CARIBBEAN WARMTH

MAX CAMPBELL AND THE CREW OF ELIXIR RECEIVED A GENEROUS WELCOME WHEN THEY CROSSED THE ATLANTIC TO THE GRENADINES

- MAX CAMPBELL

We glide down the eastern side of El Hierro and leap into the vastness of the Atlantic. The island shrinks behind us as the sun melts into the horizon, bathing the waning land in soft orange light. It’s early January and I’m joined by Harry Scott and Lily Journeaux, two friends from Falmouth, who shouldered their fair share of toil and graft during Elixir’s (our classic S&S Swan 37) year-long restoration.

It’s their first ocean crossing, and as El Hierro disappears into the pink haze, I ask Lily how she’s feeling. “I’m not nervous, but I feel something,” she muses, “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s big – kind of like Christmas, but bigger.”

On the first morning, we pole out two big genoas, one on either side. By attaching both sails to the furling gear we can quickly take in sail each time we spot a squall creeping up from behind. The two bulging foresails fill in the steady trade-wind, and we accustom ourselves to the downwind romp. It’s not long before Elixir becomes near-autonomous. The sails and wind vane working together to keep course, and the solar panels and tow generator labouring to keep our vegetables cool.

There are a few annoying creaks in the saloon, and an orchestra of thumps and crashes accompany each sloppy crest that shoves Elixir onto her rails. There is a lingering smell of spilt balsamic vinegar, and it takes a few days to get over the initial spell of tiredness. During the first week, our reconstructed wind vane loses control and threatens to give up entirely. After spending a few hours hanging over the transom, we manage to coax it back into doing its job, and tentatively watch its every move for the rest of the passage.