Dear Marge,

DATE: 2002-11-26
LOCATION:000deg17N158deg22W
WEATHER: hot sticky, humid

I think the weather is going to remain that way until Samoa now. Note the location! We really are 17 Miles away from the equator. By the time I finish typing this, we will have crossed the equator. Phil threatens to shave-off or peroxide our hair or commit some other silly initiation ceremony. Bart is pretending the two-dollar wine is Champagne and we have it on ice.

Things have improved a bit here. Yesterday I awoke after the first decent night's sleep I've had. The day hadn't been so hot and I had switched off the refrigerator, part of the reason my cabin is so horribly hot. It has run out of gas and is being exceptionally inefficient. However we have to have it back on otherwise the meat will go rancid. I woke reasonably fresh and positive, for a change. It was hot and sunny and we spent most of the day lazing about. Bart gave David and I a little talk about humouring the skipper, saying he needs respect as he has little self-esteem. This was my diagnosis too, and I have played the willing cabin-boy all along. But at 65 or whatever age he is, we shouldn't have to prop up his ego. We are also learning that he learnt to sail from anecdotal sources, more of this later. Don't worry about the reports you have read about Phil, I knew about that before I left England. The people ranting on the website are actually misinformed. As to charging for delivery places, this is common practise, and whilst it is pretty mean, people are happy to pay for the experience. It makes me realise how lucky I am to have this job. When I get home I will have been the first-mate on a trans-Pacific crossing in cyclone season, which is like having Oxford on your sailing CV. Bart makes me appreciate this trip too, he pointed out what it would take to fund this trip, and this boat is luxury, even if it is not my style. It retails for $600K new, plus we have 1000s of dollars of safety equipment, food, spares etc. For all their bickering and confused information, Bart is an excellent engineer, and David is a good navigator and meteorologist.

I spent most of yesterday getting a tan and dreaming about my own boat that I will own. Lots of little thoughts, but one day I might make them into something. I'd like a traditional steel boat, much like the one we saw in Dartmouth last summer.

Yesterday's excitement was pulling out another Dorado. This time I paid closer attention to Bart's technique, as being able to fish goes hand-in-hand with long-distance sailing. In principle it is simple. We have a line trailing from the back of the boat with a lure on the end. The lure is a big hook that looks like a squid. The fish bites the lure, and that's it, you reel it in. Bart explained all about "hot tuna" and "hanging loose" to me. These terms refer to the art of reeling in a fish that is big enough and strong enough to wrench itself off the line. It's a sight to behold, a 2 foot long fish "water skiing" behind the boat as it is dragged along at a considerable 11kn. Bart almost drowned himself pulling this beast in. The fish can drown, inevitably, but it is bad for this to happen. It is better to bring them in alive. Otherwise you get "hot tuna". Heat is created by the struggling fish and this taints the meat. Instead Bart reeled it in by "hanging loose" - occasionally letting the line go slack so as to not loose his fingers or the fish. He then landed and clubbed the thing to death. It's a bloody and messy affair - these are big meaty fish, not the translucent cod we are used to. They are blubbery grey monsters with large jaws and full of thick red muscle. Red blood splattered all over my freshly laundered clothes, but I didn't mind, as fresh fish is something to appreciate. Bart ate some of the fish raw whilst gutting it. It did make me bulk a little, as the fish was still struggling against the huge spike that was caught through its mouth, and I was glad that after a few blows to its back it stopped struggling. After that though, the fish was just food to be prepared. We barbecued it on the special "sea-be-que". It is gas powered and very convenient (though still not easy to use at 20 degrees of heel. It hangs precariously over the bow wave, and you have to like your food a bit damp and salty). I recommended your method of cooking fish, and it worked delectable, though it was a bit "sushi" in places. Fred's bread yesterday was par-excellence, he had managed to create soft fluffy tea-loaf. So all in all it was a good day.

I watched the sunset this evening. Not particularly spectacular, but it occurred with equatorial rapidity. Apparently at sea, when the sun sets, a green flash is visible. Bart claims to have the "green flash" on film and Phil promised me I'd see it tonight, but we didn't. Maybe I'll see it another night, or is this a universal wind up?

We have had steak the last few days (most of mine went overboard, I can't digest red meat after all these years of being vegetarian) and little else. Today we had fish twice, in fact we are catching more fish than we know what to do with. It is so easy to just leave the lines out and wait, I wish it was this easy in Britain, though I don't think there are many tuna fish to be found off the Cornish coast. The boat is luxury in plastic. I am beginning to appreciate some of its mod-cons, even though I'd rather be in a traditional boat. There are little things like the shower I found yesterday. Cleaning up the fish-blood, I found a little cubby hole in the transom. In this was a shower with hot and cold running water, presumably so that as you flop up on deck after a swim and have a shower.

We dined well and I got quite drunk last night. I slept until 3 am, when I had to get up for my shift. David promised me Christmas Island before dawn so I sat awake, staying alert for any Hawaiian fishing boats. But after two hours, and consultation with the charts, it turned out we were 40 miles south of the island (yeah good navigation from someone) and we never saw it, passing it in the night. Tomorrow (if someone can tell their east from their west) we should pass Jarvis Island. However we don't plan to stop, as we all want to push on to Samoa now.

Samoa. That island has occupied the forefront of my mind for two weeks. I have dreamt about it and thought about it in a way that only a mariner at sea can think about land. Bart and I talked at depth last night, and he did a good job of persuading me to stay on board, to see these islands that nobody else will ever get to see. So remote that even yachts rarely visit. We are taking the most perverse route in history, according to Bart, something that he thinks I'll never repeat due to the cost and logistics involved. All to avoid the IRS's bill of 150 000 dollars. In a way it is the IRS who are funding this trip for us.

There is a cyclone sitting in the South China Sea at the moment. It should be gone by the time we get there, but it is a timely reminder of the seriousness of this project and why such a rag-tag group have found themselves arguing over luff-drag in a millionaires floating bath tub.

Bart thinks if David leaves, Phil will chill-out. If Phil chills out, and Bart continues to provide tactful advice that keeps this boat together (we ripped the main yesterday and it is now held together by my sewing skills alone) then it's tempting. But Bart has his off-days as well, claiming he would rather go to Fiji with his passionate Brazilian girlfriend. Fred is just baggage really, but he cleans the toilets and changes the engine oil, two jobs I have avoided so far, so I am grateful for his dogsbody status. As first-mate I have the dubious pleasure of sitting up all hours of the night at the radio post, tuning the screeches of static into weather reports. The boat is sailed by committee. Phil sometimes seems credible, yesterday quoting from magazines and seeming to hold his own against Bart's daunting (though badly communicated) technical knowledge. But later when he tried telling me the contrary to the most basic bit of sail knowledge (theory I taught to school kids in dinghies), I had to scoff at him. I realised that he never had the basic grounding in sail theory. He will argue that the Whitbread teams reef under full power so we should do so to (hence the torn sail, and my day spent hanging twenty feet in the air, doing sewing acrobatics), but he can't steer the boat on a straight course, because he doesn't understand how the sails turn the boat. I convinced him in the end (he was drunk and in a more convivial mood) with a dramatic demonstration. Bart wasn't so successful, the magazine Phil was quoting from had some truth in the fact that "drag is caused by the leach" but the argument got down to what was a light wind anyway?

We are still alive. We haven't met the doldrums yet - my old school atlas proving more reliable than David's "I've been to 5 met courses". The doldrums move South of the equator in December, so we will meet them soon. I haven't done any work. It's too hot and yesterday was spent repairing sails, today fixing toilets. I am unsure what will happen. Bart is supportive, arguing that we should have shore-leave in Samoa, and I could get my work done in that time. Then I could enjoy the rest of the trip, disembarking in Indonesia as he plans to, avoiding the dangerous and tedious crossing to Singapore, and the necessary cleaning, repairing and arguing with the owner. From there I would have to return for my Oxford interview. Bart he is already setting up deals in Sri Lanka over the satellite phone.

As to me, I am so torn that I fail to make a decision. If I get my work finished in Samoa, maybe I will go to Tonga. If Tonga is bearable, Fiji. Bart thinks that Papua New Guinea is on route, something I definitely don't want to miss. Maybe then I could still carry on, playing a dangerous game of chance until I find an airport that will get me to London before the 17th Jan for the interview.

I have a really strong desire to dive. The calm tranquillity of being under water would be such a contrast to the ever chaotic, noisy, moving world of being under sail. I want to just hang motionless in the tropical water. Calm and at peace. A week or two trapped on Samoa doesn't seem too bad. I could fund a meagre existence in a cheap guest house, diving everyday and working in an Internet cafe. Unless the heat and mosquitoes defeat me.

As to Sri Lanka, Bart paints an exciting picture, and I know it could be a good holiday, staying in haunts I already know well. But I also remember the heat and the mosquitoes getting to me there. If I make it home, I don't think I could fund a second trip this year. I need a job and money. Can you make it to Fiji? May be you, me, Bart and his Brazilian love goddess (his term not mine) could go kite surfing and diving for a week. I know you can't do this before Christmas; and that PhD is ever-more important to me.

Character development. It can occur in strange ways. On this trip I feel a bit of regression. This is not a Raleigh Expedition, with group sessions and a "feedback" psychology. This is each man for himself, in a butch, male, egotistical, and macho world. I appreciate more and more that a real asset here is pure physical strength and determination. On this diet of red meat, eggs and fish and a life-style of sun-bathing and winch griding, I might be a bit bulkier when you see me. Sitting for hours not communicating gives me time to reflect on a lot of things. I was worried that I wouldn't have the right psychological make-up to do this trip, but I am passing this test with flying colours. I've had ups and downs, but they are all normal. I can rationalise them and develop strategies to deal with them. I have been really supported by you and being able to communicate with you, for which I have to thank the modern technology of satellite phones, I haven't felt as alone as I would otherwise have done.

It's strange what I crave too. I crave pure unadulterated consumerism. Shopping in London, clubs and pubs. Stuff I never do at home anyway, so why do I think about it now? When I am in a pub at home, I dream of being at sea, away from the smoke and noise! Yet here I am, in the clear blue air and sea, wishing for the smog of a big city, and the company of 10 million strangers!

It was nice to receive a full length communication from you. I laughed and gasped and smiled at all the right bits. I want to share it with the other crew, but there is nothing they would understand, and I don't wish to make them envious.

It's funny, I had to wash my clothes yesterday, a long drawn out process, tiring after having sewn the heavy cloth of the main sail back together and other repairs as well. But I thought, this is how I choose to live, how I prefer to live. To me, washing is something done in a bucket. Bread is made from flour and water. Sewing is an important survival skill. I've thought like this since I was a child: walking the woods in Surrey or sailing on Queen Mary Reservoir. I live at home half self-sufficient anyway. I feel uncomfortable in hotels. Though I wonder, more and more, why I crave these creature-comforts now I am here. Was it just the fantasy, the practise that was fun, the reality too real?

We are now crossing the equator! So I am off to toast the occasion...

Well that wasn't very eventful. The sky and the sea look the same. Just like the millennium - a man-made division of the continuum. Fred filmed the GPS counting down the latitude (there was nothing else to focus on, there is no line painted across the ocean). We can now see the Southern Cross. Fred joked about the GPS having a 00000 error (a bit like the Y2K error, but occurring at 000N000W). Ten minutes later the GPS crashed. Indeed, it can not cope with changing from north to south. I marked the event in my own way, pissing from the north to the south, a piss that spans both hemispheres. Then we ate some of my sister's Christmas cake (well it's unlikely this crew will see Christmas together). It was really good, and well appreciated. It has survived well, even though the icing had gone soft in the heat and a bit squashed. The snow-men were unrecognisable, but it tasted just as good. It's in the fridge now, waiting for the next special occasion. You can pass on our compliments.

I have a few spare hours between now and my watch. I am going to continue where I left off. Only this is a very noisy keyboard, so I may have to stop to give Bart some peace.

LOCATION:002deg10S160deg48W
WEATHER : Hot and sticky still!

Sorry about the previous message being cut short. I wrote a lot last night and was in a hurry to send it but I accidentally pulled the plug whilst it was still uploading.

Things are looking up. We spend every day lounging around in the heat, and everyone is too hot to argue, so it's pretty chilled. Also the excitement of reaching Samoa is upon us, its only 4 days away (3 by the time you read this!)

I am going to stay on at least until Fiji - Papua New Guinea is on the list, so I am afraid it will be January when I see you. I hope to get work done whilst I am in Samoa. I am not going to try and do any work before then, though I made some progress last night. Any info about flights or about Oxford? I've told Phil I need shore leave, and he has granted it.

It finally feels like the dream is real. The seas are calmer (still rough by anyone's standards, but pleasant compared to before). The sky is blue, it's unbearably hot, and we are all turning red. We are close-hauled and creaming along at a steady 11kn. We have crossed 3500 miles of ocean in record-breaking time. The crew have settled into a coherent group, if not quite a team. Things still continue to break, the radio went yesterday, which is the most essential bit of kit on the boat. We have just learnt there is a cyclone over Fiji heading our way. It's scary stuff, seeing those patterns emerging from the isobars, plotting its direction and drawing a line across our track. We should make Samoa before is meets us, or it will die out in the equatorial corridor. After that though, we take our chances, hopping from island to island trying to avoid rotating tropical storms.

Still for now, it's sunburn and the dream of a tropical island to dive off in a few days.

By the way, I am still 1600 miles from the International Date Line but I have been confused over dates. It's Monday here, Tuesday in blighty. We will reach Samoa on Friday, can work wait until then? The phone bill is much higher than I had calculated. I can charge the skipper for about half of that. The rest is my own cost, gossipping to you, and work calls.

Have been reading "The Travelling Horn Blower". First reaction, girly. Second reaction, upsetting, especially the death of her sister. But now I am getting into it. It's very interesting and the characters are building well. Had me thinking all day about my own life style.

Thanks for phoning my Mum - I will email her from Samoa.

Have just looked at the chart. Wow! New Caledonia is opposite Fraser Island, about 600 miles offshore in the Coral Sea. Papua new Guinea is 600 miles north. Come and join me! I would love to dive the coral sea with you... Can you get out to Australia, Fiji, New Caledonia, or Indonesia for the first week in January, then we can go home together, or perhaps start a new life out here...

Ben.

To: Dad and Steph,

Do not worry, I have been receiving your messages. I have also been keeping Margaret up to date on the day-to-day occurrences on the boat. We had to take down livejournal as it was attracting too much of the wrong type of attention, and I am not out to ruin the professional career of the skipper or first mate (and be up for liable!) Instead Margaret has been sending out emails to your home account. I will edit the full journal, with supporting photos on my return.

I did contemplate pulling out. Phil is a madman, and is seriously hammering the boat to a level that is not safe. We are entering typhoon territory, Typhoon Waishen is heading our way (about 1000 miles west currently), a poignant reminder that this is no holiday! David, the British ex-navy guy is pulling out, as he doesn't respect Phil's ability or judgement. With him gone, there is no-one with experience on board, and I am not prepared to brave the China Sea with a lunatic on a broken-up boat. Having said that, the itinerary is amazing, we embark in Samoa in 4 days, then we go to Tonga, Papua New Guinea, New Caledonia, Polynesia, Indonesia and then across to Singapore. We can call in on the many tiny islands of Micronesia and Macronesia -places inaccessible to all but a few, and I hope to be diving untouched coral reefs in the deepest South Pacific. However there are other factors to consider. Work are craving my help on the project I have just finished. I am trying to do all I can when I get shore leave, but it might not be enough. Also the trip is now extended until the end of Jan, as Phil is giving us lots of time to explore and we need a week of repairs when we reach Tonga. That's very kind of him, and we all appreciate the opportunity, but I signed up expecting to be back in early January, as that is when my Oxford interview is. I have put back so much in my life to get to Oxford, stalling my career and everything else for this opportunity, that I cannot afford to throw it away for a prolonged tropical holiday. So I am trying to compromise. I have asked Phil for maximum time to work on my project, relieved of deck swabbing. But at some point I am going to have to hop off. I will have to time it very carefully, as I don't want to be stranded in a place like Fiji, where there is only one flight per week. It makes sense to stay on the boat until Indonesia if that is not too late (early Jan) and fly home from there, narrowly landing in the UK ready for Oxford. Unless Phil goes mad again, in which case I am getting off at the first port, and finding my own way home. Bart thinks he will calm down without David there, but I think David is the only check on him currently, so we will see.

Hope you are enjoying your holiday in America. I watched those storms cross America, as we left California, hoping they didn't come South. Obviously they hit you instead. At least you made it there safely. We have made rip-roaring time (Phil thinks he is in the Whitbread/Volvo round the world race) covering 3500 miles in 18 days. Luckily we have had favourable winds the whole time.

It is amazing technology that allows me to communicate at all from the most remote part of the world's largest ocean. We celebrated crossing the equator last night.

See you soon,

Ben