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Carrying his guitar, some fine wine, sailint old French racing bike and a sextant, Leo Goolden sets out on his first solo ocean crossing in a 24ft Folkboat. It seemed to me a bit like watching someone park their car, and then asking them incredulously if they had driven it.

I sialing the sheer tininess of Lorema makes her stand out, as well as the simplicity of the rig, and the obvious lack of any systems. As an original s Swedish Folkboat, her beauty, I like to think, has something to do with it. I had been meandering around the Canaries for a couple of months, relishing deserted volcanic anchorages and welcoming harbours in equal measure, but now it was time to embark on my first serious solo ocean passage.

Sensible as always, my girlfriend had jumped ship in desperation, and left on a catamaran with a toilet and a fridge and all sorts of other vuitar modern luxuries.

I had made the usual preparations of the nervous sailor, and filled my boat with all manner of provisions and spares. Among tonnes of food and water, I was also carrying all the other necessary junk of a cruising boat: a pair of speakers; a circular saw; a library of novels; a good few boxes of wine; several unreasonably large pieces of timber; and � of course � an old French racing bicycle.

I had hauled myself aloft more times than I could count, emptied the local hardware store, phoned my parents and, finally, I was ready to depart. I sculled out of my berth in Las Palmas, waving goodbye to friendly neighbours. My sails went up quickly, and I did a little lap of the anchorage before heading out of the harbour. As I weaved my saiping through the anchored container ships outside the port, the flukey inshore winds strengthened and the sheltered waters gave way to a moderate swell.

With two reefs in, I was propelled haphazardly through the wind acceleration zone that lies south-east of Gran Canaria, like a cork from a champagne bottle. And truly, I felt as insignificant as a cork, as the island disappeared and the unimaginable expanse of the Atlantic grew before me.

When sailing near shipping lanes or in coastal waters, I allow myself 20 minutes at a time if I have guiyar empty horizon. In theory, this should be less time than it would take a fast ship on a collision course to rise over the horizon and run me.

The snooze button is a temptation that has to be fought religiously. We managed to avoid any scuffles, and the bpat rose to find Lorema still merrily floating along, so I set about dealing with a cup of tea and some breakfast. A good brew and some muesli will boat is sailing in the sea guitar wonders for a bleary head, and I realised I had been heading due south for long.

I had been trying not to get caught in the large wind shadow of Gran Canaria, but it was about time to head west and avoid the large swell that builds up far off the coast of Morocco. The wind and the swell were consistently strong, and I realised that I had a wet trip ahead. Thankfully, my homemade wooden self-steering gear was looking after the helm admirably, and so I could stay sheltered Boat Is Sailing In The Sea Job inside the id.

However, every time I went out to adjust something, I would get soaked. To make matters worse, I had leaks around the mast and Boat Is Sailing In The Sea Guide companionway.

The main hatch, although pretty, is about as useful as a colander giitar keeping waves. The small area under the hatch is not only the galley, but is also the only place where boat is sailing in the sea guitar can perch over a bucket in the morning. I sailed on, trailing my faithful log, counting down the miles to the Cape Verde Islands.

The sky was a little overcast, but I still managed to get enough sunsights to keep a good track of my position. My sextant is a plastic EBCO, equipped with old 35mm film to dim the sunlight. It was bought long ago for less than the price of a good meal and was given to me by friend and inspirational cruising sailor Nick Skeates. It has never let me down, and I plotted my course daily, taking great care to keep my charts and sight reduction tables dry.

I watched my pencil marks edge south, parallel to the sparse and dangerous African coast. Finally, after miles, I approached the Cape Verdes at the ideal time of day, just boat is sailing in the sea guitar sunrise.

As I sailed closer to the islands, the sun rose behind boat is sailing in the sea guitar peaks and lit up a prehistoric scene, silhouetting the giant stone claws that reach into the sky all. When I had rowed ashore and navigated the necessary bureaucracy, I wandered around Mindelo, soaking up its culture and its colour, feeling as light as air.

I spent a little time there, and did some work on the steering gear, the sails and the standing rigging. I gooped up some of the sources of leaks and, most importantly, made a cover for the main hatch. I made friends, notably with the lovely crew of the Sea Boat is sailing in the sea guitar conservation boat stationed there, who I shocked by talking of my plans to decimate acres of ancient rainforest to build a boat in South America.

There was also a young Spanish cruising couple whom I showered with carrots I bought enough in Las Palmas for an armyand a very kind boatful of Turks who fed me repeatedly and thought I was completely bonkers.

Jobs done, I guirar ready to skidaddle, but not before a night of music in a local bar. Inspired by the atmosphere in the town, I took my guitar and started playing sheepishly in a corner eailing and soon remembered what fun this is.

The drinks come free, other musicians turn up, we all sing terrible songs, proclaim each other best friends boat is sailing in the sea guitar ever, and believe we have swa something magical. Which we have, in a way. And so, against all my previous resolutions, I set sail with a hangover once. The strong wind gave way suddenly to wind shadow, and I went from three reefs to almost completely becalmed in a matter of feet.

Eventually, though, I reached a tiny village called Tarrafal, nestled in a little valley underneath huge mountainous cliffs. I spent two nights anchored off that sleepy village, wandering the rocky hills and relishing the feel of the hard earth beneath my feet. I spent the evenings eating and drinking with a generous couple who had arrived by yacht 15 years ago and had started a remote guest house. I was sorely tempted to stay longer, but the Caribbean beckoned, and I boat is sailing in the sea guitar that the longer I put off my departure, the harder it boat is sailing in the sea guitar be.

Skip to content �. Bat atlantic crossing. In Cornwall, people barely noticed the little Folkboat with the chimney. In France and Ireland, the more curious passers-by wanted to know where I had come. By the time I was in the Canary Islands, where this chapter of my story starts, I could barely pop my head out of the hatch without being bombarded with questions. Necessary junk I had made the usual preparations of the nervous sailor, and filled my boat with all manner of provisions and spares.

A wet passage to Cape Verdes The wind and the swell were consistently strong, and I realised that I had a wet trip ahead. Making friends in Mindelo I spent a little guitwr there, and did some work on the steering gear, the sails and the standing rigging. Necessary junk Across the Atlantic.

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G Bm Oh I've been sailin' 'bout the seven seas C G Lookin' for somebody who would sail with me, Am D C G Sail with me, sail with me.G Bm And I've been waiting for someone like you.C G Am D A man who could love me and would promise to stay with me, C G Am D G Stay with me, stay with me, Am D7 F D7 Sailing, sailing, sailing, sailing Nothing feels better than the rolls under sea And I can?t think. Fmaj Bb C My eyes are tired; I don't even care Fmaj, C, Gm, Bb Fmaj, C, Gm, Bb, C Fmaj C An airplane carried me to bed, Gm Where i slept above the coast Bb And dreamt I had become a ghost Fmaj C I sail above the frozen peaks, Gm Deep in cold cathedral caves Bb C Fmaj Across the hills and far beyond the waves Bb Fmaj C Take the car on the lawn. Jun 25, �� Sailing � Rod Stewart�s Sailing is essentially a gospel tune reveling in the idea of sailing home across a sea. It�s another gorgeous melody inspired by sails full of .

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