ATLANTIC DRAMA
Erin Carey and her family are tested by gear failure during their 17-day crossing from St Maarten to the Azores
Crossing the hard way, as one family sails from west to east
We needed to get into Horta in the Azores as soon as possible. The message on our Garmin Inreach read: ‘There’s a low forming north of you, and if you don’t get in by Sunday morning, you could experience gale-force winds of 50-60 knots.’ We were 300 miles from Faial and had less than 48 hours before the low was predicted to arrive. From our calculations, we’d have to make at least 6.5-7 knots the entire way to make it on time.
Crossing the Atlantic from west to east is considered a testing route, especially as the weather can be varied. It proved challenging for us, with gear problems including a jammed headsail, which we had to cut away, and a failed generator, which saw us enforce water rationing – none of which was easy when sailing with three children under the age of 11.
When my husband, Dave and I started planning our sailing adventure from our home in Adelaide, Australia four years ago, we knew we wanted to cross an ocean. That dream led us to choose our Moody 47, Roam, which we bought, sight unseen, in Grenada, despite having no real sailing experience. Known for its blue-water capabilities, with a partial skeg-hung rudder, solid fibreglass construction, centre cockpit and a stout rig, she was more than capable of making the crossing. We were also more than prepared, having now cruised thousands of miles along the Caribbean chain over the last 18 months.
PREPARING FOR OUR CROSSING
When planning our route we looked to Jimmy Cornell’s World Cruising Routes, and the pilot charts for the North Atlantic. The Imray Atlantic passage planning Chart 100 showed the average winds, pack ice limits, historically sighted icebergs and ocean currents. We chose to depart from St Maarten because of the island’s facilities, provisioning options and the fact that other boats were also departing from there.
While we were in St Maarten, we were lucky enough to meet John Kretschmer, an ocean cruising legend who has sailed over 400,000 miles. John had completed the west-to-east Atlantic crossing 14 times and advised that a June departure shouldn’t present the problem of too much wind, but rather not enough. This was a risk we were willing to take; we were happy to burn some diesel if required, we just wanted to avoid being caught in high winds and large seas. As it was, we departed on 29 May 2019, with a third adult crew, Kasia, a professional teacher who was brilliant at keeping the children entertained.
PLAGUED BY GEAR PROBLEMS
For the first 10 days at sea, our daily wind averages were around 15-18 knots out of the east, akin to tradewind sailing between the Caribbean islands. The seas were 1-2m, the sun was shining, and the days were warm. As we started closing in on 34° north, however, the weather became noticeably colder. The wind shifted between the south and southwest. Squall activity was mild, with the largest squalls increasing the wind strength to 25 knots.
The last week of the trip was more difficult due to a low-pressure system that was rolling past us. On one particular day, the winds were 30-35 knots and the seas were 4-5m. While it was nothing Roam or the autopilot couldn’t handle, it was uncomfortable.
We were receiving weather updates via our Single Side Band (SSB) radio and Pactor modem, along with our Garmin Inreach, which proved invaluable. Our weather router, Chris Parker from Marine Weather Center, was kept busy trying to keep us away from the worst of the weather. Most of our sailing was either on a close reach or a beam reach. Our mainsail, staysail, and headsail were what got us across; our best day was 175 miles in 24 hours. The end of the trip was the most interesting, with two low-pressure systems converging on each other around Horta.
We did experience some issues along the way, the main problem being our headsail. Around 400 miles east of Bermuda, our newly purchased, second-hand carbon fibre headsail catastrophically delaminated. As we furled and unfurled the torn sail to bring it down, this caused a tangled nest of taffeta and synthetic fibres which tightly wrapped around the forestay – it was impossible to drop. After seven hours of trying various techniques to remove the sail, we admitted defeat. Rather than risk climbing the mast in the open ocean, we retreated to Bermuda.
The following morning, miserable and annoyed, I encouraged Dave to have one last attempt at removing the sail. With renewed enthusiasm, a sharp knife and much patience, he finally succeeded. Luckily a spare headsail found deep in the sail locker only weeks earlier, was hoisted. While it wasn’t pretty, it did the job, and we were able to reset our course back towards the Azores.
Early in the passage, our generator failed, meaning our Ac-powered water maker was out of action. It was an electrical fault and one for which we weren’t prepared. We had never had this issue before, despite working on it dozens of times. We had to enforce water rations, and showers were banned. In hindsight, we took too much food and not enough water. We had 550 litres of water stored among our tanks and jerry cans, but if we were to cross an ocean again, we would aim to take at least 700 litres.
Other issues we had to overcome were water ingress from the anchor locker and leaking deck plates, although these were more of a hassle than a safety concern.
We also encountered a problem with our battery bank. When motoring at high revs in the final 24 hours, our lead-acid
As we furled and unfurled the torn sail a tangled nest of synthetic fibres wrapped tightly around the forestay
batteries were gassing. Upon inspection, they were very hot with barely any water in the cells. As we had topped them off before leaving, we had no distilled water aboard, a mistake we won’t make again. They were topped up with regular water and after 12 hours rest showed no signs of damage. However, the cooked batteries and lack of wind meant we were averaging just 3 knots, and I was anxious we would be caught in the forecasted storm. But a message from Chris changed my mood when he told us the low was due to arrive six hours later than forecast.
CROSSING THE FINISH LINE
With a sigh of relief, we turned the engine back on and motored to Horta. Amazingly, there didn’t seem to be any ill effects from the overheated batteries.
Arriving at 0700, we were stunned at the sight of the town before us. The whitewashed cottages and red terracotta roofs were a stark contrast to the villages in the Caribbean. Green pastures surrounded the village, home to plump cows, grazing happily. Eventually, the anchor was down, and the engine was off, we’d made it! We’d sailed across the Atlantic Ocean. Despite not sailing more than 120 miles in succession before our departure, we had just sailed for 17 days and 2,514 miles. Maybe we got lucky, or perhaps it was due to our meticulous planning. One thing’s for sure, we had achieved something we’d remember forever and we were very proud of ourselves.
The whitewashed cottages and red terracotta roofs were a stark contrast to the villages in the Caribbean