Sailing across the North Atlantic at 81

by Edward Cohen on 22 Oct 2014 A grew up Miami, Florida. My family moved there when I was a young child. Like many other children in the days before TV, I read a lot. I especially liked reading books that described heroic sailing adventures, Captain Horatio Hornblower’s Man-O-War vessel fighting the French, Sir Francis Drake’s exploits, Joshua Slocum who sailed around the world alone—these were my heroes.

As a college student, I joined the crew of a racing sailboat kept in Biscayne Bay not far away. We raced weekends and on occasion evenings during the week. After finishing college, I left Miami to go to medical school at Washington University in St Louis. After medical school, my new wife Toba and I moved to Chicago where I did postgraduate training in internal medicine and research at the University of Chicago. Our home was close to a harbor on Lake Michigan, where there was an active sailing program. I sailed weekends and when there was time an evening or two on friends’ boats.

When I could finally afford one of my own, I bought a 25-foot sailboat that Toba and I could handle. Once we sailed the boat across the Lake to St Joseph Michigan, about 50 miles away. As you can imagine, severe storms are common on Lake Michigan. They come up quickly and can be dangerous. Fortunately, there were none on this occasion. Columbus could not have had a greater sense of accomplishment than we did when we arrived safely in the harbor at St Joe.

Like many fellow sailors, the size of the boats we owned gradually increased, from 25 feet to 30, to 35 and now to 39 feet, its present size. With an expert crew, we sail weekends off the Chicago lakefront. The annual Chicago to Mackinac Island race, 333 miles, is the longest one. It is the highlight of the year. This year, 337 boats took part. I have done 43 of these 'Mac' races during the years I have lived in Chicago. But, I have always hoped to do ocean sailing. Long distance sailing had a special appeal for me. Starry nights, beautiful sunrises and sunsets. New harbors with foreign names and people who speak foreign languages. Only a sail across the Atlantic to Europe would do.

If anything, this nagging ambition had grown. I recently turned 81, and although I am in fine health, in the back of my mind, I realized that time was passing and if I was going to do this I should do it sooner than later. My boat is ideal for evenings along the Chicago lakefront and for the annual race to Mackinac Island. It is a fine racing yacht, but it is not designed to withstand the rigors of an ocean storm.

Then, an opportunity presented itself. I ran into Don Campbell, a friend I had not seen for years. Don and I had raced against each other many times in the past. He had moved on and we lost touch. In a brief conversation in which we recalled that we knew each other. He told me that he had recently bought ¬Mystic, a Shannon 43 that was specially designed for ocean sailing, that he was planning to join the Atlantic Rally Cruising Europe (ARC) on the Trans-Atlantic, and was looking for crew. I immediately told him of my interest and signed on. Toba, an adventurer herself, had known of my ambition and was in agreement.

The challenge of long distance travel over the ocean where there are no street signs or familiar buildings to guide you is to have a reliable means of navigation. Sure, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, but a more precise method is required. It is essential to know exactly where you are and in what direction to go toward your destination. Communication with the outside world is no less important. Bad things can happen on a boat. Injuries can occur. On rare occasions the owner or a member of the crew can get seriously ill or fall overboard. The ability to seek advice and help is critical. Another important instrument is one that provides information on the weather. Storms can be severe and dangerous. With sufficient advance warning, smaller storms can be avoided by temporarily changing course.

Mystic was well prepared for each of these possibilities. There was a weather forecasting service that downloaded current information onto a computer that could be printed out. There was a radio for calling long distance, a Global Positioning Satellite receiver (GPS) for precise navigation, several compasses, wind speed and direction instruments and a self-steering device that held a selected course that freed the crew from constant steering by hand.

Needless to say, the North Atlantic is notorious for its severe weather. Heavy storms are common. Proper clothing is essential. I packed a bag that contained all that I expected to need for the heavy weather we were likely to encounter as we sailed across. The bag included foul weather jacket and pants, warm socks, a woolen hat, insulated waterproof gloves, high boots, and long woolen underwear.

Now, the boat and I were ready for anything the Atlantic cared to throw our way, or so I believed.

We left Tortola in the British Virgin Islands, Mystic’s homeport, in early May. We were on our way to St George’s Harbor, Bermuda, and the first port of call. I admit to considerable excitement as we left the harbor and raised the sails. Bermuda was 900 miles away. My primary job en route, when I was on watch, was to look out for other boats or any other dangers of the open ocean that might arise. I was also to check on our course from time to time and to adjust our sails when necessary for optimum performance. Fortunately, I did not see any other boats and we were right on course. I could concentrate on the stars. What a show. I’d never seen the likes. Mars, the red planet, was easily identified. The stars of the Big Dipper were shining jewels. They were extraordinary bright and vivid. The Milky Way was a distinct canopy that stretched overhead from one end of the horizon to the other.

(Of course, the same stars are visible from Lake Michigan. Well away from land, however, the stars of the open ocean were ten times brighter and even more majestic.) I had brought my I-Pad, where I had downloaded Schubert symphonies, Beethoven’s 'Late' quartets and Mozart piano concertos. The music with the boat gliding along under the stars was sublime. Then, as the sun was rising, I switched to Schubert’s heroic Great C Major Symphony. Venus, the morning star, was glowing in the east as the sun gradually rose and the sky slowly lightened with beautiful blues, pinks and reds. The moment deserved no less.

By the way, the strategy for sleeping was to stay awake until exhaustion. I was 'on watch' from midnight until 6AM. At the end of my watch, I returned to my bunk below and slept very well. When I awoke, I was completely rested.

The sea was calm as we approached Bermuda. There was little or no wind. We motored to maintain a schedule and to allow two members of the crew to meet their flights home. Then, as we came closer, the wind intensified and the ocean swells increased in size. The waves were huge, fourteen to sixteen feet, much larger than any I had seen on Lake Michigan. They towered over the boat. I felt small and insignificant. Big seas broke over the boat. It reminded me of those newsreels from World War II showing destroyers plunging into monster waves that buried the bow. Well, our wind during that two to three day period was hardly that severe, but it was enough to make life on board miserable. It was hard to move about. The danger of falling was a constant concern. Don fell against a screw projecting from a porthole. He sustained a two-inch cut next to his eye. Fortunately, there was no permanent damage. He’ll have a scar to show friends, which might not be too bad. He can say, 'I got this in a storm when I sailed across the North Atlantic.' Besides which, as Evel Knievel said, 'chicks dig scars.'

The final day as we approached Bermuda was ideal. It was the type of weather that keeps you coming back, again and again. The breeze was gentle, and cool. The sun was bright and warm and the sea, which had calmed down to a reasonable level, was easy. We were six hours from St George’s, our destination. There was lots of paper work to complete when we arrived at the customs dock, Declarations and assurances that we were not carrying plants, drugs, and large amounts of cash and, unlike some cities in the States, that we were not carrying firearms.

St George’s is a beautiful old city. The streets are narrow and cobble-stoned. A few shops sell souvenirs and there are several excellent restaurants. I needed ear phones for my IPod that were better than the ear-buds I had been using. I took a bus into Hamilton, where the shops are. Hamilton is a destination mainly for the wealthy from around the world, which explains the multiple shops selling duty-free watches, jewelry, designer clothing and high styled shoes. I decided against buying a Rolex even if it was tax-free. I did find a shop where I could buy a pair of tax-free earphones.

Sailing, according to the tired adage, is like standing in a cold shower tearing up 100-dollar bills, and that was before inflation. I prefer the one that says, 'Sailing is excessive periods of tedium punctuated by moments of abject terror.' I was fortunate. I had neither the tedium nor the terror. The days floated by. When I was not on watch, I read the books that I had brought along. I especially liked, 'The Bully Pulpit,' by Doris Kearns Goodwin and 'The Flash Boys,' by Michael Lewis.

After several days in Bermuda, we left for Horta on the Island of Faial in the Azores, 1775 miles away. After sailing in pleasant weather for several days, we were forced to alter our course to avoid a major low-pressure zone right in our path. If it could speak, it would have said something akin to 'Don’t mess with me.' We went miles out of our way to reach the lower part of the storm where the wind and waves promised to be more manageable.

As the weather moderated, we were able to raise the light air racing spinnaker I had brought from my boat. We were going relatively fast until the sail suddenly exploded into multiple pieces. A puff of heavy wind was responsible.

As the spinnaker had died a soldier’s death, I decided on a burial at sea. I composed a prayer entitled, 'Requiem for a Gallant Soldier.' It went like this: 'You have given years of faithful service in the field of battle, never stinting, never hesitating, ready for service under all conditions. Now, far from home, in alien waters, you suffered a mortal wound, beyond treatment, beyond repair. We now command your body to the deep in the expectation that your service will continue in great success in the afterlife of competitive yacht racing. Go with dignity, faithful friend.'

As I was the only Jew on board, the others agreed to become honorary Jews for the occasion. I recited a portion of the Kaddish, a Hebrew prayer. Translated it says, 'May God’s great name grow exalted and be sanctified in the world that He created as He willed. May he give reign to his kingship in your lifetimes and in your days and in the lifetimes of us all.'

I must admit to emotional feelings as my friend of more than 12 years receded slowly in the wake of the boat.

At sea in the North Atlantic, 850 miles from the Azores.

The sailing weather today was ideal. The appropriate adage is, 'It doesn’t get any better than this!' A warm, following wind ensured a fast comfortable passage. At a time like this, I think of others over the years that have sailed these waters on their way to the New World, before steam ships and well before sailing vessels equipped with various amenities that enabled connection with the outside world. It was a pleasure, at least for a time, to be without E-mail, Chris Mathews or the NY Times. I didn’t miss hearing about or reading of one disaster after another. Sailing the Atlantic on a well-founded vessel was indeed a favored life.

So, other than burying an old friend, how did I occupy my time? As I described, the boat was equipped with multiple devices that made sailing a lot easier than used to be the case. Once the self-steering device was set, it steered itself. Navigation was through electronic charts that showed where we were to less than a mile. Powerful winches could be used to adjust the sails. These automated features allowed much time for reading or listening to music. Since there was little to do while everyone else was sleeping, when I was on watch at night, I used my ear phones to listen to Beethoven string quartets and Schubert trios. I listened the entire Rossini opera, 'La Centorentola' twice, the Mozart piano concertos and piano sonatas multiple times.

I am enjoying this trip immensely. While there is much to do at home in Chicago, it will still be there when I arrive. The sea changes continuously. There is always something to look at and to admire. Today, the sea is grey and threatening. On other occasions, the color is a deep azure. It seemed almost friendly (don’t fall off the boat to test the notion). Seeing dolphins alongside is always a thrill. They are sleek and muscular and very fast. I saw whales spouting in the distance. I saw sea birds a thousand miles from land. Each sunrise and each sunset was a unique marvel of beauty.

Sixteen days after departing Bermuda, we arrived at Horta, on Faial, one of the Islands in the Azores. The voyage from Bermuda to took longer than we expected as we had deviated southerly in the early part of the voyage to avoid gale-force winds. All in all, we sailed more than 2000 miles on this leg alone.

Horta is the famous first stop for vessels going to and from Europe. The walls and the walkways around the harbor are covered by paintings prepared by sailors who added theirs to others contributed by the owners and the crew of the boats that had stopped here previously. Not adding to the gallery is considered bad luck. Finding an empty spot on the wall for ours was a different matter, there were so many. We finally found a suitable place and added 'Mystic,' the date and the names of each of the four of us to our painting.

Later in the day, I joined others sailing on a 20 foot antique vessel that was used originally for hunting whales. It had no motor, no keel and felt very unstable. More than one occasion, I was afraid that we would capsize. I had my wallet, passport and camera with me. None would do well if they were soaking wet. I was happy to accept the invitation to take the helm where I had a bit more control. I was pleased that the 'old man' was treated with such courtesy.

One day, several of us took a bus tour of the Island. We saw a huge caldera, a crater left over from a volcanic eruption that occurred centuries ago. People lived in the crater. There were houses in the far distance. A second, more recent eruption near an old lighthouse left a field of pumice that looked like a moonscape. It supported no vegetation what so ever.

Santa Maria is the last Island in the Azores archipelago we visited before departing to Lagos, Portugal, our final destination 900 miles away. Like others in the archipelago, Santa Maria is volcanic in origin. The local resident population is about 5500 very friendly people. It is Old World, with narrow country lanes with neat carefully maintained small homes on either side of the coble stone streets. The Island seemed very under-populated. I was informed that most of the young people had left for Portugal for the States where they can find jobs.

We left Santa Maria on a cloudy day. It is amazing to me how much our emotions are tied to the weather. Nothing new about that, but being at sea amplifies these feelings to a degree I had not known before. There was no sign that civilization, as I knew it, still existed. No other boats, no news, no birds, no living creatures-just us. The entire world had reduced itself to the grey sea and 43 feet of sailing vessel.

We are on a course to Lagos. At 6.7 knots, it will take us more than three days before we will know if the world had been destroyed. I still have two books to read before our arrival and the end of this fantastic voyage.

I know, I know, thousands upon thousands of others have crossed the Atlantic by sail, both to and from Europe. But, I had not. It was a first for me and I am exceedingly proud of my accomplishment. It was warmer this time of year than I expected and I was grateful for that. I had read of severe North Atlantic storms, freezing, raw icing on the decks and the railings. There were no monster hurricanes, howling winds and mountainous seas. Fortunately, in June when I made this trip, with a few memorable exceptions, I did not experience anything like that. The days were generally sunny and the nights were sublime. I felt a great sense of kinship with those who had passed this way before me.

Today, when I wrote this, was an exception. The winds were heavy, which kicked up large waves. They came on the beam, at a 90-degree angle toward the side of the boat. We were rocking and rolling across the grey ocean, which was punctuated by white caps everywhere and ocean spray over the bow. It was dramatic.

The first ships appeared as we were approaching Gibraltar, the 'Pillars of Hercules.' Gibraltar is the passageway for hundreds of ships going to and from Mediterranean ports and elsewhere. We watched from a safe distance as several of these monsters passed by.

I would not recommend this trip to travelers who want to try to maintain the comforts of home on a 43 foot bouncing, twisting, rocking, slowly-moving vessel that can rarely manage anything resembling a straight line. But, the joys far outweigh the disappointments. The nights, did I mention the 'nights,' were spectacular. Looking up at the intense canopy of bright stars, listening to Beethoven quartets, restored my faith in God. No mortal could imagine, let alone create, such sublime inspirational beauty.

Would I do this again? Yes! In a heartbeat! I’d love to take one of my sons or daughters or a granddaughter or two along. Sailing on a vast ocean, arriving at Bermuda, the Islands of the Azores, and finally Portugal, was a once in a lifetime experience. Watching the character of the ocean was a constant and changing entertainment. I slept very well, if not enough. I was anxious to take my turn on watch in the cockpit when I could be alone with my thoughts. Words do not allow me to describe the enjoyment of this experience in anymore-laudatory terms.

Best of all was when Toba met me at the dock in Lagos. I had been gone six weeks.