Princ Christian Sund to ? - Day 7 - 30/8/25

I continue to sleep on and off but during the early hours of the morning I become much more aware of the noise of the wind. It must have increased further. I'm even more relieved we're not sailing and just hope the forecast is not wildly out and we're going to get significantly worse conditions which necessitate deployment of the drogue and so lie stern to the weather to minimise the risk of a knock down by a rogue wave.

We both continue to sleep on and off until about 0930 when I get up and make tea and toast for breakfast. We discuss the situation and agree that despite little if any improvement in the conditions, we'll get underway again and see how we fare. I decide it would be better to use the storm jib rather than the genoa because I'm anxious about the genoa's furling mechanism jamming once again in the strong winds. Being unable to furl that in these conditions would be pretty bloody awful.

So I go up to the foredeck and hoist the storm jib. I have to do that three times in order to find the best run for the sheets and avoid them chaffing on the standing rigging. We end up with both sheets on the leeward side on slightly different runs so that we have the option of using either subject to how hard we want to sheet the sail in. This time I do get a wave break over me and I get a good soaking. My oilskins are clearly too worn out to keep me dry and so too, disappointingly are my little used sea boats!

It takes us nearly an hour in all but eventually we are both satisfied with how the boat is behaving, her speed - around 6 knots and her course, almost due east, and we go below. The weather has brightened up a bit which cheers us up too.

I manage to cook a bacon and egg brunch at noon which goes down well.

The conditions remain broadly the same for the rest of the day, with relative brightness alternating with relative gloom and the batteries reach 70% capacity for the first time since leaving Greenland.

Bonny continues to average around 6.5 knots. Since heaving to for the first time on this passage the day before yesterday, we have sailed under a triple reefed mainsail and the storm jib and have left the genoa furled up completely. In these conditions it's a good combination. The deeply reefed mainsail doesn't blanket the storm jib as much as the genoa and so unlike the genoa we don't need to pole it out to the weather side when the wind is on the quarter. When it does back occasionally, the force of it resetting is nowhere near as violent as the genoa doing the same thing.

George cooks a most welcome chilli concarne for supper and then we heave-to for the night. We experiment once again with combinations of mainsail and storm jib before arriving at the same conclusion - the best set-up is just the triple reefed mainsail sheeted in tight with the ship's rudder hard over to the weather side and the wheel lashed accordingly. I feather the Hydrovane so that it helps hold the ship's head at the same angle to the wind - roughly 45°.

Once that's done we both go below and go to bed.

Our straight line run from our hove-to position at 2150 the previous night, to midnight was 98 miles. Our distance to Lands End is 731. Which means we are 93 miles closer than we were then, which, given we were hove-to for a total of 15 hours during the same period, is pretty good going.

Princ Christian Sund to ? - Day 6 - 29/8/25

When my alarm goes off at 0200, George is fast asleep on the starboard saloon berth and I see no point in waking him, so I get up to check our course etc. We're heading further north than desirable and will have to gybe again but I decide to wait until George is awake rather than wake him up with all the inevitable noise that will accompany the manoeuvre. I'm also just too lazy! Then I go back to bed having set my alarm to go off in another hour.

When I get up next, I realise I shouldn't delay putting the gybe in any longer and so get togged up to go outside. Whilst I'm doing that George wakes up. He stands by in case I need any help. In theory the operation can be managed from the cockpit. If all goes without a hitch, the 'worst' bit is having to stretch forward and retrieve the leeward genoa sheet from the rail where it has to be made up in order for there to be enough slack in it for the genoa to be sheeted out to the end of the windward pole. Why? Well it's because when measuring up for the new sheets in 2022, some daft hapeth neglected to account for the full distance the sheets needed to run from forestay via the ends of the poles back to the cockpit. No prizes for working out who that was, and you can be assured that he's extremely likely to make the same or similar mistake in the future!

As it turns out, on this occasion, not only is the uncomfortable stretch forward required, but the powers that be decide to invoke 'sods sailing law' which amongst many of its sub clauses includes one which says..."...for no discernable reason, nor due to any physical law yet discovered,  any sheet, no matter how carefully run, that in the normal course of events can readily be hauled from one side of the boat to the other without issue, will, at the most inconvenient moment, find an hitherto innocent and otherwise sensibly placed obstacle on which to foul itself..".

On this occasion the inconvenience in question is derived from my confidence that the manoeuvre will be a quick one and that I should be back in the relative comfort of the cabin within a few minutes.

No need for full togging up therefore, just my light jacket, shoes and life jacket for clipping on in the cockpit.Out I go. It's not particularly rough or windy  but rolly, damp and dark. I implement the manoeuvre I had just rehearsed in my head - change the angle of the wind vane so its pointing over the opposite quarter; take all but the last turn of the leeward preventer off its cleat; wait for the mainsail to start backing and then gently ease the preventer so that the boom swings across slowly to the other side; harden up on the preventer on the new leeward side; slacken off the genoa sheet and haul in on the furling line in stages so that the genoa is small enough to cross the boat without snagging on the temporary inner forestay; reach forward to retrieve the new windward genoa sheet from the rail; and haul it in to pull the genoa out onto the pole....and that's when sods sailor's law kicks in. 

The bloody thing won't move more than a few inches. The other sheet is slack so what's the problem? I look forward. There's the culprit. The sheet and the forward starboard mooring cleat have decided it's time to form an intimate relationship and the former has wrapped itself amorously around the latter. Blast. Now I need to go onto the foredeck. I have to clip on with three separate safety lines to get from the cockpit to the foredeck whilst remaining tethered to the boat at all times. It's wet of course. The wetness quickly penetrates through my light over-trousers to my knees and then my backside and my feet as I make the outward and then return outing to the foredeck, making sure I keep some tension in the sheet so as to avoid any further inappropriate behaviour.

I get back to the cockpit OK. George is standing in the companionway in case further help is necessary. I quickly get the sheet on the winch and pull the now quarter sized genoa out on the windward pole. Now I need to unfurl the genoa (I decide to about 2/3rds its full size). This is the part of the operation where I need to simultaneously ease the leeward sheet, ease the furling line but keep some tension on it to avoid the slack line tangling on anything, and winch in the windward sheet.  It's an operation we have both done on our own countless times before, but it's that much easier and less prone to getting bits of string all tangled up when there are two of you. George immediately spots the stage when I need three arms and takes over the job of easing the leeward sheet and making it up on the rail. The job gets done without more ado and we both retire below.

I'm very glad we have Starlink and that we are able to get connections relatively easily. Being able to get up to date weather and sea state information is proving to be a hugely useful tool for planning and implementing our sailing tactics amidst the surprisingly numerous weather systems that have impacted, or will impact us. It makes me feel quite uneasy when contemplating what we might have experienced without it.

Erin was of course the big name in the show's cast and it was thanks to access to (surprisingly) accurate and up to date weather information, that we were able to establish that the simple tactic of keeping the wind on our starboard quarter would keep us out of her clutches.

However, whilst Erin is the headline act, it turns out she has a surprising number of co-stars lining up to spice up the show.

Having earlier swept all asunder and taken the stage by storm, Erin's now (above) a mere shadow of her former self sulking and pouting to the west of Scotland at 0700 UTC on Friday 29th August.

The following is based on a weather grib file downloaded on Thursday afternoon.

At the bottom left (above) you can see Erin's younger sister beginning to strut her stuff on the Atlantic stage.

By 0400 UTC on Saturday she will have crossed us and be about 200 miles to the west of Ireland (above).

By Monday 2100 UTC yet another sister arrives on stage to the south west of southern Ireland and yet another is warming up south east of South Greenland (below)..

and by Tuesday midday will have travelled half way across the North Atlantic to team up with her older sister (below) ...

to provide us with rip roaring entertainment as we head for the western approaches!

The details of this choreography will have changed by the time this is posted but it gives you an idea of the level of activity on the North Atlantic stage we will have deal with before getting home.

Without the weather files we would have very little idea of what is coming. We do have the ship's barometer which shows the changes in air pressure that generate these systems, but that only gives us the broadest of pictures of what's going on out there. Working out from that and what one can observe by eye, where the strongest winds and biggest waves are likely to be, is a skill and an art that few of us modern day sailors posess. 

For hundreds of years however, the barometer and the naked eye were the only tools available to men and women sailing vessels large and small.  Before the barometer was invented, sailors had to make do with what they could directly observe. The Vikings sailed the treacherous seas of the far north Atlantic including the land of Ice Bergs and Mountains that we have just visited (we anchored at their first settlement in Greenland at Ikigaat) with only a magnetised needle and their eyes to rely on. They of course had no engine to get them out of trouble - just lots of oars! 

As recently as the 1960's, the likes of Bill Tillman (who only took up sailing when he could no longer climb the highest mountains) were sailing into the same waters in search of adventure, with the only addition to the magnetised needle, being a Sextant and a Barometer. Tillman's boats did have engines but they as often as not failed to function. One can only marvel at the skill, fortitude and bravery of Tillman and Co. You would think that for most people, surviving active service in the second world war, would have been enough excitement and that afterwards a quiet life in front of the fire with one's pipe, remembering fallen comrades would be a more attractive proposition!

Back to the present day North Atlantic. It's just gone 1500 on Friday afternoon and for yet another day we've had no sun. The batteries have been charging very slowly in the gloom and are still at only 40% capacity. We need an updated weather forecast and I need to run the watermaker to prevent the build up growth in the high pressure filter. Mind you I'm not sure if anything can grow in these temperatures. It's not quite as cold as it was but it's still pretty parky. All that means we need to run the engine to charge the batteries.

Thankfully it starts immediately without any hesitation. George's earlier heroics are still paying dividends!

We get online, get the latest weather forecast - not real change from previously - exchange messages with home and send the previous blog post.

Next I start cooking supper - pork again because that's the most unfrozen meat in the freezer which is now switched off due to lack of power which in turn is due to lack of sunlight! I'm about two thirds of the way through when I can no longer ignore the increasingly wild movement of the boat. The wind has increased suddenly and significantly and we are clearly over canvassed. 

It's about 2045 local time and time to heave-to! These are the strongest winds I have done this in and we have to experiment with a few different sail configurations before settling on the best.

I work the foredeck and George looks after the lines in the cockpit. It's pretty wild up here but I don't get any waves over me and I'm well clipped on. I have to unship and stow the port pole to start with because it's fouling the clue of the storm jib. 

Next I hoist the storm jib and we start off with the triple reefed mainsail and backed storm jib, but we can't get Bonny to lie as close to the wind as we think she should. Then we douse the jib and just lie-to under the main sheeted hard in. That improves things a little but we still seem to be making 3+ knots over the ground which is more than we expect/want. 

Then I look over the side and it doesn't look like we are going that fast through the water. We conclude we must be in a significant current. The wind is about 45°-60° off the bow which is about right. It's now 2150 ship's time (UTC-1) and we decide we have done everything that can be done and retire below. 

Supper now features soggy potatoes as a consequence.

After supper George bravely tackles the washing up and we both climb into our bunks for the night. There seems little point in maintaining a formal watch given we are drifting slowly in the middle of the North Atlantic and we have left the Icebergs behind.

I sleep on and off and feel a lot more at ease now there's no risk of Bonny broaching in the night (running too fast down a wave, digging her bow in and slewing broadside on the waves). It's much quieter below and I am only just conscious of the noise of the wind than I am when up top, where it seems pretty clear that a gale is blowing.

We overlook recording our midnight position but our heave-to point acts as a reasonable proxy and on that basis we have covered 104 miles in a straight line in the last 24 hours. There are now 824 miles to go to Lands End, which means we are 104 miles closer than 24 hours ago. Respectable in the circumstances

Princ Christian Sund to ? - Day 5 - 28/8/25

Oh dear, oh dear, what's to become of us? Not only did we run out of tonic a week or so back, but now we've broken the last remaining glass on the boat. So assuming conditions ever improve sufficiently, to make red wine or rum and coke an attractive proposition, we'll have to drink it out of plastic. We may also have run out of ice berg. We've had no sun except for 10 minutes a couple of days ago which means we're low on power and so it doesn't look like the freezer will go on today. That means our baby ice bergs, which, as Mick has pointed out, may be thousands of years old, may melt away to nothing if they have not done so already! A sad state of affairs indeed.

On a brighter note however, my soda bread is a great success. It's even contrived to look like the real thing. The inside as well as the outside is an authentic brown colour as if made with wholemeal flour which is pretty impressive given that it wasn't. It must have been that dollop of molasses that worked the deception.

George and I both doze during the morning. When his formal 2 hour early morning off-Watch period ends at 1030 I suggest he stays put. I've taken up residence on the Starboard saloon bunk which, now we were almost running, is a tenable option and despite its short length, courtesy of the cabin heater, I find more comfortable than the pilot berth, which George appears to be relatively comfortable in.

George gets up around 1130 and makes a welcome cup of tea and then I decide to investigate the soda bread which as reported earlier is a success. I also make breakfast. The boat is rolling so much that it's back to granola, fruit (I pick out the last few grapes that are mold free - it's remarkable how long they have lasted) yogurt and milk. 

George retires back to the pilot berth after breakfast still feeling queasy as a consequence of the constant rolling. 

I pump the bilges which I have been doing once a day since we left. It takes about a hundred strokes of the pump every day. I suspect most of the water is coming in via the anchor locker with some also getting in via the stern gland and the cockpit lockers. 

Then I continue my investigation of the disappeared UK charts on OpenCPN. Other regions are also no longer accessible, they too have, so the Application tells me, expired. But strangely the Carribbean charts are still available despite expiring on the same date last year! I'll investigate further once back on-line via Starlink. 

I hope it doesn't take long to connect Starlink today because we are low on power. There was a slight glimmer of brightness earlier and the charge rate went up to ten amps, but that didn't last long and we're now down to charging at just under two amps with the batteries at 47%. Thank goodness Mick persuaded me to invest in Lithium batteries and related kit and fitted it and also that we installed the two extra solar panels in Grenada last year.

It took about 20 minutes to connect Starlink despite the rolling. With one exception, when I had to restart it after an hour of trying, the maximum time it has taken on this trip is about 30 mins. That's a lot better than the sometimes 2 hours it took when Mick and I crossed to the Carribbean in 2023/24. The rolling on those occasions was even worse than on this passage (although George may take some convincing of that) and it was before Starlink updated their software to allow the dish to sit on an horizontal plane. At that time Mick came up with an ingenuous gimbal mechanism made with bits of string and bungee cord in which we were able to suspend the dish. I think the severe rolling then was due to very confused seas and the fact that we were running under twin headsails with no mainsail. The lack of a mainsail meant there was no sideways pressure thereby allowing the boat to roll more. On this passage we've kept the mainsail up and swapped the genoa over from one side to the other and gybed as necessary, subject to the wind direction relative to our desired course.

Meanwhile the grey, damp, rocking and rolling continues and it sounds like the wind is increasing again!

George cooks another tasty supper of pork steaks, potatoes and coleslaw. The pork steaks we bought in both St John's and in Greenland have been excellent - far better than those I usually come across in the Supermarkets at home.

I wash up and the read some more of the excellent novel that George has lent me. One he bought in St John's - historical fiction set in Newfoundland's early colonial days which explores the relationship between the English settlers and the native aboriginal Beothuk people, who are eventually wiped out. It's "River Thieves" by  Michael Crummey. Given my own recently developed obsession with Newfoundland's history, it's a very timely read. 

I knew nothing about the Beothuk before reading River Thieves and it's rather depressing to come across yet another native people that the English wiped off the map (and I think it was primarily an English as opposed to a British imperialism that underpinned the exploitation of the burgeoning colony).

I have however read some historical accounts and contemporary records documenting the development of the  Newfoundland fishery and subsequent colony and Crummey's richly descriptive word tapestry serves to illuminate those dry records with a penetrating insight into what the lives of the people fishing, hunting, trapping and trading must have been like in Newfoundland in those very wild times. It's as if he was there and witnessed the events himself - quite extraordinary!

And now back to the North Atlantic..

I go to bed at 1000 as usual and this time manage to get some sleep. 

Our midnight to midnight run in a straight line is 143 nautical miles. Our distance to Lands End is 928. Yesterday at the same time it was 1061 which means we're 133 closer. That is another good result!

Princ Christian Sund to ? - Day 4 - 27/8/25

That's what it looks like out of the back door most of the time and will probably continue to do so for much of the rest of the passage home.

When I get up at 0200 and change over with George things feel just the same as they did when I went to bed 4 hours earlier, but in fact we have just entered the transition period between the two weather systems and we are now on the eastern edge of the ridge of higher pressure following Erin. The wind is already further west than it was and over the next few hours it should moderate and back even further until it is blowing from the south west and then south. During that phase we'll have to change our sail plan and sheet the Genoa to leeward and sail closer to the wind in order to maintain a course south of east. Later still the next depression will pass over us to the north and we'll have strong north westerlies once again and have to change back.

George reported another vessel about 50 miles off on the AIS and it's still a long way off at 25 miles when I check and unlikely to  cause us any issues.

My Watch continues with no particular changes until the last hour when I notice the wind backing further - confirmation that we are being overtaken by the ridge of high pressure and that Erin, even at her now leisurely pace, has become tired of us and is leaving us behind. We are now heading further east than ideal (our heading is now north of Lands End)  but I wait for the change of Watch in an hour before making the necessary changes to the sail plan.

We make the changes at the change of Watch; set the Hydrovane to a beam reach and completely unfurl and sheet the genoa to leeward. That puts us back on a course just south of east.

I also pick up another vessel on the AIS at 84 miles and the former vessel is still there at 54 miles. They are bearing 355° and 230° so quite a long way apart. Both are underway at about 10 knots. I suspect they are the huge fishing factory ships that one comes across from time to time in mid-ocean.

1000 ish and the wind continues to back forcing us northwards and so I make a further adjustment to the Hydrovane to put us on a close reach and trim the sheets accordingly. This keeps us tracking just south of east at least for now.

1100 it's much quieter now and I take the opportunity to do the washing up from last night's supper, I even have the briefest of washes myself with a little warm water saved from the washing up kettle. Then I  cook bacon and eggs for breakfast.  Healthy granola and fruit are all very well and yes we still have 10 boxes of the stuff to get through, but sometimes a good fry up is just what's needed. Besides, this morning might be the last one for a while when wielding a frying pan in the galley isn't classified as an extreme sport!

We foolishly missed the Aapilattoq  supermarket closing at midday and so have run out of fresh bread, but we do  have two semi frozen loaves of a sort of Rye Bread and so start on that with our breakfast. Breakfast goes down well and is followed by proper coffee which is a treat too. Thankfully my bladder seems to be back to normal and is able to cope with the caffeine without giving me extra agro.

The wind backs further south during the day and then starts veering back to the west as the next low pressure system catches us up. We're keeping an eye on it but this time it doesn't look like we'll be able to avoid some pretty strong winds that are due to reach us on Saturday. We may have to heave-to when that happens and let the depression pass over us. Because its centre is just to the north of us and its tracking eastwards, the winds on its leading and trailing edges at our latitude are blowing from roughly the same direction - westwards. As the centre passes us we'll get brief periods of southerly and then northerly winds before they revert to the west. So don't be surprised if you see us slow right down on Saturday for 12 or even 24 hours before resuming once again.

By late afternoon today the wind has backed to the west requiring us to sail further away from it. That means we have to adjust the angle of the windvane - an easy job and set the genoa on the pole out to starboard. The pole is still rigged from before so it's a pretty straightforward  job to reduce the genoa's size (to prevent it from snagging on the inner forestay now rigged in the event of needing to set the storm jib - see the photos from the St John's post) and to then haul it across to the end of the pole.

That done I stumble across a recipe for soda bread on my phone whilst searching for the manual for OpenCpn. That's the chart plotter programme I run on the Raspberry Pi computer. I can't get my charts of the UK to load and need to investigate why. Later I conclude that it's because my subscription has expired and will need to be renewed. I can do that next time we have Starlink online.

Anyway back to the soda bread recipe. I decide to have a go at making some despite not having quite the right ingredients - the main one missing being wholemeal flower. I did have loads of it but it had got very old and so was thrown away. We did however buy some plain white flower in St John's and so I use that instead and add some porridge oats - that reminds me we haven't tried making any porridge yet. I use maple syrup and molasses in place of honey because while we do have honey it's all crystallised. We've no lemons - that was careless, but we do have a smigen of lemon juice left in a bottle abd sonI use that. It's pretty old so I fortify it with lime juice from the Carribbean which is where the molasses came from too. I mix it all up with milk and baking soda (also pretty old and from the Carribbean) as directed and put it in the oven for the required 40 minutes and this was the result...

It looks alright but we decide to leave it for breakfast so you'll have to read the next post to find out whether it tasted OK.

I boil some potatoes and carrots to go with the leftovers from George's mincemeat dinner of yesterday and we laze around until i go off Watch at 2200 and try, unsuccessfully, to sleep. The boat is just moving around too much and the pilot berth being high up exaggerates the motion.

By midnight we have travelled another 132 miles in a straight line and there are 1061 miles to go to Lands End which means we are also 132 miles closer to it than we were 24 hours ago. That's a result!

Princ Christian Sund to ? - Day 3 - 26/8/25

I need a pee just after 0100 and in any case haven't been able to sleep for some time. Bonny is careering along even more wildly than before so I decide it's time to put the third reef in the mainsail. It takes ages to tog up as usual. I do the deck work and George looks after the lines in the cockpit and eventually we get the job done. Then we put a few more rolls in the genoa and retire below and I take over the Watch. The boat's movement is now more comfortable.

A couple of hours into my Watch and the wind has increased further - probably now at 30 knots, glad we put the reef in when we did. The ride is now almost as wild as before.

0600 and we swap over again. The changes we make are minimal mind you. The person off Watch strips his outer togs off, climbs into the pilot berth, hoping as he does so that the boat doesn't take a violent roll and catapult him across the saloon before he's had a chance to secure himself in. The man on watch dons his togs, pokes his head outside the hatch,  but inside the storm canopy, marvels at the huge rollers lining up astern and then quickly returns, checks the chart plotter and the AIS and makes himself an on-Watch nest of his bedding on the aft saloon seat and snoozes in between hourly checks of the situation, all the time wondering why its so bloody cold! I'm now wearing 4 layers on my legs and often 6 on top and then I cover myself with bedding!

I just tried to take a photo of the pilot berth and on-Watch nest but the phone informed me that 'violent movements" may spoil the photograph!!

The gale and I assume, the waves have torn the lee cockpit dodger off its bottom cable tie fixings and it's flapping about dementedly but I can't face trying to secure it. 

We still have the wind on the starboard quarter and as we slide diagonally down each wave often at 8+ knots, the boat has a tendency to head up into the wind. Most of the time the Hydrovane pulls her back on track pretty quickly but every now and again the genoa that is polled out to starboard, backs and resets with a loud crack!

0950 - the sun's out!

1000 - no it's not!

And it didn't come back either!

George gets up at around 1130 and makes breakfast - granola, fruit and yogurt. It's remarkable how long fresh fruit lasts for in this climate. We still have some grapes left that we bought in St John's that are in edible condition. Mind you at around an estimated, 5°C I suppose it's not that surprising. It's a bit like living in a fridge! If I'm not typing on the phone I'm wearing gloves down below for god's sake! It wasn't this cold in Greenland!

And so it goes on. At the time of writing this sentence (1800), George is recording our position and estimates from the weather file that we'll have another 12 hours of this before we get respite for perhaps another 9 hours, as a ridge of high pressure passes over us to be followed by another depression. On the bright side at least we're making good speed - still 6-7 knots, if not in exactly the 'right' direction.

George cooks a most welcome supper of mince and boiled potatoes. That's thanks in part to the portable freezer box which is just about working, in that it gets cold but the thermostatic control has gone haywire. It thinks its always 30°C and so the compressor is working constantly when switched on. So we have it on during the day when we are getting some charge from the solar panels and turn it off at night. 

Another thing that's gone haywire is my blasted bladder. I'm having to pee every half an hour or so! I hope it's the effect of the cold rather than a major deterioration in its already fragile condition for which I am already taking meds.

I go off Watch as usual at 1000 but the boat is bouncing around so much it's difficult to get any sleep.

At midnight we have made 160 miles in a straight line which I am pretty sure is a record. Our distance from Lands End is 1193 which means we are 95 miles closer than we were 24 hours ago!

Princ Christian Sund to ? - Day 2 - 25/8/25

Thrill Seeker 😁

It's 0200 local Greenland time and I've just started my Watch.  The wind is blowing from the West North West at F6-7, stronger than the predicted 20 knots I'm sure. Bonny is storming along at 7+ knots on a SE by S course with two reefs in the mainsail and 2-3 rolls in the genoa set to leeward. The wind is abaft the beam and come daylight/Watch handover, we'll probably pole it out to starboard in order to run off a little more and head a bit further eastwards whilst hopefully avoiding getting ensnared in Erin's clutches.

The rest of my Watch delivers more of the same and we expect it to continue for another couple of days. We defer the sail and course change until later having concluded that on balance getting further south at this stage, is better than going further east.

It's about 1100 local Greenland time (1200 UTC) and now that we have both had a morning nap to catch up on sleep we make the sail and course change. It's an easy one thankfully. I had rigged the starboard pole before we left the Sund in anticipation of the change, so all we had to do was furl in some genoa to make it more manageable and then haul it out on the pole and then let out roughly the same amount once again. We didn't have to leave the cockpit for that, although George did leave it briefly to plug the dorade vents with sponges in an effort to reduce the icy streams of air funneling into the cabin. 

We continue to make good progress south-east at 6+ knots. The seas have built somewhat and we are rocking and rolling quite a bit. I manage to get Starlink to connect (it can be quite reluctant to do so whilst the boat is rolling) and we download updated weather files and review our earlier weather route in light of the latest predictions. The broad picture is pretty similar and Erin's current behaviour and the latest predictions of her future behaviour don't appear to have changed a great deal. She is due to stall and dissipate between Iceland and the British Isles in a few days time and our weather will be increasingly determined by a new low pressure system developing south west of Greenland and tracking eastwards.

We also check messages on the OCC Greenland/Iceland group to see what the other boats are planning to do about their departures.  At the time of writing this on Monday evening, those messages are eight hours old, but at the time they were written, one boat was considering a crossing to Iceland another was going to go up the east coast of Greenland and the third was still in wait and see mode. We feel a little out on a limb with our 'go for it' approach, but we've done our homework on the weather and can keep tabs on the situation as it develops thanks to Starlink and are confident our approach is a sensible one.

During the afternoon we examine the drone footage I took during its two rather erratic flights in Princ Christian Sund. Much of it is pretty scrappy but I did get a few minutes of good video of Bonny near the glacier and am pretty pleased with that - and of course I have defied Vincent's predictions and am returning with the drone!

After taking the initiative to review our weather route after that, George is feeling a bit queezy this evening and so I cook dinner.

Pasta Carbonara (sort of). It's actually very tasty and is the first thing either of us has eaten since a very late breakfast of granola, fruit and yogurt (except tea/coffee and biscuits.

He very kindly says I can knock off early after dinner so I gratefully climb into bed at 2030, update the draft blog and will now hopefully fall asleep.

Well I did on and off, but Bonny was pretty lively and so I kept getting shaken awake!

Our midnight to midnight run was 150 somewhat uncomfortable miles which I think is amongst the fastest 24 hour runs Bonny has done under my ownership. The distance to Lands End is 1288 nautical miles. The distance the previous midnight was 1374 nautical miles and so we're 86 miles closer than we were then. Not particularly impressive but we are having to run a long way south of our direct line because of storm Erin. In a few days time we will hopefully be able to take a more direct route.

Princ Christian Sund to ? - Day 1 - 24/8/25

The alarm wakes me at 7 in the remarkably sheltered and isolated anchorage of Puiattoq roughly half way down the Sund on the north side tucked into a cleft in the cliffs adjacent to the adjacent glacier. 

We are due to leave at 0900 for the weather station at the eastern end of the Sund, where we will make our final go/no go decision for our departure to the UK. 

The view from the anchorage 

Ex Hurricane Erin who has predicted maximum winds of 40 knots still has plenty of life left in her and is currently 500 miles to the east south east of our position, tracking eastwards across the North Atlantic towards the UK. An encounter with her is one we are very keen to avoid but the options of delaying our departure by 24 hours or a few days are not particularly attractive either. 

Waiting a day risks getting trapped on the wrong (western) side of a developing trough of low pressure to our south where would face calms and then strong contrary winds, which in the inevitably messy sea would be both very uncomfortable and very slow going. Waiting a few days means greater uncertainty. The weather forecasts predict new lows developing to the east of Greenland with the likelihood of strong contrary winds and so we could find ourselves storm bound for more than a week if we take that option.

Anyway, the final decision awaits. Now, on the assumption we do go today, is my last chance to get the drone up and to take some video and photos from it. The drone is actually my son's, Stephen's. As both he and his brother Vincent will confirm, my drone flying skills have not yet reached rudimentary and so it was an act of great optimism by Stephen to lend it too me. Vincent, I know does not expect to see it again. I took it ashore to practice for the first time when we anchored at the ancient Viking settlement of Herjolfsnes a few days ago. I had previously charged all three drone batteries up, but had not charged the controller. Actually I had concluded that it was powered by my phone owing to the absence of a recognisable USB  port. I was wrong of course and the upshot was I could not fly it then. 

Next I took it ashore at Aapilattoq only to find out I didn't know how to turn it on! Further discussions with Stephen revealed the correct sequence of button presses needed, but by then we were on our way up the Sund.

So this morning before we leave is my last chance to fly it from a relatively stationary platform. First I lit the cabin heater and have a wash with tepid water. It was hot last night but I was too tired to be bothered. Then a cup of instant coffee before I go into the cockpit with the drone.

Success - well I get it to take off from the solar panel at the stern of the boat and manage to get it to fly around (although it doesn't seem to want to go very far) and I hope I got some video and photographs! I even manage to fly it back to the boat. By this time however its battery is very low - the warning lights are flashing, a very annoying female voice is repeating the instruction to return to base for the same reason and I'm terrified that it's going to drop into the sea at any second. Even more miraculously I succeed in grabbing it by one of its landing legs. It clearly doesn't like the experience because it makes a loud high pitched scream as it tries to regain flight. I'm looking at it wondering how long it will be before it chops off a finger or two when George pokes his head out and tells me to turn it upside down which I do and thankfully it stops shrieking!

Next we get the dinghy up on deck, deflate it, lash it down on deck and stow its various component parts  below. This is always a very lengthy and tedious performance. Eventually the job is done and we get the anchor up and head out of the anchorage.

As we leave we glance over at the glacier which flows into the inlet through a violent gash in the landscape that it's younger self no doubt carved thousands of years ago. "Shall we go take a closer look?" 

I say to George. So we slowly motor over towards it. As we approach the lumps of ice scattered in the water around become denser and I have to be careful not to hit anything big. Bonny's pretty tough but she's not built for ice breaking! I stop the boat at about 500 metres off the mouth of the glacier. The water is now thick with lumps of ice that have carved off and I don't want to be too close in case a really big bit does. This after all is an ice berg making machine and we don't want to get caught up in its workings.

We marvel at the awesome sight in front of us and listen to the popping and cracking noises coming from it. It's difficult to believe that in a few years time it may no longer reach the water and become neutered like so many of its Greenlandic cousins.

I decide to try the drone again and hopefully get some good views of the glacier and Bonny. My driving skills are still awful and this time I cannot get the drone to return to the boat. It seems happy to go in every other direction but not towards Bonny! I'm reluctant to use the return to home function just in case it lands itself in the sea! Eventually at George's suggestion he drives the boat towards the drone. As we get close to it I'm able to get it to descend and I pluck it out of the air like before and this time immediately turn it upside down to stop it.

Feeling very chuffed with ourselves and like proper explorers, George heads Bonny down the Sund and I go below to make Bacon and Egg butties and coffee for breakfast. It's about 1000 and we're running behind schedule.

It's a gorgeous sunny day but still pretty cold so we leave the cabin heater on to provide a bit of luxury during our potentially last day in the land of ice and mountains. We soak up the incredible scenery around us as Bonny slips down the Sund and we munch our bacon and egg butties and sip coffee in the cockpit.

We pass more glaciers on our way to the exit and the Atlantic Ocean. Bang on schedule we are off the weather station at 1500 and have our 'should we, shall we, what if pow wow' and catch up messages from the other OCC boats we have met over the last few days with their thoughts and plans. Eventually for the reasons stated earlier, we decide to go and follow the strategy I described above.

We motor out of the Sund, set the mainsail still with three reefs since we last used it and head east for a few miles to clear a number of off-shore obstructions and then turn slowly south. 

There are 1386 nautical miles to Lands End!

Based on the forecast we expect to have to motor southwards for a few hours before we pick up a decent breeze from the north or north west.

By 1930 the breeze arrives (albeit quite light) from the north west and we shake out one reef and continue just east of south under sail making about 4 knots.

I cook dinner of sausages with fried onion and red cabbage (the last of it) and boiled potatoes and green cabbage. We wash it down with the last dregs of the penultimate bottle of red wine. The rest of it was drunk the previous evening with dinner at our glacial anchorage in The Sund.

By 2100 the wind has freshened considerably to around 20 knots and we are romping along at 6-7 knots in a rather uncomfortable manner due to the confused sea state. The wind increases further over the next few hours to what feels like in the high 20ks - F6/7.

By midnight we have covered 50 miles mostly in a southerly direction. There are 1371 mnautival miles to Lands End. We are 15 miles nearer than we were at 1500! 🤣

St John's to Nanortalic Day 10 - 15/8/25

We heave to at midnight; not because the sailing is uncomfortable; Bonny is taking it in her stride (and in fact conditions have temporarily moderated to Force 5/6) on a beam reach and going well; but because, given the latest weather information, we calculate that a fairly narrow window will open this afternoon/evening when, providing we're in the right place at the right time, we'll be able to approach Nanortalik after the gale in daylight and crucially, given the state of the engine, before the post gale calm envelopes the area.

We have now given up hope of resuscitating the engine before we arrive but George is confident he can rig up the emergency jerry can fuel supply in order to get us in to port. It should give us a few hours running time before the jerry can needs  topping up.

Prior to heaving to, we estimate our likely rate of drift (0.5- 1k) and its direction (south east - so maintaining our easting) in order to determine when we need to get underway again so as to make our desired approach window. It looks like 1000 should enable us to hit our targeted arrival time of 2000. 

We both go below to get some much needed shut eye. Given we'll only be drifting slowly, I'm not too concerned about ice bergs, but we establish a 3 hourly radar check just in case. With the radar horizon set to 6 miles, we should have plenty of time to take any evasive action that may be needed. We did have a bit of a scare during the previous gale when it seemed that we were surrounded by bergs in the dark. Eventually, I worked out that it was in fact just "clutter" caused by the wave crests. That's dealt with by reducing the "Gain" setting on the radar. It's important not to overdo it however because of the risk of not seeing something that is really there!

I check the radar at 0400. It's clear and we are drifting as anticipated. George checks at 0700 and gets the same result and goes back to bed. At 0800, I need a pee and check the radar again. Something clearly changed in the intervening hour because we have drifted north west so much that we are now to the north and west of the position in which we hove to. It's not good news, we now face the prospect of having to beat into Nanortalik amidst the coming gale if we are to get in before dark.

We get underway as quickly as possible on a close reach on the starboard tack in an attempt to regain some easting. To begin with we are only make 3-4 knots. The boat is comfortable and could go on forever like this, but after a couple of hours we realise it's not fast enough to make our window. It's time to engage warp drive. I unfurl the genoa from 1/4 size to 3/4 size and soon Bonny is romping along at 6+ knots, just occasionally dipping her rail. That's good enough - we're back on schedule and just as welcome the wind backs further eastwards allowing us to ease the sheets and enjoy a more comfortable ride. The wind strengthens a bit more, rain lashes down and the fog closes in. Neither of us are in any doubt that we're experiencing a full gale. 

We both derive a strange satisfaction from the fact that we are hurtling towards "The Place of Polar Bears" in a foggy gale with ice bergs expected at any moment. It seems only right that we are in these conditions rather than motoring across a calm blue sea under a sunny sky. This is, after all, as we later learn, the "coolest place on earth" and for first timers like us - including one self confessed 'thrill seeker' - you can't get much cooler than storming along in a full gale towards the land of ice and mountains! 

At around 1600 the radar picks up what we assume are ice bergs, 6 miles off both our starboard and port bow. Around 1730, we see the first berg off our port bow in the flesh and shorrtly after the second to starboard. 

This is the way point, 6 miles off Nanortalik, at which  to make our turn towards the port.

I make the turn to starboard and as Bonny hardens up onto a close reach once more, she starts dipping her rail again and picks up speed. More icebergs appear out of the mist further ahead but fortunately the visibility improves and soon we no longer need the radar to pick our way safely through them. 

I'm surprised by how many there are. All sorts of shapes and sizes, although none are truly massive and none are as big as the first berg we spotted in the Labrador sea.

George goes below to start preparing the emergency fuel system. Thankfully we begin to getva lee from the land and the sea flattens out which is just what George needs to get things sorted. Taming a jerry can in heaving seas would not be fun.

In half an hour George pokes his head up and tells me it's all set. With fingers crossed I pre-heat the engine, push the starter button and ...... the engine immediately roars into life. A few minutes later, the wind dies to almost nothing and we continue on our way under power as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

But for us, the extraordinary has happened. As Northern Waters newbies, we've crossed the iconic Labrador Sea from St John's to South West Greenland. We've been through sunny days and gentle sailing, been becalmed for long spells, seen our first iceberg, weathered two gales, suffered engine failure, spent hours fighting the beast in rolling seas, covered numerous miles in thick fog, and heavy rain, dodged scores of ice bergs and now we are about to arrive - stirred but not shaken - well ok a little bit shaken!

At 1950, 10 minutes before our planned ETA, we tie up at the Fish Dock in Nanortalik!

St John's to Nanortalic - Day 9 - 14/8/25

The predicted increase in wind arrives around 1130 and we put 2 reefs in the main and genoa and return to a beam reach to make more easting (i.e. to get to the east of the straight line route to our destination).

When we left St John's we assumed we would encounter the prevailing westerly winds for the most part but now the latest weather forecasts are predicting the winds will be predominantly from the east and south east. The risk now therefore is that we may end up down wind of our destination. With strong to gale force winds likely during our approach the last thing we want to do is to beat against them in the dark and fog and potentially amongst ice bergs as well. So, staying to the east of our direct route will ensure we have a fair wind during our approach.

By 0400 the wind increases further, it's approaching gale force and so we put a third reef in the main and take in another few turns on the genoa.

We continue to make good progress for the rest of the day and by midnight have covered 133 miles in a straight line. Nanortalik is now only 62 miles ahead!

St John's to Nanortalic - Day 8 - 13/8/25

The wind veers further in the early hours of the morning and so I put the boat onto a broad reach to compensate. We continue to make good progress. The sky is cloudy and sometimes we're in fog.

At 1230 we recommence work on the engine. George tries all sorts of tricks to bleed what we assume to be air in the fuel lines and filters out of them.  

We try running the electronic fuel pump independently without cranking the engine. We trying pumping it out with the engine's oil extractor pump. We try pouring diesel into the system at various junctures. We try blowing it out with the oil extractor pump and mouth. Nothing works.

Sometimes we get a dribble of fuel out of the fuel filters' bleed screws but every time we check the key parts of the fuel system, the CAV filter (water separator + filter) the  main filter, the pipe connection to the fuel pump, we get the same result, no fuel only air. 

It's as if there's no fuel in the tank to suck out, but we filled the tank in St John's and we've hardly used any of it. Perhaps it's all in the bilge!? No, we'd smell it.

Mid afternoon brings the most welcome diversion from our fight with the beast. A large pod of Pilot Whales overhauls from astern and stays with us for 3 hours or more. The pod grows in numbers and we estimate that at its largest there must be in excess of 100 pilot whales spread across both flanks and in front and behind us. It is the most incredible experience. We are both transfixed.

We call a halt to the battle around 2100 and have a late dinner. We continue to make reasonable progress overnight at around 5 knots.

Poor log keeping means I have to estimate the day's run again  - a paltry 65 miles!

St John's to Nanortalic, Day 7 - 12/8 - Engine failure!

The wind eases overnight as the depression moves eastwards and by 0700 although the sea is still bumpy I think we can make progress once more under power.  I pre-heat the engine as usual and turn the key. All of a sudden - nothing happens! The beast refuses to be roused.

After repeated attempts, I give up. The symptoms are very similar to those experienced last year approaching Bermuda and then again when approaching Shelburne. On the first occasion Rob from Essex helped me (or rather I helped him) sort the problem out. Rob had arrived in Bermuda with a cracked rib sustained in a storm whilst heading for the Azores from the Carribbean. Air was being sucked into the fuel system which he recommended I get re configured so that the fuel pump pushed rather than sucked fuel through the primary fuel filter and would therefore push any air out of it when the bleed screw was released. Did I? No of course not!

Initially we leave the beast to its own devices and drift becalmed. After a couple of hours George begins what will turn out to be a long and arduous campaign to resuscitate the beast.

By 1230 the wind returns and we get underway again on a starboard beam reach. By late afternoon it's raining hard but we continue to make good progress in the right direction.

We fail to take a midnight position and so cannot record the daily run or distance to go' but we have probably averaged 5 knots which means we have covered about 120 miles and about 100 over a straight line.

St John's to Nanortalic Day 6 11/8 - our first gale of the passage

I take over the Watch as normal at 0200 but before George can tuck himself up we gybe the boat to starboard in anticipation of the wind increasing and backing, based on our downloaded weather files. 

Over night the visibility deteriorates and it's necessary to check the radar every 15 minutes for ice bergs. I'm taken completely by surprise when it starts raining at 0445. I'd almost forgotten that such a phenomenon existed. It had hardly rained at all since leaving St Pierre to join Gary in Halifax back in early June! I zipped on the additional canvas screen with its perspex door over the rear of the spray hood in order to keep the rain from blowing in the companionway.

After the Watch handover George went off for his usual early morning recovery sleap. We decided to forgo a cooked breakfast/brunch today because we had plenty of fruit that needed using up before it went off, so it would be Grenola, fruit and yogurt for breakfast. That being so I have mine with coffee in the cockpit in the sunshine in a balmy 15°C! I keep most of my togs on. George has his a couple of hours later. The sailing is pleasant and we make good progress at around 5-6 knots.

At 1600 the forecasted strengthening wind arrives we put a second reef in the main and take a couple of rolls in the genoa. At 1800 the wind increases further and we put the third reef in the mainsail. 

At 2045, as we close on the centre of the depression the wind as expected veers significantly to the north and increases again. As planned, we heave to to wait out the coming 8 or so hours of strong north winds. Things start to go pear shaped. I haven't performed this manouvre in strong winds for some considerabke time and faul to think it through thoroughly. I leave far too much genoa out and don't sheet it in enough and so once round on the starboard tack even though the genoa is backed we are effectively still sailing rather than hove to, we realize we need to get more genoa. 

It's a real struggle to do that in the strong winds and it feels like something is jamming the reefing line. We start the engine in order to head up into the wind and release the pressure on the genoa. At this point I realise that in order to prevent the genoa sheets from chafing on the upper shrouds we also need to change their lead so that they come inside rather than outside the shrouds. In the process of doing that we lose the windward sheet and have a violently flogging genoa. Fortunately the jam in the furling line releases itself and we are able to furl up the genoa. Unfortunately, to compound matters I had left the portside pole out with the sheet running through the end and so we couldn't even sheet it in properly. The flogging sheets immediately wrap themselves in knots around the edge of the pole.

George goes up on the bucking foredeck amidst the chaos to try and sort things out. 

For what seems like an enternity he is up there. First he has to lower the pole and bring the end with the jumbo sized knot of sheets around its end to the deck. Then he releases the end of the haliyard and secures it to the mast base. Then he tackles the knot. He has to return to the cockpit for the marlin spike because the knot is so tight. I'm at the helm keeping the boat in a hove to position under power. In the dark and the chaos George finds it difficult to distinguish one piece of rope from another (most are the same colour because I saved money by buying a long length of rope that I then cut into pieces for the various functions - e.g. sheets, guys, preventers. Eventually George manages to undo the knot but in the process pulls the port preventer through its blocks thinking it was the sheet. He leaves it tied to the rail. We are now able to run the sheets inside the shrouds and heave to on the starboard tack 

George returns back to the cockpit absolutely knackered. By now we both realise we have a full gale on our hands - the wind is howling and the seas are pretty big with breaking crests (I don't have a wind speed indicator). 

It's late afternoon by now and we return below and eat some off the curry left over from the previous night. Whilst eating we realise that we've hove to on the wrong tack and are as a result drifting westward, almost back the way we had come.

We therefore tog up again and with the help of the engine, push the nose through the wind, reduce the size of the genoa further and heave to on the port tack rather than the starboard on which we had mistakenly started out. The engine falters during this manoeuvre (it had been reluctant to start a few times recently). 

We are now drifting slowly east at under a knot rather than as  previously, almost  semi sailing westwards at 2 knots! 

George is shattered after his exertions on the foredeck and so he goes to bed on the starboard bunk in the saloon - the focastle is too bumpy to sleep in - and I take the Watch. It's about 2000. Given we are now only drifting the likelihood of bumping into an ice berg is greatly reduced and so I just check the radar once an hour. I start off the Watch in the cockpit under the now enclosed sprayhood but it's very cold and even fully togged and with a blanket around me after a few hours I have to come below and return to my bunk - the pilot berth on the port side of the saloon.

I fail to record our midnight position and so am not able to give distance run and to go.

St John's to Nanortalic Day 5, 10/8

Around 0030 I wake and notice the boat's movement is more lively and  activity in the cockpit, George is rolling in some reefs in the genoa. The wind has increased. I was wrong about just one reef. I get up to have a pee and then poke my head outside to have a look at the conditions and chat with George. Eventually I acknowledge we need another reef and we both tog up in full oilskins for the first time (they're not really oilskins - come to think of it I don't know why they were ever called that). This time I go up on the foredeck to do the donkey work while George looks after the helm and lines in the cockpit. Once that's done I go back to bed but it's quiet a lively night and I don't sleep well.

I'm up at 0200 to relieve George. It's pretty boisterous and cold, still 10° but the wind chill makes it feel colder. I get togged up. This now involves a lot of layers; long johns, jeans , oilskin trousers, socks, sea boats (I can only just get the right one on over my still slightly swollen foot); T-shirt, turtle kneck, shirt, light fleece, fleece 2, fleece 3, oilskin jacket, kneck warmer, woolly hat. Having a pee is a right performance. Not only that but I forgot to take my bladder and prostate meds and so have been pissing every hour or so!! Anyway, once I'm finally dressed I go back up top to check the fuzzy horizon and the radar and then retire below and make a hot drink and grab a breakfast bar.

I'm back up top every 20 minutes to check for ice bergs and turn the radar on every 40 minutes for the same purpose. Down below I write the blog and increasingly fall asleep in between trips to the cockpit and the toilet! 

I have some very vivid dreams. In one I'm on the boat with Charles sailing very fast down a town high street whilst clinging on for dear life as we swerve around cars and buildings. I know I'm asleep and yell to Charles "wake me up, wake me up" but he doesn't. The dream morphs into another, I'm following an old woman along a path in some woods; the scene is a rather 'dark' version of a Little Red Riding Hood panto.

Eventually the old woman arrives at a house in the middle of the woods and stops outside the front door. I prod her with a stick. She turns round and looks at me. "I know you" she says, "my husband made you redundant." Then a figure of a sour pale looking man dressed in black materialises beside her. He looks at me. "So you're dead too" he says. Somehow I know the old woman can't see him but knows that he's there. She starts punching the thin air where he stands. He doubles up in pain and complains in the way that 'hen pecked' husbands in 1970s TV sit coms did. My watch alarm goes off and I wake up! 

I go outside again to check all is well. It is.

The rest of my watch is uneventful and George relieves me at 0600. I go back to bed and agree with George that I'll stay there until 0830 and set my alarm. Before it goes off George calls - "Tom there's something you will want to see out here". I'm suddenly desperate for a pee again! "Have I got time for a pee?" "Yes". When I get to the cockpit George is pointing off to port. There's a large Ice berg about a quarter of a mile away shaped like a space ship. It's about the size of 6 terraced houses. 

It looks like there's an even bigger one further behind it. As it disappears astern we enter fog ...

...that progressively and soon our excitement and wonder is replaced by anxiety and nervousness. Are there any more out there? Will we run into one? I  switch the radar back on and George goes up to the bow as look out. I get togged up and keep an eye on the radar. The fog thins after about an hour and George goes back to bed around 1100. We're still only making slow progress,roughly northwards, in light airs.

I do the washing up and keep a lookout. Nothing much happens during the course of the morning and very little progress is made.

George gets up around midday and makes an absolutely fabulous brunch of poached eggs and bacon and mashed avocado on sourdough bread.

We enter very light northerly winds in the afternoon and struggle to make any progress at all. We also start to draw near a couple of Chinese Fishing boats and so decide to make use of the engine to clear them and make some progress North. 

I go back to bed around 1500 to try and catch up on some lost sleep. George calls me 1600 because pilot whales and dolphins are in sight. They don't come close to the boat however. I go back to bed.

By 1615 there's just enough wind to sail slowly North East. We get periods of more fog. I start cooking dinner around 1800 and we download the latest weather charts to study over dinner. Over/after dinner we constuct a detailed weather route on the Predict Wind weather app. The weather over the next few days is set to be very changeable with periods of strong favourable winds, calms and strong contrary winds. We must decide which direction we should go in now in order to be in the best position to deal with the wind changes in the future and we need to decide what to do when we enter the period of strong contrary winds which should last for about 8 hours. We decide the best thing to do then is to heave to. Sailing close hauled then will be pretty unpleasant and we would probably make very little if any progress.

Then around 2130 we switch the engine on and motor towards our first new waypoint and I rig both running poles in anticipation of the arrival of strengthening southerly winds.

By 2230 we have enough wind to sail and I go to bed.

By midnight on the 10th we have covered 69 miles in a straight line. There are 443 miles left to run, which means we are about 70 miles nearer than 24 hours ago ( I know the numbers don't add up)

 

St John's to Nanortalic Day 4 - 9/8/25

I start the day at 0200 when I get up for my Watch, as is now feeling pretty normal. I slept well. For the first hour Bonny continues sailing gently northwards at around 2 knots over an almost flat sea. I notice that we have started heading further east than we want and to correct that I have to pole out the genoa to port. At the previous sail adjustment the genoa sheet had been dropped out of the pole when the sail was set to leeward  That means I have to drop the pole run the sheet through its end and hoist it again before partially furling the genoa and then  pulling it out on the pole. Prior to that adjust the angle of the wind vane to head us further towards the west. By the time I have finished and got the boat sailing properly the wind has veered and I have to set the genoa back to leeward. The wind then gradually increases and within half an our or so our speed is up to a more respectable 5 knots. Our weather files indicate we should keep a good wind all day and that it will increase further in the evening.

The rest of my Watch passes without any notable events. Dawn breaks around 0400 and by 0530 the orange orb of the sun hangs over the overcast horizon.

George drags himself out of bed just before 0600, we have a quick chat before I  gratefully climb back into bed for another couple of hours of sleep.

When I get up at 0830, George goes back to bed. He decides having another sleep before breakfast will be better for him 

The sun is out and it's warming up but overall the temperatures have definitely dropped since we left St John's. I listen to music in the cockpit and write the blog. I find writing it on my phone is quite straightforward. I can type with one finger as quickly as I can think!

George gets up in a couple of hours and cooks a wonderful brunch of pancakes and lashings of Maple syrup (too much I'll cut down next time. 

Poor chap has a minor disaster in the galley - the full coffee pot capsizes and he has to make another. We scoff down two pancakes each and then decide more are required. While George makes them I prepare fruit and we have the second round with fruit and yogurt in addition to more Maple syrup!

By the time we have finished brunch it's past midday and we have missed the opportunity to practice our noon sight with the sextant. Bernie will not be impressed! 

The wind increases gradually during the afternoon and we suspect a reef will  be needed before night fall. We undertake a more detailed assessment of the weather files to try and work out what our best course should be now given the winds predicted over the next few days and we conclude we should continue to avoid going east to any significant degree. Then I  run CPN's weather routing plugin on the GFS weather model using the boat polar (sailing performance parameters) I configured in 2023 and the result is more or less in line with our own assessment except it shows we should head even further west over the next 24 hours. We decide to follow it as best we can.

It's cold (10°C) and has got quite lively; for the first time it feels like we are sailing in the high latitudes. We are now at about 54° North. At 2100 we put a reef in the mainsail and then I go to bed. George wonders whether we may need two. I think one will be enough.

At midnight we have covered another 119 miles in a straight line and our distance to destination is 515 which means we have reduced that distance by 91 miles over the last 24 hrs

St John's to Navortalic - Day 3 - 8/8/25 and about Adventurers and Jesters

Early morning on 8/8/25

I get up for my Watch at 0200. I've slept well. We have continued our slow northwards progress during George's Watch. But now the wind has increased slightly and I'm concerned that if it increases further it may be too much to continue to fly the cruising chute. I tend towards the enthusiastic end of the common sense spectrum when it comes to the question of how much sail it's sensible to carry (as I think Mick would testify) but I once got a bit too enthusiastic with the chute and had the devil of a job pulling the sock down over the wildly billowing sail and so I have since been rather more cautious and tend to douse it in anything other than very light winds. 

With George as my crew mate...

....I was for the first time sailing with someone who was further along the enthusiastic spectrum than me (at least when it came to cruising chutes and other forms of thrill seeking). He confesses to leaving his chute out until the wind gets up to 20 knots. He's clearly made of sterner stuff than me. Indeed only yesterday he showed me videos of two of his earlier adventures. 

One was of him skippering his boat and leading a team of 5 in the 'Three Peaks Challenge". 

A youthful George helming Good Report

Good Report under full sail off Bardsy Sound just after the start

That's an annual event to pay homage to one of my heroes, the mountaineer sailor, Bill Tillman. An eccentric ex army officer who fought in the second world war and who in the 1960s/70's sailed a succession of aged Bristol Pilot Cutters with a crew of climbers and others seeking adventure, often cobbled together at the last minute (the crew and the cutter) to the Arctic and other inhospitable places in search of snow covered peaks to climb. Tillman survived two shipwrecks in icy Arctic waters, before being lost at sea, when, way past his prime, he skipperd a sailing/climbing expedition into the south Atlantic. 

The Three Peaks Challenge is slightly less daunting than Tillman's adventures, but nonetheless is definitely not for shrinking violets. Each team of five has to sail their boat (the use of engines is not allowed) from Barmouth, first to Carnafon and send two of the crew to climb Snowden, then on to Whitehaven and climb Scarfell Pike, and then finally to Fort William to climb the highest peak, Ben Nevis. George, was one of the two climbers of that peak!

The second video was a three minute film that George and his brother made and which won first place in the 2005 Kendal Mountain film Festival.

Its name was "Thrill Seekers" and showed our two heroes undertaking a variety of outward bound pursuits including rock climbing and 'naked bracken sledging'!!!

George Bracken sledging' (fully clothed)

The film's a minor classic, the stars are clearly deranged and God help me, one of them is now my crew mate as we sail ever onwards towards icy waters! I am definitely not going skinny dipping in Greenland!

Perhaps he's no longer seeking quite the extreme thrills he once did but George is not done in the adventure stakes - not bu a long way. Just a few weeks before he flew out to join me, he was undertaking his latest adventure, a cycle ride from Lands End to Jon O' Groats with his wife, Kate and their dog Kelpe...

I first met George in 2019 when we both participated in that year's Jester Baltimore Challenge, the baby version of the Jester Atlantic Challenge. 

The Jester Emblem 

Established in the 1960s by another Army Officer, Blondie Hasler, who participated in the first solo transatlantic yacht  race earlier in the decade, but who became disillusioned with the excessive rules and regulations that came about and by the banning of boats under 30 feet in length, the now 3 Jester Challenges (the Atlantic - the JC, the Azores - thevJAC; and the Baltimore - the JBC, are open to anyone in a boat of 30 feet or under (or thereabouts).

No rules, no inspections, no fees. Each skipper is entirely responsible for themselves. It is definitely not a race. Its ethos is to maintain the Corinthian spirit in a society which is simultaneously becoming bland and superficial whilst also seemingly intent on its own destruction.

The absence of rules, regulations and inspections does not signify a disregard for safety; on the contrary safety is paramount, but emphasises what, in any case, is a universal truth, each skipper is responsible for his own safety. It's up to him or her how he or she goes about ensuring that, whilst not endangering the lives of others. 

The principle objective is not even to get to the destination (although that is of course an objective) but simply to practice good seamanship; to learn, to test and extend one's own competence whilst being aware of one's existing limitations.

It was under the stewardship of yet another army veteran, Ewen Southby-Tailyour, that the original Jester (Atlantic) Challenge was expanded to include the shorter Azores Challenge and subsequently the Baltimore Challenge. Ewen recognised that not every aspiring would-be Jester could manage their lives in order to sail across the Atlantic and many of those that one day might be able to, would benefit from testing slightly less demanding waters and from the comradary of doing so with other like minded sailors.

I bought my first boat, a clinker built Nordic Folkboat, Zoetje, 

inspired by the experiences of the early Jesters such as Blondie Hasler and Val Howles who sailed their Folkboats in the original Jester Challenge. 

Although my participation in the 2019 Jester Baltimore Challenge on my then Elizabethen 33 ...

Arctic Smoke sailing up the River Medway after the 2019 Jester Baltimore Challenge 

....(slightly longer than the official entry requirements) was the only time I have participated as a Jester, I like to think that I continue to sail in accordance with the Jester spirit and ethos and that's why, inspired by Tillman's adventures and wonderful story telling, I'm sailing on this adventure to the land of ice and polar bears and appropriately enough, am doing so with a fellow Jester, George.

He has sailed both the Baltimore Challenge and the Azores Challenge and has the blue ribbon Atlantic Challenge event in his sights. George personifies the Jester spirit. Not only did he go to the aid of a fellow Jester on the Azores Challenge and tow him for hundreds of miles under sail in often extremely testing conditions (for which he was awarded the Ocean Cruising Club's Outstanding Seamanship Medal) but he also sails and personally maintains his beautiful wooden sailing boat 'Good Report'.

Anyway back to the present, even with 2 Jesters on board, I draw the line at 15 knots, when flying the cruising chute is concerned. It's possible that it may blow that much over the next few hours so I give George a choice. Either we leave it up for now, but in the event of the wind increasing I call him to help get it down, or we hand it now before he goes below. The prospect of being yanked from his deep slumber is too much for George. He finds it quite traumatic to be woken prematurely and decides to humour me rather than face the prospect of experiencing an additional yank, so we get it down. 

In the event the wind does not increase noticeably but with the genoa in place of the chute we are able to sail closer to the wind - a better course for now - closer to North in order to maintain a longitude that's west of Cape Farval. The prevailing winds are generally from the west of south and north in these parts, so we need to avoid the possibility of being set to the east of the Cape. Beating against strong winds in even these moderately high latitudes would not be fun especially in the region of the notorious Cape.

My Watch continues in the same way as George's - we continue to amble slowly northwards. 

The night is overcast and so there are no stars to wonder at, but the full moon puts on another splendid orange show. 

It's pretty cold and so I am spending most of my time down below only going out into the cockpit every 20 minutes to check the radar for icebergs. The Canadian Ice Reports...

....show there may be a few in these waters, but I see none by eye or on the radar during the rest of the day.

My Watch runs its course without significant event.

I hand over to George at 0700 (rather than the standard 0600 because the sail change ate into his sleep time) and then get a couple of hours sleep before cooking breakfast. 

I decide to award the whole ship's company an increase in rations and so each man gets 3 rashers of bacon instead of just 2 and 2 eggs each, instead of just one. Some may regard that as overly generous but a hungry crew are more likely to mutiny than one stuffed to their collective gills and I must remember that George has a secret stash of biscuits in his cabin and so I need to keep him happy 😁!

During breakfast we hear a bang. George pokes his head out to investigate but sees nothing to alarm him and so we continue eating. Later when I go outside, I discover the cause of the bang. The block on the end of the boom through which the clue line runs (the rope that pulls the back corner of the mainsail out to the end of the boom) has broken apart. We find and rig a replacement and reset the mainsail which takes longer than it should due to a couple of tangles.

After that George works on his presentation to be delivered to the great and good of the Institution of Civil Engineers.

The rest of the day somehow slips away as Bonny ambles slowly northwards sometimes completely becalmed for an hour or so.

I cook dinner - sausages and mash. With the prospect of increasing wind overnight we hand the cruising chute once again. George even suggests it!!

I go off watch as soon as that's completed

By midnight we have covered another 60 miles and have another 606 miles left to run. We are also 60 miles closer to "The place of Polar Bears" than we were 24 hours previously.