Julian Megson Sailing

It’s been almost a week since we, on board Spirit of Isis, landed at Portsmouth.  With a full week of being back at work also behind me, I think it is high time to reflect on my 8 days at sea in the Atlantic Ocean.

Leaving Horta - Photo by Peter Harries

We cast off from Horta on Friday lunch time after a couple of days of site seeing and bonding with my fellow sailors.  There were 11 crew aboard Spirit of Isis.  It was kind of weird because someone suddenly made the decision to go and moments later we were on our way.

The first day on board was spent relaxing and enjoying the sense of beginning a big adventure before eventually settling down into the ‘watch’ routine of 3 hours on, 6 hours off.  As soon as the Watch rota started, those people not on Watch disappeared to their bunks.  I remember making the comment “why would anyone want to sleep?”.  I would be eating my words later that week.

We sailed into the wind the whole way and therefore heeled far over and pounded into waves.  This was thrilling sailing but made getting around the boat quite testing but also fun.  I remembered checking out the grab handles below deck prior to casting off and thinking that important manoeuvres to the whisky cabinet (joking) shouldn’t be a problem.  How wrong was I?  The grab handles might as well been a mile apart.  I’m used to small boats where everything is to hand. I often laughed out loud at how simple things were taking so much effort.

Splashdown in the Atlantic - Photo by Peter Harries

The next day was just awful.  I’ve had sea sickness before, but I can usually work through it and recover after a matter of hours.  This day however was a lot different, I felt dreadful and was as sick as a dog.  In fact it got so bad that I was begging for someone to kill me – death feeling like the preferred option.  Somehow I managed to work through most of my time on Watch but even being above deck didn’t fix it.

The next day I felt a lot better and was able to function normally. But I must admit the events of the day before were never far from mind.  The fear of the seasickness recurring kind of dominated for a while but the longer I continued the more confident I got of being over it.

During each watch I spent an hour at the helm.  This was usually accompanied by a big smile from ear to ear.  I loved it because I was in control and it also gave the best view of the boat.  I’ve never been on such a big yacht before (65 foot) so to watch the horizon disappearing below the bow followed by the cascade of water as the bow crashed into the waves was just the best.  At times I would make my way to the bow, (clipped on of course) and peer over the edge to get a good view of bow pounding through the waves.

Julian at the helm

It’s clear from my disability that I’m less steady on my feet than most other people but I think I manage pretty well.  If it is a struggle to remain upright then I am prepared to cast aside any dignity and use ‘all fours’ to ensure that I am steady and safe.  After venturing around the deck, I could see from the look of relief on some peoples faces when I made it back to the cockpit alive!  I was half tempted to fake a wobble now and again for fun but I thought that would be a bit mean.  Plus knowing my luck I would end up facilitating a man over board procedure which would have served me right I guess.

About halfway through the week the wind softened and the sun came out which meant progress was slow.  But that didn’t matter this day because it was beautiful.  The sea changed colour from grey to royal blue.  Everyone was on deck for a change. The highlight of that day undoubtedly for me was seeing Dolphins and then sighting a Whale…oh, and the only shower of the week.

Sunset in the Atlantic - Photo by Peter Harris

The next day everything returned to normal.  The wind picked up and was on the nose.  Progress was good and we were leaving the other boats behind in our wake.  You might think that being at sea that the view would remain the same.  Not so, the view at sea is ever changing and diverse.  One thing that struck me is that the mood of the sea, the weather and colours can change hourly.  God’s palette is quite something.

I can’t go on without mentioning a our stowaway, Percy.  Percy is a Pigeon who decided to hitch a lift. He was a sociable little fella and was a big fan of my breakfast cereal bars.  He stuck around for a couple of days before eventually being blown off deck!  After many failed attempts to get back on the boat he eventually gave up and carried on his way.  I quite missed him when he went away.

"Percy" the racing pigeon hitching a lift - photo by Peter Harries

The beginning of the end of the journey was when we headed east towards the English Channel.  This is when conditions got really exciting.  I’m not going to estimate the size of the waves but about one in every 10 was a real beauty.  Standing at the helm was a real challenge. When a big wave came it looked like we were heading into orbit as the bow was lifted high out of the water.  I tried to bare away to ease the slamming but it seemed to make little difference.  I felt sorry for the poor souls down below trying to get some sleep.

On arrivnig at Portsmouth the mood was that of excitement for most.  I wasn’t sure how I would feel.  I was looking forward to seeing my family but I also didn’t want it to be over.  As we tied up at the pontoon and as everyone was celebrating with there families I suddenly came over very sad.  I even had a small tear in my eye.  Even now I don’t know what triggered this.  It may have partly been that my Wife and Daughter were not there to meet me (It was 3am and I had called them a few hours earlier and told them not to come as I didn’t think it fair to get my young daughter out of bed).  The other reason I guess is because suddenly it was all over.

'Spirit of Isis' in Portsmouth - photo by Peter Harries

I can honestly say that I will never forget this journey. Mainly thaty it confirmed in my mind that more than ever I know I want to sail the Atlantic single handed and that I really believe I can do it.  Although I feel that I achieved something the fact remains that even if I had played no part at all, the boat would have still made it back to Portsmouth.  I’m not in any way undermining the achievements of my colleagues onboard, far from it.  But for me, I need to acheive the Transatlantic crossing single handed where the sole responsibility of bringing the boat home is mine alone.

PS:  Having managed to avoid injury for the whole trip, moments after tieing up in Portsmouth I bashed my nose on one of the upper bunk – small cut, lots of blood.  My legs hadn’t caught up with the fact the boat was now flat and no longer bouncing up and down. What a plonker!

Big thanks to Peter Harries for allowing me to use his photos which are way better then mine.  You can see the rest of his album from Horta and the ‘Spirit of Isis’ at this link here.