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