Pete received the Inaugural Jester Medal, which is awarded by the Ocean Cruising Club, at their
discretion, for an outstanding contribution to the art of singlehanded sailing.
Whilst browsing through a Classic Boat magazine in a supermarket in Bermuda, I came across an article about the Jester Challenge to be held the next year. This fired my imagination and I decided I would if at all possible try to enter. The first obstacle was my 38-foot catamaran, China Moon, which fell a long way outside the 30-foot limit. I had been contemplating getting a smaller boat and here was the perfect reason to do something about it.
I sailed to Annapolis on Chesapeake Bay, put China Moon with a broker and looked for a suitable boat for the Challenge.Fortunately older boats under 30 feet could be had for giveaway prices and I soon found a Dufour 27. I then set about a complete refit, which included building a junk rig. The plan was to sail her over to England in the early spring in time for the start.
In October a prospective buyer for China Moon came along with the rider that the boat be delivered to his mooring on the Tamar River, in Tasmania. The offer and the voyage sounded attractive and the deal was done. I would have to leave directly to get across the North Atlantic before the winter gales set in and it looked as though I would not be able to enter the Jester Challenge, as there was no time to finish the refit and sail the Dufour to the start. I then realised that I was losing the plot. Perhaps if I bought a suitable boat in England and was able to get China Moon to Tasmania by Easter, I would stand a chance of making it. I emailed my friend Robin Blain of Sunbird Yachts and asked if he had a suitable boat on his books (junk-rigged and cheap). The morning I set out for Australia I agreed to buy Shanti, a junk-rigged Kingfisher 22.
I sailed single-handed to Brazil and had a very rough passage. I spent a month repairing damage and waiting for Simon, the new owner, to join me for the next leg direct to Tasmania. As well as my deadline, Simon had to be back at work immediately after Easter, otherwise there would be several painful un-anaesthetised operations being performed. That passage, south of Cape of Good Hope and through the roaring forties was not without incident. We arrived just one day late.
A few days later I flew to England to get Shanti ready for the race. She had not been sailed for several years but was basically in good condition. After a very hectic two weeks, blessed with good weather and the help of Robin and Mandy Blain, Shanti was launched at Topsham on the Exe. I spent four days anchored off the Turf Hotel watching low clouds scudding overhead. This scotched any hope of doing the recommended 500-mile shakedown cruise. We did have a stiff beat to Falmouth against a F6, which found some deficiencies in Shanti’s waterproofness, and arrived at Plymouth with several days to spare.
A small gathering of fellow competitors assembled at Queen Anne’s Battery marina. It was comforting to see that most of the other boats were also busy with last minute jobs. Several of the expected boats had not arrived and rumour and speculation were rife. Would Jester make it to the start despite losing her mast a few days previously? How had Anthony Darrall-Rew’s Greya sunk on the way to Plymouth from Ireland (thankfully only a rumour)?
At 12 o’clock on Saturday 3 June nine sailors set out for Newport, Rhode Island. Jester was at the start, tied to Black Velvet’s stern and hastily rigging the newly-stepped mast. She did not leave until several hours later. The wind was a light westerly which got lighter as the afternoon wore on. The following dawn found us off the Lizard, all but becalmed. Roger Taylor’s junk rigged Corribee Ming Ming was nearby. For the next 36 hours we ghosted in sight of each other until a nice easterly filled in and Ming Ming disappeared heading further north.
Before the start there was much discussion about which route to take. Most seemed to favour the northern route, pioneered by Blondie Hasler, but my own preference was to sail through the Azores and hopefully avoid the gales. When you are becalmed a gale often seems preferable, but not in a 22-footer. Of course the actual wind encountered in the first few days plays a major factor in determining the actual course taken. The fortunate easterly meant that I headed for the Azores. A week out and I had the worst weather of the whole voyage. A southwesterly F6-7 had Shanti reefed down to the top two panels and I was trying to decide which was the least bad tack, but within 12 hours the wind had eased off.
Two weeks out and the island of San Miguel was close abeam to port, but hidden in cloud. I was making an unexpectedly fast passage with several days of fair winds and a best day’s run of 133 miles. For the next 12 days the wind swung round into the east and we had perfect conditions, sunny and averaging four to five knots, with the Hasler self-steering doing all the work. Once down to 33N 44W we started heading directly toward the finish. By the end of the fourth week we had come 2,600 miles. My optimism was soaring and I was contemplating finishing in another 10 days.
That’s when I lost the wind and it never really came back. It was often calm in the middle of the day, unbearably hot below and with virtually no shade on deck. Shanti was surprisingly good at ghosting along in almost no wind and we usually made at least 50 miles a day. I had a cheap plastic sextant for the navigation (not a joy to use) and also a handheld GPS which I used as we neared the coast of America. A combination of fog and strong tidal currents would have made the approach to Newport very nerve-racking without it.
The shores of Rhode Island appeared out of the haze on the forty- fourth day. The sea breeze filled in and Shanti quickly sailed the final few miles to the finish off the Castle light, which we passed shortly before 1900 that evening. As we sailed towards Newport we were surrounded by yachts enjoying an evening sail, not one of which would have suspected that the little yellow boat had just crossed the Atlantic.
Waiting for me in harbour was my shipmate, Shirley. I surprised her as I rounded up under Speedwell’s stern and then she surprised me by saying that I was the second boat in. It was good to be there, particularly when a tropical storm passed close by a few days later.
