Mike Perham - Sailing the Dream: The Amazing True Story of the Teen Who Sailed Solo Around the World

University Press of New England
www.upne.com
2011 Mike Perham
All rights reserved
Manufactured in the United States of America

For permission to reproduce any of the material in this book,
contact Permissions, University Press of New England,
One Court Street, Suite 250, Lebanon NH 03766;
or visit www.upne.com

This book was first published in Great Britain in 2010 by
Bantam Press, an imprint of Transworld Publishers.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Perham, Mike.

Sailing the dream : the amazing true story of the teen who sailed solo around the world / Mike Perham.

p. cm.

Includes index.

ISBN 978-1-58465-979-2 (pbk. : alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-61168-016-4 (e-book)

1. Perham, Mike. 2. Sailors Great Britain Biography. 3. Voyages around the world. 4. Single-handed sailing. 5. Yachting. I. Title.

GV810.92.P47A3 2011

797.1092 dc22

[B] 2010048020

Midnight. The boat flew over the raging Southern Ocean in the darkness. Everything inside rattled and shook as she surfed the monstrous waves.

I was in furious seas in the middle of the world's wildest ocean, somewhere between Australia and Africa, hundreds of miles from any shipping lane, about as far as it's possible to be from any other person.

I checked the wind speed. Still averaging 45 knots. I worried about my mast but I had three reefs in the main and this, along with my tiny bulletproof staysail, was the best possible set-up. I reminded myself my boat would outrun almost any wave and she was built to sail in the wildest seas imaginable.

Well, I thought, we are in those wild seas now.

I looked outside. I could make out streaks of foam stretching across the sea, turning it white; I could see breakers collapsing under their own weight with a tremendous whump.

We shot over a huge wave and the boat surged forward as she passed the crest, picking up speed as she surfed downwards. I held my breath as we accelerated. Looking ahead, the boat was angled down at 20 degrees, flying towards the trough like an arrow.

I looked left and right, admiring the face of the huge roaring wave, its pure, unimaginable power; the speed rose to 18, 19, 20 knots as we surfed down its front. I continued to check the speed: Whoa! 22 24 26 knots! A new record!

I braced myself for the drastic deceleration that was certain to come as we ploughed into the wall of water in front of us. The bow dug in and sent plumes of spray flying 20 feet into the air, turning my boat, essentially a 50-foot surf board, into a submarine for a few moments. Seconds later we were already on the crest of the next wave.

The speed! It was just amazing. I was setting new records by the minute. Twenty-six knots on my surfboard in these wild seas was just insane, like hurtling down a wet country lane in a Ferrari at 90mph.

Not for one moment did I wish I were on dry land. I was scared, for sure, but not panicked. Panic is not something I normally associate with the ocean. It's where I feel most at home. Its uncontrollable dangers are an unavoidable part of the ocean sailor's life.

I'd wedged myself inside the cabin at the chart table, which was the safest place to be in these conditions. Attempting to go anywhere on deck was just asking for a good test of my safety harness. I tried to work on the chart; it gave me something to do instead of just worry about the conditions, which were forecast to continue for at least another twenty-four hours. Everything was wet, except me. I had my fabulous dry-suit, and it was working a treat.

The sea became really lumpy; there were waves within waves. It seemed to boil. I was bounced every which way as the boat flew forward.

The freak wave that came thundering through the darkness from the port side must have been an enormous breaker. I was in the cabin so didn't see it coming but I had a one-second warning its deafening roar. It scooped the boat up and slammed it flat on its starboard side in an instant.

All I could do was hold my breath and somersault with the boat as my world was flipped upside down. The fear that hit me was instant. The noise was ridiculous; the boat creaked, groaned, rattled and screamed.

Time seemed to slow as we went further and further over. Objects flew across the cabin. A 20-litre jerry can of diesel shot past me and hit the other side of the cabin with an almighty crack, spilling its contents.

This was about as bad as it could get. Speed had dropped to a few knots. A wave could sweep in from behind at any moment, turning or flipping the boat fully, ripping the carbon-fibre mast from the deck as if it were matchwood.

The water ballast was now above my head, on what was now the port side, turning the boat further and further over in the wrong direction, way past 90 degrees. The 4-metre keel was out of the water, the 70-foot mast was pointing down the front of the enormous wave. I was on the verge of turning all the way over.

I skidded as I fought to keep my balance; suddenly I was steadying myself with my feet against the roof.

Was this it? Was this the end of my dream?

Was this how I was going to die?