Despite having the most wonderful time with so many friends in the UK and Croatia, there was something about land that is corrupt.  “Boats and people rot in the harbours.”  Being away from it all, escaping into an unknown blue universe  was an elixir fix I needed the most. I said to Neptune: “Get me out of here!” 

We set off from Falmouth with no fixed plan except to complete the cruise we were planning on Kokachin’s launch two years ago, but then we ran out of time.  During our short but mesmerising  stop-over  at Scillies Neptune (who, unlike me, does not waste his words!) said: “One will have to go a very long way to find something better than this!”. We love the Isle of Scillies. 

With no favourable weather for a crossing to the West Coast of Ireland (our original idea), and with Roger expecting us in Scotland, we decided to head straight North.  An overnight sail up St George’s Channel into the Irish Sea with strong following winds was nice and easy. Flying at 8-9 knots at times we made it to Bangor, Northern Ireland, in 36 hours, excited. We set off the next day with some very big swell, in gusty S force 3 winds, rain and poor visibility, avoiding reefs and rocks.  We peaked at the coastline through the mist, admiring sweeping green hills with an odd farmhouse or tiny cove harbours here and there. It was a rural, fable like world, wrapped in its own bubble.  

With strong S4+ following wind, big seas, and eventually under foresail only, we safely arrived at Red Bay (NI).  When the mist lifted, and the low black clouds passed, the grey world of the whole big bay was suddenly transformed, bathing in the most stunning sunlight glare, making everything golden. The sparkling green, fairy tale mountains encircled us. I could not stop marvelling at this enchanting, intensely rich, beauty of this wonderland. 

With plenty of room to sail off the anchor in gusty W6 we set off at 6am along NI coast.  We had very rough seas, strong currents and wind as we battled around Cushendun heading NNE towards Scotland across the notorious North Channel. Well reefed we crossed its rough seas in poor visibility and gusty NW5-6 wind. Kokachin joyfully sailed along with Neptune at the helm, full of masterful tricks, giving orders and me (surprisingly!) faultlessly fulfilling them. I worked hard on sail adjustments as gusts hit us, or the wind dropped and we slowed down. With all my might I sheeted the beast of the mainsail, generally stretching on deck and pushing with my legs to gain leverage, running out of the last ounce of strength while Neptune, concentrating,  held hard onto the helm – Kokachin being hard to steer.  We worked as a well oiled team during this challenging and enjoyable crossing. Full of apprehension, in excitement, in the middle of those rough seas, exhausted, I kissed Neptune just for being there with me. Seas smoothed down once we were well past the Kintyre Peninsula. Then the wind dropped off and the current seemed to be against us as we sailed slowly, to windward, to Gigha.

Once in Scotland there was no end to my amazement and marvelling at the breathtakingly beautiful landscape. Scattered rocky islands surrounded us everywhere, offering its numerous bays.  Mountainous coastline stretched for miles on end, its pointy peaks etching the skyline behind each other.  Narrow lochs dug deep in,  branching into many imposing openings. Dark clouds and persistent mist, not to mention gusty winds and surprising currents added to the mystery. On days when the sun shone and the wind died down, we drifted on oily smooth seas in 40+ miles visibility. 

Overlapping layers of distant folds of land, in different shades of blue, came together in all its glory offering us an uninterrupted 360 degrees view of the most stunning scenery. It was dizzyingly beautiful. I was smitten. 

We got to Roger, in Loch Carron, after the Sky Bridge ‘adventure’, anchoring just off his tea plantation croft. After a delicate tea tasting ritual, and on inspecting the boat he is building,  he took us for a day long drive along the local area and through Loch Torridon, in blazing sunshine. It gave us a unique opportunity to admire the mountains from a different perspective. We celebrated his birthday and Kokachin’s anniversary too!  Five days later, on leaving, we picked up a huge ball of kelp wrapped around our chain. It took Neptuen 45 minutes to hack with the machete while we were slowly drifting out with the tide. Occasionally towards the rocks…. 

Sailing was exciting, demanding fun. Surprises came in many different disguises. Be it for the gusty winds, strong currents, adverse tides, overfalls, rocks, challenging narrows and shallows. In any combination or all of them at once – we had to be on our guards.  There were many memorable sailing days (The Sound of Mull, Ardnamurchan Point, Loch Scavaig….). And some moments that I’d rather forget (the Sky Bridge!), when all went eventually well, were it not for my mind running in overdrive with horror visions of:  “What if,…. Get me out of here ! “ There were a large number of sailing boats about up to Tobermory, occasionally sailing but generally motoring!. They petered out as we passed Ardnamurchan Point – considered the Cape Horn of Scotland. 

We anchored some way off Badachro village (Gairloch), thinking we would not be able to get ashore because the gardens from two houses in the bay stretched all the way down to the beach. No sooner than we dropped anchor someone started paddling towards us, probably to ask us to move on. Not at all. James arrived in his kayak with the broadest of the smiles, full of fascination and curiosity about such an unusual boat and rig. In no time he invited us for tea, which we gladly accepted,  brought us logs for the fire, let us use his car, checked regularly if we needed anything (water, shower, food)  and was even offering us cash if we had none!  We hope to be able to repay his kindness and generosity sometime. 

There was no end to our joy, when we met with “Badger”. The famous boat Neptune built with Annie 40 years ago and extensively sailed, then sold to Alan & Gloria who still own her. Neptune, not having seen her for 23 years, was visibly and atypically moved. Still in immaculate condition, Neptune’s incredible craftsmanship shone inside and out, and when sailing – she was totally admirable. I fully understood where her fame and following came from. Credit to Gloria and Alan (now 86 and still going strong!) too, for taking good care of her.  As if one Badger was not enough, another Badger sistership “Constance” sailed into the bay to join us. What a surprise and delight. 

I dreaded the thought of sailing South down the Irish Sea, reputed for its rough sea and temperamental weather.  I feared that I might have to pay-back for our easy flight North.  With apprehension I approached the passage as Southerly winds were forecasted. Surprisingly, the worst memory was in the overfalls of shallow waters near India Bank / South of Dublin, in totally benign winds, when a wall of water hit us. Kokachin dived. We survived. I had to take many deep breaths to keep myself calm! From Bangor (NI) to Port Cardigan – Fishguard (Wales) our progress was slow and hard, marred by adverse currents and light headwinds. We made it in 3.5 days – the payback was not that dear!

We have sailed to many amazing places in the World, but the West Coast of Scotland, right on our doorsteps, is one of the best cruising grounds you could find…. despite the cold! Our wood burning stove was on most evenings for most of the 3 months. We wore hats, gloves, scarves and thermals until reaching Wales.  It was all worth it. 

Kokachin, launched two years ago and with 20,000 miles in her wake, is ready for some maintenance and a well deserved rest. As for us – no rest for the wicked! We are now anchored in front of Southdown Marina, Plymouth UK, lifting her out within a day….

Dealing with two demanding Princesses was a bit much for Neptune. When an attractive old flame unexpectedly came along, he jumped at the opportunity to abandon at least one of them! Guess which one, for who or what, and where he is off to !?

Will keep you posted. 

Ahoy!

Linda decided to fly to Europe instead of sailing across the Atlantic as it was her perfect opportunity to spend some time with family and friends. Linda wasn’t happy about me sailing single handed across the Atlantic in Kokachin on my own, but I was. The answer seemed to be to find out if my friend Simon from Tasmania would be interested in joining me. He seemed to be very happy to to do so. He flew to Florida a couple of days before we set off.

I’ve sailed with Simon before on a very long trip and found him to be an excellent crew and companion. We spent 72 days sailing from Brazil to Tasmania.

Simon and I left Palm Beach Inlet at 1700, on the 14th March, after Linda had gone to the train station. Motored out and sailed ENE in a nice SSE force 4. The wind slowly veered to the SW over the next couple of days, reaching F 6 for a time. The wind then backed to the S, just abaft the beam, about F 5 to 6. We had the best days run of 166 miles. On the 19th one of the shackles on the mainsheet broke and while taming the sail the sheet tore off the self steering (SS)  uprights. Simon steered for about 7 hours while I repaired the SS. The wind increased to F 8 and we ran off with just the top of the fore sail. The front then passed and we gybed and hoisted the top of the main. The wind then veered to the N and eased off to F 3 to 4. On the 21st the wind had backed to the W F 4 and we arrived in Bermuda at St George’s just before midnight. Customs told us that we were the first yacht of the season to arrive.

Just over 7 days, 963 miles by GPS.

We spent 10 days in Bermuda, having to shelter twice from strong winds and then set out on the 31st March with a WSW wind F 5 to 6.

The plan was to sail due East along the 32nd parallel until 30 W and then sail NE through the Azores to Falmouth.

The first week we had fair winds varying from F3 to F7 and we covered 1079 miles in the 7 days. The second week the wind remained fair but much lighter and by the end of that week the wind had gone into the ENE. Now close-hauled and not laying the course. The wind increased and on the night of the 14/15 th we were hove to for a few hours with quite big seas from the NE. The wind veered to the E and while tacking the sheet caught around the SS and broke one of the uprights. I got Kokachin steering herself to windward while repairing the SS. The wind stayed in the NE until the 16th and then backed to the NW  and then SW. We were now at 30 W and turned to the NE, laying the course for the first time in days. At midnight on 18/19 th we passed between Terceira and Sao Miguel in the Azores. We then had a few days of light SE winds. On the evening of the 22nd the wind went into the ENE F3 and we were sailing more N than NE until the 24th when the wind backed to the NNW and  slowly increased to F7 the next day.

About noon on the 25th the SS slipped around and put us beam on to the seas and were knocked down about 60 degrees.  The wind then eased off and stayed in the N until the 28th when it backed to the SW F6. At about dawn we sailed through the fleet of racers in a French single handed transatlantic race. We were doing 6 knots, they were doing 18.5 to 22 knots. There were about 15 of them quite close together on AIS and I actually saw 3 of them in the thick weather. Overnight on the 29/30th the wind backed to the SE F7 and we spent about 6 hours hove to 25 miles SW of the Lizard. The wind eased at dawn and at 1030 we were anchored in Falmouth on 30 April.

30 days and 3669 miles by GPS.

As expected Simon and I got on very well and he proved yet again an excellent crew, I always slept well when he was on watch (as I do with Linda!). I hope to sail with him again.

Anchor Troubles in Bermuda

were well sheltered and spent a day there. When the wind eased we decided to move back to St George’s Town. Getting the anchor in it appeared to be fouled. Using the electric windlass, a corner of a large piece of steel slowly came near the surface with the chain wrapped around a protrusion at one end. Holding the chain with a rope I could then unwrap it from around that corner. The metal then dropped down and we could take in a bit more chain, however after a few more feet it seemed firmly stuck. The windlass couldn’t bring any more chain in, and was depressing the bow, the piece of metal was obviously too heavy to lift. Simon gallantly said he would go and try to swim down to see what the problem was and try to free it. The main problem was that we were in 8 metres of water, which is a long way to go down.  

Simon jumped in, swam to the bow and then pulled himself down the chain. He came back up again, went down a second time, came back up again, and went down a third time. When he came up he said, he only got about maybe half way down but he could not clear his ears and he wasn’t prepared to burst his ear drums to clear the chain. Quite rightly so. He climbed up on board.

OK now it was my turn. I took my clothes off, put some goggles on and flippers, and swam to the bow and then pulled myself down. I almost got to the bottom, a bit murky, and then came back up again. Took some deep breaths, I climbed down the chain again, managed to get to the bottom.  I could see what the problem was. The chain was caught twice around the corner of the steel. Anyway, after two more trips down I managed to get a rope through the chain and Simon tightened the rope and then slacked off the chain. After a few move dives I was able to untangle the chain.

We then slipped the rope, weighed the anchor, and returned safely to St George’s.   I can’t say it was easy. I was surprised I could actually get down that far. It was fairly cold and took a bit of warming up once I got back on deck. Although I had a wet suit on board it probably would have created too much buoyancy to get down 8 metres.

​Knock Down

We were off the Bay of Biscay. The wind was about Force 7 (30 knots), but with quite big seas and breaking waves. We’d been hove to on the port tack overnight. This was achieved by reefing the sails to the top panels on both sails​, sheeting them hard in, and setting the self steering to sail close hauled.

We were faring well, a few waves coming over the port bow but no real problems. After breakfast I turned in for few hours of sleep. Simon was on watch keeping a regular lookout from below, popping his head out at regular intervals and it was fortunate he was not on deck at the time of knock down.

About 12 o’clock we got hit by a breaking wave on the beam and were knocked down about 60 degrees. I was flung against the midship partition of the bunk and there was a crashing loud sound from the saloon. Kokachin came back quickly, so there was no fear that she was to go over and stay there.

After quickly dressing I found that Simon was OK and he had started to clear up the mess by the chart table. Putting on oilskins I went on deck and saw that the problem had been caused by the wind-vane slipping sideways so that we were almost beam on to the seas. I sorted that out and then re-stowed some loose bits on the cabin roof. The man overboard light bracket was broken and I retrieved the light floating at the end of it’s line.

I then opened the hatch to see how Simon was getting on and he handed up a bag of broken glass. Many of the loose items in the galley had been flung over to the chart table. As well as broken glass Simon was mopping up soy sauce and sesame oil (Linda’s Oriental Cuisine!). On coming below I started helping sort things out.  All the books on the port side were flung across to the starboard side and I slowly put them back. It took another half hour to clear up the mess. The only real damage was the broken door under the chart table which had been hit by the floorboard, next to the stove, flying across and a few small broken bottles. Simon had a small cut from the broken glass, but otherwise we were both undamaged. By the early evening the wind and seas had moderated and we were sailing again.

It is nearly 6 months since my last update with many miles under Kokachin’s wake.

Our 3 months sejour in Florida could not have been more different from Newfoundland wilderness, a kingdom of nature, where isolation and peace reigned.

The only spot to anchor in Stuart was under the private jets flight path where a stream of planes flew over our heads ceaselessly (every 3 minutes at times!), while power boats with multiple mighty gas guzzling engines sped by frequently, their big wash rocking and rolling us without warning.  The only way to the food shops was along the US1 highway where frighteningly huge cars  rushed in all directions, spewing fumes.  The drivers’ pent up frustrations were palpable at multi-lane traffic lights, as they waited for their turn to speed away.​  We were witnessing humanity in pursuit of something unfathomable, feeling total outsiders and misfits: slowly travelling with the wind, rowing our dinghy, walking to the shops, carrying everything on our backs, having plenty of time…. 

Except for a mile long boardwalk along the mangroves and a few residential streets, there was nowhere to stretch our legs and to escape from motorised mayhem.​  I remembered, a  while back, throwing out numerous damp Florida charts that Pete acquired with his previous boat. I demonstratively exclaimed then: “I never want to go to Florida, sure we would never go there.” The Stuart experience was probably a fitting punishment for me. Serves me right.

With permanent unseasonal strong winds we could not do much work on deck. Because there was virtually no public transport (except to a shopping mall) and with nowhere to go, we bolted ourselves inside the boat and rested for weeks on end, enjoying it immensely. It was just what we needed after months of continuously being on the go.

West Palm Beach brought a refreshing change as there were various things to see and do, plus we enjoyed spending time with a number of  friends who visited us. Some travelling from afar and some we have not seen for many years.

Despite its opulence Palm Beach was charming.  We liked its old alleyways, with interesting art galleries and exclusive boutiques. In our best outfits (for once!) we tried to look smart while mixing with the rich, who were stylishly stepping out of their Rolls Royces and Bentleys. There was no doubt Worth Av and PB were the land of the super rich. One large super yacht’s name summed it up well​ – ¥ € $.

How we ended up being invited by our new friends to spend time with them in their most enchanting ocean front villa in Palm Beach,  dined with them in a magical  garden, the candlelight reflecting in the pool, cicadas singing to celebrate Pete’s birthday (cake and Veuve Clicquot included) cannot be explained here​. Their hard earned wealth seemed nothing compared to the goodness of their heart and their warm friendship.  

With our 6 months USA visa nearing its end Neptune, Kokachin and I parted company! I flew back to London then to Croatia while Neptune, with a friend, sailed across the Atlantic to the UK, with a stop over in Bermuda.  I enormously enjoyed my galavanting for about 2 months, catching up with everyone in person.  I stopped by and stayed for a night or two with different friends, also meeting many of you individually either for a drink, walk, meal, or visit. Total of 156 – I could not believe it! I hope that it won’t be too long before I meet you again.

Meanwhile Neptune and Simon on Kokachin ploughed the Ocean. They took 40 days  to sail  4600 NM. Simon’s tracking device enabled me to check on their progress. I got alarmed, having seen them nearing Bermuda, with very bad weather approaching. To stop me worrying from there on it was best to not know where they were and what the weather might be like. A big surprise came when I learn​t, from Simon’s wife, that they were off Biscay. They made it back to the UK before I returned from Croatia! When Neptune called saying they had a fast but eventful passage, I knew I made the right choice​: having much fun on land!

We are now reunited on Kokachin, our separation being only a temporary one. Hope I succeeded in teasing you a bit.  You thought that might be our big news. That one is still coming!

It was wonderful to hear about your lives. Please stay in touch. I cannot often take  2 months off from cruising life​.

Until our next instalment.

Cheers, Happy Sailing – Fair winds and smooth seas

Linda & Neptune on Kokachin – now  in Scotland

PS: See a separate post for Neptune’s Atlantic crossing

Our last anchorage in Canada was a small desolate island (Cape Negro Island) at the very Southern tip of Nova Scotia, the big lighthouse offshore was shining its light on us. Not a soul in sight, just some scattered remnants of a dilapidated cottage buried under thorny bushes, traces of past life. With a deep sense of remoteness, we wandered in utter isolation along a stony beach examining flotsam and jetsam, wondering where it might have come from.

Since arrival in the USA (Bar Harbour, Maine on 1 Oct) there has not been much occasion for such solitude. Except for dedicated town docks, it is nearly impossible to get ashore as most of the land is privately owned. The ceaseless string of houses along the coast left little room for abandonment.

The towns we went through brought a different type of wonderment, enjoyment and some terror! Sailing from Maine, via Boston, Cape Cod, Buzzards Bay, to Long Island Sound while interesting and enjoyable it all merged into one, we just steadily plodded along until we hit New York.

Although we have both been to NY before this experience was different for us both mainly because we met Andrew and stayed in his spacious ‘retro’ loft in the Lower East Side, Manhattan. Our friendship goes way back to my rock climbing years in the 80s when Andrew, then an American architect intern in London, came with me to Korcula to make the first ascents in Pupnatska Luka and scaled its impressive virgin rocks, since then still unclimbed. It was fun to give him a new thrill by taking him through NY on Kokachin.

We spent a few days in lovely Port Washington Harbour waiting for better conditions and then set off with enchanted Andrew and Laura on board. We sailed under our first bridge and then switched on the engine before going through the “Hell Gate” notorious for its strong swirling currents. Just then Neptune announced he needed a pee, which usually takes a long time with all the sailing gear on, and left me on the helm. Could have he not found a better moment for it!?

The current ahead looked worryingly strong, a bridge above “Hell Gate” low and the pass through it narrow. I panicked. Kokachin is hard to steer under an engine, let alone in a strong current and I also was unsure where I was supposed to go in the branching narrow channels. Tightly packed sky-high buildings blocked the view ahead. As I took two sharp turns finding my way, it did not get any better, not even when the channel widened. The constant strong swirling current was taking us fast along through the East River abuzz with traffic.

Ferries were streaming past or towards us, coming in or going out of their docks. Commercial and tourist boats were speeding in every direction, and fishermen in little boats were bobbing around with their fishing rods. Then tugs, jet skiers, and canoes joined the fun with odd cranes sticking up their necks. The only craft I missed spotting was a submarine! There was no end to surprises and confusion. Kokachin was hit from all sides by a big wash and dived in and out, occasionally rocked, while I tried to navigate through the traffic maze in which it seemed “Rules of the Road” had no meaning any more as there were no shipping ‘lanes’, everyone was going in every direction.

This watery nightmare was not helped when I looked up. Helicopters landing on some nearby spot rattled their noisy rotors. Ambulances, fire engines and police cars screamed their sirens flashing multiple lights. An interminable stream of cars zoomed along the river banks. Trains shook the world thundering in haste above our heads via sturdy bridges. Tightly packed, like gasping for air, numerous glassy monstruosities of skyscrapers reflected in the sun, tearing what was left of the sky above, helped by stream of aeroplanes further slicing it up. It was a mayhem of colossal proportions in which vision and motion created a massive Shonberg’s cacophony. Holding hard to the helm and my nerves I merged with this ‘tripping craze’ for hours, safely making it to the ‘peace’ off Staten Island. From afar, the Statue of Liberty waved at us. Our NY on the water experience was intensely extraordinary.

In beautiful Maine, the autumn leaves were just starting to turn and by the time we reached North Carolina (NC) the trees were ablaze with reds and yellows. The sun was shining while we were wafting on the calm waters of the Chesapeake Bay. Sailing to Marley Creek was interesting and exciting. After a very high freeway bridge, the busy commercial port of Baltimore opened up. Kokachin seemed small and insignificant surrounded by big ships, numerous cranes and huge industrial buildings. The steely harsh world around us looked otherworldly, bearing no relevance to our existence. It felt archaic and out of place to sail in tune with the wind along these ugly monsters.

As we turned the corner, the transformation could not have been more stark. We were sailing in quiet Marley Creek. Surrounded by flaming autumnal trees, Kokachin glided silently on still waters, bathing in golden sunset light. Shimmering ripples created by her gentle progress woke up sleepy birds floating around us. Not another soul in sight, only a line of secluded houses with leafy gardens, sloping to the river banks. This was the world we felt we belonged to and could understand.

I was grateful for the rain and fog that hid Norfolk, and the huge Navy base, as we sailed through it. The menacingly mighty and far too numerous military ships lay in shipyards for miles on end. Entering Inter Coastal Waterways (ICW) late in the season, to bypass Cape Hatteras, notorious for its bad weather, was a relief. It was always enerving to go under bridges, no matter how high. Even more so under one seemingly low power line. It looked as if our mast was going to touch it and I was terrified of Kokachin being set on fire! For good measure, I kissed Neptune and assured him I loved him just in case we perished. Luckily we safely made it to Beaufort NC, via ICW.

The ICW is a series of canals connecting rivers and forming a waterway from Chesapeake Bay south to Miami, running parallel to the Atlantic Ocean. In the past, it was used extensively with commercial barges but nowadays, it is much more so by pleasure craft. There is an annual migration from the Northern USA and Canada of boats heading south for the winter and then reversing in the spring. Many of the bridges are fixed with a clearance of 65ft / 20m but also very many need to be opened, usually at half-hourly intervals, on request. There are a lot, I mean a lot, of bridges everywhere. The dredged channels are narrow and most of the time we had to motor. As we were late in the season, we saw hardly any traffic, which was nice. Every night we found a place to anchor outside the channel. If you look at some of the picture location map – there is so much water everywhere! Although we had to motor, we thoroughly enjoyed the tranquillity of the canals and the proximity of nature. Some of it felt unspoilt and wild, until the houses with their huge sterile lawns, stripped of all life, lined the canal banks.

We sailed offshore to Saint Simon’s Island in Georgia (waiting for a gale to pass), and from there offshore again to Ponce de Leon Inlet on Florida’s East Coast (another gale to pass). Then around Cape Canaveral to Fort Pierce. On his night watch off Cape Canaveral Neptune saw a SpaceX rocket launch (he even saw a couple of Space Shuttles launched in the past!), surprised that they launched it in such weather conditions. We later read in the news that not all went that well.

Most of the USA’s East Coast is so shallow that dredged canals are needed to enter their natural harbours. Simple and easy enough? Not always so, only under good conditions. I still remember, I’m sure I will never forget, the ‘Sinkers’ and ‘Tickles’ of Newfoundland. However, the USA East Coast also had its share of thrills for me.

In one of those channels (Brunswick), we entered with headwinds of F5-6 with sizable waves and strong side currents for about 6 miles. While Neptune steered, I navigated, both hoping we would not need to tack in the narrow channel, with shallows on one side only 0.8m deep. Here the sea was jumping up high in the air like when waves hit a wall, with nowhere else to go. We did not want to get into that spot. I tried not to look at it, but the sheer terror of it was irresistible. My imagination ran wild: “What if….. “. Then a massive car transporter turned the corner heading straight for us, only to meet us on the bend, towering way above Kokachin’s mast, taking all our wind. While we slammed and banged in the wash making little progress, waiting for the wind to come back, as the ship passed very close by, Neptune said: “No need for the engine, we have sails”. Uh, uh…

In another one (Ponce de Leon) we had to sail so close to the breakwater, because of the bar stretching wide across the entrance, it felt as if the waves were going to throw us onto the rocks. Once passed the shallows we were like inside a swimming pool, the transformation of calm waters around us was unbelievable, and so on we went…..

Our current cruising purpose is to visit family and friends and to meet new ones. With 13,000 miles in our wake over the past 18 months, 145 individuals visited us on Kokachin. Here are just the a of the latest ones

We were sailing in thick fog, and as we turned towards a small anchorage a gust of wind swept us towards the shore. A beautiful gaff schooner (Lewis R. French) just appeared out of the fog, lying at anchor. We rounded up behind them, with not much room to spare, and anchored under sail alongside them. A long applause ensued by 15 members of the crew closely watching us. We never had such a standing ovation for just anchoring, so wasting no time we rowed to their ship to thank them, and to see who they were. Before we even stepped aboard they invited us to join them for dinner. Delicious three-course meals were cooked for all on a small wooden stove by the most hearty chef.

During the Junk Rig boats gathering weekend (Junket) in Marley Creek, we hopped from one boat to the next inspecting them carefully and in the evening we huddled inside Kokachin for a meal, drinks, and stories. By the end of the weekend, we had 7 new friends. When everyone departed we were saddened. Debbie and Mike were the most wonderful hosts, by the time we left we felt we were part of the family!

When two friendly paddleboardes stopped by to say “Hello”, then invited us to an impromptu meal at their beach house, we wasted no time and rowed ashore. Drinks and appetisers were waiting for us already, then having made us welcome they left us alone at their beautiful home while they cycled to the town for miles, in rain, to get the scallops for us that evening. A sumptuous meal and the most memorable evening ensued, topped up with us all singing around the piano and lounging around a big log fire. They pleaded with us to stay the night, but unfortunately, we could not leave Kokachin on anchor unattended in boisterous winds and we had to leave early the following morning. We remain deeply grateful to their caring and warm kindness.

Someone we’d just met on an anchorage a day before briefly, knocked on Kokachin’s hull on Christmas Day and brought us a hot from the oven, massive, the most delicious, perfectly cooked Christmas Steak with all the condiments and trimmings on a plate. We could not believe it. It was so big that we decided to tuck in and reschedule preparing our Christmas fare for the following day.

The human kindness that we come across brings infinite joy to our lives.

We are now in Stuart – Florida for much-needed rest and some boat maintenance. Then across the Atlantic heading North. Some big changes are afoot. Stay tuned.

Dear Friends, our simple and detached life afloat gives us a different perspective into the lives of others. The world on land seems, at times, senselessly confusing. Let’s hope we all make it into the future.

Wishing you a Happy New Year!

Linda & Neptune

PS: In MOMA we were stunned by a floor-to-ceiling display of the most magnificent colours and shapes in transformation. We sat there fully absorbed and mesmerised for a long time. https://youtu.be/kt8-oZoT950?si=AdeY1341i2JL2xk9

To my mind a good cruise should have an objective, a destination, but much of the  pleasure is in the journey towards it. My step daughter lives in Newfoundland so that was a good reason to go there, quite apart from it being an interesting cruising ground. 

There is no cruise without a boat and at the end of June 2022, Linda and I launched “Kokachin”. We had spent 3 years full time work completing an unfinished project. “Kokachin” is a French design ‘Jonque de Plaisance’, a 39 foot wood epoxy centreboard junk. She was lying in a farmyard not far from Paris, basically a hull and deck. We shipped her back to Cornwall and fitted her out. 

The shortest route to Newfoundland is across the North Atlantic but it seemed prudent to have a shake down cruise before heading out into the ocean. So after visiting the Scilly Isles we crossed the channel to Brittany. 

Linda is very gregarious and a great correspondent. For many years she had been the membership secretary of the Junk Rig Association and had kept up with members far and wide. While in Brest we visited Bruno and Elise. They had built “Lacatao”,  a sister ship to “Kokachin” and had just returned from an 8 year circumnavigation. I had met them in New Zealand and New Caledonia some years ago. The sail down to  Benodet was enliven by just missing the tide through the Raz de Sein. Linda likened the next couple of hours as “white water rafting”. 

By this time we had some experience of sailing our new boat. We were pleasantly surprised to find that despite her 13 ton displacement she was a lively sailor and quite fast. As Pete Pye commented on ‘Moonraker’: “She looks like a box, but sails like a witch”. The only downside seemed to be a very heavy helm, despite quite a long tiller. Best looked at as a characteristic rather than a problem,  a handy billy helps a lot as soon as the wind picks up.

Crossing Biscay and arriving in Galicia we were now in the “Orca Attack” zone and avidly following the reported sightings. On wandering around a boatyard in A Coruna we saw three yachts having their rudders rebuilt. Sailing along the coast felt a little like Russian Roulette. All the attacks had been in daylight so we felt that the sail from Baiona to Porto would be best done at night, a fast sail down the coast had us anchored in the Douro for breakfast. The anchorage just up from the mouth of the river was ideal with a short row to the north shore and there was a bus and tram stop to take us into the city. It was early October but still the city was packed with tourists, despite it being a very interesting city to wander around.  The highlight of the visit was taking the train up the Douro valley to the end of the line and back. The track hugs the side of the river with splendid views of the vineyards.  

Because of the continuing Orca problems we gave up on visiting Lisbon and sailed for the Algarve by going well offshore, outside the shipping lanes.  A cruise along the coast brought us to Faro to visit a very old friend of mine, Joni, who lives on her boat there. The proximity of the airport and cheap end of season flights tempted Linda to fly to Croatia to see her family. 

On her return I went down with Covid followed a few days later by Linda. We spent a few days recovering anchored off Culatra before setting off for Madeira.  We never got there, the very light SW winds defeated us and we bore away for the Canary Islands. 

First stop was Graciosa. The anchorage at Playa Francesca was very crowded and when it started blowing onshore we escaped across to the lee of Lanzarote. Here we met Trevor Robertson on Ironbark III and Karl and Miki on Fai Tira, a Nicholson 32, who we saw much more of in the Caribbean. An official chased us out the next evening and we sailed overnight to Playa Blanca and then on to Las Palmas, arriving just as the ARC mob had left. 

My 90 days in Europe were up so we sailed down to Sal in Cape Verde. The first couple of days gave us good runs but then the wind went light with very relaxed sailing.  From Sal on to Brava, anchoring first in Tantun at the South of this small island. The bay is in the wind shadow of the island and a welcome relief from the boisterous trade wind. The bay is home to a small community of fishermen who launch their open, outboard powered 20 foot boats from the stony beach each morning. The village was on the top of the cliff up a very steep footpath, poor people with a hard life. 

After a couple of days of peace and tranquillity we sailed upwind to the port of Fuma. Here you anchor and take lines ashore to the rocky breakwater. ‘Tcha’, is the local yachtsmans friend who helped us tie up and showed us around. The main town on the island is Nueva Sintra a 6 kilometre minibus ride up a steep switchback road. It is a charming town of cobbled streets and well dressed people. Many people go away to the USA and Europe to work and then bring back their pension to retire, so there is some prosperity. 

The crossing to Tobago was a windy one and quite quick at 15.5 days for the 2160 miles. At times the wind was blowing force 6 to 7. On one occasion there was an involuntary gybe which severely bent one of the aluminium battens and on another day the mainsheet caught around the wind-vane and broke it off, but it was soon repaired. 

We anchored in Charlottesville at the North end of the island. The village is surrounded by rainforest and is a tranquil place with minimal tourism. The local outboard powered skiffs go out each morning successfully trolling for fish. The only downside to the place is the rolly anchorage. We were pleased when Fai Tira arrived. We shared many walks, sails, dinners and laughs with them. They sailed on to Martinique and we to Prickly Bay, Grenada. 

“Kokachin” has a DIY coppercoat bottom, which worked well in European waters, but couldn’t cope with the tropics. Her big bottom was too much for me to scrub regularly, so we sailed up to Tyrel Bay in Carriacou and hauled out to put on some antifouling paint. Ironbark III was anchored here and Trevor, who knows the place well, helped us sourced materials before he set off for Panama and the Pacific. 

Once relaunched we had a hard sail to Martinique and then loosely sailed in company with Fai Tira up the Islands to St Martin. Our experience of the Caribbean was that there were way too many yachts and Tobago was the best of the islands we visited. 

From St Martin it is due North to Canada with Bermuda lying on the route. We left towards the end of April and spent two weeks in Bermuda visiting friends before heading up to Lunenburg. 

Much of the passage was close hauled crashing into the waves. I noticed that the port forward bulwark had broken away from the deck. It seemed unlikely that wave action had done this, but on arriving in Lunenburg we could see that we had hit something large, a log maybe. 

The South coast of Nova Scotia has many anchorages some of which we visited as we day sailed towards Cape Breton. After locking into the Bras d’Or lakes we stopped off at Baddeck. Here Henry Fuller made us most welcome and offered us a berth at his “Cape Breton Boatyard”.  The sheltered berth and a few days of warm dry weather meant we were able to do the repairs to the bow of “Kokachin”. 

Our objective was now close. We set off from Ingonish to cross the Cabot Strait to Newfoundland. This has a reputation for fog, strong winds and currents flowing in and out of the Gulf of St Laurence. It did not disappoint, the wind was F5 from the East, with a rough sea and mostly thick fog. We were sailing fast at 7-8 knots hoping to complete the 90 mile passage in daylight. Having set out at the crack of dawn we took watches to get some rest. Linda had to steel herself to do her watch, tearing along in rough seas, relying on AIS while peering into the impenetrable fog . Once past the Strait the fog cleared and the seas diminished in the lee of the land. We anchored tired but pleased to be in Codroy well before sunset. 

My step daughter, Irene and her family live in Corner Brook, in the Bay of Islands, on the West Coast. We tied up at the yacht club and spent 10 days ashore with them. Usually while cruising there is only the opportunity to see the coastal area, so we were very pleased to be driven around by Irene and Neil with little Noah to see something of inland Newfoundland. The highlight of which was the Gros Mourne National Park, which was spectacular. 

From Corner Brook we sailed North up the West coast to the Straights of Bell Isle – day sailing wherever possible. Once round the top of the island there is the recreated Viking settlement at L’Anse aux Meadow, a popular spot as there were two other yachts here, the only time we shared an anchorage away from a town. Here we saw our first iceberg, peaking out of the fog. 

There was still some thick fog about as we sailed around to St Anthony, but thereafter it was thankfully absent and for the rest of our cruise we had generally glorious weather, with little fog. However, it did mean very light winds with often dawn to dusk sailing between anchorages to progress 20 miles. The anchorages were almost always lovely and each day Linda would declare “This is the best one yet!”. 

Once around the Northern Peninsula the fishing villages became more numerous and often on anchoring a local would ask if we needed anything and give us a cod. As we approached Fleur de Lys we were surrounded by five whales feeding on capelin, one even surfacing a boat length away.  One of the more memorable stops was La Scie. It was Linda’s birthday and we had hoped to eat ashore. The one cafe was booked up but they suggested the Tea Room  at the local museum. Every village seemed to have its own museum. The Tea Room closed at 6, just as we arrived, but nevertheless, they invited us in, made us the most delicious meal and all the while entertaining us with local stories and music. 

And so we proceeded round the island calling at Twillingate, Fogo, Bonavista, Catalina and other anchorages in between. Then came St John’s – the big city. It is a commercial harbour and not set up for yachts so we tied up alongside some huge tires, in the centre of the town. We needed some more diesel but most “gas stations” don’t sell diesel. After fruitlessly walking to a couple in town a local, who stopped to chat, volunteered to drive me to find some. He wasn’t daunted to have to go at least 8 kms away, this was typical of the friendliness and helpfulness of many of the people we met. 

We pressed on to Burin where we waited out some rare bad weather, but it did mean we were befriended by Don and Ethel Peter who took us into their family. We had intended to call in at the French island of St Pierre, just off the South coast. It was shrouded in thick fog so we gave it a  miss and saved ourselves having to clear back into Canada.

The final phase of our circumnavigation was the South West coast, which is considered the most spectacular scenery, with deep fjords and bare rock. We dipped our toes into the edge of the Bay d’Espoir, sailing through Little Passage and anchoring in Middle Goblin Bay. Further West is the outport of Francois, which is at the head of the bay surrounded by  high cliffs. The houses cling to the rock and a torrent of water runs through the middle of the village. 

Our Newfoundland cruise ended at the island of Ramea. The weather forecast spoke of high winds for the South coast and as it was late in August it seemed prudent to scuttle back to Nova Scotia while we could. 

Our objective had been achieved. The cruise around Newfoundland was wonderful thanks to the unusually good weather, we had actually seen the island rather than imagining it in the usual fog. Delightful anchorages and friendly welcoming people. What we found surprising was how few other yachts were there. As to the whole journey, what stands out in our minds is the people we met,  old friends revisited and new friends made and some great sailing.

It has been nearly four months since my last update from Lunenburg – our port of arrival in Canada, Nova Scotia late in May. My challenge now is how to summarise it well,and not to bore you with the details. There is a lot I wish to tell, and consequently, I did not manage to cut it short.

The prospects of a desolate and hostile North had some appeal despite its reputed bad weather. I was not looking forward to the prevailing strong winds, rain and fog, expecting it to be cold and wet most of the time. I was asking myself: “Why am I doing this?”. So did many of you in your messages: “Why on earth are you going there”. However I was resolved to endure it all, no matter what, as Pete was particularly keen to go there. The reality could not have been more different.

Sailing

We approached and eventually left Lunenburg in fog. We sailed, in moderate winds and poor visibility, our world wrapped up in suffocating fog, having to dodge between hundreds and hundreds of lobster pots strewn along the way to Halifax. I already had had enough. We only had occasional glimpses of the coast but at least we could smell an intense fragrance of Canadian pine, it was encouraging enough.

In Dover Cove we anchored and were totally encircled by densely packed forest, its close outskirts subdued in mist. Kokchin lay still on the glassy water of our ‘pond’ only an occasional bird to breaked up the stillness. This cocooned universe was as purifying as its crystal clear still waters. The following morning, like a butterfly, Kokachin spread her sails to effortlessly slide through the narrow Dover Run into the open sea. In Bras d’Or Lake we encountered more of this insular magic, fully savoured in Maskells Harbour. In Otter Harbour, rowing ashore in the dinghy was like entering nature’s crypt, a secret and sacred place. Its’ dark brown waters petered out to shallow white sand at the inner cove’s entry. The wide crowns of the towering trees overarching above the water left a Pantheon like circular opening through which the light crept in. Once in, there seemed to be no visible way in or out. We were captured, enchanted. I began to learn how to appreciate this world hidden in the mist. The little I could see once the fog cleared was plenty.

None of this prepared me for the Cabot Strait! This channel between Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, at the mouth of the St Lawrence river, is notorious for its rough seas, strong currents and thick fog. Even hardened Newfoundland ferry passengers dread this 100 mile passage.

We set off from Ingonish with first light at 4:35am, in strong winds and thick fog patches. We had 1 reef in each sail but were still sailing fast on a broad reach. I spent 3 interminable hours of my watch, alone on deck (while Neptune was resting asleep below) hating every minute of it. The wind was howling and the seas were boiling, while we charged along at 8 knots in claustrophobically dark fog. My inability to see anything past Kokachin’s bows brought visions of us hitting something / anything any minute. The fact that we have AIS* did not assuage my irrational fears. When the fog thickened further, there was no end to my agony and my spirits would lift with every minor difference in its intensity. With my heart in my boots, I held my breath in terror, struggling with an almost irresistible temptation to wake up Neptune to relieve me from my suffering. I succeeded in appeasing myself with the thought that the faster we sail the sooner this ordeal would be over. So it did, 13 hours later and 90 miles on we anchored in charming Codroy, just before the sunset, averaging 7 knots. I was surprised to read it in the logbook that the passage was a daysail and not an overnight one as per my recollection! As Neptune teased me: “Instead of living the dream this was a living nightmare for you!” Well put.

Needless to say, I thought that the Cabot Strait gave me a taste of things to come. And so it did. Fog, and an occasional strong blow, nearly along all of the Western Newfoundland coast prevailed. Past Cape Baude we sailed in light headwinds struggling to move along towards St Anthony. White misty fog surrounded us. Partially visible ghostly apparitions slowly crept towards us, just about visible above the fog line. With the fogy curtain slightly ajar, under a weak light, some of these shapes would become more clear. The top sail of a tall ship or the stern of a fishing boat slowly revealed itself into the icey glory of an iceberg. Just as well there was not much wind so we did not smash into them. We were sailing in an area known as “Iceberg alley”.

Under clear skies and in balmy sunshine light winds pushed us along the breathtaking and deserted Newfoundland coastline. We drifted amongst icy mis-shapen giants while numerous whales frequently surfaced around us, their languid and long disappearing act fully absorbing us. It felt like we spent an eternity in an isolated bubble of nature and nothing much else. From then on, more or less the sun shone for us, the winds very light, the seas relatively flat, not much fog, and it was warm. What more can one want?

Coastlines

As if the two regions could have not been more different and at the same time so similar. Nova Scotia despite its rocky coast full of tiny islands felt more docile probably due to its low lying lands, richly forested hills and occasional grassy fields. Being more accessible and populated it felt ‘normal’. While desolated Newfoundland with its stoney majestic fjords, strong sea currents and inaccessible coast felt truly wild, harsh and remote. The place was not for the faint hearted.

Neptune got his thrills by sailing through some very narrow ‘tickles’ or close to the ‘sinkers’ ( apt local names for nerve tickling narrow passages or well disguised reefs that can sink you in no time ) while I hardly could bear it, wishing he would switch on an engine or would take a different route round these obstacles (none of which often existed!). It dawned on me that he did not hone his sailing mastery by motoring or turning away from a challenge. I held my breath while admiring his skills, trust and calm confidence in himself, the boat, the sails, the sea, the wind, the charts, the technology and the universe for holding up while we got through it! To bear it, the easiest thing for me sometimes was not to look at the chart, coast, swell, wash, menacingly sharp spiky rocks strewn everywhere. Of course I was thrilled by the ‘adventure’ once it was over. To Neptune’s credit also, we never came to any real danger.

Despite the harsh environment with challenging approaches and complex navigation, every anchorage we stopped at had some form of loveliness to it. I invariably exclaimed: “This is the best one so far”. The intense beauty of the desolate North left me speechless. Be it in strong winds, or in maddeningly confused lumpy seas or in just gentle drifting along I gazed at the coastline with wonderment and in amazement. How many different forms, permutations, shapes, colours the rocks, hills, islands and bays can they have? What is hiding behind yet another cliff, headland or inside the bay? There was no end to the variety and the potential to explore seemed infinite.

People

Everywhere we went friendly local people would greet us, invariably asking if we needed any help and what they could do for us. There was no end to their kindness, generosity and warmth. It left us feeling humbled and enriched. A refreshing and different experience from a world we generally encountered elsewhere. I am mentioning at least the main ones.

We headed North, not only to escape the Southern crowds, but mainly to visit Pete’s step daughter Irene, who relocated from South Africa to Corner Brook, on the west coast. We enjoyed the luxury of their home, appreciating their attentive care and warm hospitality. They took us on tours, showing us the magnificence of Bay of Islands, Gros Morne National Park and Trout River. It was worth making the journey just for this.

• In Baddeck, Cape Breton, Henry, who Pete knew from years ago, offered us a free berth at his Cape Breton Boatyard, which we thoroughly enjoyed for a week. He dropped everything to drive us 300 km around the impressive Cabot Trail, and did so many other things for us.
• Tim drove for miles to bring us a couple of lobsters!
• In La Scie Valery prepared a delicious birthday meal while Larry sang and played guitar just for us.
• Dave drove around St John’s for miles to find a fuel station that sold diesel.
• Fishermen in Fogo and Fleur de Lilly brough filleted fish.
• Jim, in Halifax, transported a new 6 metre alloy tube on the roof of his car.
• Ralf in Burin, took us food shopping, and offered us a mooring buoy for Kokachin to use any time.
• All of this culminated when Don and Ethel from Burin welcomed us with open arms and strong hugs (literally) to their home for a three course family meal. Freshly home baked bread by Don, cod and scallops (caught by Ralf) were given to us for the journey! When they came to visit us in Halifax and stayed on Kokachin, some weeks later, we rejoiced. New found friends reunited.

We leave these shores with joyous hearts mainly because of these wonderful people we got to know, full of hope that our paths will cross again sometime. The way of getting to them was not easy, but every second of it was worth it. To feel the true warmth of the human heart is priceless.

A plus tard Nova Scotia and Newfoundland! Truly a unique place on Earth. May mass tourism never come close to your shores to preserve your wonderful world.

I said nothing about:

• Enchanting beauty of Lunenburg (UNESCO town) and its numerous schooners
• Charming outport harbours
• Commercial fishing boats, non commercial fishing laws and fishermans permits
• Farley Mowat books we read: “The Boat Who Would Not Float” and “Bay of Spirits” with sobering thoughts on devastated NF nature
• Kokachin clocking 2400 miles since my last update + we only ever saw 5 (five) sailing boats at sea around NF and not many more in harbours!
• The whales encounters
• My very special birthday presents and events
• Or how we languished in deeply secluded fjord anchorages in absolutely amazing wilderness. Looking at the sky above us Neptune observed: “Only eagles to keep us company”.

We are heading towards the USA in October: Boston, New York, Chesapeake Bay, Philadelphia to visit and discover more friends on our way.

I long to hear from you my friends. It seems that nobody has any more time or desire to write, or with my departure you (understandably?) cast me away. The WhatsApp message will do. Please SMS me so that we can stay in touch. Mobile signals and our new data plan should work well in the USA.

Fair winds to you all

Linda & Neptune (AKA Pete!)

PS:

*AIS – Automatic Identification System – which enables us to see the boats around us on the chart, and other boats can see us too. In my ‘defence’ we saw 100s of fishing boats along the NS coast, none of them ever showing on our AIS, as if they wanted to hide their whereabouts.

Thank you to many of you who responded to my vivid description of our episode across the Atlantic. Here is our next instalment. We arrived in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, Canada just a few days ago. It is cold but magically beautiful and peaceful. If you wonder why North (and not South), our sailing route is defined by visiting friends and family. Unfortunately when we set off from the UK Croatia was ‘off the limits’ due to 90 days in / 90 days out EU visa for Pete. These additional 2450 miles since Tobago have not been exactly plain sailing. Luckily there is nothing to scare you (or more importantly – me!) with this time.

We sailed in very strong winds and rough seas, some powerful currents, often to windward (1000 miles) and frequently in Force 5/6 (17-27 knots = 34 – 54 km per hour). It’s not surprising that I found it hard going and wished the wind would ease off and the seas would calm down. I could not believe my ears, when off Grenada on our way towards Carriacou in extremely uncomfortable seas Neptune said: “This is too much we are turning back!” On rare occasions it was gentle sailing, when we could take our safety harness off.. The rest was just rough seas. I am not in love with them any more nor do I enjoy it! However this hardship continues to be worth putting up with as it provides me with an escape from the troubled world, and adds a sense of adventure to my life, not to mention the places it takes me. There is one picture and video that captures our Caribbean sailing well. It was taken off Martinique when in sheer amazement I stood up in the cockpit to fully absorb the scenery, admiring the game that Kokachin was taking part in. What a sight.

Kokachin continues to be a very comfortable and fast cruising boat. For those interested in knowing more about her sailing, see what Pete wrote in the Sailing section.

Neptune did a lot of work on Kokachin; repaired the broken batten, installed a new hoop, repaired the wind vane, modified rudder, sand the copper coat (not working well in tropical waters) and applied new antifouling. It was not fun to be stuck in a dusty and hot boatyard in lovely Carriacou for his birthday, due to the broken travel lift (the re-launch was delayed by 5 days). Instead of partying with friends on board in Martinique we crashed into the local beach hammock. A delicious meal in a delightful little garden shack cum restaurant followed, the boatyard was forgotten. We sailed to the Caribbean to warm up, to rest and to wait out winter months before heading to Canada. As such neither of us had expectations of sailing to paradise – just as well. Tobago’s Charlotsville was a soothing tonic for my tired body and soul. I feasted on its unspoiled peace. A sense of remoteness and simplicity overwhelmed me. With only a few visiting yachts in the bay and hardly any tourists, the place was left to its local life unphased. I really wanted to stay there.

I observed the local fisherman, who made quick dashes in their funky boats to the open seas. Having unloaded their big catch they would resume the languid way of life under the trees, hanging around the beach, with a beer in their hand, chatting, rhythms of local music for entertainment. Their boat names were quite unique: Humble Soul, Good Life, No Worries, Striker, Expect the Unexpected! We feasted on delicious local fish – the counter next to the beach was open most hours.

A frequent torrential rain swept through, nourishing a lush rainforest that encircled the bay, towering high over the hills above the village. We took long steep walks along empty roads, birds spotting on the way. Along the coast, or anywhere else much (except the villages), there was not a sight of a house let alone resorts / villa ‘developments’.

Our row to the beach was always a little adventure as the swell was occasionally too big for landing and could overturn the dinghy. The most memorable of these remains imprinted in our memories. We followed Karl and Mikki (from Fai Tira – Nicholson 32), to a remote inaccessible beach just about sunset to see a waterfall they discovered in a rainforest. The wind picked up and the little cove beach suddenly disappeared under the swell. Our overturned dinghy tipped me first then Neptune into the wash. That was sort of fun, but much more scary was how to get back off the beach as the wind was increasing and the night was falling. All ended up well. The following day they invited us for a lobster dinner, freshly caught by Karl. A strong bond was created with them, but they got us into so many scrapes over the months to come that we started running a tally, asking for compensation. The bill was running high and we were counting our blessings while they were getting increasingly worried of ever suggesting anything else to us. All was forgiven when Karl rescued us in one of our SIM card muddles! We spent many wonderful days together walking, cruising, talking and just being happy in the Caribbean. They are the best ‘thing’ that happened to us. As it always is, the people you meet and the friends you make form the best memories. There were others too (as some pictures will show), who we looked forward to meeting up with in the next port of call or next country, next year, next continent.

We liked Marie Galante, Port Louis (Guadeloupe), and Barbuda but nothing matched Tobago’s charm for us. What to say about congested and insane road traffic, overcrowded bays and anchorages (100s and even 1000 boats – Le Marin), commercial shopping ‘choices’ (+100 types of bread!) except that it was stressful. I ponder, how humans made this leap and why do we need it? Is this compulsive drive to self destruction inevitable…?

With woody and cool Canadian regards! Linda & Neptune https://photos.app.goo.gl/g8ghKo34PtU6cRSPA

PS: All of you asked for the pictures. I cannot afford StarLink and local SIMs (with their limited, intermittent data) are a real pain. Generally using local libraries, cafes etc. which logistically are another challenge. But here are some pictures. I created a Kokachin YouTube ‘channel’ but I still need to work out on the playlist and links. If you search for Kokachin on YouTube hopefully you will get it.

As always there is something to tell!

We enjoyed Las Palmas, its busy port, accessible anchorage and an interesting old and new town. Despite its attractions we set off pretty soon.

Nine hundred miles south lie the Cape Verde islands, which provided a refreshing difference with its African feel. Palmeira, on Sal, was fun. It’s a small fishing port, scruffy and lively. The most joyous Cape Verde music in the port entertained us all day long. We’d love to be back to feel its rich and intoxicating vibes again.

Pete took me on the worst walk ever: five hours, sun beating at us, with no tree in sight, no place to rest or hide. A parched stony soil strewn by rubbish all along on a busy asphalt road. We arrived at some little port, with abandoned ships and a crater on a hilltop, now a salt plain. We stopped for a picnic. In return I torture him with some dubious local restaurants cuisine a few times!

The next stop was on Brava, which was one of the most memorable places we visited so far and a definite highlight of our 6 months cruise. Approaching Brava, heavily reefed in 25 knots of wind, amidst a very rough sea, we spotted a small open boat that suddenly disappeared in the trough of the waves. I could not believe my eyes when among the glistering seas I spotted yet another one – with two men, fishing. I wondered how anyone could go out in such a small boat in those seas, but Brava boatmen were in demand in the past by American whalers from New Bedford, renowned for their boat handling skills. We could see why.

https://youtu.be/Ltb3JOFPO_I

Around a headland, still some way off, we anchored, relieved, in the totally flat calm Tantum Bay, Some 300 metres high cliffs surrounded us, with a barely visible village perched up on a ridge top. A steep pebble beach was awash with swell, on its upper part nearly 30 boats were laid up. We were amazed by their thin planking, basic oars lashings and ingenuity of their ‘fridges’.

https://youtu.be/j0D-E3cAOm0

I spent days totally absorbed observing the hardships of the fisherman’s life in Tantum Bay. The sense of remoteness and authenticity was overwhelming, a palpable beauty of the simple and harsh fisherman’s existence. They laboured hard from dawn till dusk with rudimentary nets and simple techniques, trolling, casting nets, rowing, diving, pulling, but catching some big fish. On return, at least five men were needed to haul out the boat on a stoney beach. In scorching sunshine, heavily loaded with a fish in the buckets on their heads, the men would steadily climb a precarious zig zag path, struggling up to the village. And so did we, sweating, panting, resting – without any load. Everything they needed (fuel, water, nets, tools, outboards) had to be transported on their backs and heads. The parched barren land with some abandoned terraces in the distance could give no sustenance. No man could easily survive here alone.

Our Atlantic crossing started with a blast, we flew along, with a force 6 NE wind occasionally gusting to force 7 in frequent squalls. We did just over 1000 miles in the first 7 days. On Christmas day Kokachin clocked 4000 miles and on NY Eve 5000. All was looking good until Pete got a high temperature following my special Christmas lunch and was in bed, indisposed. What a shock. I was dismayed and then worried to say the least, when I discovered that we only had 5 valid paracetamols on board – all other boxes were 2 or 5 years out of date and the new medicines I bought in Las Palmas – were of no use. So I plied him with teas, essential oils, massages, cool compresses and sweet talks – while most of the time he just slept. I held a fort for a day, very worried, 1000 miles away from our destination. By the next day Pete was out of bed, his temperature back to normal, panic over – all my quackery worked.

We decided to celebrate NY when I got up for my watch at 1am. A continuous whooshing sound woke me up, I felt the boat flying along so I got up to see what was going on. As we were sailing very fast I asked Pete to reef. Ever so accommodating, he said: “Of course”. Once on deck he said: “The batten broke”. I screamed in disbelief: “Batten broke!?” Repeating it a few times.

Linda: Last NYE we danced to the Band Aid music till dawn. This NY party started on deck at daylight with Pete clambering over the deck, back rail and davits to lash the sail. No band and no aid, we were on our own. To say I was scared does it no justice. With us both clipped on to the boat, I held onto his body, not sure why or what I would do while he was precariously hanging onto nothing to tie up, madly banging sail bundle. An occasional look at the sea to absorb the reality of the situation provided no respite as the force 6 was blowing, and a big swell and seas (persistent for the whole crossing) were with us. The boat was rolling like mad with aft quarter seas, but below one could not feel much of it. I was sliding in the cockpit with nothing to stop me, or to hold onto, tiller banging around, trying to steer with handy billy, safety harnesses tripping us… Pandemonium. Pete meanwhile jumped over, under, across and wherever – seemingly understanding what was going on, bringing it all under control. We worked on it all day, utterly exhausted and disheartened when one thing after another kept going wrong. To the very end I could not relax as I continuously worried about some other disaster befalling us. Once below, Pete said: “Things like this happen. This was nothing as bad as when losing a rudder in force 10 off Staten Island on China Moon”. I did not want to know! On arrival I hugged Pete then the Wind Vane – they brought us across safely!

Neptune: Rewinding the film we think the batten probably broke earlier on in the night after an involuntary gybe. At dawn we discovered that the top sheeted batten on the main sail was badly bent (not in 2 pieces yet) which meant we could not remove it from the sail. We tied out the broken batten to the next panel down. This caused a big strain on the sail as when we restarted sailing, some tabs ripped out. It was much too rough at sea to attempt a repair so we lowered the sail. However in the process the main sheet wiped out the wind-vane!

The thought of hand steering for the next week prompted me to quickly repair a wind-vane. A few hours later it was steering us again and it worked well to the very end. We carried on under foresail alone with not much loss in speed, but more rolling. Only 850 miles to go. From then on the wind eased a bit but it still gave us a good run of 100-120 miles a day. We arrived in Tobago, Charlotteville after 15.5 days at 1am in the morning.

https://youtu.be/m6VD1rr9d7I

It was disappointing to finally make it across and find a dishearteningly few Happy New Year messages. I would love to hear from you and I sincerely mean it. Please write to me however short it might be.

Thank you to all you who got in touch. Apologies for not responding yet. As expected, finding a signal, WiFi, suitable time and location is proving a challenge.

Vibrant Tobago Regards!

I hope that your Summer / Winter has been good and you are looking forward to a new season. You might have been wondering where we were during this time of absence and how it is going with Kokachin. Here is our well overdue update. It was not easy to summarise 6 months of a new life into these lines, without going into too much detail while hopefully giving you some idea what my life is about.

Our sea trials were not without excitement. Kokachin was like an untamed wild horse. To our amazement she would just slip away in not much wind taking off on her own, soon we learnt how to restrain her. Some of her wilderness was also helped by me letting go of a wrong halyard or sheet at the wrong time, generally in strong winds, when we tried to tack, anchor or do some important manoeuvring! We nearly ended up stuck in the mud or heading for the rocks. Every time my heart pounded with vivid visions of exaggerated impending disaster while Pete kept his cool, overcoming them all. More importantly we are very much still on speaking terms and, surprisingly, I remain his mate. Not sure for how long because I often struggle with so much novelty and things to learn while it is in his nature.

I bit my tongue at the launch when full of excitement I shouted to onlookers and friends on the pier: “I hope never to see you again”! What a fool. Pete had to make modifications to the trim tab – which was not powerful enough to turn the self-steering in certain wind conditions. We had to haul out again in Southdown, for about a week, just 10 days after leaving. Once relaunched and having spent an entire hour under the most magical rainbow in Plymouth Sound we headed for the open seas in a fresh breeze, keen to test the modified self-steering. We rushed to the bow to join two huge dolphins joyfully escorting us for a very long time. Their contagious playfulness absorbed us and left us in astonishment when their final synchronised somersault created a big splash across Kokachin’s bow.

Towards the end of working on Kokachin I felt so utterly exhausted and weak that I said at one point to someone:”I hope I will be alive for her launch!” All my body wanted was to rest until it fully recovered. We spent two weeks in Falmouth taking numerous friends sailing, and continue to do so everywhere we go. With our sails widely spread we sailed nearly all the way to Truro – effortlessly gliding with a gentle breeze up the river Fal’s still waters. Surrounded by unspoiled forest, we anchored in otherworldly peace and quiet.

Later, sailing in balmy sunny weather in beautiful Scilly Islands, hopping around islands and not doing much was just what we needed to get back our strengths and be ready for the sea again.

The self-steering is working perfectly, although the wind vane’s precarious position aft requires watching

over in light winds, when the main sheet starts flapping. It feels like having a baby on board that needs nursing in light winds and a wild horse in strong winds. Kokachin’s heavy steering is a problem that needs resolving. Pete is pondering over it.

Sailing Kokachin in Falmouth

https://youtu.be/Xf_9EVVldDg

So far we have not had one full day of perfect sailing conditions. Generally there has not been much wind, and more often than not we drifted along in light winds. Occasional strong winds did not last long but provided some excitement. Raz de Sein, notorious for its strong currents, was absolutely terrifying. We entered it at 25 knots of following wind and sailed against 6 knots of current. Pete held onto the helm with all his strength and focus while Kokachin wallowed through the washing machine seas making painfully slow progress (2 knots) for hours. I, gripped with terror, looked at menacingly close rocks around a monstrously big lighthouse, imagining the worst. It was the closest I hope ever to come to white water rafting. Also, sailing out of Baiona, in 25 knots of headwinds, was memorable too as Kokachin tacked through sharp and short seas with ease. Just as well because the rocks were seemingly too close for my liking.

As for our cruising. I admired the French for their water sport activities. It seemed they take to the water at any age in any type of craft, anywhere, in any conditions and at any time.

I loved Galicia for its dark wilderness and sense of remoteness but agonised over the Portuguese ruined coast.

From Porto’s beautiful train station we took a 200 miles long, 3 hours train journey in each direction, entirely along the Douro river. It was one of the nicest things I’ve ever done! Journeying through endless steep terraced vineyards, their dry parched soil contrasted with the green water’s edge, it was like stepping into some different era. In Taylors Port Cellars the history and process of Porto wine making was so well explained – as well as its current struggle with climate change and enormous efforts to maintain sustainability.

Our sail from Faro towards Madeira was mesmerising even if we did not reach our original destination. With clear skies, moon and stars, blue rolling seas and in light winds, our slow progress meant we had to detour to the Canary Islands. In 10 days time, when Pete’s 90 days stay in Europe is expiring, we are heading towards the Caribbean.

https://youtu.be/80F1Zq2bCBI

Serendipitous events keep catching us by surprise. Like when Nikki & Charles stumbled upon us in the Scilly Isles. They are the same friends who bumped into us when we were in New Zealand. My dear friend Arieb, from Pakistan who rarely happens to be in the UK, joined us for a sail in Falmouth. Ben from Southdown anchored next to us in Cedeira – Galicia, while on unplanned boat delivery. Graham and Sally on Reliance sailed towards us one calm morning in Rade de Brest and then Trevor of Arctic / Antarctica on “Iron Bark” rowed up to us in a Canary islands anchorage. Some of the most amazing coincidental encounters we cannot explain that give us most of the joy.

Kokachin is an extremely comfortable sailing home. We are happy with her cambered junk rig sails. She exceeded our sailing expectations, she is reasonably fast, sails well to windward but we need to sail her more in tougher conditions to have a better assessment. I remain unsure of her vast and exposed cockpit – to which I refer as a stage! Neptune is back in his element, soaking his body and soul into this watery universe. I was delighted to spot him for the first time in years: reclining in the cockpit, motionless for 3 hours (!), just soaking up the surroundings and getting absorbed by it, doing nothing. What a blissful existence. Importantly, not to be omitted, he still treats me (deservedly) as a princess! We continue to have a lot of fun together.

https://youtu.be/NXvK3OCDO38

We have been totally lazy, wanting to do nothing, reading, walking along empty shores and beaches or sightseeing, meeting friends new or old – just enjoying the randomness and freedom of a sea vagabond. It has been wonderful to join the sea vagrant community again.

As we cross to the other side of the Atlantic our ties to European shores will change. Every Caribbean island state will require a different SIM card / data plan. It probably will not be as easy to stay in touch – but I will try. I hope so will you since Christmas is coming and I’d love to hear from you too.

In 2023 wishing you a world at peace that will, if not reached, at least start approaching its paradigm shift towards a brighter, more balanced and less polarised future. Stay safe and healthy by being grounded and connected. Happy 2023 !

Linda & Neptune (AKA Pete!)