There are a handful of books that any aspiring sailor must read, and at the top of that list is Joshua Slocum’s Sailing Alone Around The World.

I first read it a few years ago and was in awe of the man’s adventurous spirit. If you haven’t read the book, and I’m sure most of you have, then I implore you to do so. It’s brilliant. A real life tale of adventure on the high seas.

Anyway, this evening I stumbled across a 45 minute documentary on the great man on Youtube.

So here it is, the story of Joshua Slocum. Enjoy.

I’ve held out posting this for quite some time. After previous failed attempts at boat rebuilds, each with it’s own valid excuse, I was unsure that yet another one would ever see the water. However, whilst still insufficiently financed, I’m sufficiently advanced in the rebuild of my latest quest to get a more suitable liveaboard.

Sometime in the Spring of last year I bought a Colvic UFO 31 for very little money. Less than I paid for Kudu in fact. Of course, there was a catch: It was a wreck.

The boat had been abandoned on Windermere and eventually, after breaking it’s moorings and being rescued by the warden several times, it was offered for sale under sealed bids. I did not know about this closed auction until she turned up at Preston Marina. The owner bought her in the water, and once lifted it became apparent she was absolutely riddled with osmosis. To make matters worse, she’d been left with a good 3 feet of water in the cabin for, presumably, years, and that had rotted just about every bit of wood in her.

This monster project was too much for the buyer, so as soon as I stuck my nose in he told me it was for sale. I didn’t want a project boat. I’d just started a business and I just didn’t have the time for it, but given the asking price I went on board and had a look. She was a mess. See for yourself.

However, after initially dismissing the deal, I gave it some more thought that evening. Due to a lack of space in the boat yard when she turned up, the yard had craned her in to the lock s a temporary berth. Despite her diabolical state, she still floated.

I made a call the following morning and closed the deal. I’m not going to say exactly what I paid for her, but it was peanuts. In the following weekends, I emptied the boat of eleven sails, in bags, as well as all the other bits left over from a straight out abandonment, including rusted cans of beer which had spilled their contents in to the lockers. Nice.

Unfortunately, this is where I realised just what sort of mammoth project I’d got myself involved in. The mouldy wood didn’t just need a scrub and paint. It was totally sodden and completely rotten, having spent the last few years absorbing a muddy, oily, grim soup with a stench you would not believe.

This was probably going to be a project I’d never finish, but despite the frequent and strong bouts of pessimism, I kept paying the mooring fees and doing bits of work whenever I was back from London for a weekend. I did mention I’m now pretty much living in London full time, didn’t I?

So, I’m by no means finished, but after a complete rebuild of all the woodwork, she’s starting to feel like a boat again. So much so, that I’m inclined to let slip my secret project.

In terms of time, I’m still a long way off. I write this on a train back to London, and building a young business takes up way more time than any boat project I can imagine, but she’s getting there, one infrequent weekend at a time.

I present, the boat that no longer has a name…

Tana-Vika, a cream coloured neighbour of Kudu, is currently locked in an odd sort of race, galloping a desperate last furlong that gets no shorter. We’re neck and neck, and giving it all we’ve got, but going, thankfully, absolutely nowhere.

The weather forecast last night warned of strong winds, but by midnight is was merely a fresh winter bluster. Last night I’d started reading Treasure Island, one of those classic greats that my somewhat lacklustre education deprived me of as a child. I was glued to it’s pages, or rather, the ‘next’ button on my Kindle, but by midnight, just as young Hawkins was recruiting crew in Bristol, my eyes demanded a rest.

I couldn’t sleep. The fresh breeze was knocking Kudu about a little, but no worse than I’d experienced before, and it was probably down to eating far too much Le Roulé. After a while I abandoned my determined slumber and flicked on the radio. Radio 4, of course, just in time for Sailing By, and then the shipping forecast. The presenter painted a poor picture, with gales everywhere but Trafalgar, and many threats of “violent storm eleven”. I looked at the barometer on Kudu: 1013mb. Still nothing exceptional to report. Back to my sleep efforts.

During the next hour the wind gradually increased until Kudu, and the pontoons she clings on to, were dancing around like a child desperate for a wee. The motion on board had become choppy and uncomfortable, and sleep was looking increasingly unlikely. As the night continued, the wind progressively became more powerful, climbing the Beaufort scale in fits of gusts, during which we were pinned to an awkward heel as each mooring warp took it’s turn in tugging Kudu back to her proper place.

I was desperately in need of some sleep by this point, but managed only to lay semi-consciously still for a while before having to tense the odd muscle to stay put in my bunk. Some hours went by, then at four or five in the morning and almighty squall came thundering through the dock. The howl was intense, the roar, the heeling, then the violent tugging at the warps. It was such a blast that I put a hand on the forward window, vaguely expecting it to blow in. I’m convinced it was not a stingy number beyond  60 knots, and when the squall had passed, it only had the decency to take but a few knots with it. I gave up with any effort to sleep, and thankful of the stove’s gimbals, made a brew.

By 0900 the barometer was down to 998mb, but the worst of it seemed over. Shortly afterwards it began to climb again.

All around the country this deep low was attacking an otherwise mundane January morning. Maybe the first day back at work had raised mother natures anti-capitalist side.

At 0500, while I was further South, pressing my hand against Kudu’s perspex window, the weather front had reached the Forth Road Bridge in Scotland. As the mean wind speed climbed to a staggering 80mph, the gusts ventured to ninety. At the very top of the chart, beyond 90mph, the wind instrument on the bridge let go.

The South of England didn’t escape the hiemal bluster either, in fact the South suffered a more tragic assault. A man in Kent was killed by a wind felled tree that crushed his car, and another was airlifted after an accident on board a troubled chemical tanker in the channel, but he didn’t make it to hospital.

So, amongst all the disruption, to the liveaboards that got no sleep, to the home owners that lost some roof tiles or a couple of fence panels, and to the commuters that got delayed, don’t fret, it wasn’t that bad for us. When the weather is like this, there is true bravery in the UK. From helicopter search and rescue crew, to the lifeboats, ambulance service, and mountain rescue, to name but a few, they’re all out there, and without them, well, things could be worse for a lot more of us.

To the man in the car, and the sailor. R.I.P.

RNLI

Mountain Rescue

Last year, the folks at Mr Vee (the self steering folks) ran a competition to win a Mr Vee Y&B windvane, designed especially for small boats.

I entered, and due to the support I got off everybody, I ended up winning. Well, not long after, my custom Mr vee arrived in the post, and then all my plans went pear shaped and I started a business, thus pausing my sailing career for a while. As such, the windvane remains shamefully unfitted to my boat, but I can assure you it is of excellent build quality, and one day, I will get around to putting it where it belongs and heading out to sea again.

However, you might be able to beat me too it as they’re running another competition from Jan 1st. Worth entering. I really thought I’d have no chance, and look what happened.

MrVane.com Competition