Part 3

From the time I sailed out of Dover until the 27th, I sailed the boat twenty to twenty-two hours out of every twenty-four (one must not casually leave a small boat to fend for herself). Throughout the whole time - 22nd through to the 25th - it was a hard thrash for such a light craft in quite considerable seas, with the wind always forward of beam, never the longed-for fair wind. Then, on the 26th a change did come. The wind died to nothing and I enjoyed the luxury of five consecutive hours of sleep!

With the change I got an ominous warning, though. The "permanent" high pressure area over Northern Europe was collapsing at last. Although there was no gale warning for the Fisher-German Bight area, where I was, it was clear gales should be expected shortly. When the wind returned (from astern at long last) I made use of it to gain as much sea-room as I could, commensurate with getting North towards Tyboron harbour, or even the Skagerrak in case of need.

Unfortunately there wasn't time to gain enough sea-room, or enough Northing to save the situation as it developed. During the 26th the wind gradually veered to the West and gained in strength so that by the early morning of the 27th it was blowing Force 7 - 8 and the seas became too wild for a boat of the Potter's size to sail through in safety. I had to put out the sea-anchor and hope that my erstwhile confidence in the new idea would be justified.

Low clouds hurried across the sky and the seas built up into great moving hills of water, with occasional quite heavy breaking tops.

Soon after the first gale warning, there came grim portents for me when neighbouring areas were given forecasts including Force 9 gales! To say that I was unperturbed would be the biggest, fattest white lie of the year. Indeed, I felt quite concerned as I watched my hands shaking!

The inevitable Force 9 warning came to my area a few hours later. The wind howled a higher note through the rigging and seas became positively "Atlantic" in dimensions.

Even so, the new sea-anchor arrangement, together with the little riding mizen, behaved so well that, after a few hours highly attentive observation on my part, with particular reference to occasional electrifying heavy breaking tops, I went into the cabin and slept well, as if only the rates and electricity bills were somewhat overdue for settlement. Nevertheless, my hard-won sea-room was beginning to shrink, I hoped most fervently that there would be a "spell" before another gale struck.

Careful monitoring of my drift during the next two days (which I almost halved on the second day, by putting out a long warp with my spare rudder blade on the end) showed a rate of drift of slightly over one knot.

During those first three stormy days, I felt almost sure that the wind would lessen in time to allow me to gain an oiling again. On the evening of the 29th however, soon after dark, I saw the loom of Blaavanshuk Lighthouses and shortly afterwards the loom of Lyngvig Lighthouse. On taking bearings of these I placed myself between eighteen and twenty miles away from the coast. Unless I got a more moderate weather forecast later during the evening, my reading from the North Sea Pilot of the shore I was approaching gave me a very slender chance of survival.

When later I got the forecast, it told me my area could expect a further twenty-four hours of Force 8 - 9! It seemed I had about fifteen hours left to me. There was simply nothing more I could do to avoid the coast, and the consequences on reaching it. I spent most of the remainder of that dark and awe-inspiring night trying to rejoice over the hefty life insurance policy I had taken out on behalf of my children. I had done this on the advice of my friend and legal adviser, Mr. Anthony Gale, just before I set sail!

I slept for a few hours, but my heart wasn't in it, I had rather a lot on my mind. In contemplating the situation, I drew some irrational comfort from the knowledge that it would happen in daylight. I even allowed myself a very, very small ration of hope. I thought it just faintly possible that I might drift right into the entrance of Hvide Sande Harbour. I actually laughed aloud when this possibility struck me, and I went on to think how I would grin at the local fishermen and pretend that everything had gone according to plan! Long before dawn I could see the actual lights, including the leading lights of Hvide Sande Harbour. I began to wonder if after all I might be fated to play my game on the local fishermen. Later, however, I could see my point of contact with the shore must be about half-a-mile further North. This was fortunate; later when I saw how complicated the entrance was, it was quite clear I would have been quite unable to negotiate it, and would certainly have been lost.