Chichester—Steady Progress

Press, Volume CVI, Issue 31305, 27 February 1967, Page 13

Chichester —Steady Progress

(N.Z. Press Assn.—Copyright) GIPSY MOTH IV, February 26. The traditional gale was blowing as I crossed into the Roaring Forties, but I have been sailing steadily at good speed, Sir Francis Chichester reported on Friday off the Cook Islands. My position this morning was 42.26 south, 151.02 west, and I have covered 3087 miles since leaving Sydney. I had expected a gale when 1 crossed into the Roaring Forties because farther north two days earlier a southwesterly swell had started rolling under the boat, big

enough for each crest to shake the wind out of the sails as it passed. Soon after midnight on Tuesday I turned out of my bunk to drop the big genoa. Before daybreak 1 was out again to drop the mainsail and the mizzen, altogether a reduction of more than 1000 square feet. However, it was a small gale and three hours later I had the mainsail set again. This is the latitude for pace with discomfort, but I had enjoyed my slow sailing farther north.

At noon on Tuesday I was in true halycon weather with blue skies and sparkling seas. I sat in the cockpit basking in the sun, quaffing mugs of beer which I had drawn off from my keg in the keel. Life seemed good.

Next morning in the Forties I had to light my cabin heater and put on warm clothes for deck work. South of 40 degrees I was immediately attacked by the creeping lethargy which I noticed when 1 first entered the Forties south of the Cape on the way out.

Perhaps this was due to the winds and weather being connected with the Antarctic. When it is blowing I do not want to do anything unless I must; when it is fine I just want to do nothing. The southern ocean is soulless and dead, yet it is crowded with birds. The first I saw were a number of cape hens—and a single albatross —which seemed to arrive with a small squall. They flew around the boat wildly, but when I looked for

them after breakfast to throw them some scraps, they had disappeared. 1 wonder where the nearest person would be. Unless there is a ship about, which seems unlikely, I reckon the nearest would be at the Chatham Islands, 1100 miles away. I am very glad to have avoided early in the week the possible reef shown on the charts. No doubt these reefs crop up in the Pacific and then disappear again.

Tomorrow I will have champagne cocktails and open a bottle of Montrachet to drink the health of my wife on the thirtieth anniversary of our wedding. I will dress for the occassion in my smoking jacket and all. So gales, please keep off.