Today is the start of another month. Another month on this boat, and still not yet home. Had we had a clear run with the weather, we would of course have been back a good two or three weeks ago.
As it is, we're still stuck in horrendous conditions south of Jamaica. For aficionados of the Beaufort Scale, we've been battling into the teeth of a Force Eight gale ever since we left Panama, and we're now in our fifth day of it, and still no sign of it easing. It's frustrating to think that if the wind dropped we could be in Port Antonio well inside a day. As it is, we're looking at getting there on Wednesday. We can't wait.
Yesterday's highlight, if you can call it that, comes when we realise that the boat has shipped rather more water than we expected. This is due to the inefficiency of the Bomar hatch above the front cabin. The resulting leaks over four days have completely filled the three forward floor lockers with water.
So we stop the boat, and set to rescuing what can be saved from the lockers, and ditchimg what can't. Then we have to bail out the lockers, forming a human chain along the boat, ferrying the water using our toilet and washing-up buckets. It takes us over an hour, and in all, we reckon to have removed around 50 gallons of water.
With nearly quarter of a ton of weight off the front, the boat handles slightly better, and we get an extra knot and a half out of her. But the fine presentation box which housed the very nice plate presented to us in Egypt is ruined, along with a pile of other things. It's such exhausting work, and we've lost so much headway whilst drifting, we don't even have our evening meal.
The boat's electronics appear to be suffering from gremlins, too. We're greeted to regular beeping alarms to indicate that the GPS receiver has lost its fix. The boat is set to drive on a bearing, but more noticeable is the fast rate beep which indicates the autopilot has thrown a wobbler, and the boat starts driving around in circles. Alan reckons the navigation computer needs rebooting, but this isn't really the place to do that.
There's a certain degree of timing involved in nipping outside to use the toilet bucket. Apart from the odd rogue wave, the waves come at us in a fairly regular pattern, so the trick is to try and time one's pit-stop to fall between the waves which crash right over the roof. Yesterday I misjudge rather, returning to the cabin dripping wet.
Today is even more challenging. The time between waves going over the top is just a few seconds. And water is absolutely pouring through the hatch at the front. The best advert for our Bomar hatches is reserved for our arrival in Port Antonio, when we plan to buy ourselves a large roll of Gaffa tape and seal the damned things shut.
Clive Tully
Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
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