Powerboating
record and would have turned back to Newfoundland but there was a big storm coming up behind which virtually closed the door for turning back. There was only one way out, head out into the Atlantic and pray. The engines were still coughing and spluttering but gradually they got sorted out and on we went. A Nimrod aircraft dropped us some desperately needed fuel fi lters and we powered east. The delay had meant that we were out of step with the weather forecast now and it was a rough ride but by midnight we had made the rendezvous with the Irish Navy who had agreed to do our mid-ocean refuelling. They were brilliant, no water in the fuel and a great steaming dish of Irish stew .It took just an hour and a half to get the 12 tonnes of fuel on board, enough to see us all the way home. We were not optimistic because there were some rough seas forecast ahead but there was nothing to lose at this stage and if we kept the pressure on we might just make it. The engineers were heroes, sitting down in the engine room, changing fi lters when necessary and monitoring every beat of the engines. By now we were all desperately tired because at 40 knots there was no respite from the constant pounding.
Weather Then the weather got worse and that last night at sea has to be one of the worst experiences I have ever had. Thankfully the boat was strong because the whole boat was coming out of the water every few minutes as we drove it right to the limit. You could not see what the waves were doing, you just knew that when the boat left the water there was going to be a God almighty crash as it re-entered. The pain seemed unbearable and it was crazy but it turned out that none of us wanted to be the fi rst to say this was stupid and dangerous so we kept going. By dawn it got better and the seas went down, so we could start to turn up the power again. It had been the longest night I can remember and there was still a glimmer of hope that we could make the record, so now we started to push as hard as possible. The friendly Nimrod came overhead to give up encouragement and we could tell from the radio links that there was excitement about our arrival. Out at sea you shut yourself up in little capsule, isolated from the outside world so it is hard to imagine what might be happening. We still had to pass the point where we sank last time, but by then the Bishop Rock was getting close.
Still the Atlantic was not going to make this easy.
Fifteen miles out from the Bishop Rock, just when we should have been seeing the lighthouse coming over the horizon, we were struck by this huge thunderstorm. The visibility was down to half a mile, the radar was useless and the Decca Navigator positioning gave up. Here we were after 3000 miles of ocean running towards the rocks and as the navigator I had lost everything that might help. You can’t imagine the relief when the lighthouse came out of the murk just a mile away.
In the exhilaration of crossing the line our tiredness 42 cywinter 2011
Above:
Dag Pike revisits Challenger11
Below: VAC 11 liferaft
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