Happy birthday, Ron, with belated apologies

A very happy birthday today to a great mate, Ron Pell, the best of friends, who recognised my enormous desire to sail around the world, and did his very best to help me get there.

And the 'there' was the almost unattainable goal for an ordinary landlubber to train, study, and to acquire enough experience to make it feasible to sail for and reach the Cape Horn alone, in a home-made vessel which even in the most generous terms might be described as somewhat eccentric.

Many other adjectives were aired when I revealed to friends the cranky vessel that I would charter

and attempt to coax all the way around, thanks to the generosity and support of Pentax cameras.

Fellow journalist Ron was the first to offer to help and spent hours working on the oddly made home-built schooner. He designed and manufactured the most marvellous navigation table.

A chart-table is probably one of the most used pieces of furniture in a sailing boat, and certainly so on Pentax, for her insides were emptied and I sailed her as almost an empty vessel, but for Ron's wonderful chart table, and an emergency stretcher for a bunk, and a camping gas cooker.

Over the moon

I was at sea when my story of the circumnavigation, Loner, was published by Hodder and Stoughton and the publishing house's admired editor.

When I looked at it and touched it for the first time, like a new father with a very new baby, I was - as the expression goes - over the moon.

But a cloud rather smudged the view. Another great friend who had put so much into voyage, the great, late Jack Huke, had his name misspelt.

I learned about a second grave error only last December. By then, Ron Pell was seriously ill. To try to brighten his days, a small group of friends and family took him out for a Christmassy meal. Near the end, he surprised me with, 'Of course, you never liked that navigation table.'

Grave doubts

'I loved it,' I told Ron, studying him to see if he might be more seriously ill than I believed. 'It was like my sextant which you encouraged Fleet Street colleagues to present to me. It was used every day, and admired and appreciated every day.'

Ron still wore his grave doubts face. More reassurances failed to work convincingly.

A week or two later, Ron left the planet. His words really haunted me. Why would he imagine for a moment that I didn't really love that masterpiece of his?

Continues of the blogs for my ocean-crossing adventure book, Sailing to Purgatory, here  >>> at SailingToPurgatory.com