What a contrast. Like being transported from a tranquil Scottish Island straight into the West End of London. We've passed from the vast emptiness of the Indian Ocean to the frenetic bustle of the Strait of Malacca in just a few hours.

The Strait is one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world, and it certainly lives up to its name. During the night, we see a huge assortment of ships and boats - never fewer than twenty visible at any one time for hours on end - with a fascinating variety of lights.

In the normal run of things, one expects a vessel to have white mast lights, and red and green lights for port and starboard. That way you can tell whether they're heading for you or away from you, coming across your bow, or passing you to one side. It's a system that's simple and effective.

Here, the boats have all sorts of lights. We see the orangey glow of sodium lights, large ships festooned with so many lights they look like Christmas trees, big fishing boats with arrays of spotlights trained on the water, and small fishing boats with just a single light - green or a very dim white.

When one large boat ablaze with white lights appears to be on a collision course with us, I tell Alan Carter to go plus ten on the autopilot (ie turn to the right). I've spotted a red light amidst all the white ones, and deduce he is crossing our bow from right to left. But when we get round to the other side of him, I'm perplexed to see a red light on that side, too.

This morning we could be in far more familiar waters, closer to home. The sky is 100% overcast, it's raining, and the visibility is poor. For us, the main concern is how we deal with our arrival in Singapore. We're not sure we can arrive before the marina we're due to refuel at closes for the evening. We're pushing the boat hard, but the conditions aren't ideal. Even more on the minus side, my Psion Series 5mx has packed up. Fortunately I brought a spare with me - but that's it. No more if this one goes kaputt!

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Report transmitted by Iridium satellite network

It's almost too good to be true. After thinking we're going to arrive at Raffles Marina after the computerised fuel pumps have switched off for the evening, we've made up enough time to guarantee our arrival and still get some diesel. We're at the bottom end of the Malacca Strait, about 40 miles from Singapore.

Then suddenly the engine races, and we lose forward motion. Alan revs the throttle, but all he's rewarded with is a lot of noise. For a moment we think the propellor is cavitating, where air in the water causes it to lose its grip. We've had it a few times before, and it can be quite unnerving - rather like a car with a slipping clutch.

But it proves much worse. When Alan jumps over the back into the water to inspect the prop, he finds it's gone, the blades and outer shell completely stripped off. We'd been dodging debris in the water for much of the journey down the strait - everything from coconuts complete with husks to entire tree trunks. And we've had a few bumps along the way, so it may be that one of those weakened a blade.

But now the problem is replacing the prop. We're disabled, a sitting duck in one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world, and it's getting dark. Steve joins Alan in the water. We have a spare prop, but the problem is getting the remains of the old one off. The tools we have don't afford enough grip, and because the boat's transmission is fluid, there's no way it can be locked to provide some resistance to Alan's heaving on the nut with a socket wrench. Just to add to the excitement, a cargo ship is heading straight for us. I grab the two-way radio.

"This is Spirit of Cardiff, Spirit of Cardiff, calling ship bearing down on yellow powerboat. Do you receive? Over." There's no reply. I try again. And again. The ship is getting closer. "It's close, but it's going to miss us," I tell Alan and Steve. Just watch out for the wash."

The ship, with an Arabic name, misses us by about a hundred feet. "They've probably got it on autopilot, and they're watching telly," reckons Steve. In the process of wrestling with the broken remains of the prop, Alan has cut himself and is bleeding profusely. This is even worse. We've not seen evidence of sharks, but we know they're there.

With the right tool, replacing the prop is a five minute job. But we don't have the right tool - there simply isn't space for everything. "OK, it's time to get the outboard on," decides Alan. For the second time in three weeks we struggle to manhandle the wing engine from its home in one side of the engine box to the back of the boat, and then connect up fuel and power lines.

Progress is pathetically slow with the spare, about 3 knots, so we know it's going to take us all night to get there. We take a course as close inshore as we dare to avoid the big ships - even so, one gets close enough to warrant my dashing out of the cabin to flash a torch at the ship's bridge, just to make sure they've seen us.

After a painfully long night we pull into Raffles Marina, around 12 hours later than expected, where we're met by the newly elected chairman of the Spirit of Cardiff fan club in Singapore. Choy Cheok Wing is a RIB enthusiast, and has been following our progress avidly on the website. As a Raffles Marina member, he's organised everything for us, including an impressive selection of provisions. Not just the bare essentials, but some cans of Singapore's excellent Tiger Beer, and even a couple of bottles of wine.

We also get the chance to take a proper shower, and do some laundry. So for the first time in nearly a month we have clean clothes which aren't impregnated with salt.

Then we're joined by Major Tan Hua Chiow from Raffles Marina, who stands us all a fantastic breakfast. We're deeply indebted to both Tan and Choy.

Before we set off, Tan gives us a briefing on the next two legs of our route to Kota Kinabalu in Malaysia, and Subic Bay in the Philippines. He has friends in the Malaysian Navy who will monitor our progress through Malaysian waters, but he warns of the Sulu Sea, between Borneo and the Philippines. "It's a lawless area here," he says. "Don't stop for anything or anyone." You bet - we won't.

Clive Tully

FACTBOX
Sabang - Singapore
Time of leg: 1 day 17 hours 26 minutes
Distance covered: 610 nautical miles
Average speed: 14.7 knots
Fuel consumed: 1,285 litres
Average fuel consumption: 2.11 litres / nautical mile
Next stop: Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia
ETA: Friday

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Pictures and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

Sometimes you wonder just how much bad luck you have to have before things start going better. Having fixed our broken propeller, we've set off once more into the Singapore Strait. This is the maritime equivalent of a motorway, with ships nose to tail in several lanes going in both directions. Never have I seen so many ships so close together.

And then we're out in the South China Sea, and relative peace. The weather even looks as though it's going our way, as we leave a heavily overcast sky and head towards blue skies and sunshine. We're on our way to Kota Kinabalu in Malaysia, or KK, as they call it out here.

The sea's just a little too lumpy to brew up at speed, so we slow down in the early evening for a cup of tea. We're a hundred miles from Singapore in the South China Sea. It's when we try to start up again that the problems start. Once again we hear the sickening sound of the engine racing and no movement. Steve investigates at the back of the boat, and discovers a large plastic fertiliser bag wrapped around the propeller.

But when we try again, there's no change. The engine is racing away and no power. Alan reckons the gearbox has blown, probably a knock-on result of the collision which robbed us of our propeller on Wednesday.

So once again we struggle to fit the spare outboard, and resign ourselves to the fact that it could take two days to limp back into Singapore. But as we get under way, we find that we still have limited power from the main engine - the gearbox clutches only fail once the turbo kicks in. But on little more than tickover, we triple our speed to 10 knots.

So we arrive back in Singapore at breakfast time Friday. Our friend Choy comes to meet us, and takes us into Singapore city to complete the Port Authority and Immigration paperwork. It's then that Alan Carter informs us he's leaving us to return home. Pressing business matters, apparently.

This leaves us one man down - which for the remaining crew is not a major problem. We've done several record runs with just the three of us. But we are in dire financial straits.

"As things stand at the moment," says Alan, "we're on the other side of the world with a potentially large bill to bring in our replacement outdrive. We're a crew member down - we can live with that - but we're now short of funds to the point that we won't be able to bring the boat home. The problem is we've gone massively over budget, what with grasping officials and extra expenses caused by unexpected stopovers like this."

Our motto is "Driven by the Challenge". We have the will to carry on, but we do need support - whether it's members of the public buying a mile, or companies willing to cash in on the massive publicity we've generated, we need help. We still have the world record in our grasp. Help us make it happen - please!

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Report transmitted by Iridium satellite network

Since Alan Carter left yesterday, we have received thousands of emails of concern, asking what happened.

It was always going to be a difficult choice to replace Jan, but the conditions to take part in the expedition were simple - I am Spirit of Cardiff's team leader, and boss. My responsibility is to the safety of the crew, and to get the boat around the world in the shortest possible time.

All other decisions were to be made jointly, and by a majority agreement. I fully accept that Alan Carter is his own boss, but from the very early days of the expedition it was apparent that he didn't accept my role as decision maker and team leader. I felt he did not trust me to run the expedition to his liking.

The first indication we had that Alan was going to jump ship was when we arrived in Jeddah, in Saudi Arabia, where our hosts took me aside and explained to me that getting an exit visa for one of my crew members was going to be impossible. Alan had never discussed that he was going to leave the project at any time, and when I confronted him about it, he told me he didn't want to tell us until he was sure he was leaving.

By the time we arrived in Aden, he told me that he was staying, and that he was going all the way around the world. This is why previous journals indicated that the crew had finally gelled. Upon our arrival in Mangalore, India, it came as a major shock to discover from our hosts that the Indian immigration authorities had told them one of the Spirit of Cardiff's crew members was looking for an exit visa. From that moment on, I had absolutely no trust in his loyalty to the project.

Whilst I accept that Alan and I had a difference of opinion on many occasions, I cannot accept the way that he left the project, and his crew mates, whom he abandoned in Singapore. There is deep resentment from both Clive and Steve about the manner in which this happened.

Alan joined the team with the sole purpose of filming the proposed TV documentary, and the terms and conditions of his place in the team were that he made a cash contribution towards fuel and expenses. It saddens me that he has not only taken the filming equipment and any opportunity to promote the project to the world by television, but has withdrawn the remainder of his financial commitment, leaving the project and three crew members on the other side of the world with not enough money to get home, and without even the courtesy of saying goodbye.

This is the last comment I will make about this. Our motto is "Driven by the Challenge", and certainly we are presently being challenged. The whole team back home is working around the clock to try and replace the financial shortfall we're faced with. If anyone knows anyone who may be interested in supporting or sponsoring us, please contact John, Sophie or Nadia.

We've been told our replacement parts will be in Singapore tomorrow, and if all goes well, we hope to leave Monday late afternoon. We are not going to let this situation stop us, and we will be home soon - one way or the other.

Alan Priddy
Singapore

Today has seen the Spirit of Cardiff crew ready the boat for action once more. She's had a good clean down, leaky hatches sealed, and ABP's logo has appeared on the boat through a bit of ingenuity with a felt tip pen.

When the windscreens smashed on the way to Gibraltar, it was the vinyl surround carrying ABP's logos that helped prevent the screens from caving in entirely. But when the replacement screens were fitted we were unable to replace the stickers. We're picking up new stickers in the Philippines, but in the meantime, here's our attempt at a stopgap measure for a company that has always been one of our greatest supporters.

Yesterday sees us taking a trip into Singapore city. First stop is the Sony Gallery at Bugis Junction to buy a wide angle lens adapter for my MiniDV camcorder, now the prime piece of equipment for the TV documentary. Whilst Alan Carter's departure has robbed us of the rather more sophisticated video equipment, my own gear will prove more than adequate. If you saw last year's short documentary about the transatlantic challenge, no one should have any doubt about my ability to carry on with the filming.

Then it's into the Aladdin's Cave of Bugis Street, where you can buy just about any branded goods at unbelievable prices. If you're after watches, very convincing fake Rolexes and Omegas are here for around twenty pounds, but amazingly even newer and cheaper brands such as Swiss Army and Swatch can also be found in the counterfeit line-up.

We also manage to relax in a bar or two, ending up using my press card to get us invited into the famed Raffles Hotel for a Singapore Sling despite our being somewhat underdressed in shorts and T-shirts.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

Coping with emergencies is one thing - but the slow and steady grind of waiting for things which may or may not happen is crushingly frustrating. We've been told our replacement drive unit has arrived in Singapore, and it's in the hands of a freight forwarding company. But with all the customs paperwork to be completed, it seems likely we won't get it delivered to the boatyard until around 5pm on Monday. And unfortunately any time after that we won't be able to get the boat lifted out of the water.

So plan "A" is to get the boat lifted before the boatyard workers knock off, and hope the drive arrives shortly after. We'll have to spend the night with the boat in the slings, and then get it lowered back and set off first thing Tuesday morning. But who knows, maybe we'll end up following a plan "B" or "C" instead.

In the meantime, we continue to endure the frustration of more waiting, not knowing when we're going to be able to spring into action. The heat here is utterly stifling, energy-sapping, and the ravages of the mosquitoes incessant. Despite spraying ourselves liberally with insect repellent before going to bed, we wake up the next morning nursing more unsightly red lumps where the little devils have been at work.

Fingers crossed we'll be on the move by this time tomorrow. I wonder how many world record attempts have to contend with the vagaries of bureaucracy...

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Report transmitted by Iridium satellite network

Before I start my technical update, I'd like to thank you all for your continuing support. Your messages of cheer make us more determined to succeed.

So for all you techies out there...

We've been faced with many problems on this trip, some of which you couldn't even imagine. The main one has been the continuing loss of power as we head south. No, this isn't an engine problem, this is just nature, and something boaters back home don't have to worry about too much.

Any modern high-revving engine needs good quality fuel, but all diesel is not the same. We have had to be particularly careful when taking on bunkering in harbours that the fuel quality meets a minimum Cetane rating of 45 - the ideal fuel grade being 2-D, meeting ASTM standard D975. Anything less than this, and the fuel won't detonate properly, resulting in a high carbon build-up in the engine and fuel injectors. Most bunkered fuel is only one step up from paraffin, so to boost the Cetane rating to an acceptable level, we have been mixing a touch of engine oil and a good dose of Soltron, which appears to sort the problem out.

The next problem is the air and water temperature. Hot water is a lot heavier and more difficult to move, and in the relatively calm conditions we have been experiencing, sometimes it feels like driving a car with the handbrake on. In the extreme heat of the day, we run the boat with the engine box partly open to get extra air circulating. It makes the boat a bit noisier, but we can maintain its unique performance and fuel efficiency.

So remember, all diesel is not diesel. The best diesel for your engine is automotive quality, and the worst diesel is heating fuel. It's cheaper to buy the proper stuff than keep rebuilding your engine.

Enough of the boring bits - I'm going to do the navigation for Kota Kinabalu.

Alan Priddy

Copyright Alan Priddy ©2002
Report transmitted by Iridium satellite network

We could have been delayed another night, but we aren't, thanks to Natsteel Marine manager Jeffrey Ling. The couriers phone him from the airport mid-afternoon on Monday to say our drive unit will be on the next van, and he tells them to make sure we're their first stop. We are.

The parts arrive just before three, and the boat is immediately lifted out of the water and the old outdrive removed. Fortunately, replacing a Yamaha stern drive involves undoing just six bolts and a bit of brute force lifting and shoving. The whole operation is completed in just over an hour, and the boat lowered back into the water. It's just past four in the afternoon, and we've done it all before the crane operator knocks off for the evening.

We set off straight away, hoping we don't have any delays with the immigration authorities. Having already sent a five page fax advising of our departure, we're supposed to go to a grid reference, fly some special flags, and wait to be boarded and signed off.

We arrive at the allotted position, and call up the immigration people on the radio. No response. We still have a world record in our grasp, and we're not going to wait. This time we really are on our way.

As night falls, there's a pronounced clonk on the side of the cabin. We're mystified as to what it might be until we realise it's the "attack of the suicide fish bombers part two". But unlike the Indian Ocean fish, these South China Sea jobs appear to be flying much higher and faster, with a good deal more momentum.

Throughout the night there are frequent collisions, the fish even hitting quite high up the windows. As I nip outside to the dive platform at the back for a private moment, I wonder whether I'm going to get whacked on the head by a passing fish. It's all a bit Monty Python, but it could just be the fin end of the wedge.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

At just under 290,000 square miles, Borneo is the third largest island in the world. As we approach the Malaysian port of Kota Kinabalu, at its northern end, it feels like the largest floating forest in the world. The logs are coming at us thick and fast, and they're big enough to do serious damage to the boat. We've managed to stay offshore far enough during the night to escape the worst of them, but now as we come closer to land, we might as well be blindfolded, picking our way across a minefield.

Despite having to slow down during the night for our first head sea for some time, we've made good progress. When we do get a few squalls, the rain is so heavy it actually calms the sea down.

And then we're in KK, in Malaysia's most northerly province, Sabah. Sutera Harbour is a stunning new complex of resort, marina and golf and country club, with swimming pools including one Olympic sized, all built in the last couple of years on reclaimed land. Fringed with palms, and lush with flowers, it's a real paradise setting, and clearly the place to come for a relaxing holiday.

We're greeted by Danny Tan and George Lam from Sutera Harbour, along with a number of local journalists, most of whom can't believe that such a tiny boat has come here all the way from Singapore. And then we're ushered into the restaurant for a cooling beer and delicious lunch.

While Alan completes the immigration paperwork - the most painless of the entire trip - Steve and I take a shower. And then we come up with a wheeze. This is the perfect place for a haircut. After more than a month away from home, my grade three is starting to look a bit like a toilet brush. By the time we're showered, George has the resort salon on standby, and in we go for a haircut which puts my usual barbers in the shade. Fast, efficient, friendly.

We've said it about previous stops, but we really, really like Sutera Harbour. A world class resort for a world class team! I can definitely see myself returning there, mixed with an energetic yomp up the highest mountain in Borneo, nearby Mount Kinabalu.

Christened "the land beneath the wind", Sabah lives up to its name. There are plenty of dramatic clouds, and the odd downpours, but beautiful warm sunshine without the oppressive heat and humidity we've experienced in previous days. We're sorry to go - which I guess you can tell - but now we're under way again. Next stop Subic bay.

Clive Tully

FACTBOX
Singapore - Kota Kinabalu
Time of leg: 1 day 18 hours 10 minutes
Distance covered: 746 nautical miles
Average speed: 17.69 knots
Fuel consumed: 1,428.5 litres
Average fuel consumption: 1.91 litres / nautical mile
Next stop: Subic Bay, Philippines
ETA: Friday

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Pictures and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

It's another day at sea for Spirit of Cardiff, and whilst the journey along the Palawan Passage hasn't revealed any floating coffins as yet (the customary manner of burying the dead in these parts is to float them out to sea), we have plenty of time on our hands.

So here's the first in an occasional series called Clive's Curiosity Corner - a little quiz to educate and entertain.

Take a look at the photograph of Spirit of Cardiff's laughing cavalier Steve Lloyd and see how many of the questions below you can answer.

Questions
1. What is Steve pointing at with his right hand?
2. What is he wearing?
3. What is Steve holding in his left hand?
4. What fireworks aren't in the picture?
5. What else (not pictured) is yellow, floats, and knows where it is?

Answers
1. Indicator light for American-made Seafire Halon gas fire extinguisher located in the engine compartment. Any fire within the engine box is detected and extinguished automatically, within seconds.
2. Inflatable life jacket. One for each crew member. There is also a Gore-Tex immersion suit for survival situations in cold conditions.
3. One of the two handheld CO2 fire extinguishers carried on board.
4. Spirit of Cardiff's emergency flares - more than the mandatory minimum requirement for offshore work - stored in a waterproof container.
5. Spirit of Cardiff's EPIRB (Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon). Once activated, a unique signal identifying the boat and its location to within one square mile is transmitted to passing ships and aircraft on 121.5 MHz, and via satellite on 406 MHz. The distress signal is relayed to the nearest Search and Rescue Facility. Response times will vary, but are typically under an hour in northern areas, two or three hours in more remote third world areas.

Verdict
How well did you do? Whether you got any right or not, treat yourself to a mile of Spirit of Cardiff's round the world voyage - available from the Spirit of Cardiff shop.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

There are few times on this trip when I can say it's truly miserable, but last night is one of them. Even in the horrible conditions on the way to Gibraltar, or the unexpected discomfort of the Red Sea, it was always possible to catch a few catnaps, if not a decent period of sleep.

But here, between Kota Kinabalu and Subic Bay, even the merest hint of inspecting the undersides of our eyelids proves impossible. During the early evening, the wind springs up, and we find ourselves battering our way through one of the most painful head seas for a long time. For those of us in the bunks, we'd spend as much time in the air as on the bunks themselves, and the frequent points of contact would always be pretty painful.

So our speed comes down significantly, but by morning, the sea has calmed off again, and we actually make Subic Bay not long after we'd expected to arrive. We've also reached what we consider the end of the perceived piracy risk, so the two rifles we've carried with us this far have gone overboard - fortunately without having to be used in earnest.

Subic Bay has a long and interesting history. A large natural sheltered anchorage, it was an important naval base during World War II, and there are several sunken American and Japanese warships in the harbour. Then during the Vietnam War, Subic was a big R & R centre for the Americans. These days, Subic Bay is looking towards a lot of commercial redevelopment. In many ways it could be a mirror image of what's been going on in Cardiff Bay - that's certainly the aspiration here. But perhaps they have the edge on sunshine and scenery!

The marina here is actually a fish haven - the water is incredibly clear, and marina manager Danny organises the refuelling efficiently - to the point of floating a boom around the boat in order to contain any possible fuel spills.

While Steve and I enjoy our breakfasts, Alan yet again has to go off to complete the paperwork. And whilst it's all above board and official, we have to buy certificates both for entry and departure with respect to immigration, customs and quarantine at US$50 each - a total bill of $300 for a four hour stay. Just in case recent sponsors would like to know where their money is going...

Our stop has been made possible yet again through Alan Priddy's Rotary connections. It came about initially when James Williams, a computer software expert working in Manila, came into the visitor centre in Cardiff not long after it opened. He signed the ship's log, and has been a firm follower of the project ever since.

He and Judy Sudario arranged everything for our stop, shopping for our provisions, and organising a superb shower and breakfast for us. So our grateful thanks to them - next stop Japan!

Clive Tully

FACTBOX
Kota Kinabalu - Subic Bay
Time of leg: 1 day 15 hours 17 minutes
Distance covered: 585 nautical miles
Average speed: 14.9 knots
Fuel consumed: 1,026.4 litres
Average fuel consumption: 1.75 litres / nautical mile
Next stop: Naha, Okinawa (Japan)
ETA: Sunday

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

Five o'clock this morning, and Spirit of Cardiff passes yet another milestone. So far we've traversed the Mediterranean Sea, Red Sea, Arabian Sea and Indian Ocean. And now, as we pass into the Luzon Strait, we've completed the South China Sea. Ahead of us is the Pacific Ocean, the northern rim of which we'll be skirting for the next couple of weeks or so.

After the previous night with no sleep at all, conditions are marginally improved. We're also so exhausted that when it's our turn to sleep, we crash out in a stupor. We've sorted the watch system so each crew member does a two hour solo watch, which means that throughout the night, each does two two-hour stints on watch, with two four-hour sleep periods. It works well.

Whilst the crew may be down to three, we do have a passenger on board, and a very welcome one at that. He's our Ty Hafen bear - with us for the entire voyage - and very well behaved he is too!

Ty Hafen is a hospice for terminally ill children in Wales, and while we've never made a big thing of it, ten per cent of the money from ship's log signings has always gone to Ty Hafen - ever since the ship's log started three years ago. So Ty Hafen bear is with us for the trip, a token of the dreams of those that may never be realised. It puts it all into perspective for us. Our hardships are self-imposed - that's a luxury.

It's the latest in a long line of charities supported through Rotary by Alan Priddy and Steve Lloyd's exploits, which includes Childline, the Cancer Care Society, Multiple Sclerosis Society, Make a Wish Foundation and Children in Need. Clive's previous adventures in walking boots have raised money for the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital, British Heart Foundation and Gunnar Nilsson Cancer Campaign.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

It's breakfast time on Sunday morning, and Spirit of Cardiff has passed yet another milestone. We're east of Taiwan, and we've just crossed the Tropic of Cancer. The last time we crossed it, heading south, was in the Red Sea, north of Jeddah. Only two more crossings, in Baja California, Mexico and near the Bahamas, and we're home.

It's six weeks today since we left Cardiff, and five weeks since we started the officially timed circumnavigation from Gibraltar, and whilst we haven't yet reached the halfway point in terms of distance, we're fairly close in terms of time.

In the 35 days since leaving Gibraltar, we've covered approximately 9,800 miles. That averages out at a not very impressive 280 miles a day at 11.6 knots. But of course we've encountered significant downtimes not of our making - three days in Malta waiting for spares to arrive and storms to go, a day in Port Said waiting to go through the canal, half a day in Galle through their harbour restrictions, and five days in Singapore (which includes limping in twice on our wing engine, and waiting for spares). That adds up to nine and a half days of time lost. Take that out of the 35 we've been running since Gibraltar, and things look a lot better.

9,800 miles over 25.5 running days works out at 384 miles a day, averaging 16 knots (Cable & Wireless Adventurer's overall average was 13.57 knots over a route some 600 miles shorter than ours), and that's including the normal if rather lengthy time we've spent on refuelling stops.

We'd always set our original target of 50 days around the world partly based on our having ground crews to meet us at each port, ensuring a speedy one-hour turn-round. With the absence of any major sponsorship, the ground crews were first to be slashed from the budget. With the bargain basement circumnavigation, we're having to do the refuelling and dealing with bureaucracy ourselves (albeit with the fantastic assistance of our many supporters around the world), which inevitably leads to longer stops in port.

Cable & Wireless Adventurer's around the world record is 74 days 20 hours 58 minutes. That means that we can arrive in Gibraltar any time on the 20th June and still be within their record. In fact we could arrive within the early hours of the 21st and still (just) break it.

With 15,200 miles to go, and a daily average of 384 miles, that means another 39.5 days to go. Or to put it another way, arriving in Gibraltar some time on the 19th June. Other factors to take into account are the Panama Canal - that one will reduce the daily average. Unlike the Suez Canal, the Panama has huge locks to take big ships - there'll be no way of cheating the system and going through quicker there.

But on the other hand, we've also had a lot of unexpected bad weather, and many of the third world stops have been unduly long. We're not expecting our stops along both coasts of the USA to take so long, because once we've cleared customs and immigration once, we won't have to keep on doing it. So we may well make up time there.

Ultimately, whenever we arrive in Gibraltar, we'll set a new record for the under fifty foot class, making us the fastest, smallest boat ever to circumnavigate the world. But even now we have the Cable & Wireless record in our sights, and we're still in with a better than average chance of taking it. The only thing that can stop us now is lack of funds.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Report transmitted by Iridium satellite network

There's a distinct change in climate as we move further northwards through the Pacific. It's still warm, but a lot more cloudy, with occasional bursts of rain - certainly very welcome after several weeks of blistering heat.

We arrive in Naha on the Japanese island of Okinawa at around 9pm local time, where we're greeted by John Perez and Tom Mekuhara. John is an American living here with his Japanese wife.

"It's an interesting place," he explains. "It's the birthplace of karate, and the American influence has left its mark (it was US territory for a long while, and they still have a large base here). Tourists come here from the mainland because it's the closest many Japanese can get to experiencing a different kind of culture without leaving their own country." Things certainly seem to be more laid back here compared with the high-powered go-gettem nature of mainland Japan.

We're unable to refuel until the morning, so we make an evening of it in the marina restaurant, with John, his wife and children, Tom, and a few of their friends. We're presented with some fine Okinawa baseball caps, and we each have a beautiful bowl made of coconut.

We refuel in the morning, and complete the usual formalities - the boat is inspected by customs and quarantine officials, and we fill in a few forms. All too soon, it's time to depart. If there's one big regret of this trip, it's having to say goodbye to the many wonderful friends we've made around the world, and we certainly feel that way when it comes to bidding farewell to John and Tom.

In the meantime, it's back to the confines of the boat, where Alan and I both admit we're not feeling too well. It's the old gippy tummy again, and nothing to do with our Okinawa stopover - we'd both been feeling somewhat out of sorts before we arrived.

So now we're under way for Choshi, not far from Yokohama on the main Japanese island of Honshu. At around 850 miles, it should take us something over two days, although we're in not terribly good weather at the moment, so we may be a little slower.

Clive Tully

FACTBOX
Subic Bay - Naha
Time of leg: 2 days 7 hours 27 minutes
Distance covered: 857 nautical miles
Average speed: 15.44 knots
Fuel consumed: 1,853 litres
Average fuel consumption: 2.16 litres / nautical mile
Next stop: Choshi, Honshu
ETA: Wednesday

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

As we say in Japan, "Omu mitai ni byoki da yo". Which roughly translated, means: "I'm sick as a parrot". To say the conditions aren't too kind would be an understatement. A strong easterly wind has whipped up the sea into waves which are taking us on the bow and starboard beam, and rain is coming at us in sheets.

The radar picks up all the rain, so it's displaying one huge splodge - if there are any ships in the vicinity, they're invisible. In 24 hours we've managed to put a mere 200 miles between us and Okinawa, struggling along at just eight knots, and - not to put too fine a point on it - it's miserable out here.

When we arrive in Choshi is very much dependent on whether the sea flattens down at all. We'd been promised an improvement for the early hours of this morning, but so far we've seen no change. In theory we should have been able to get there by Wednesday. At the moment, Thursday or Friday seems a safer guestimate.

When it's this horrible, there's nothing much for it but to grit your teeth and resign yourself to it. It's impossible to use the stove, so hot food and a nice steaming cuppa are out of the question. Certainly it's times like these - when a bit of music would lift our spirits - that we wish the radio cassette player on which we'd been playing our tapes hadn't taken a flight home from Singapore.

The boat bucks about so much, the chances of getting injured by stumbling into something are greatly increased. And our ensuite bathroom - the dive platform at the back of the boat - is unusable. The buffeting is too violent, and in these conditions at this slow speed, it's awash with about a foot of turbulent water anyway. We're back to the bucket for a toilet, and no washing.

And so you tend to lock into survival mode, mentally if not physically. With most unpleasant situations you might encounter in normal life, you know that one way or another you can usually make them stop. Out here, the certainty is that if the weather remains the same, we have another three days of this to endure before making port.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Report transmitted by Iridium satellite network

For what was supposed to be "a little bit of bad weather which would die down shortly," we seem to be heading for another kind of record. It's 48 hours since we left Okinawa, and the wind is still blowing at 25 to 30 knots, and rain is sheeting across us almost horizontally.

Yesterday we thought things were bad when we throttled down to five knots. But worse, much worse was to come. As the light went (I'd like to say as the sun went down, but we never saw it) the waves got bigger and bigger, coming at us from the starboard beam.

A boat, like an aeroplane, is capable of moving about three axis. Pitching and yawing are relatively easy to live with, even when the movement is quite violent. But rolling is always sickening, particularly when you're sliding sideways down a thirty foot wave. The moment of truth comes when Steve is on watch.

"It was when the sea appeared at the side windows," he says. "The waves were pushing us right over. I've never experienced anything as bad as this."

At this point, with the boat in serious danger of being rolled over, Alan decides to put the boat - and us - in survival mode. We deploy our survival equipment, and shut the engine down to not much more than tickover. "One thing the boat is very good at," says Alan, "is behaving like a cork."

Now we're making one knot, just enough to keep the boat stable. We've been beaten black and blue by this storm for 40 hours. We're exhausted, each sporting various injuries. Steve has cut his head, Alan has whacked his knee which has now blown up, and I'm bruised in various places.

Everything is soaking wet as well. Our three hatches (made by Californian company Bowmar) - one at the front and two in the roof - all leak badly. I guess we've pushed a lot of the equipment and fittings on the boat beyond what they were designed for.

The cushions for our bunks are saturated, and the carpet on the floor is soaked. Everything, absolutely everything is wet. Going to sleep with wet underneath you and wet dripping from above might seem horrific, but when you're as exhausted as we are, it's still possible. My various bits of electronics and camera kit have survived purely because they're protected by Lowepro waterproof camera cases.

Gradually we make our way between two small islands south of the Japanese mainland island of Kyushu, managing to pick up some speed for a short while. "We've managed to cover more distance in the last twenty minutes than we have all night," observes Alan.

We're gaining shelter in the lee of Tanega Shima, lying just off the town of Hishino. We've had our first cup of tea and hot meal in two days, we've managed to get some air into the cabin, and started to dry things out.

We are however still over 500 miles from Choshi. In good conditions, that's not much more than a day away. But we know that the moment we head out from the shelter of our friendly islands, we're going to be in the thick of it once more.

We set out through the tidal race at the end of the islands, and the waves are still coming in big and strong. Bertie our weatherman won't be able to give us another update for ten hours, so we have a choice. Either we batter our way into the storm once more, get wet, injured and at best make 50 miles, or we go back. So we're doing the only sensible thing - we're seeking shelter in the harbour at Hishino, and waiting till it blows through.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

Enforced stops can be frustrating, but they always have an upside. At least we get to sample a little of of the local culture. Hishino is a modest sized town with fishing harbour, on Tanega Shima, one of the Nansei Islands just off the south-western tip of Japan.

Our first priority is to change some US dollars into Yen. Not as easy as you might think when all the signs on the buildings are in Japanese. We go into three places that look as though they may be banks, lured by familiar Automated Teller Machines in the entrances. One may have been a post office, while another could quite possibly have been some kind of social security office. Eventually we find ourselves in a bank with a foreign exchange desk.

Nobody speaks English, and whilst we manage to conclude the transaction without snags, it becomes a bit more difficult to make small talk, especially when it comes to trying to convince people we're not here for the World Cup. I finish up by drawing a small boat with a crude representation of the globe encircled by an arrow.

That done, we seek out a small restaurant, have a meal, and go and do some essential shopping. Somehow on our short abortive run yesterday out at the top of Tanega Shima, our all-important toilet bucket jumped off the back of the boat. And we need to try and cure some of the leaks.

On our way back to the harbour, we pass Jionji Temple, the oldest temple in the Nansei Islands. In 1552, Francisco Xavier, the first Christian missionary to Japan came to Tanega Shima while on his way to China. Over a hundred Portuguese and other traders spent six months here, establishing trading contacts. Guns, powder, camphor, and even scissors came into Japan through here.

Hishino is not what you might call a happening place on a Wednesday night. After Alan's daily call to weatherman Bertie, we finish up the night - just the three of us - in a karaoke bar. The resulting excruciating sounds make listening to fingernails down a blackboard pleasant by comparison. The lyrics of some of the songs are a bit dodgy, as well. I'll give an autographed postcard of Spirit of Cardiff to the first person to guess in which song we unexpectedly found Miss Miller.

The news from Bertie is not encouraging. He says this depression will be with us for another 72 hours. We're not going to risk trying to run all the way to Choshi. Instead, we're making a short dash north through mountainous seas to Miyazaki, on the mainland.

We get two advantages out of this. First of all it leaves us better lined up for a run to Choshi when the weather does improve, and second, Alan and Steve (so hopefully me too) will be welcomed here with open arms. Miyazaki is twinned with Portsmouth, and Alan and Steve are official envoys of the city - a special honour bestowed on them after one of their previous exploits.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

The run into Miyazaki is exciting, to say the least. The seas are mountainous, the size of the waves only really brought home to us when we approach the Kyushu coast, and we come across a group of fishing boats. It seems as though they're weaving in and out of the hills. One second we can see them, the next, they're out of sight. The wind is still coming in hard from the north-east, which is no use for attempting to get to Choshi, so we make our way into the harbour at Miyazaki.

We tie up in the docks, and before we know it, we're chatting with our neighbour, whose large pleasure cruiser is tied up nearby. His English is not good, but we manage to understand each other. Maretoshi Iwamitsu is the president of the Iwamitsu Group of companies, a prominent local businessman, and aware of the Portsmouth / Miyazaki twinning links. Myazaki is one of the base cities for the World Cup, and we see plenty of flags for the German and Swedish teams. He invites us to join him for dinner in the evening.

The restaurant he takes us to is traditional Japanese, with a private room - we're joined by Maretoshi's wife, and his best friend and his wife. The fish starter doesn't prove too popular amongst the British contingent, but once finely sliced strips of pork and beef are sizzling away on the mini barbecue set into the middle of the table, things start going with a swing.

Maretoshi has two daughters studying in England, and when we get stuck during the conversation, he phones one of them up on his mobile to act as interpreter! We establish that Maretoshi is also a member of the "elite class of '53". All the Spirit of Cardiff crew were born in 1953. Then we found our good friend Choy in Singapore is also a member of the club. And now Maretoshi. A strange coincidence, without a doubt.

It transpires that Maretoshi owns the restaurant in which we're eating. When it's time to go, he produces a handful of keycards and presents one to each of us - he also owns Urban Kit, the hotel the restaurant is in. So we get to sleep in a bed that doesn't move for the first time in over a month. It's an odd sensation, but welcome none the less.

At the end of it all, we're still waiting anxiously for news from our weather man. When the depression that's been dogging us moves, we'll have south-westerlies to push us all the way to Choshi, now just 500 miles away. That's little more than a day in good conditions. We may get away tonight - we're going to have to be patient for just a little longer.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

Today, the news is that the wind is north-easterly, around 15 knots. Not as bad as yesterday's 40 knots plus, which we would have been very foolish to venture out into. Never the less, we're leaving Miyazaki today, even though that 15 knots promises to be a head sea. The even worse news is that a typhoon is building in the Philippines, and it's heading this way. It seems the typhoon season - something our route and timing always planned to avoid like the plague - has started a month early.

Our hosts in Myazaki have been absolutely fantastic, and generous beyond belief. You couldn't imagine that you might meet a perfect stranger who introduces himself out of a common interest in boats, and end up staying and dining with him, and being shown around, all with so few words. We're even presented with some provisions to keep us going to Choshi. It's sad to say it, but I find it hard to believe you might encounter many people behaving like that at home. We're just a little too reserved and cynical. But Maretoshi is, to coin his own word, a shipmate. A very special one at that.

On Friday, we take a ride in Maretoshi's car to the port to retrieve some items from the boat. Then he takes us to a brand new marina. When we arrived on Thursday, we'd taken the first turning into Miyazaki's harbour entrance. If we'd carried on to the second one, we could have moored in a magnificent marina with full facilities instead of a commercial dock. But then we would never have met Maretoshi. That's fate, isn't it?

Miyazaki is known as a spa resort, and Maretoshi takes us to a Japanese spa. Located in another hotel, it consists of a number of baths of different temperatures. The traditional Japanese way is without a bathing costume, holding a small flannel as strategically as you like when moving from one bath to another.

It's bad form to use soap in the baths themselves, so you wander off to a separate area with showers, soap and shampoo to do the cleaning. Not forgetting the sauna, of course. By the end of it, we all feel warm, relaxed, and squeaky clean - wonderful!

We dine once more with Maretoshi, his wife and friends. They notice that this time we're not attacking the traditional dishes with quite the abandon we did on our first night, and before we know it, a bag full of cheeseburgers arrives.

So to Saturday morning, and time to say farewell. Once again, we would have loved to stay, but we're itching to move on. We still have another 14,700 miles left of our home run!

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Report transmitted by Iridium satellite network

It's amazing just how much energy remains in water long after the force which stirred it up has past. The winds, forecast at around 15 knots, are actually negligible, but the seas are big, with 25 foot swells still remaining from the previous few days' storm. Not just small fishing boats but even large ships seem to appear from nowhere.

The first few hours out of Miyazaki see us with a massive tide pushing us along. The engine is barely ticking over, and yet we're racing along at 20 knots. We're still reeling, pleasantly, from the boundless generosity of our friends in Miyazaki, and feasting on the packet of Frosties which formed part of their pack of goodies to see us on our way.

As the sun comes up on Sunday morning, the sea has flattened off considerably, and we're still maintaining 20 knots, now with a little more assistance from our Yamaha diesel engine than the tide. At this rate, we should be in Choshi (about 60 miles east of Tokyo) by early evening. Unfortunately we have to wait until Monday morning to refuel and get the boat lifted out of the water for servicing.

But at least it means a decent night's sleep unbroken by going on watch, although again we have to suffer the frustration of delay imposed by other peoples' working hours. If money had been no object for Spirit of Cardiff, we could have made our refuelling stops much, much quicker, thus giving us more time to play with in the quest to break the Cable & Wireless Adventurer's round the world record.

But at the moment, what's going through our minds is not so much how quickly we can bring the boat home. It's whether we can at all...

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

As round the world legs go, the one from Naha to Choshi has certainly proved the one with the most surprises. A longer route to avoid the worst excesses of some particularly horrible weather, including two unscheduled stops - very different, but both very welcome respites from the storm.

We arrive at Choshi marina just before 6pm local time, with a fantastic welcoming committee of people - some from engine sponsors Yamaha, others just interested members of the club here. Before we know it, Alan, Steve and I have cans of Asahi beer in our hands, and my video camera is being passed from one to another in order to get all of us in shot.

We're taken off to a local restaurant, where Alan proves the true adventurer once more with the sashimi raw fish, while Steve and I opt for the somewhat more conservative but more constitution-friendly fried variety, followed by piles of noodles. At least we're getting the hang of eating with chopsticks.

The boat is lifted out of the water on Monday morning, and transported to a large shed, where a team of Yamaha engineers gives the engine and gearbox a thorough service. It's also an opportunity for Alan and Steve to perform a few minor repairs and modifications.

It's so cold here, we're wearing long trousers, shoes and socks for the first time in well over a month, which feels pretty odd. But the real problem is that the wind has risen alarmingly. Menacing dark clouds are racing across the sky, and there's an ominous whistling in the air. The wind speed is 30 knots and rising - which means absolutely no chance of going out and hoping to make progress. It would also be pretty dangerous as the wind is forecast to get up to 40 knots.

So, we're weathered in here at least for the rest of today. We'll take another look at the situation when we get our next weather forecast, but it looks like another wait, and more uncertainty.

Clive Tully

FACTBOX
Naha - Choshi
Time of leg: 6 days 7 hours 41 minutes
Length of leg: 1,050 nautical miles
Total distance covered: 10,823 nautical miles
Distance to go: 14,220 nautical miles
Average speed over leg: 6.92 knots
Fuel consumed: 1,973 litres
Average fuel consumption: 1.88 litres / nautical mile
Next stop: Muroran, Hokkaido, Japan
ETA: Wednesday (maybe)

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

After a day watching the wind assaulting the coast around Choshi, albeit with the pleasure of doing a little sightseeing, Spirit of Cardiff is now under way again. The wind has dropped, and we're making good progress to Muroran, on the Japanese island of Hokkaido. But we're being chased northwards by Typhoon Hagibis, and we know a second one is forming. Typhoons coming a month early definitely weren't part of the plan.

Getting to Muroran shouldn't be a problem, but we need to know our long thousand mile passage to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy on Russia's Kamchatka Peninsula is going to be safe. We'll be following the Kuril Islands chain, and whilst we should be able to seek offshore shelter, we're not so sure about harbours if the need becomes desperate.

Apart from the sterling work done by Yamaha's engineers whilst the boat was being serviced yesterday, we also had a visit from a representative of Solpower Japan Corporation, who've provided our all-important Soltron fuel additive for this part of the trip. As well as the special additive itself, he presented us each with a lightweight jacket - bright yellow, so you should see us coming.

He also gave us a handful of Japanese good luck charms, two of which are hanging in the cabin, and one of which jangles merrily every time we hit a bump. Not that we're complaining. We've decided we need as much good luck as we can get!

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

It's funny. Just when you think things are going well, and you're making good progress, along comes something else to slow you down. The weather as we've traversed the length of the islands of Japan has been the most changeable of the entire trip. Yesterday's early progress was brought to a grinding halt by the evening, when we ran into a rough head sea which reduced us to a miserable five knots.

This morning, the conditions are somewhat improved, and we're up to 20 knots again, albeit with a very bumpy and uncomfortable ride. We're predicted more of this for the next three days - most of our journey up to Russia. So we've resolved to try and make our best progress during the day, when we can see where the waves are coming from, and run the boat slower at night. It's safer that way, and everybody gets a better chance at some sleep. And if conditions improve, obviously we'll take advantage of them.

The sun is strong through a watery blue sky, and the distant mountains of Hokkaido loom out of the mist as we close on Muroran. But appearances are deceptive. The air temperature is low - so now we have the door on the back of the cabin.

But strangely, in a final contrary stroke of fate, our final run into Muroran is in bright sunny, windless conditions. We're met outside the harbour by a speedboat, and escorted in to Enrum Marina in Muroran.

Here the marina building sports a huge banner welcoming the Spirit of Cardiff, and a scrum of journalists and TV crews is waiting for us. We're hosted here by Enrum Marina and Yamaha, who not only take us out to lunch but off to the shops afterwards for some essential supplies. Next stop Russia, and the Kamchatka Peninsula.

Clive Tully

FACTBOX
Choshi - Muroran
Time of leg: 1 day 5 hours 22 minutes
Length of leg: 421 nautical miles
Total distance covered: 11,244 nautical miles
Distance to go: 13,620 nautical miles
Average speed over leg: 14.35 knots
Time from Gibraltar: 44 days 16 hours 57 minutes
Fuel consumed: 926 litres
Average fuel consumption: 2.2 litres / nautical mile
Next stop: Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy, Russia
ETA: Sunday

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

It's just coming up to four in the morning. There's been light in the sky since three, but now a cherry red sun, noticeably flattened as it creeps over the horizon, is rising above the creamy smooth surface of the ocean. We're working our way along the south-eastern coast of Hokkaido, with the Kuril Islands stretching out before us all the way to the Kamchatka Peninsula.

I never really thought before how birds go to sleep on the sea, not just seabirds, which you might expect to find floating in groups on the surface, but migrating birds as well. But it's only the seabirds that try to keep up with us once they take to the air, thinking perhaps that we're a fishing boat with some easy spoils. Yesterday we spot what we guess to be an albatross - its wingspan of a good six feet supporting it with barely any movement as it wheels effortlessly over the waves.

It's cold, too. For the first time last night, my lightweight Snugpak sleeping bag - too warm to use during our spell in the tropics - is now just a little chilly. So it's time to bring out its heavyweight brother to cope with the next week or so in the North Pacific.

Breakfast this morning is a bowl of granola (the nearest thing we could get in Japan to muesli) followed by a very satisfying soft-boiled egg in toast sandwich and a steaming mug of tea. The biggest surprise of the night has been the calm state of the sea since leaving Muroran. With no wind worth speaking of, and just a slight swell, we've all managed to get some quality rest to make up for the previous night's torment, and we've also made a reasonable dent in the mileage to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy.

The world is definitely a much better place this morning, even if it is damned cold.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

From the frenetic activity of fishing boats along the Japanese coast, the passage along the Russian owned Kuril Islands feels rather like venturing into the empty quarter of the Sahara Desert. We've seen absolutely nothing in the way of shipping or small boats.

During the night, we've crossed through the line of the Kuril Islands to follow their western flank in the Sea of Okhotsk. The hope here is for a little shelter from any wind coming from the north-east, and it knocks a few miles off the overall passage to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy.

Although the wind has picked up a little, we're still making around 15 knots. With around 500 miles to go to P-K, we could arrive there by late Saturday night provided the wind gets no stronger.

As the sun rises at just after four on Friday morning, the sight which greets my eyes looks more akin to South Georgia. We're just a couple of miles offshore from the island chain - rugged mountains wreathed in mist rising straight out of the sea, their dark silhouettes given shape and texture by the lines of snow which fill their numerous gullies.

Here and there the mountainsides descend to shallow saddles which sweep down to isolated beaches. The sort of place a shipwrecked mariner might head for, but not very welcoming or hospitable even so.

It's not freezing, but the temperature can't be much above. Not so much Sea of Okhotsk as Okchillysk. It feels colder because of the damp. There is a heater in the boat's cabin, but at these temperatures, it's pretty ineffective, and an icy draught comes through the gaps around the door at the back - we have to keep it ajar to stop the windows misting up.

Yesterday evening, we all made a sharp transition from kitting out for warmer climes to winter conditions. Now we're wearing thermal underwear, fleece jackets and warm hats, and we've swapped our lightweight sleeping bags for the heavyweight ones more suited to these conditions.

Alan and Steve are asleep now, and by the time they're awake, we've driven into a large bank of fog. The Kuril Islands are indeed a sight of wild and rare beauty, and one which I guess very few have the privilege of witnessing.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

After a rough night in the Sea of Okhotsk, the water has flattened off nicely. We've passed a few more islands, and now we're coming up on the southern tip of Kamchatka, a peninsula of spectacular snow-clad volcanoes. We've even had a fair smattering of wildlife, from watching the comical efforts of puffins racing across the water like demented paddle steamers in their efforts to get airborne, close encounters with dolphins and seals, and we've seen our first couple of killer whales, their distinctive sail-like dorsal fins slicing through the water.

The Russians have decided we're not allowed into Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy harbour until Monday morning, despite the fact that we could easily get there by Saturday night. The latest they could accept us Saturday is 1pm, which they extended to 3pm, neither of which we can make. So we're expected to anchor offshore until Monday morning.

We've accepted we can't refuel until Monday morning, but not that we can't go into a harbour and tie up. After all, Kamchatka is supposed to be very beautiful, and our hosts on the ground would be in a position to show us some of it on Sunday. But sadly that's been denied them.

We've pointed out that we're only a small craft which will be on the verge of running out of fuel, we've pointed out that the only anchor we have is a sea anchor designed to stabilise us in dangerous conditions. We've even offered to pay extra (they're charging us enough already) but none of these has persuaded them to make an exception for us.

Our options now are to make reasonable passage to Kamchatka and find a quiet bay somewhere, or to slow down. At the moment we're making just 10 knots, which will get us there on Sunday, but we have to find the happy medium fuel consumption-wise. It's possible to go too slow as well.

In the meantime, we can do no more than enjoy the starkly beautiful scenery and wildlife, and we'll worry about what happens in P-K when we get there.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

The journey up the Kamchatka Peninsula has been memorable to say the least. The scenery is stunning, and we've taken the opportunity to enjoy it, having cut our speed. We know we can't get in to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy until Monday morning, so we've done a bit of sight-seeing. Of course there is the small matter of infringing the Russian 12 mile coastal limit, but the volcanoes and mountains look much more spectacular from just a mile offshore.

The sun sets over the mountains at around 11pm, and a rosy afterglow lights up a snowy ridge for a good hour afterwards. Even with the sun gone, we can still see plenty. The moon is full and bright in the crisp night air, bathing the mountains in a mysterious blue light.

We arrive at the entrance to Avachinskaya Bay early Sunday morning. We've been given a precise list of co-ordinates which we must follow, and where we can expect to be boarded, but we're here a day early. We phone Martha, our American contact on the ground in P-K.

"So what would be the reaction if we made our way further into the harbour anyway?" Alan asks Martha.

"They could shoot you," she replies "they did with someone else a couple of days ago".

It's apparent that we're in a sensitive area. The mountainsides on each side of the bay are bristling with early warning radar domes and radio installations. This of course is the closest point to the United States, and doubtless during the Cold War, was a major centre of military activity.

We've had people trying to contact us on the VHF radio, but whilst we can hear them, they can't hear us. It's a problem we've had before - we're very low in the water, so our signal doesn't go as far.

So now we're drifting just outside Avachinskaya Bay. There are people ashore who know we're here, and trying to cut through the communication barriers. Fingers crossed they're successful.

Clive Tully

FACTBOX
Muroran - Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy
Time of leg: 3 days 8 hours 52 minutes
Length of leg: 1,056 nautical miles
Total distance covered: 12,300 nautical miles
Distance to go: 12,620 nautical miles
Average speed over leg: 13 knots
Time from Gibraltar: 48 days 7 hours 22 minutes
Fuel consumed: 2,322 litres
Average fuel consumption: 2.19 litres / nautical mile
Next stop: Adak Island, Aleutians, USA
ETA: Tuesday (after we've crossed the international date line)

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

The rest of Sunday turns into a mixture of hope and waiting. Eventually we're told that the General in command of the area has given us a special dispensation to come into the port and tie up. But that's the limit. We're a foreign flagged vessel arriving in a closed port - across Avachinskaya Bay is a large submarine base, the reason for the heavy restrictions.

I'm the first to clamber onto the quayside, and I advance - hand outstretched in greeting - on two women in combat fatigues. The sterner of the two gestures to me to stay where I am. OK, so I've not had a wash since last Wednesday, but really! Or maybe she thinks I'm suffering from more than a dodgy sense of humour. Then her officer appears, who boards the boat to inspect our passports, and promptly bangs his head in the low doorway. We're off to a good start.

We're not allowed to leave the port area, dilapidated as it is, until after we've cleared immigration on Monday, so we're confined to our boat, and a 20 metre radius on the quayside. They even send border guards to check on us every two hours to make sure we haven't absconded to the nearest bar. So I amuse myself by climbing one of the dockside cranes, then come back to join Alan and Steve for a few beers, courtesy of our friend Maretoshi in Miyazaki, Japan.

Pacific Networks boss Marina appears later, bearing food and drink, so we tuck into an entire chicken each, tomatoes, and some Uzbek bread. We retire early, and sleep for very nearly twelve hours.

On Monday morning we finally meet Martha, our initial contact in P-K, and then along comes a succession of officials bearing forms to be completed. The general consensus is that nobody can believe we've come halfway round the world in such a small boat. We have our fair share of forms to fill in, although many are far more appropriate to large visiting ships than a tiny powerboat. I complete the health declaration, answering "no" to all the questions about whether we're suffering from plague and rats. But when it comes to "has anybody died onboard" I hedge my bets with "not yet", and to the question about whether anyone is suffering from any disease, I put "possibly mental".

We're refuelled, but the rest of the formalities take considerably longer, so it's not until late in the afternoon that we finally get away, very nearly 24 hours after arriving. Clearly Russia is another place where the concept of urgency and world records has yet to arrive. But as Martha explains to us, "doing things here is not so much about speed and efficiency, it's keeping people occupied".

We can't wait to be occupied, too. Now we're on our way to Adak Island over 900 miles away, and looking forward eagerly to our first US landfall.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network

We're now over two hundred miles out of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy, and we've taken a route somewhat to the south of the original straight line between P-K and Adak, avoiding the 35 knot winds coming up from behind. As it is the conditions aren't exactly perfect - cold, wet and miserable - but we're making reasonable progress with a good 15 knots average.

This in fact is the first of two Tuesday reports. In the next few hours we'll be crossing the International Date Line, which does a sideways jink to the west at this latitude to accommodate the Aleutian Islands. We've already changed our watches to Alaskan time to be ready for Adak and Kodiak, so from P-K time we've put them forward three hours, and back a day. It seems awfully confusing, but as far as the world records are concerned, all timing is done in GMT, so we don't have to do any odd sums.

"I'm a bit worried about the weather!"

If it had been any of the three of us on board Spirit of Cardiff, you might perhaps understand. But this is Bertie, our weatherman, on the phone to Alan during his daily weather briefing. Normally Bertie talks in purely technical terms, relaying the information he's amassed, and his forecast as to what the weather's going to do. But when Bertie ventures into more emotional language, we're worried that he's worried.

We're halfway between Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy and Adak Island, and the conditions are less than favourable. In Alan's words, "the North Pacific is the most inhospitable place we've ever been to". We're in the middle of one depression, and there's another following hard on its heels at 20 knots. Not to mention the one on the boat.

We're in a fairly lumpy following sea, with potential for making good progress, albeit with a certain amount of bumping around. During the night, we have to throttle back - trying to go fast when you can't see the waves is a recipe for trouble, and in any event, we manage to sleep that much better.

We may just have altered our clocks a little soon. Getting used to Alaskan time seemed a good idea in principle, but it culminated with our hours of darkness running from around 1am to 8am. At least tonight, having travelled several hundred miles east, it should get dark a little earlier. And we've replaced our Russian courtesy flag with the Stars and Stripes. Nothing like getting ready...

But for now, the big question mark is the weather. When we arrive in Adak, will we be in the thick of the second depression, and have to sit it out, or will we still be ahead of it enough to try and outrun it?

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Report transmitted by Iridium satellite network

It's three o'clock in the morning, and Alan has just handed over watch to me.

"We're in a following sea," he says, "but there aren't any really big waves out there. Just cut the throttle if the speed gets above 18."

I fumble for my water bottle. Alan finds it, and hands it over, adding "it's almost empty."

"But look at the side." I've noticed that the curved surface of the plastic bottle has a slight dip in it. I double check on my wristwatch barometer. "Yes, the pressure's rising". That means an improvement in the weather, at least temporarily.

I settle in to being the blind throttle jockey. You might think it somewhat contrary that a boating expedition out to circle the world as quickly as possible should be concerned about too much speed. Certainly following seas are much better than head seas for making progress, but they too have their pitfalls.

It's a stop-go process. The engine revs drop as you labour up a seemingly endless hill which is pulling away in front of you. Eventually you make it to the top. The bow lifts up and the boat slows down, wallowing about aimlessly for several seconds.

Then it smacks down again and the runaway train ride begins. We're surfing down the front of the wave, picking up speed at an alarming rate. If we go too fast, the danger is we run into the back of the next wave. Sometimes it's nothing more than an impressive cascade of spray. But sometimes it can be more spectacular, like the wave which smashed both windscreens on our way from Cardiff to Gibraltar.

It's made more interesting by the fact that it's pitch dark, and I don't have any horizon at all for reference. So I have to manage using just sound, feel and the instruments. I finish my watch with both windscreens intact.

Alan has now decided we will definitely overnight Wednesday in Adak. The place has a population of 300, but accommodation for 6,000, harking back to its former role as a US military base. Not unreasonable therefore to presume they might have a few spare beds. We haven't washed or changed clothes for over a week, so we're looking forward to a bit of quality shower and laundry time. Alan has also put out a request to see a doctor when we arrive. His back has been playing up - a direct result of the pasting we've been taking over the last few days.

Although the weather conditions have improved somewhat, it's only temporary. We know there's still a second depression coming up right behind us at 20 knots. Letting it blow through is a good tactical move. Not only do we escape a battering, it should also set the wind right for our next leg north-east to Kodiak.

Clive Tully

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Report transmitted by Iridium satellite network

It's a bumpy and exhausting ride, doing our best to outrun the depression coming up behind us, but eventually we make it into Adak, battered and bruised. We're taken to our accommodation for the night at the Sandy Cove Hotel. But this is no typical hotel. We have a house to ourselves, one of a line of former quarters for military personnel, shipped to Adak in kit form. Not that you'd guess - it's a very comfortable house, with full amenities.

Adak was once part of America's front line. The base was established by the Army and Airforce back in World War Two, then taken over by the US Navy. Here they stored nuclear weapons - bombs and torpedoes - along with massive amounts of conventional ordnance, much of it in numerous magazines dotted all over the hillsides. And it was an advance listening and communication post. From Adak they could communicate with American nuclear submarines anywhere in the world.

In its heyday, 90,000 people lived here. Now the population is around 100, mainly people connected with the fishing industry, or performing continuing maintenance on parts of the old base.

Adak is treeless, with just short tundra vegetation grazed by roaming caribou, and our view of snow-spattered hills disappearing into the clouds is very much the typical one. The buildings are functional, and the weather challenging. It's definitely not the place to come to if you're a fan of sunshine. We were talking about places where the average temperature is 70 degrees F, when Joe Galaktionoff says "the only 70 we get here is miles an hour - the wind".

Much of the old base is like a ghost town, rows and rows of accommodation blocks, all deserted. We take an evening tour of the island with Rex and Violet, who run Bake and Tackle, the restaurant/diner and Bill "Shipmate" Wooten, who along with Rex served some time with the American military on Adak.

We stop off at a small inlet where the tide is coming in with ferocious speed, and inquisitive seals pop their heads up out of the water to take a look at us. They're not disappointed, either. This is the point where the van we're in develops a flat tyre, right on the single-track bridge over the entrance to the inlet. But it's a good demonstration of the strong community spirit of the people who live on Adak. After a call on the VHF radio, someone comes out to us, although the van ends up being left overnight on the bridge. Not too much chance of a tailback here, I suspect.

Our night ashore is welcome indeed. The journey from Japan and Russia has taken a lot out of us, physically and mentally, and we all sleep the drugged stupor of the exhausted. For me, it's only the fifth time in two months I've been able to go to bed stretched out properly. Spirit of Cardiff's bunks aren't long enough for me.

Our short stay in Adak has recharged our batteries, and once again we've encountered the most incredible friendliness and generosity, although it's apparent that the people here have also enjoyed the fleeting visit paid by three crazy Brits in a boat that's impossibly small for such a big journey. So thanks very much to Rex and Violet, to Shipmate and to Kjetil, whose company Adak Fisheries footed the 500 plus dollar bill for our fuel - that happened on the off-chance as I chatted with him in the Bake and Tackle. I can't help thinking that if we'd had that kind of instant generosity from Cardiff businesses, who stand to gain a lot more from our venture, we wouldn't be in the financial pickle we're in now.

Now we're on our way to Kodiak, the most northerly stop of our round the world itinerary. We've been promised the passage will be rough in places. Even in good weather, there's a 50 mile stretch called the Pass which is perpetually horrible. It's tempting to linger in Adak, but we still have a record to break.

Clive Tully

FACTBOX
Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy - Adak Island
Time of leg: 2 days 22 hours 43 minutes
Length of leg: 957 nautical miles
Total distance covered: 13,257 nautical miles
Distance to go: 11,670 nautical miles
Average speed over leg: 13.53 knots
Time from Gibraltar: 52 days 16 hours 13 minutes
Fuel consumed: 2,162 litres
Average fuel consumption: 2.26 litres / nautical mile
Next stop: Kodiak
ETA: Monday (maybe)

Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
Picture and text transmitted by Iridium satellite network