Hindsight would ruin everything if it were foresight. I doubt that I would have given up my job and sold my house if I knew beforehand what would happen on this trip. I hope I have learned from my mistakes.

I answered an ad in Yachting World from an Engineer who was building a yacht (concrete) with the intention of sailing to Australia. The yacht was being fitted out in Bristol and I visited the Engineer in early Spring of 1985. He was Austrian and quite charming, a very precise worker. The yacht was 52’ in length and constructed by creating a frame of steel rods, covered with chicken wire and then sprayed with concrete to an average thickness of 4cm.

As is inevitable with self build projects completion was delayed due to shortage of money but during the early summer I made a number of trips to Bristol to do work on the yacht. This was not too much of a chore, there was a pub close to the Albion Dock that sold amazing scrumpy. One task that I completed was to drill a hole through the hull to create an exhaust for a petrol generator that would enable the vacuum cleaner to be used at sea.

The crew was being pieced together but I didn’t meet them until departure day or thereabouts. The crew comprised a woman (vegan) who was the Captain’s girlfriend, a young lad, a recently retired RAF pilot and myself. On reflection I think I had the most sailing experience. I remember one day stepping down ito the saloon and smelling a strong smell of alcohol, this was the vegan applying the same to her hair to kill the nits. She had just come from Glastonbury.

We departed Bristol on 25^th August passing under the Clifton Suspension Bridge and down the Avon gorge before entering the Bristol Channel, it was perhaps inevitable but within minutes we all succumbed to sea sickness and the Captain decided to head to Barry near Cardiff on the opposite side of the Channel for us to lick our wounds, on top of the mal de mer, the RAF pilot was complaining of a stiff neck. We stayed in Barry for a night or two and then headed off again into a solid South Westerly where making progress was difficult, so much so that we eventually took refuge in Dunmore East in Southern Ireland. The pilot was seriously considering quitting as his neck was a problem but after a couple of days and many painkillers he decided to carry on (hindsight would have told him not to!)

 

We headed South, the weather for the first few days was heavy and it was tough going for a couple of reasons, food and sleeping. The cooking was done by the Captain’s girlfriend. Vegans were a bit of an unknown quantity to me in those days but she was happy to cook vegetarian food for the crew, this was not a great improvement as her menu was limited and her use of seasoning non-existent. My recollection is that the standard meal was a broad bean soup which I did not enjoy. I sustained myself with a supply of chocolate biscuits which I found tucked away in a locker.

Sleeping was difficult, the heavy weather did not help but one day I noticed that my bedding was damp. I soon realised that this was due to seawater ingress. The shrouds were attached to the hull by large stainless chainplates which were bolted through the hull. Unfortunately they worked a little loose in the hull and allowed water through. I moved my bed to the vacant forward cabin but this was dangerous, the bunk was nearly five feet above the cabin sole, getting in needed the skills of an acrobat and getting out required the derring-do of a daredevil. I then moved to a berth in the lazarette. Unfortunately this was also the store cupboard for every nut and bolt on board which shifted with every lurch of the yacht but at least it was dry.

We stood single handed watches during the night and I know that at least once on my watch the yacht did a complete 360 degree turn whilst I nodded off, I do not think the crew noticed!

The Captain was a bit odd. The yacht had a standard wind generator, the turbine blade was about two feet in diameter and when it reached a certain speed would create a hum throughout the boat, a classic case of sympathetic resonance. This annoyed the Captain so much that one day he took his shoe off and proceeded to break all the blades . So now we could only charge the batteries with the engine.

There were some good times though. I remember the Captain getting the hoover out, plugging it into the petrol generator (which I had drilled a hole in the hull for the exhaust) and using it to hoover the cabin sole. The other pleasant episode was the opportunity to have a shower in the middle of the ocean, the water was heated by an Ascot, the first time that I had ever showered on a yacht.

I don’t remember when I made the decision to leave the yacht  but I wasn’t happy with the skipper and I think I may have been influenced by the Pilot who also decided to leave. Much to my surprise he told me that he had enjoyed the experience and this had reinforced his intention to buy a yacht with his lump sum from the RAF, what he needed was someone to teach him to sail and I was that person. We left the yacht in Funchal, Madeira. The last time I saw Mahala was a couple of days later, she was heading west to an anchorage. I do not know for certain but I heard from a reliable source that the yacht did eventually arrive in Australia, although I have no definite proof, I have searched the internet but to no avail.

The first thing I did once ashore was to find a burger bar and then some alcohol. The pilot and myself booked into a hotel to sort ourselves out and enjoy Madeira. It is a fascinating island and I definitely can recommend it for a holiday. He had a yacht in mind to buy already, a Snowgoose 37, a popular spacious catamaran, which was moored in Port Grimaud near St Tropez in the South of France. Whilst we were in Madeira the pilot’s girlfriend and daughter joined us, they were very Welsh and knew nothing about sailing but they were good company. We arranged travel to the South of France, three flights via Lisbon and Madrid, one of the flights was on a Boing 707, a first for me.

Once we arrived on the Cote D’azur we made arrangements to see the Snowgoose  but it was in poor condition and not worth the money. The pilot had another yacht in mind, a Moody 36, with twin stern cabins, also berthed in Port Grimaud. The yacht was moored by a house whose next door neighbour was apparently Joan Collins, unfortunately she was not in residence. The yacht was in good condition and the pilot bought her.

Whilst I was in Port Grimaud I sent a famous telegram to my sister Nicola, who had given birth to twins, “Double first at Kings, love Tim”. Very much a reference to the hospital and Andrew’s University.

Once the yacht was purchased we were able to move aboard which saved a lot of money on hotel costs. There was quite a lot of work to be done to make the yacht capable of an Atlantic crossing. This work proceeded at pace but the weather was getting worse. The mistral sets in towards the end of Autumn and this makes sailing West very difficult. The pilot’s mood was changing. He started to drink and eventually he sank into depression. This is actually why he retired from the RAF. Eventually he decided that we would not get the work done in time and he had decided to stay in the Med for the winter and I was no longer required. This was a bit of a blow, my plans for ocean sailing had collapsed, I was in an empty harbour, St Tropez shuts down in November. All I could do was return home with dreams put on hold. The highlight of the return trip was sitting on the plane and watching a French Concorde taking off in the dark.  Also I returned home in time for David’s first birthday and I met the twins.

 

 

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