South Atlantic: Sailing Solo St Helena to Martinique

Why was I sailing solo? Answer: I had no choice! Kiara, my crew from Cape Town to St Helena, had planned to come with me all the way to the Caribbean. She wanted sea miles for her super yacht crew CV. In St Helena, she added the 1800nm and, unfortunately for me, within two days landed a job in the Seychelles for the season. She left (with my blessing) and I was alone.

Sailing downwind with twin headsails

Of course, St Helena has made things harder for more celebrated people than myself. Joshua Slocum, the first man to sail solo around the world, lost all his charts here (see post 'St Helena: Walking with Saints"). So he sailed from St Helena all the way back to Canada based on memory and experience.

The same sail set up worked for 14 days, day and night

Compared to that, sailing solo with modern aids should have been simple. However, my other complication was that my autopilot was being temperamental and I would be using Brian (see Note 1 below), my hydrovane wind vane steering, the whole way.

The 3800nm (26 days) without land would have made a game of 'I spy' rather boring. Nearly all my words begin with 'S'. Sun, sea, sky, sails, sunrise and sunset. So I apologise in advance for the predictability of some of the photos!

As usual crossing oceans, sunsets were lovely

Basically, as soon as I left the St Helena anchorage, I set the twin headsails, trimmed the hydro-vane to sail west north west, and relaxed for the following twelve days.

For those who wonder why sailors head so far west when returning to Europe, it is to do with the trade winds and the doldrums. The area of 'no wind' around the equator is much wider on the east side, near Africa compared to near the South American coast

Wind map with Skyfall's track to Day13. (The 'blue' area represents no wind (the doldrums). It is wider closer to Africa.)

In fact, there is even some wind along the South American coast, plus a current to help you through the doldrums. Heading due north from St Helena towards Cap Verde, you could expect a minimum of two days motoring. With patience, you can get through the doldrums without using the engine if you head west.

My route towards Brazil, basically a straight line WNW, is not normal. Usually, sailors head NW first until they reach the Equatorial current (at 5 degrees S), then turn west using the 1-1.5 knots of current to their advantage. Unfortunately, I was making the passage at the time of year when the doldrums extend further south. I could not reach the current without risking losing wind. So the straight line course was preferred.

A brown noddy landed after 6 days. It was very tired and died that night

I was not alone the whole trip. One day, I was visited by an extremely tired (and obviously lost) brown noddy. It normally never ventures more than 80km from shore. I tried to give it water but, unfortunately, it did not survive the night. My first death on board.

Otherwise, the first twelve days were largely uneventful. Then, approaching Fernando de Noronha (an island off the Brazilian coast), storm clouds started building to the north of me. This is typical of areas close to the equator and near the doldrums.

Clouds to the north, marking the edge of the doldrums

These types of clouds can bring rain, squalls and potentially lightning. The best way to monitor them is with radar. The 'active cells' reflect and, if they are not continuous, you can manoeuvre the boat so they pass harmlessly by to one side or the other

Radar screen. Skyfall is in he centre moving upwards (dotted line). The storm clouds are orange and overtake as they move faster. By sailing left to right, you can let them pass harmlessly by

During the night, I wake every hour (with alarm) to check for ships. On the 16th night I got a nasty surprise. I saw a ship heading too close and called him on the VHF to verify he had seen me. "What is your position?", he asked. Confused, I replied but added, "Can you not see me on your AIS? (Automatic Identification System). A pause. Then came a "No". The transmitter in my AIS transceiver had stopped working. I was receiving signals from other vessels but they could not 'see' me.

It reminded me of Harry Potter and friends, moving around Hogwarts under an Invisibility Cloak. I had thrown such an unwanted cloak over Skyfall (see note 2 below). My concern was that, as Harry et al. found out, you may be invisible but people can still bump into you!

Black noddies used the solar arch as a resting place overnight

I had seen very few birds for those first 12 days. Approaching the island of Fernando de Noronha off Brazil, the black noddies started arriving every night. Usually, they were gone by first light, leaving a mess behind them. Just one morning, I managed to catch the culprits before they disappeared.

By the time I crossed the equator, I was through most of the doldrums. I recorded the instrument panel for the longitude and latitude, but the Fuel tank reading is also noteworthy. You do not need to use the engine to get through the doldrums.

Instrument panel recording the crossing of the equator. Not the fuel tank is still 100% full having crossed the doldrums

Having said that, I counted my chickens before they hatched. After my first night with strong north easterly winds (indicating I had reached the northern trade winds), the following morning the wind deserted me. I gave up after half an hour and used the engine for six hours until the wind returned.

Sargasso weed is everywhere from Brazil to the Caribbean, encouraged by the excessive fertiliser used by Brazilian farmers

Sargasso weed is a major problem off Brazil and all the way to the Caribbean. Brazilian farmers use so much fertilizer which runs off into the great rivers and is carried out to sea. Motoring, I stopped every hour to clear the weed (by motoring backwards for a couple of minutes). In fact, over the remaining 10 days or so, on three occasions I had so much weed around the rudder that it started vibrating. I had to drop sails to motor backwards to clear it.

Skyfall reaching NW in northerly trade winds

Once in the northern trades, everything was easy again. The only decision was whether to follow close inshore to benefit properly from the Guyana current (2-3 knots) or stay further offshore to reduce risk from debris washing out to sea from the Amazon. I followed the advice from Jimmy Cornell and stayed more than 150nm offshore. Hugh (SV Seachange) stayed in the middle of the current and had no issues. Still, better safe than sorry.

With a consistent wind and a good boat, there were no further incidents to report. Nothing except multiple lovely sunsets and sunrises.

So, you may ask, after 3800nm and 25 days sailing solo, how did it compare to having a crew?

My first thought was to compare rock climbing (with ropes) to free climbing. It is no more difficult but the consequences are more severe. Fall overboard and you are dead. Which means you do 'routes' well within your capabilities (the South Atlantic is trivial compared to the Indian Ocean). The boat was always under-canvassed and I tried to think through every manoeuvre a few times before execution. Of course, this analogy is for illustration only. No way would I compare the potential danger I placed myself in to what Alex Honnold puts himself through with every climb.

Secondly, there was nobody else to blame! For instance, the washing up liquid has been emptied (as the top was not put on properly and the bottle fell over) so many times during this RTW adventure. I just could not train my crew. Until the same thing happened on my solo sail. So, my apologies to all previous crew who may have taken criticism unfairly.

Thirdly, it greatly reduced the laundry efforts needed in Martinique. Sailing solo in warm climates allows you to dramatically reduce the clothes you wear!

But the biggest difference is the sleep pattern. Setting an alarm to wake up every hour on the hour is doable, but you spend half the day sleeping to try to emulate an unbroken nights sleep.

 I will definitely take a crew to cross the North Atlantic to Europe.

After some R&R here, I will sail north to Saint Martin, before heading out towards Bermuda/Azores to get back to Europe. More in the next post.

Note 1:

Why is my wind steering device called Brian? I know friends whose Hydrovane is 'Harry Hydrovane', Wind Pilot (different brand) is' Peter Pilot.' But when I installed the Hydrovane I was amazed that such a small rudder and vane could control Skyfall. I wrote a blog, "Hydrovane: A question of Balance" which drew an analogy between Judo and these devices. It is all about balance and having the boat steer straight without the Vane.

Anyway, the first really famous (and internationally successful) British judo Champion was Brian Jacks. So my vane is named after him.

A backup story could be that, if you are superstitious (religious) and wanted a messiah to steer or lead you to safety, then Monty Python fans might also choose the name Brian!

Note 2:

Although Skyfall was not transmitting the usual AIS signals, the 'Invisibility Cloak' is an exaggeration. In principle, ships should have been able to see me visually (navigation lights at night) or using radar. Unfortunately, now that AIS is so common, on some ships the men on watch do not look at anything other than the AIS screen, particularly in the early hours