fail to prepare, prepare to fail.

yet I had prepared so much, I couldnt possibly think of failure.

failure was not an option.

it was all booked, a merry go round of people, flights, cars, car hire, marinas and phrase books.

My boat, Varekai, a rather saltier version than my previous narrowboat Honey Ryder, was based in Gibraltar and I wanted to bring it to the UK, to the River Crouch to be more precise.

A quick look on google maps will tell you that its not just around the corner.

plans had to be made, holidays booked, and weather watched with eagle eyes.

My dad started the journey with a couple of friends. his aim was to get the boat up to La Corunna, the northern top corner of spain.

the weather was always going to cause problems, and so it did, holding back the boat with strong head winds, after a week he had to abandon it in portugal, arrange a hire car and meet me at the airport in la corunna. that was the first sign of trouble.

I then had to wait for my crew to arrive over the next couple of days.

The skipper was delayed, his plane crash landed and that, I realised was the second sign of trouble ahead.

we eventually arrived at my boat in the early hours of monday morning. I realised quite quickly that a window had been left open, the rain had poured into the chart table area and the fridge had been left on. the battery isolator apparently doesnt isolate the fridge... these was clearly the third sign of trouble and I should perhaps been a little more worried than I already was.

the next morning, the skipper tried to wire an AIS system into my 12volt power supply. Promptly blowing a fuse. one of the electrical kind. annoyingly it was the kind of fuse that was impossible to find in a small sleepy village in Portugal.

we cobbled something together to get us going. this was probably the fourth sign of trouble, but by now I had decided I should probably stop counting.

we set off into a lumpy atlantic swells, into the night we went, still with strong head winds. then in the night the wind shifted, caused a crashing gybe (the boom swung around violently) and ripped the main sail. we motored onto the next port where we stopped. I hired a car, drove off to a place in spain where, amazingly the man not only charged me very little, but he did an excellent job, worked late in the evening and did it all with a smile.

sail back on, off we went again a day later. the weather turned foul again and just 12 hours after leaving with a repaired sail we put back into the next port. weather bound. two days in port we watched anxiously for a weather window.

conflicting weather reports were saying all things contradicting. who do you trust? which weather report do you follow?

we decided nothing would be lost if we at least went out for a look.

which we did, and decided to keep going. 3 days lay ahead of sailing/motoring into the Bay of Biscay. or the gulf de gasgoine

day 1 was calm, except my wind generator had vibrated loose. the mast holding it up was wobbling around quite badly and needed on the hop re-tightening. easier said than done. a wobbly time balancing with tools doing up loose nuts and bolts followed.

day 2 was my birthday. the boys suprised me with a card and box of chocolates. the sun was shining and as I stepped outside in the morning, I was greeted by a pod of dolphins swimming alongside and darting under the boat.

at midnight of day 2, the weather changed suddenly and we had 5 meter swells and a decent wind blowing. still managed a good 7knots though with the boat completely on its ear.

I was below power napping, making myself ready for a hard night watch, when I heard a tapping noise. both myself and the skipper woke up and started looking around for the source.

after a rummage with the sofa cushions, we lifted the hatch under the seating and revealed floating water bottles tapping at the underside of the seating area. salt water was coming in from somewhere and filling the boat!

out came the bilge pump, rapid pumping commenced.

finding the source of the water was difficult given the angle the boat was sailing at. it was difficult to move anywhere in the boat at all. it took all of four of us in a chain to manage the job with the pump.

at the same time, the 1st mate who was out on watch commented saying that the navigation lights had gone out. maybe the bulb had blown. he went forward, harnessed on of course to be greeted with an empty cable, where once was attached a light fitting. a wave had ripped the light from the boat.

Bugger.

9 hours later and several pumping sessions and head scratching wondering where the water could be coming from, the skipper discovered a sea cock had been left open on a starboard sink in the forward cabin. being leant over so far mean the sink was below water level and was syphoning water in! once the seacock was closed, no more water filling the bilges. Hurray! we're not sinking.

however, with a navigation light missing, we couldnt risk any more sailing at night.

We had to make for the nearest port. ideally arriving in daylight. it was still around midnight to 1 am, we had a few hours of darkness to survive in a shipping and fishing area. we used a large spot lamp to light up the sail in the darkness and radio'd out a safety message to all ships in the area.

not a single bed or cushion had escaped a drenching. water poured in through a central hatch, dribbled in through a forward hatch and seeped through other various orifices in the harsh weather.

waves broke over the front of the boat and over the side while we were in biscay. .

we arrived in a rather bedraggled state in a lovely french port called loc tudy.

i set about like a whirling dirvish and got the boat dried out, all carpets hosed down and all cushions dried out. it dried pretty well given the gale force conditions.

but the weather defeated us in the end, the boat had to stay in france for a couple of weeks while I regrouped myself and another crew to return and bring the boat back to the UK.

two weeks later I headed back out, this time with my dad and previous crew mate Dave. we set off from Loc tudy at midnight. sailing and motoring at the same time. the west coast of Brittanny is one of the most dangerous in europe. we timed it just right so that we cruised through the raz de sein and brest areas in daylight and we continued onwards into the night again as we passed Jersey.

I sat alone in the cockpit while the boys went to sleep. the sea was calm, the sky was a carpet of stars and the moon melted out of the sea and lit up my sails. it was a beautiful moment. unforgettable, just like the day with the dolphins in Biscay.

Cherbourg was a brief stopping point, and then onwards and upwards to Brighton. we cruised over the channel trying to find some wind to fill the sails, shortly after crossing between ships mid way, we found it! cruising homeward bound at 9knts was thrilling.

a week later I moved the boat again with the help of yet another friend. this time between Brighton and Ramsgate. we were dealing with fog half the way and veered perilously close to a shipping lane. which prompted a visit from customs.

their boat loomed out of the fog just meters away. its amazing how they can home in on a small boat in the fog.

then, the last leg, between ramsgate and the crouch. a sailing school boat with my original skipper on board arrived in ramsgate. he said, lets go... i will lend you one of my students for an extra pair of hands. the last part of the puzzle fell together at last. I arrived in my home mooring, a few weeks later than planned, but I have arrived finally and what a sensation it is to be "home"

now all I can think about is where the next adventure will be!

its a life so far removed from narrow boating, you have to be there to believe it. 1186 nautical miles... and not a single bloody lock!