At just before 7.30am this morning (Wednesday), we eased the boat alongside the public jetty here in Stanley – 12 nights after we left it for the Falklands element of this adventure. I’m currently sitting in a little coffee shop overlooking the waterfront from where I can see our boat sitting robustly tied up to the jetty. It’s hard to imagine that in just over three weeks she will be tied up to a dock in Cape Town, South Africa. We left Ten Shilling Bay on West Falkland around mid-day yesterday and romped over to the south side of East Falkland and up its east side and back in to Stanley. In the entire 130 Nm. of the sail – we didn’t see a single other vessel, not even the lights of distant fishing vessel. We did pass some land lights – belonging to the military. There is an imposing and obvious British military presence around here. There are no chances being taken – if you’re not welcome here, you won’t get in or on – things have changed since 1982.

Our first night sail as a team all went swimmingly – maybe a bad choice of word – all went well. My watch buddy was Edgar, my cabin buddy, too. We took the 6.00pm – 9.00pm and 3.00am – 6.00am slots. There is something quite unique about sailing along in the dark, unable to see much of anything, but hearing the sound of the water as it parts in front of you and comes together again behind you. During the day, that sound is hardly discernible, but in the dark of the night it comes as a distinct woosh. As I said in an earlier post – I like night watches, there’s something ethereal about them – almost spiritual. Of course they’re better when its warm and dry, but when its wet and windy and cold – they may not be so nice. Sailing through the night feels not how it was when as a child, we would, as a family, occasionally drive to London to somewhere equally far afield – and we’d inevitably do it through the night. I’m never sure why we used to do that – maybe because Dad thought a drive through the night was less stressful (and it was for him), it maybe Mam and Dad thought us rabble in the back would be asleep – which was unlikely as we were all being asphyxiated from the cigarette smoke billowing from the front. I think there was a formula for the numbers of cigarettes per driving hour or per 20 miles – because Mam would faithfully light one up and pass it to dad and he would always say “just on queue, honey!” Of course, directions to where we were going had to be passed forward from us in the back – to make sure we got to our intended destination, but even when they were clear and unequivocal, supported by a huge road sign  – Dad didn’t always follow them – waived aside with a “well that can’t be right” almost immediately followed by “well that’s handy” as we drove into a local industrial estate or lorry park (I kid you not and this wasn’t an isolated incident).  Alternative routes would have to be established and dad would suggest we kept a better eye on things and give him more notice (to ignore what we said at great leisure – presumably).

I took my first nighttime helm in quite some time – at about 6.30pm last night – just as it got really dark. I asked for a compass heading and the compass light to be be turned on. The skipper told me to just to steer 150 degs of apparent wind. Now there are a couple of ways of achieving that. One way is to look at the windex at the top of the mast – but I was foiled there – the light wasn’t working. Never mind – there is a clever readout which shows the apparent wind direction with respect to the boat. It also tells you the strength. Well bugger me – I couldn’t see the damned gauge and so I decided to steer based on where the wind was hitting the back of my head. What a disaster – I steered the boat about 200 degs off the wind and trust me those extra 50 degs make a huge difference – I almost jibed the boat. I got some significant verbal coaching by the skipper for that one.

Luckily, the autopilot gauge was on (but not the auto pilot) and that shows a course and also how many degrees of rudder you have on – port or starboard – a very useful piece of info – or you can just feel the piece of cording on top of the wheel – it tells you the same. With the addition of my glasses – that gauge and the wind read out came into focus and I was able to helm well within the level of acceptable tolerance (to the skipper level of tolerance).

We had good winds pretty much all the way here – which to start off meant we were sailing on a deep broad reach – with the apparent wind coming in at about the 7 o’clock location it you imagine the boat as a clock – 12 being the front and 6 being the stern (back!). In any event – we saw our watch through without further incident. The boat is really well equipped from a navigational equipment perspective. We have a combined Chart Plotter (electronic charts thrown up on a screen down in the pilot house – not in front of the helm) and the color screen is over laid so a complete picture is provided – meaning we can see whatever is in front and to the side of us and investigate what it is and if we need to take avoiding action, then we can. Of course, it is a legal requirement for a boat under way and making way to keep an active and attentive watch, which means eyes and ears as well as any other options (like radar, if appropriate). Unlike poor Tonic, the boat we took around Great Britain, which had few fully working instruments – or at least they were intermittent or else not calibrated properly, this boat is set up for serious Ocean Sailing and as we do our watches, we have the best equipment available to us. Edgar and my second watch slot was a little more active – but no helming. The skipper reluctantly allowed the autopilot to be switched on – shortly after it started to rain on one of the watches that came after our first stint. So when we went up for our second stint – I was delighted to find the entire watch (all three of them) collected in the pilot house – thus indicating no-one on the helm. All week we’d been harping on to the skipper about using the autopilot and all week he had resisted – telling us it wasn’t functioning and it MIGHT be repaired when got back to Stanley – the little liar! The thing about the autopilot – it is very reliable (when set up properly) and so you can guarantee it will hold a course – steer on a heading – which is important if you’re up on deck working on putting in, or shaking out a reef or something. Bernadette and I sailed in the BVI recently without the autopilot and it makes a huge difference when you’re short handed – ask her!

Pulling into Stanley had a surreal feeling – and it was a little bit like seeing an old friend and its not like we had a lot of time here before we went to sail around the islands, but returning here does have a special meaning. It means we’re about to finally get going on the adventure all six of us really signed up for – sailing the Southern Ocean.

Pip pip!

P.S. The skipper who will be with us, Dave, was there to meet us as we docked. He seems a good guy and looks and speaks the part. I’m sure there’ll be more on him to follow. James was also there to meet us and is about to move back aboard.