Lessons learned James learned fast on a crossing where so much went wrong. These are his key lessons
Choose the right boat. Mine would be steel with a doghouse, a boarding ladder welded onto the transom, a bar running down the centreline for clipping on and a deep, self-draining cockpit ( Annie’s drains are small and block quickly, once with a dead flying fish).
It would have granny bars at the mast, where you need two hands to work, plenty of handholds on deck and below that you can actually grab ( Annie’s were too close to the bulkhead), a deep bilge and a sump where water can collect and be pumped out.
Having water sloshing around the sole soaking everything is no problem in the Solent but gets tedious on a 40-day ocean crossing.
On no account choose a boat with its mainsail traveller running at knee level across the middle of the cockpit. It’s difficult enough in calm seas and daylight, but a dangerous nightmare in rough seas at night. I still have trouble with two fingers on my right hand, which was in the wrong place during a crash gybe.
I’m sure there are performance advantages to a fin keel, but I was never happy with it. When I bought her I had a surveyor check the keel. Apart from a visual inspection, this involved someone swinging on the keel with the yacht in the slings, while someone else watches inside to see if the bolts move. She passed, but I was never truly relaxed at sea. Having once, many years ago, tied my Yorkshire Coble to a 40ft container while half-way across the Adriatic from Brindisi to Dubrovnic, I promise you that, should Annie have hit one of those at night or in bad weather, the keel would have come off.
Don’t replace your furling genoa with hanked-on foresails.
Have a waterproof ‘boat book’ with details of stores, spares and kit, so you can find things quickly when you need them.
Have comfortable, waterproof seating, both inside and out, and avoid wet clothing, which leads to boils, salt water sores, and all the associated discomfort.
‘Practice. Go at night, in bad weather, alone, but go. It’s too late when you set off’
Practice. You need to earn money to pay for the boat and time off work, so you don’t have enough time to go sailing. She’s out of the water, the engine needs attention, the sails are being checked, the liferaft is being serviced: there are always reasons not to go, but you must make time to sail before embarking on a long passage. It’s too late when you set off to realise you can’t see the compass at night, you can’t remember where various switches are, where things are stored etc. Go at night, in bad weather, alone – but go.