SOLO ADVENTURE
Thom D’arcy shares the highs and lows of circumnavigating alone in a 28ft yacht
‘I survived the storm but the Australian authorities thought I was a drug smuggler’
Step off your boat immediately and hand over your mobile phone’. The six border force officers, guns at their sides, stared at me sternly and beckoned me onto the pontoon. I had only just made landfall in Brisbane, Australia, after being caught in bad weather on passage from New Caledonia. A ‘southerly buster’ had arrived earlier than forecast, producing 30-40 knot southerly winds barrelling into the strong southsetting East Australian Current and creating dangerous breaking waves. Rather than risk landfall in these conditions I had to heave to outside the strong current for three days, 90 miles offshore, and wait for an improvement in the weather.
This delay in making landfall and resultant ground track had made the authorities suspicious of my motives. In reality I was doing my best to avoid the steep breaking waves which had at times been throwing my small Vancouver 28, Fathom, onto her side. Now safely tied up in the marina I should have been savouring the relief and satisfaction of a safe arrival in Australia. Instead, tired and hungry, I was being investigated for possible drug smuggling. Was this just a bad joke? The carefree days of swinging at anchor in a calm South Pacific lagoon felt like a lifetime ago.
Setting sail as skipper of my own boat and chasing the sun over the horizon to new and exciting destinations had been a dream from a young age. By my early 30s I had been sucked into the routine of a 9-5 job and an uninspiring city life and was at the stage where I was considering buying my first house. The untimely death of my father from cancer, however, was the catalyst that highlighted the frailty of our existence and pushed me to grab life by
the horns and live my long-held dream. What happened over the next three years exceeded my wildest expectations with incredible highs but also low times when I questioned what I was doing.
The search for a suitable boat to circumnavigate the world led me in the summer of 2013 to Fathom, a lightly used 25-year-old Vancouver 28, located on the UK’S east coast. With a long keel, excellent storage and a cutter rig, she was ideally suited to long-distance single-handed sailing. The majority of weekends over the next two years were spent making improvements and performing routine maintenance to the boat. Additions included windvane self steering, AIS, radar, solar panel and tow generator, a new engine, new water tank, mast steps and better electronics. Holidays in 2014 and 2015 were spent on shakedown sails to France and the Channel Islands. By the summer of 2016 I felt ready and well prepared. I quit my job and departed the UK from Plymouth as an entrant in the Jester Azores Challenge.
Unpleasant weather in the Bay of Biscay meant I never made it to the Azores. Instead, I abandoned the challenge and sailed to Spain, Portugal, Madeira, the Canaries and the Cape Verde Islands before a 17-day Atlantic crossing to Barbados. 2017 began with visits to St Lucia, the Grenadines and Grenada before heading west to Colombia, the San Blas Islands and through the Panama Canal. The rest of 2017 was spent sailing across the Pacific Ocean via French Polynesia, the Cook Islands, Tonga, Fiji and New Caledonia.
Once the Australian Border Force had finally realised I was just a weary solo sailor and not a drugs smuggler, I spent cyclone season near Sydney before crossing the Indian Ocean to Madagascar in 2018 via Cocos Keeling. By Christmas I had reached South Africa after a trip down the Mozambique Channel. In early 2019 I headed up the South Atlantic from Cape Town making stops in Saint Helena and Fernando de Noronha in Brazil before crossing my outward track in Grenada in mid-april.
At many of these places, locals and cruisers would ask how it felt to be alone on a small boat thousands of miles from land. I had often asked myself this
‘Alone on a small boat miles from land, I found the feeling of solitude to be incredibly uplifting’
before I left. Thankfully, I found the feeling of solitude to be incredibly uplifting. During the 4,000-mile, 38-day passage from Panama to the Marquesas the realisation that Fathom and I were so insignificant, a mere 28ft dot in the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, seemed to heighten my senses and I have never felt more alive and content. I remember one particular afternoon I was sat on deck with a cup of tea beneath a setting sun, watching dolphins jumping in the bow wave. They seemed to respond to my voice as I encouraged them to jump higher. After weeks on my own I had some unexpected company, for a few moments at least, and I will always remember with a smile my interactions with these playful creatures in the middle of the big blue. At that moment I felt like the luckiest person in the world.
UNIQUE LANDFALL
Sailing alone though did mean that I had to work hard at getting the right balance between keeping a look out and getting enough sleep. It took a long time for me to become comfortable with the boat sailing on, unattended, into the blackness while I slept in my bunk down below. Less than 50 miles from land presented the highest risk and here I tended to sleep for 15-20 minutes then have a look around on deck before heading back to my bunk. Far offshore and away from shipping lanes I slept in 1-2 hour chunks and relied on the AIS and Echomax radar target enhancer and alarm to warn me of any collision risks. In some places, such as off French Guiana, I found myself amongst large numbers of fishing boats which were unlit at night, had no AIS and were not emitting a radar signal. These were the times I used up some precious amps and turned on the radar to track targets passing less than one mile alongside that I couldn’t see with the naked eye. A few extra cups of
coffee were required on those nights!
Making landfall after a long passage was one of the best parts of the adventure: the excitement and uncertainty of a new country and meeting people from different cultures for the first time. Dropping anchor in the San Blas Islands of Panama was one of the more memorable experiences. Two Kuna Indians came alongside in their sailing canoe and offered me a lift to a nearby island where they indicated I could buy provisions from a small shop. I was unsure whether to accept but five minutes later was crouched in the middle of a leaking, hollowed out tree trunk heading to sea with two complete strangers. Every time a gust of wind arrived the man sat at the bow would lean out holding a piece of twine attached to the top of the creaking bamboo mast. Human rigging was surprisingly effective! Once we had made landfall 20 minutes later they showed me around their village and proudly introduced me to their family and friends. Back on board later that afternoon they would only accept some fishing hooks and lures as a thank-you for providing such a special taxi experience.
TARNISHED PARADISE
Thousands of miles from the nearest city and dense human population, Cocos Keeling in the Indian Ocean should have been a tropical paradise; instead it was to be one of the lowest points of the circumnavigation. I assumed these atolls would be pristine, with my boat at anchor in crystal clear water before a palm tree-fringed white sand beach. Instead, what I found was plastic pollution on a scale I had never seen before. All along the windward side of the islands was plastic waste in huge piles, in some places over a metre high. This plastic had not come from the locals; it had been carried by the ocean currents from south-east Asia. It was a real wake up call for me, and a realisation that if action isn’t taken to stop the production of single-use plastics then no part of our planet will be unaffected.
Planning for my circumnavigation, I had anticipated some gear failure along the way, but not the engine exhaust hose shearing off the throughhull fitting in the middle of the South Atlantic. Early one morning I woke to discover water had filled the
‘Setting sail on this adventure of a lifetime was definitely the best decision I ever made’
bilges and was lapping at the bottom of the engine. The bilge pump sensor had failed to activate the pump as the water level had risen and the alarm never sounded. Now wide awake, I ran on to the rolling deck and emptied the deep starboard cockpit locker at lightning speed. The boat was so low in the water that the exhaust outlet was regularly below the waterline and the bilge pump was struggling to keep up. Squeezing in to the locker with water up to my waist I managed to plug the through-hull before cutting off the split and delaminated section of hose and reattaching. In the end it was an easy fix, but had I slept longer the outcome would have been different.
Although I sailed around the world single-handed, without doubt the most special moments of my trip were those spent in the company of other cruisers. I had so many incredible times and made some lifelong friendships. The cruising community is a tight knit and like-minded bunch and apart from my time at sea I was rarely alone. My boat has now been my home for over three years and together, we have sailed 32,500 miles. Next year, I plan to cross the North Atlantic and return to England. Setting sail on this adventure of a lifetime was definitely the best decision I ever made.