The Final Push
Florida to Belize (Day 7)
It’s 0645 and already I feel battered. Last night was a real struggle, sailing through 35 knots of wind and 30ft sea state in the pitch black. We had to frequently rotate the helm between the three of us because it was hard work, so none of us have had much sleep. My arms are weak from exhaustion, so I am now using my thighs to prop the wheel steady, just making minor adjustments with my hands. And I can feel the windburn on the left side my face and legs, which were left exposed to the elements as I propped myself in between the winches on the port side to helm.
All night, we have been dragged further and further North, away from land, and closer towards hurricane Milton’s path. But, at dawn, we finally tacked. So we are now pointing further South, towards land, and away from hurricane Milton’s path. To say I am looking forward to stepping foot on land is rather the understatement!
With daylight comes a newfound boost of energy. We set about trying to find the source of the fuel smell, which has plagued us for the past few days. We remove the oil-absorber from the engine bilge, but it comes out clean. So, where is it coming from?
By 0900, we decide to head for Cancun in Mexico, instead of Belize.
The engine is now on. Argonaut is rolling. And the waves are building again, even more so as we make our way over the Arrowsmith Bank.
A huge wave crashes over the dodger, soaking both me and Charles, who had just got out of the shower. That was my last dry top. Sigh.
Craving a cup of tea, we try turning on the hob. But there is a loud buzzing sound and smoke pouring from the electricity panel again. So, no tea.
Whilst we are refilling the day tank, the engine cuts out. It won’t turn on again. It makes for a rather unpleasant sensation, bobbing about in the swell with limited forward propulsion.
We distract ourselves by lighting the braai and eating lots of steak.
A cryptic message comes through on our Garmin InReach: “CG tried to VHF you”. CG? Does that mean coastguard? Why would they be trying to contact us? Did anyone hear anything come through on the VHF? In truth, with the loud rush of wind and waves, there was no chance of us hearing anything.
By 1700, we have made a friend: a bird is flying alongside us, playing in our airflow. The sun is low in the sky, but at last we can see the skyscrapers of Cancun growing ever larger on the horizon.
The sky embraces an ever deeper shade of pink, then orange, then red. A beautiful sunset.
Meanwhile, our electronics are no longer showing wind direction. So, we tried using the wind vane. Except, that has shaken loose, and is moving too. So all we have to go by is the wind on our faces.
Now that we are close enough to land to get mobile signal, our attention turns to letting our families know we are okay. Only then do we begin to realise just the extent of worry we have caused.
Unbeknown to us, not only was Hurricane Milton upgraded to a Category 5 hurricane, but it had dipped further South than forecast - towards us. Which meant that not only had we been sailing in a hurricane, but yesterday we had been sailing towards the worst of it continuously for about 12 hours.
Whilst our tracker had been updating showing our position, course and speed, our sailing friends became concerned by our lack of progress. Various theories had been brewing. Perhaps Argonaut lost their electronics in a lightning strike? Perhaps Argonaut is adrift on the tide?
With no way of knowing that we were fine, albeit rather sleep deprived, our friends had contacted the UK coastguard, who in turn contacted the US and Mexican Maritime Rescue Coordination Centers, and even the Mexican Naval base in Isla Mujeres. They had been trying to contact us. And we had not responded. So, we pretty quickly set about setting the record straight.
Come nightfall, we are now in the stretch of water between Cancun and Isla Mujeres, scouting out a place to drop anchor.
We anchor. I shower. Then let sleep embrace me, thoroughly grateful for each and every friend looking out for us.