Alone on a Wide Wide Sea (17 page)

Sorry to hear about your cold Grandpa. You’re always going on about me taking my vitamins and you go and
get a
cold
. Stay in the warm. look after yourself. promise?

Fog now and rain, so got our lights on all the time. Icebergs don’t see lights but other ships might. All you can do is listen and hope. Not too worried I tell myself cos there’s a lot of water out here and very few ships. Still you think about it. It niggles at you all the time. Did a bit of fishing, but no luck. 82 miles now to the Snares south of Stewart Island. Cooked myself a great feast cos it’s so miserable up there. No fish, so baked beans (of course) sausages and eggs and…and…and…wait for it two mugs of hot chocolate. Feel a lot better. Fog lifted a little so I could listen to Dad’s Beatles CD, played his favourite song – here comes the sun – thought it might make the sun come out. Great song, but still no sign of sun up there. Read some of Dad’s story. I love the parts when he was at his happiest, when Marty and Dad were living with Aunty Megs. Love the bit about that wombat “Henry’s horrible hat hole,” always makes me laugh.

No albatross today. Probably can’t find us in the fog. Thought I saw a dolphin though v close to the boat. Can’t be sure. Sea goes very quiet in fog. Even the waves seem to whisper. Can’t spend too much time down below. Too risky. Got to keep an eye out. Got to keep listening. v. tiring. want to sleep. mustn’t. got to go. Miss y’all. Think of you. Love you. A. P.S. Any news about Kitty?

Fog’s lifted but feeling a bit low. Not enough sleep. All last night on watch and got to thinking about Dad again, I mean about him being here with me. Maybe it was reading his story that upset me, remembering all the sad things that happened to him. I shouldn’t be sad because I know that he had good times too, specially during the best parts of his life, and with you and me Mum. But I just couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to be here doing this with me, that he made so much of this boat with his own hands. Maybe it’s because I’ve always been so used to being on Kitty Four with him.

Maybe I was just imagining things, but I don’t think so. I just felt he was there with me all night. I even thought I heard him humming London Bridge. I thought maybe telling you about it might help me make some sense of it. But it hasn’t. Mum, I’m really beginning to believe he’s still here with me on Kitty 4, like we really are doing this trip together just as we’d always planned we would. But there’s something more. I need to believe it. I think the only way I’m going to get to England is to believe he’s with me. at the same time I know I’ve got to stop feeling so sad about him, stop missing him so much. So I mustn’t read his story again. I won’t think of the past. Just focus on the here and now, it’s the only way. Not going crazy, Mum, promise. We’ll make it. Dad and me and Kitty 4. We’ll make it. No worries. xxx A

Hi Mum hi Grandpa. Feeling a whole lot better. Not sad any more. Slept really well. Didn’t want to get up at all. Always the same. Tell you why.

1.
You
don’t
want to get up there and get wet again soon as you stick your nose out up top.

2. Socks. You can always smell where they are and you don’t want to go near them ever again.

3. Boots always waiting for you where you left them. Step right in, they say, and it’ll be lovely and wet and cold, hee hee.

But once you’re in your boots, in your wet weather gear which is always still wet, it doesn’t seem to matter any more. It’s done. I make a nice hot chocolate to warm myself through. Then suddenly I’m up there in the cockpit out of the stench of socks and diesel and damp, and the ocean is heaving all around, and it’s the best place in the whole world to be. And this morning, guess what, my albatross was back. He was there waiting for me. And…And…And…he’s brought dolphins with him, dozens of them dancing all around me. Never been so happy in my life. What was it you called me once, Mum? Moody? Moi? OK you were right. Waves go up and down – why shouldn’t I?? Even my blisters are all better. Love you lots. Allie

DUNEDIN NZ!

Hi Mum, hi Grandpa. Sorree. Sorree, sorry you haven’t heard much from me for a while. Been a bit busy just staying alive. Can’t say I wasn’t warned. Grib weather forecasts were the worst ever, so I knew it was coming. Trouble was I couldn’t get out of the way of it. Ellen MacArthur would have been able to go round it, dodge it, or race ahead of it. She can do fast, I can’t. Kitty 4 doesn’t do fast. But she does do brave. And it wasn’t just grib that warned me, my albatross did too. Not kidding. For two whole days
before the storm he never left us. He was telling us, I’m sure he was. He just hung there above us looking down on us. He’d never stayed so close before nor for so long.

The storm came suddenly, 50-60 in squalls and huge blue waves so high you didn’t want to look but you had to. And blue so deep you could see right into it. Just before it happened I was doing a sail change and clipped on, thank goodness. You know how you can feel thunder is about before you hear it, like the sky is taking a deep breath before it lets rip. It was like that. There was a strange silence and a stillness all around. Like the sea was waiting for it to happen. Then I looked up and saw this wall of water 15 metres high at least and it was breaking right over me, and my albatross was skimming along the crest of it like he was telling me to hang on. So I hung on. Kitty 4 was knocked down, rolled through 140 degrees. The mast was under the water. I thought that was it, that she’d just go on rolling and turn turtle and that would be that. End of story, I thought. But it wasn’t the end of the story. She lay there on her side for a
few moments like she was having a bit of a rest and then she just flipped right back up again, a bit like Kitty in my bath back home when I was little. Everything was crashing about. I was chucked about like a wet rag doll. Not a single bit of me that wasn’t bruised. But no broken bones, and what’s a bruise or two when you’re still alive.

And that was just the beginning. Went on for nearly thirty hours. By the time it was over Kitty 4 had taken a real battering – she was in a much worse state than me which is why Mum, Grandpa, I’m here in Dunedin. Had to put in for repairs. The light fitting on the mast head needs draining for a start. Needed a new set of steering lines cos they had chafed badly. Can’t do without my self-steering gizmo. It’s my magic pathfinder through the waves, like my best friend. Got to look after him. And there’s a mainsail that’s torn, so that needed fixing too. In a way I’m glad I got knocked down, glad I had to come into Dunedin. Taught me a lesson. Been a chance to reorganise, tie everything down properly that flew around. thought I’d done that already but the storm
found
me out. Won’t be my last knockdown on this trip. Be better set up next time.

And anyway I needed to do some shopping too, more plasters and antiseptic cream. baked beans and hot chocolate supplies were low. Everyone v. kind here in Dunedin, v. helpful. Lots of press people came to see me so lots of posing by Kitty 4. Maybe you saw some of it. Don’t worry Grandpa I made sure I had my Stavros Boats cap on. you’re going to be selling loads of boats in Dunedin after this, all over NZ. And guess what I’ve got free bed and breakfast for all the time I’m here – gift from the town. Isn’t that the best?

Just spoken to you on the phone. So good to hear your voices. Made me cry though. And like I said Mum don’t worry, I promise I wouldn’t be going on with this if I thought the boat wasn’t up to it. She’s fine. She won’t get there in a hurry, but she’ll get there,
bobbing all the way. Best bobbing boat in the world. I’m fine. Like I told you the bruises don’t hurt like they did. pretty dramatic to look at though. got one all the colours of the rainbow right across my ribs. spectacular. Been having lots of sleep in my nice warm bed and I’ve had lots of long hot baths. I’m taking on all the warmth I can. Like a camel taking on water before a journey across the desert, I’m going to need it, I know that. Told you most of my news on the phone, but must tell you about my albatross.

Saw him last night, but only in my dreams. Dreamt of Dad too. Can’t remember all that much of it, never can remember my dreams properly, but I think I remember Dad and the albatross seemed to be one and the same somehow. One or the other of them, and I don’t know which, was singing London Bridge is Falling Down. Weird or what?

All being well should be on our way again soon. Weather pattern looking better, so that’s good. Bout time. I want some nice easy sailing. Oh yes, and I can do up to verse 20 of the Ancient Mariner by heart
now. v pleased with myself! Been learning a couple of verses a day in the bath since I’ve been here. Don’t think I understood till now why Dad loved it so much. I just lie there soaking in my bath saying the lines over and over:

That’s verse 20. Sad but so beautiful. I’ll know it all word perfect by the time I get to England. Promise. A

P.S. Still no news of Kitty? Keep thinking and hoping no news will soon be good news.

6 knots. heading south in brilliant sunshine, reef in the mainsail. The mend is holding well which is good news. It’s all good news because my albatross is
back. It’s like he’s been waiting for me out here all the time I was in Dunedin. Seen plenty of them about, but they just fly by on their way to somewhere else. He’s the only one who hangs about. He’s like my guardian angel. So I’ve got Dad’s lucky key and I’ve got a guardian angel too. I’m well looked after Mum. I keep throwing him some scraps because I really want him to stay. The trouble is that as soon as I throw him food his friends come back and bully him off it. I’ve decided to do some more fishing from now on – never did it with Dad, he didn’t like it. It’s too easy just to open a tin. Besides I love fish, full of protein and good for me. Keeps me strong. Don’t like the idea of killing them, but do like eating them. So I’m going to keep a line out and baited whenever I can. I’ll get lucky sooner or later.

More fog. Can’t see a thing, except a bit of sea around us and my albatross. flies in and out of the fog like a ghost, a welcome ghost though. Doing less
than 2 knots, not even enough to charge the battery with the turbine and there’s not enough sun for the solar panel to be much use either. need a minimum of 4 knots to keep going and that’s with everything off except the laptop and the instruments. Can’t afford to use diesel to motor out of it. Can’t afford to use laptop any more either. So I’m turning you off. Byeee Mum. Bye Grandpa. A

756 miles since Dunedin. Antipodes islands behind us. The Horn ahead of us. Long way to go still. Not worrying about it, Mum, just thinking about it, getting myself ready. Desalinator not working as well as it should. Water tastes a bit salty. But otherwise no worries. Clothes a bit smelly. Glad it’s only me on Kitty 4. Must have a big wash soon, me and my clothes. Been putting it off.

Doing 7 knots sometimes, averaging 4.5. So I’m doing well. I thought my albatross had deserted me
yesterday but he hasn’t. He’s up there now, helping us along putting wind in our sails with his great wide wings. He just comes and goes as he pleases. I feel adopted. Out of all the ships and boats in the Southern Ocean I feel he’s chosen us. He likes me to sing to him too, always seems to come closer when I do. So I’ve done him my Whitney Houston, all the Beatles songs I know – Dad taught me most of them – and when I run out I whistle him “London Bridge is Falling Down”. He seems to like that best. Still no fish, but I’ll keep trying. There’s got to be millions of fish down there, all of them deliberately ignoring my line. Why is that? What have they got against me? My smelly clothes? My singing? Thought I saw the back of a whale yesterday. Too big for a dolphin. Got all excited, but if he was one he didn’t show himself again. Hope he doesn’t have a nibble at my bait. Not really the kind of fish I’m after. Bit big. This is how sailing should be. We’re dancing our way towards the Horn.

I’m having big doubts about Kitty, like Dad had. Maybe he did make her up after all. I really want to
believe he
didn’t
. I’ve been trying to keep my hopes up, but it’s difficult. To go all the way to England and find out there’s no Kitty after all would be so sad, for Dad and for me. Think positive. Must believe the best. When I do that I get to thinking about what I’m going to say to Kitty when we meet. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I tell her who I am. And to have a relation on Dad’s side too would be really something. Got so many on your side – no offence Grandpa. But we need some balance here. I’m only half Greek y’know. And I know you don’t want to hear this but I’ve always liked cheddar cheese beta than feta! Now you know and you’ll hate me forever. S’agapo, I love you, Grandpa. xxx A

Dad used to love old black and white Spencer Tracey movies, any Spencer Tracey movie. If it was on we watched it. And one film in particular he loved. It was called
Captains Courageous
. Tracey plays this old fisherman on a whaling ship. He looks after a young boy who’s very spoilt and teaches him what’s what, right from wrong, fair from unfair. He sings him an old fishing song, and I loved this song. It was one of those songs that just stayed in my head. I used to sing it all the time, out on the boat with Dad, in the bath at home, wherever I was happy. And now here I was in the Southern Ocean on my way to the Horn on
Kitty Four
catching and killing my first fish (I’ve never liked that part of it), tears pouring down my cheeks and
singing out Spencer Tracey’s fishing song:

“Hey ho little Fish, don’t cry, don’t cry. Hey ho little Fish don’t cry.”

That first one I couldn’t bring myself to eat, so I tossed it overboard for my albatross who had been watching me, probably hoping I’d do just that. He didn’t have to be asked twice. He was in the sea in a flash and swallowed it down. He didn’t actually lick his lips, but he looked pretty pleased as he sat there in the sea waiting for more. When I caught my next fish, I ate it myself, despite lots of hurt looks from my albatross. But I did chuck him the head, which he gobbled down more than happily.