It was long ago that I learned to keep stories of my sailing adventures to myself and other navigators. The last time that I attempted it was when I was asked to relate a particular incident, just after my granddaughter Helena's christening, in England, back in 1996.
Together with a crew of seven others, I had recently sailed my boat back to the Mediterranean from Trinidad in the Caribbean, via Bermuda. Recounting the night, three days out of Bermuda en route for the Azores, several hundred nautical miles away, when I was alone at the helm and the binnacle's compass slowly started to move, first ten, then twenty, then thirty degrees off course for no apparent reason. Turning the wheel to correct the heading made no difference and I was beginning to wonder whether there really was a magnetic anomaly in the so-called 'Bermuda Triangle'.
The steering on board is hydraulically operated and we had experienced problems with lost fluid off the island of Grenada, solved by the replacement of an o-ring. In the absence of spare hydraulic fluid, I had filled the reservoir with virgin olive oil, necessity being the mother of invention. Now I assumed the worst and resigned myself to hauling out the emergency tiller. Before I could act upon this thought, the whole boat started to shudder and vibrate as though in contact with solid ground although this was not possible as the nearest land was three miles below the keel.
An exhalation of warm seafood-scented air wafted up from the sea and I went over to the scupper to peer over the side where I was confronted by the spectacle of a whale, at least as long as the 21-metre schooner, apparently using our hull as a back scratcher! The stunning effect of this incredible sight is indescribable, both wondrous and frightening at the same time. What would this leviathan do next?
He, or she, had obviously taken a liking to the vessel and I just hoped there would be no amorous overtures. There was another exhalation and, as the whale sounded, the great flukes rose above the yacht dwarfing an otherwise substantial-looking boat and I thought of the carnage they might cause to the rigging, but they slid silently into the inky depths and I was alone once more.
As I concluded my tale of this brief encounter, someone casually enquired what the cricket score was at the moment and I got the message there and then so, you see, Linnet and I very rarely recount our experiences, even when asked to. We have found that those who do not sail are unable to relate to the topic unless it can be observed from the comfort of an armchair and forms part of a documentary or is featured in a swashbuckling movie of piracy on the high seas. Some of our adventures have been too incredible to be told without invoking utter disbelief.
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