safely tethered to the boat. We spent the next hour wiping up water from the walls, bunks and cushions. 


As we sailed farther into the Atlantic, the winds settled down, Sammer joined the regular watch rotation, and we all felt more rested on a 3 hours-on/6 hours-off rotation. In between shifts, we read books, made popcorn, played backgammon, and cooked simple meals for each other. I emphasize “simple” because while we weren’t sea-sick, stomachs remained touchy. 


Our biggest challenge at this point was the low winds. The reliable trade winds, which were supposed to carry us swiftly and directly from east to west, had simply shut off. Other sailors had noted the phenomenon this year, and we had delayed our trip for several days to avoid it. As we moved slowly forward, the mainsail flogged and bashed repeatedly. It was jarring to say the least. The noise was like someone smashing two garbage cans together, and the force of each flog shook the mast and boat. We tried taking down the mainsail, but then the boat rolled so much that sleep was out of the question, and everyone was miserable. So up went the mainsail again to stabilize things, we altered course slightly, and started moving slowly forward.

 

Sammer rigging the pole


For hundreds of miles we passed through fields of yellow sargassum seaweed. We were sailing south of the Sargasso Sea, but small islands floated by us, or we ploughed through them – sometimes the size of a football field. Night watch started to include shaking the seaweed off the wind-vane (self-steerage device), so it didn’t throw us off course. 


After the first week, we ran out of fresh food, and meals became more creative – does honey actually go with sardines? But we had lots of dried rice, pasta, soups and oatmeal to carry us through. I made bags of popcorn to keep everyone going during the night watches. 


A few hundred miles from our destination country of Martinique, the wind totally quit, and we drifted slowly forward under the balloon of a light air spinnaker sail. At one point, we took turns jumping off the bowsprit and floating back to the boat’s boarding ladder. The water was bright blue, and we were very excited by the temperature, which was much warmer than the water in West Africa.


Drifting with the spinnaker sail


The final day, we took bets on who would see land first. Determined to win, I fixed myself a bag of snacks and staked out at the mast, settling in for the long haul. Sammer joined too, and we took turns climbing up on the boom for a better view. At 3:45pm, I noticed a fuzzy grey outline on the horizon. Sammer and Jason could see it too as it grew bigger and bigger. So up I jumped on the boom, yelling “Land-ho!” It was Martinique! And soon we could smell it too: earth, plants, trees – all rolled into one glorious smell of land and human life. 


Shouting "Land-ho" - the others had to buy me a beer

After 2000+ miles and 17 days at sea, we finally dropped anchor that night in a little anchorage near the main port. A rum bottle and bar of chocolate emerged from a secret stash, and we celebrated together in a cockpit that was flat and still for the first time in over two weeks.


Checking in to Martinique the next morning was ridiculously easy – one of the reasons that we’d chosen this destination. We tied up at a gas dock in the port of Marin, and went into a tiny store on the dock, where there was a computer with an online form for customs. No passports, paperwork, or visit to the port authority. After that, we wandered around slightly dazed, taking in the brightly coloured flowers, coconut trees, hundreds of mangos dangling from the trees, and the vine-drenched stone ruins of French colonialism. That evening for a celebratory meal, we sank our teeth into hamburgers and fries and drank Pina coladas.


Mango-laden trees in Martinique



Comments

David Best said…
Elizabeth! This was one great read. Thank you for sharing. Needless to say that I’m very jealous. I’m so happy you got to go on this experience.

When your all back let’s grab a meal. Take good care.

Dave Best
Derek Pinto said…
Really something, Elizabeth. Thanks for posting!

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