One Wild Song by Paul Heiney

Author:Paul Heiney [Heiney, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781472919496
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2019-11-24T00:00:00+00:00

The wind had been forecast to blow from the west, as it usually does hereabouts: swinging from north-west through to south-west and back again as the depressions roll through. The forecast was for no wind of any great strength for the next twenty-four hours, but with the possibility of something stronger after that. We were now faced with the 120-mile crossing of the Golfo San Jorge, a deep indent in the coastline which provided a fetch of over a hundred miles from the west over which steep seas could build. It was no place to be in a gale.

It was late afternoon as we dragged ourselves away from the penguins and set sail southwards to find the wind in the north-east and freshening. We were soon grabbing reefs and much canvas disappeared before the boat felt snug and at ease with the new conditions. It was unsettling; the wind direction was at odds with the forecast and I started to wonder what was going on. On the other hand, it would mean a fast passage across the gulf. On my night watch, when Chris was asleep, with the seas building from astern and the boat galloping southwards with a fine roll, I found myself sitting in the cockpit and declaring to the sky, ‘I’m enjoying this.’ I had no fear of being there, nor of what might be to come. Penguin power again?

But doubt always returns, as it should, for it is as good as a lifejacket to a sailor. I had no real experience of heavy weather in this boat and was uncertain how to face it. I did not know how to set the boat and her sails to the sea so that she might have the easiest and safest passage. I could make a good guess, but I still had my doubts. With a gale now forecast we spent a nervous day and there was a growing tension visible on Chris’s face. At dusk, having crossed the gulf and once again in the lee of the land, we were close to the shore. We were off Puerto Deseado, earlier known as Port Desire, although those who have been there have reportedly found little to crave. It had crossed my mind that we might refuel there, but the effort taken to do the paperwork, fight the tide in and out, and all the other things that eat away at time when you are in harbour, was time better spent at sea making progress. In the dusk the distant lights did look tempting, though. To provide distraction, a Navy patrol boat asked who we were and what flag we were carrying. I was uncertain how the mention of the British flag, the Red Ensign, might go down with the Navy of a recent enemy, but after a polite interchange they went on their way.

It was eight o’clock that night when things started to deteriorate. I had been warned that weather changes quickly here, and it proved to be the case.

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