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  Contents

  Francis Chichester

  Epigraph

  BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ON FRANCIS CHICHESTER

  Prologue

  1. April 4th to 24th

  2. April 25th to May 8th

  3. May 9th to June 10th

  4. June 11th to 15th

  5. June 16th to 18th

  6. June 19th to 21st

  7. June 22nd to 25th

  8. June 26th to 28th

  9. June 29th to July 2nd

  10. July 3rd to 7th

  11. July 8th to 13th

  12. July 14th to 21st

  Glossary

  Francis Chichester

  Alone Across the Atlantic

  Francis Chichester

  Aviator and sailor Sir Francis Chichester is best known for being the first and fastest person to sail around the globe single-handedly in The Gipsy Moth IV. Following this achievement he wrote several books and made films about his sailing experiences.

  Born in Devon and educated at Marlborough College, Chichester emigrated to New Zealand at the age of 18 and spent ten years in forestry, mining and property development. On his return to England he learned to fly, and in the original Gipsy Moth seaplane he became the first person to complete an East-West solo flight across the Tasman Sea, for which he was awarded the inaugural Amy Johnson Memorial Trophy.

  Chichester wrote many popular books on his air adventures, and during WWII he wrote the manual that single-man fighter pilots used to navigate across Europe. In 1964 Chichester published his autobiography, the bestselling The Lonely Sea and the Sky, and was knighted three years later for ‘individual achievement and sustained endeavour in the navigation and seamanship of small craft’.

  Chichester used his navigation experience to create a successful map-making company, Francis Chichester Ltd, which today still publishes pocket guides and maps which are sold throughout the world.

  Epigraph

  THE PRAYER OF SIR FRANCIS DRAKE

  1540–1596

  O LORD GOD, when thou givest to thy servants to endeavour

  any great matter, grant us also to know that it is not the

  beginning, but the continuing of the same until it be thoroughly

  finished, which yieldeth the true glory; through him that for

  the finishing of thy work laid down his life, our Redeemer

  Jesus Christ. AMEN.

  BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ON

  FRANCIS CHICHESTER

  Francis Chichester was born in North Devon in 1901 and emigrated to New Zealand in 1919. With Geoffrey Goodwin he formed land development, timber and aviation companies. In 1929 he returned to England and learnt to fly.

  During his flying career he:

  Was the second person to fly solo to Australia (1929).

  Made the first E.–W. solo flight from New Zealand to Australia across the Tasman Sea.

  For this flight he was awarded the Johnston Memorial Trophy for 1931. This coveted award is made by the Guild of Air Pilots and Air Navigators for the best feat of navigation during the year. The system of navigation he devised to find Lord Howe Island flying alone was the same as the standard navigation procedure adopted by Coastal Command in 1942. This flight was described in his book, Alone Over the Tasman Sea.

  Made the world’s first long-distance solo seaplane flight – New Zealand to Japan (1931).

  During the first half of the 1940 war he was writing navigation

  instruction at the Air Ministry. For the rest of the war he was Chief

  Navigation Officer at the Empire Central Flying School. Here he was working on new methods of teaching low-level fighter pilot navigation.

  In 1945 he started his own map publishing business – now famous for its pocket maps.

  In 1960 he was on the Court of the Guild of Air Pilots and Air Navigators and a Fellow of the Institute of Navigation. Since 1954 he has taken part in 16 of the Royal Ocean Racing Club’s races in Gipsy Moth II, during which he won the Stuart Cup for the 1956 Southsea-Harwich race.

  In Gipsy Moth III he won the first Singlehanded Transatlantic Race, June 11th-July 21st 1960. This was also the first yacht race of any kind E. to W. across the Atlantic.

  Prologue

  The idea of this race was Blondie Hasler’s. Colonel H. G. Hasler is well known as the ‘cockleshell hero’. As a marine commando he led some canoes up the Garonne to Bordeaux and sank several steamers in the town by fixing limpet mines to them. I think twelve marines started and only two returned.

  He hoped that this race would result in getting rid of some of the chores of sailing. He thought that the competitors would more or less be forced to devise ways and means, probably novel ways and means, of simplifying their tackle and their tactics.

  I saw his notice on the board of the Royal Ocean Racing Club and thought what a race of races it would be and a thrilling adventure. Unfortunately I was on my way to a hospital at the time and it looked as if my next sail would be across the Styx. However, I was one of the lucky ones and turned up again two years later to find the notice still on the board and myself fit enough to get excited about it.

  I turned to and helped Blondie organize the race. It was Bill Waleran who suggested to me that the Royal Western Yacht Club of England was the right and proper club to start the race from Plymouth. We wrote to them and they were very interested. But there were a lot of difficulties. Many of the leading ocean racers accustomed to racing with full and crack crews said the solo race was a crazy hazard and many people feared a public outcry if competing yachts disappeared. They would be accused of sending the gallant sons of Old England to their watery deaths.

  We were having a committee meeting at Plymouth with the Royal Western, Lindley Abbatt and Chris Brasher of the Observer who did so much to further the race, Blondie and myself, when it hung in the balance whether the Royal Western would take over the starting of the race. It was then that I piped up and said that if no one would organize the race, as far as Blondie and I were concerned, we would race across the Atlantic for half-a-crown. The Americans fastened on this as a bet but not being at home with half-crowns, called it five shillings.

  The race card read: Leave the Melampus buoy to starboard, (that’s a buoy quite close to the starting line in Plymouth) and thence by any route to the Ambrose light vessel, New York.

  Each competitor had his own theory of the best route to go. Hasler always maintained that the far north route was the quickest, that he would be in the north half of the depressions or lows up there and would have favourable east winds. Howells and Lacombe followed the low-powered steamer route, which went down near the Azores and then along the 36th parallel of latitude to end by cutting up north-west across the Gulf Stream to New York.

  I carried out what we used to call in the Air Force in the war ‘dry swims’. The scheme of my ‘dry swim’or shall I say ‘dry sail’ was to take from the U.S. hydrographic chart the prevailing and other winds likely to occur in each rectangle of 5 degrees of latitude and 5 degrees of longitude a
nd work out what would be my sailing speed for each of these winds. I then computed how long it would take to sail across that rectangle assuming I met these average winds. For example on the Great Circle route I followed, crossing the first rectangle from Start Point to 10°w. I estimated would take 62¼ hours if I had the average winds. The percentage times would be

  18 hours at 2½ knots

  32 hours at 4 knots

  23 hours at 6 knots

  22 hours at 53½ knots

  5 hours calm

  total

  less average current

  Distance covered in 100 hours

  ∴255 miles would take 62¼ hours

  = 45 miles

  = 128 miles

  = 138 miles

  = 121 miles

  zero

  432 miles

  20 miles

  412 miles

  In the event with a head-on Force 6 or more blow I reached 10 ° w. on June 15th at 1600 hrs. which was 102 hours after the start. Thus do the plans of mice and men go oft astray.

  However, I believe this did not affect the value of comparing the different routes.

  The chief routes I worked over were ones actually sailed by competitors. But I tried out many variations. The old wind-jammer route, followed incidentally by nearly all yachtsmen who cross the Atlantic, went down to the Canaries and thence along the trade-wind belt to the West Indies and from there up north-west to New York. This was over 5,000 miles, 2,000 miles longer than the Great Circle route, and I ruled it out of the question for a race. I also ruled out the other wind-jammer route far north which Blondie favoured.

  The Great Circle route which I adopted is the shortest possible at 3,000 miles, but it has some serious disadvantages. According to the hydrographic charts there was a 10% probability of fog over 1,600 miles of it and a mean maximum iceberg area 550 miles wide to cross. Also a head-on North Atlantic current (continuation of the Gulf Stream) averaging 0·4 knot to battle against for 2,000 miles until the favourable Labrador Current was supposed to be met at Cape Race, Newfoundland.

  I consoled myself with the thought that I could heave to for twelve periods of fog of twelve hours each and still be no worse off than a competitor on the fog-free, ice-free route along the 36th parallel. Ha! what a joke, as it turned out. David Lewis in his boat Cardinal Vertue followed the same route that I took.

  My boat is nearly 40 feet long (39’ 7”) overall with a waterline length of 28’, beam of 10’ 1¼”, draft of 6’ 5” and Thames measurement of 13 tons. Normally I would race it in the Royal Ocean Racing Club races in British waters with a crew of six. It has berths for six. The mast is 55’ high from step to truck, the same height as my bedroom window at the top floor of my five-storied London house.

  I should like to add something about the self-steering device. My Miranda is a 45-square-foot mizzen sail which weather-cocks with the wind so that the whole mast rotates. At the foot of the mast there are two arms which can be clamped tight to the mast in any position, and from each end of these arms a tiller-line leads to the tiller with the result that as long as the wind vane is weather-cocking the tiller will not be disturbed.

  Immediately the heading of the boat changes the wind will press on one side of the wind vane, move it, with the result that it in turn moves the tiller which moves the rudder and brings the boat back to its former heading.

  I designed my wind vane myself and I based it on the model boats. In fact in the winter I studied my Atlantic Ocean racing at the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens where I went every Sunday morning for a short time and watched the model boys. I figured that if they could sail a model across the Round Pond without a helmsman I could sail my yacht across the Atlantic in the same way. My wind vane is 4½ times the area of the rudder which it has to drive.

  1. April 4th to 24th

  First Day Aboard – Bumps in the Night – Working in the Rain

  – Rigging Jobs – First Sail Alone – G. M. is Obstinate – Busy

  Agenda – Hard Aground – Trouble with Anchors – The Snags

  in Reefing – More ‘Wants’ – Blessing the Ship – on the Mud

  Again – Aground in Newtown Creek – Experiment in the

  Solent – Compass Adjusting – More Fun with Anchors –

  Disappointment over self-steering – Reefing much Improved

  – Sore Hands

  4th April 1960. We came down to Buckler’s Hard on the 1st and I remained behind to go afloat on the 3rd. Usual despair the first day at the 1,001 things to do. It seemed hopeless and nothing worth while. It blew up in the evening gusting to Force 6 and I hoisted the dinghy aboard using the main halliard. I thought it would spare me a disturbed night due to the dinghy bumping against the side of the yacht and snatching at the painter.

  I had the usual trouble getting to sleep after the first day aboard due to over-tiredness and all the noises but was asleep at midnight when I was woken by some dreaded bumps which I had hoped to escape. There was no doubt we were hitting something so I slipped some clothes over my pyjamas and emerged in the pouring rain and the wind. We were hitting Gardenia on the next mooring. She had no mast having only been launched that afternoon and was tide-rode1while Gipsy Moth with her 55-foot mast was wind-rode and headed in the opposite direction. Our two sterns

  1See Glossary for explanation of sailing terms.

  were hitting. Gardenia had a bumpkin which I thought would be knocked off.

  Now of course I regretted my dinghy was on the cabin top instead of in the water. Gardenia’s tiller was not locked and hard over. I pushed it over to the other side with my long boat-hook and wondered if I must launch the dinghy, a horrid thought considering the dark, the pelting rain and the gusting wind. Just what would happen one’s first night afloat. One’s morale and wits are at a low ebb on being woken abruptly just after getting to sleep.

  My wits began to return and I shortened my mooring chain, which, with Gardenia’s changed helm, resulted in our sterns swinging clear of each other. However I still had a bad night of bangs and bumps. Several times I went on deck but could not trace the cause. I thought it was the rain shortening the new hemp halliard. The halliard was still fast to the dinghy and I imagined the shrunk rope was lifting one end of the dinghy clear of the cabin top. No, it wasn’t that. Then I thought it was a can buoy which had become entangled in the mooring chain and was bumping the yacht. In the morning I decided it must have been the mooring itself jerking or snapping in some strange way due to the shortened chain.

  Today I finished stowing the gear in the cabin, filled fifteen bottles with paraffin, started and checked over the motor, bent on the mainsail. It is a big heavy sail for me. I had difficulty in topping up the boom with the mainsail furled on it, though the topping lift has a two-part tackle. I must fit a three- or four-part tackle.

  Everything seems fairly in order and I hope to go off for a little sailing tomorrow.

  5th April. I never got off sailing today after all. It rained off and on all day. I could hear it pattering on the deck at 7 a.m. when I woke and I felt snug and lazy and lay in the blankets till eight when I got a time signal to check the battery-driven electric clock. Every time I poked my nose out it started to rain. This happened all day. So first I did my housework, sweeping out and cleaning up. Then I rigged a tackle for the topping lift of the main boom. I rigged shock cord tiller-lines combined with cod-lines and bowsies (bowsie is the piece of wood with two holes in it as used for tent-lines. I bought a dozen from the Girl Guides head shop). As I was working hard all day it is perhaps just as well the weather was bad and I didn’t try to sail. Perhaps tomorrow. Various letters about starting or finishing the SHTAR (the Single-handed Trans-Atlantic Race), obstacles, hitches, delays. I can’t care any more. I am afloat, the race is on, what more could I want? Mrs. Fry says I’m mad to go in for the race. What do I care, I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for years.

  6th April on `Gipsy Moth III’. Well, I finally made it – sailed G.M. away on my own. A gr
eat thrill. The first time is always a thriller in anything. I suppose it is because one doesn’t know what will happen. I used the motor to get away from the mooring because I was not sure how much room she needed to turn. That was just one of the things we could not find out on our trip home from Ireland with the helm and rudder jammed. She turns very well under main sail only. When tacking I would say she moves forward a boat’s length after starting to turn. This may not sound much but when tacking across the river it does represent 40 feet and in places I suppose the river channel is only 200 feet wide.

  It was a great boon to be able to tack up river without using a jib. That incessant sheeting in of a jib on short tacks is no joke. Of course the boat does not go as fast without a jib.

  I had my arrangement of elastic cord etc. rigged for holding and adjusting the tiller but the boat seemed determined not to steer herself. At the best I could only leave the cockpit for a few minutes. I tried endless adjustments, sailing into wind, down wind and across wind. G.M. was not having any self-steering. She makes one think of her designer. I hope the wind vane is going to work, otherwise I shall take months to cross the Atlantic.

  There were thousands of birds, gulls I think chiefly, on the spit at the Beaulieu River entrance. They made a terrific noise and I suppose were nesting there. I hove to at the E. Lepe buoy, with No. 2 jib. The boat fore reached slowly.

  How marvellous at night to see the

  reflected black in the still river with

  moonlight.

  silhouette of the

  cloud reflections

  woods

  in the

  7th April. While I write this eating my lunch, I saw old Gipsy Moth’s scarlet mattresses go by in the fitting-out launch. Gipsy Moth II is lying two moorings up. It is fine and hot and I am in summer shirt-sleeves. But alas, no wind. 8.30 p. m. I don’t seem to have achieved anything today and yet I have not stopped since I got up except to snatch two slabs of bread with lettuce, cheese, marmalade, tomatoes to brighten them up for lunch. The lovely sunny day ended about four o’clock and it has been unloading rain ever since.