He flew low over the green water, dipping beneath the gangways that led to shore from the floating pontoons and with a loud triple “Wark, wark wark” alighted on a branch in a thickly foliaged tree. Against the green he stood out with his white spotted charcoal back, white shoulders and chestnut waistcoat, an unlikely predator of the fish below one might think, which is why he hid and waited.
There was a good choice of fish species and sizes in the water but this strong male went for medium sized, 10 – 12 cm specimens, striking without fuss but with certainty and emerging with the victim wriggling in the vain hope it could escape the stunning grip of the Giant Kingfisher’s long nosed pliers.
Even at two thirds the length of its predator the fish still had no chance and its struggles quickly stopped as the bird thrashed it against its favourite hard dead branch a metre above the water. Blood splatter appeared on the silvery fish, its spine now fractured in a dozen places and yet still it was bashed against the wood time and time again. Then with a hefty and skilled flick for a small bird the meal was turned headfirst into the beak, its tail hanging lifeless like the fluke of an orca and with three powerful gulps it disappeared into a body barely longer than the fish itself.
A few moments of rest before the king of fishers went for a dip to clean itself and then an essential preening session to ensure all the feathers he could reach, especially his flight feathers were in order for the flight back to his tunnel nest in the soft soil of the river bank where his brood of three chicks keenly awaited their next meal.
Near Zoonie three different species of kingfishers regularly hunt for their fishy meals. The Giant has a mate slightly smaller but with similar markings and the others include the black and white Pied Kingfisher and the Striped Kingfisher and the Woodland Kingfisher I have included because they lived in abundance around the Rhino River Lodge and looked spectacular in flight with their bright blue plumage. They are all thriving in this part of South Africa. As are the thirty or so Trumpeter Hornbill who fly across to the tall trees nearby on a daily basis. They look comical in flight with their long thick beaks sticking out ahead of them and their wings so far back they look as if they are about to tip over and fall out of the sky.
To my amazement as I sat in full view a little black bird with a red chest and thin curved beak decided to land on Zoonie’s communications tower and then the wind charger, for just long enough for me to remember its appearance and discover from the excellent free NatureAi App that it is a Scarlet Chested Sunbird who feeds on nectar. Many thanks to the creators of this useful resource.
Bird watching in the second half of the afternoon has become a pleasure for us as we cannot go far from Zoonie without taking a lift with Annalee in her VW Beetle or walking the well-trod route back to The Dros Bar and Restaurant where we came in to the international dock over a month ago now. And that option is no longer open to us with the latest lockdown banning all liquor sales, closing the bar at the club here and, cruelly I think, stopping the children from cooling off in the club swimming pool as the temperature usually rises from midday into the mid-thirties.
To make best use of our ‘confinement’ on board we started to look inwards into how we could enhance our lives further within Zoonie’s limited space. From the old Dell computer, we copied all our iTunes library onto a hard drive and loaded it onto the Samsung computer so that we could play the music via Bluetooth through the Wonderboom Speaker, the old Dell doesn’t have Bluetooth capability. We also installed the BBC Sounds app on our phones so we can listen to anything on the BBC when the internet is strong enough. Graham Norton’s last two Saturday morning programmes on Radio 2 were a treat as was Idris Elba interviewing Sir Paul.
There has been bureaucracy to complete; a flight plan with full details about us and our intended journey to Cape Town to be logged and lodged with the authorities, a different one in each port we go to and each to be stamped by four different authorities and it’s all for our mutual benefit, so we don’t mind. It would have been nice though if we could complete it on a formatted outlay on the computer and amended just the few details about destinations and dates, but hey, the more we do it the quicker it will get.
We plan to leave here on Sunday 3rd and head for Durban 81 miles south and wait there for the next Low to pass through, but that’s a few days away yet.
The weather here is for the most part beautiful and it has been getting hotter as the summer progresses. The other day we had 39 degrees in the saloon and we were saved from melting point by Rob’s purchase of two electric fans, a daddy for the saloon and a mummy for the aft cabin which we have on all night.
I have kept my hand in making scones for English tea in the cockpit and rock cakes just to make sure I still can. I have also now read Rachel Carson’s ‘Silent Spring’ and at the same time, to soften the tragedy of her book, a biography of her titled ‘The Gentle Subversive’ by Mark Hamilton Lytle, a fair and intelligent analysis of one of the first environmentalists who brought to the public eye the effects of the misuse of chemical biocides and wrote in her final chapter about a way forward that could achieve the same ends without damaging the natural structure of the earth.
Another writer you may already have discovered is James Rebanks who describes his life and ethos about his beloved Lake District in such a way as I have to drag myself away from his writing and ration myself so as not to get through to the end too quickly. ‘The Shepherd’s Life’ and ‘English Pastoral’ are his works so far. I love the description of Lakeland farming practices that have prevailed for possibly well over a thousand years, just like the indigenous Australians farming in the book ‘The Songlines’ by Bruce Chatwin.
Rain Dear in South Africa!
Three nights before Christmas; no this isn’t going to be a heartening story about the magic of Christmas, Santa and his reindeers I’m afraid, we had a hum dinger of a storm that raged on through one afternoon and right through the night. The rain poured down with the lightning and thunder (Santa would have been soaked) and by the next morning we think it was no coincidence that the Samsung computer would not boot up. So, with Annalee’s help we went back up to the Mall, having already been once, nice and early to do the final shop for Christmas before it got too busy! Holding our breath behind our masks as we passed through the revolving doors we hastened into the cool and nearly empty computer shop and very quickly found what we wanted. This is my first blog I am typing on it now!
Fiona in the office very kindly let us use the hard-wired internet in the Committee Room to do all the essential downloading and to get our Mailasail account set up so we can receive the weather Gribs at sea, the most essential reason for our buying a new computer.
Our Christmas Day was fun. Interspersed with chats to family we played Scrabble and a Zoonie form of shove ha’penny which was well worth the laughs. We have an on-going tournament and so far, I won the first round and Rob the second because by this time he was honing his technique of not hitting the 50C coin too hard.
Tomorrow Jackie will help us with the clearing out process by driving us to Immigration and then to the Mall so we can shop while she visits Customs, Port Police etc for us and faxes a form off to Port Control which will give us the permission to leave. Apart from being tea total from when our booze runs out, we now have to be visited by Health ZA where we go and write to the British Consulate in Cape Town before we plan to clear out of South Africa, so, not too onerous really.
Happier New Year everyone, stay well and thank you for reading.
Over the Sand Bar and Out to Sea
The birds were still in vocal form and it was before 5.00am when we took Zoonie’s lines aboard and cleared the sand bar by 2 metres for the 90-mile journey to Durban. There was no usable wind but we did have a favourable tide of half a knot as we headed between the big ships in the anchorage towards the 200-metre contour that was supposed to contain some Agulhas Current to help us on our way.
We knew it was tide because at midday, six hours after high water it turned against us at the same rate for the next six hours. We debated heading out further in search of this current with its formidable reputation but decided ‘the Law of Diminishing Returns’ would set in giving us no advantage over the extra mileage.
The day went by very quickly but we knew we were in for a night time approach to Durban. No worries, it is a busy shipping port so everything will be well lit up. Eight ships rested at anchor awaiting their turn rolling gently in the slight sea.
We hadn’t been expecting the beautiful sunset that cast the city skyline into silhouette. The fairway buoy came up as it should and we furled the genoa and headed for the channel marker red and green lights. Entering into the harbour we were surrounded by big ships, a car transporter, a cruise liner in mothballs and countless cargo and container ships. Rob took us cautiously towards the yacht dock where we were supposed to tie up alongside the International, now named Covid jetty but we couldn’t make it out in the dark and thought we’d set the anchor just outside instead. It dragged because, as we found out later, it picked up a black plastic bin liner. Last time that happened was in Suva.
So we decided to give the approach to the jetty much further in a go. There appeared to be rows of boats on moorings and in the dark, we counted them as one finger of the marina, so as we gingerly approached what we thought was the correct channel Zoonie found otherwise and dipped forwards. No problem, that confirmed where the correct channel was so we proceeded past the moored boats towards the shore.
When the depth dropped to 2.7 beneath the keel Rob was reluctant to go further so we turned around and went into one of the berths we had spotted as we passed. Nicely tied up at around 8.30pm we thought we were safe for the night until a very quietly spoken uniformed member of the marina staff came along, “You cannot stop here, you must go into the international jetty and I will be there to take your lines.”
True to his word he helped us to moor up just a few metres from the shore and a concrete slipway. Moments later the Port Police arrived by boat and when they were satisfied a lady from ‘health’ was brought along by a security guard. Using a torch, she looked at our papers and covid results forms and said we must wait aboard until a doctor would come down the next day to do our Covid Tests, which we would have to pay for, as the first ones were 5 weeks old.
Our hearts sank. Would we have to do this in every port we called in to? This would put Covid results over our priority for leaving on a good weather window. She was petrified of water and couldn’t wait to get off the wobbly pontoon. The security guard described a berth location and met us there to take our lines. We were in and tired, staying up only to have a bowl of soup, before we hit the sack just after 23.00hrs.
Late afternoon the next day Rob phoned the office and asked when we could expect the doctor. He/she wasn’t coming as they didn’t think a Covid test was necessary so we took our papers up to the office for some more form filling and again asked to be ‘allowed’ to plug in to the nearest electrical point. We came away with no satisfactory reason as to why we couldn’t, considering there were numerous points nearby. They couldn’t all be out of action surely. Most other boats were happily hooked up.
Tracey strongly advised we should not stray far from the marina because of lack of security and the Covid risk, she also said all the tourist attractions were now closed. Sparing with the facts and with a frosty attitude to boot we came away feeling less than welcome.
So it was back to the boat to run the engine and a week of hot fan-less days ahead. We had indeed been lucky at Zululand Yacht Club.
A Walk in the Park
The prospect of another week in Durban, floating with the decaying rubbish in the marina and unable to even think of going for a short walk was playing on my mind so I looked once again at Windy, our weather app and saw to my relief that the weather window that we thought had disappeared was back and indeed, it looked good.
“A Walk in the Park” is how Des described the next two days down to East London, so we were back up to the office to complete our flight plan as quick as couple of squirrels with their tails on fire. Departure time was set at 5.00am the next morning “and you must go within 24 hours or you will have to complete another flight plan (and I might kill you).” Her beady eyes threatened. Incentive enough to clear out I can tell you.
After seven hours we were pootling along just over five miles offshore where Des said we would find the elusive Agulhas and suddenly noticed the gentle hand underneath us start pushing us up by first 2.5 knots and then up to three knots over our boat speed. The engine went off and with her poled out genoa full Zoonie entered the night at 8.4knots of delicious speed. We had thought the journey of 250 miles would take 48 hours, two nights at sea, but not if this wonderful ocean gift stayed with us.
“Remember to turn for the harbour entrance when you get to Cape Morgan, 40 miles north of East London or you will be set on past.” Des’s words.
Don’t get me wrong this is a tricky section of the South Africa east coast and has claimed many an experienced sailor but we take as we find having started out with due care and forethought and this is how it was for us.
Zoonie adopted a languid, gentle roll, the waves created the music and the wind sighed as it pushed us along and with the guiding hand beneath giving us four knots, we were at times doing 10 knots over the ground. Once or twice the wind held its breath and the current pressed against Zoonie’s open quarter pushing her at right angles to the current so she was either facing the coast or the rising sun.
By the next morning Rob was feeling rough, our rusty throats seemed to be developing into something, could it be Covid after our 100% precautions of closely fitting four layered masks, repeated hand sanitising and keeping well apart? If so then it takes two to tango and a person is not protected unless everyone takes the same care!
Our second day was ageing and I took Rob’s temperature to discover it was 38.8; thank goodness we had only 20 miles to go.
Suddenly the wind dropped to nothing and within a few moments rose again from ahead to 25 knots. Just as quickly the sea became blue six-foot walls of water ahead of us. The genoa was furled and engine on to battle this latest challenge. Fortunately, it started to subside after a few minutes and our progress towards East London Harbour improved.
When just off the mouth I called up the Port Authority and explained our situation. The officer instructed me to stay outside until he had spoken to Port Health and naturally when they came back it was assumed, we carried the Virus. We were allowed to pootle up the river to the mid-river mooring trots and tie up remaining on board until a test could be arranged the next day.
Our location was and is delightful, surrounded by a diversity of water birds with steep, wooded banks on either side and two bridges ahead of us, so we have plenty to watch.
The next morning Charles who runs a local shipping supply business organised a Covid test, the Port Quarantine Officer phoned to see if there was anything he could do to help and Conrad from the Buffalo River Yachts Club upon whose moorings Zoonie is sitting was ready on hand if we needed him.
I inflated the tender and Rob rowed us ashore for our tests. A woman in blue brandished the required forms in her hands “Shall I give these to your secretary?” She said to Rob……
So, the symptoms are very varied. One of mine was mental confusion, I filled in both forms with Rob’s name and I remember not feeling quite right up top. Another was my fingertips became more sensitive to heat than usual, usually I manage the grill pan without gloves or the handle but I couldn’t do that for a couple of days. Nocturnal headaches for a couple of nights have now passed thank goodness and the general mild flu symptoms are passing. Rob is fighting his infection by sweating and sleeping. The doc is happy as long as his oxygen level stays above 90%. Rob’s is constantly 93%.
Twenty-four hours after the tests the results came through and we viewed them on our phone apps, both positive and we weren’t surprised. The next morning, we were ashore once more to see Dr Sean Murray who prescribed a new inhaler for Rob to help with his breathing and some cortisone tablets.
So here we are, day 4 of our fourteen-day quarantine. Three terns are preening themselves on our pulpit and the loving cormorants roost in marital pairs on the mooring buoys. Another pair reside on the port side spreader on a nearby yacht, a spot which is also a perch for a local giant kingfisher.
It has been reassuring, the fact that our little support group came together so quickly. Conrad and his little daughter, Willow, rowed out to us in a rickety tender with the drugs and a bag of goodies courtesy of the Yacht Club which is usually a bustling place.
Contrary opinions are a little worrying. Dr Sean said once we are no longer infectious after 10 days our future Covid tests could come back false positive for the next three months! Jenny who helps visiting yachtsfolk in all kinds of ways has said in her experience the tests usually come back negative after 14 days. I was thinking that is we move on to Port Elizabeth and they insist on another test then we could be stuck there for another fortnight. But it seems the Port Authority understand that 14 days of quarantine after a positive result is enough to render us non infective so we are clear to go. No need to test us then really is there.
What I would like to do as Des now knows is find a four-day weather window and get clear around to Cape Town from here, just as the folk did who left the morning after we arrived. He is going to see what he can do.
A couple of days ago a 54’ cat arrived with three women, at least one guy and three children on board and I haven’t seen a mask between them. I was confused, had the rules changed so dramatically and we’d missed it, no they just weren’t taking this pandemic seriously. What if they infected Conrad and Willow? I just cannot understand the mentality of people who think the rules are not for them.
I have to tell you about another great author I have found. James Rebanks, a Lake District Fell farmer with a world view on agriculture. He also has read Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring and if you want an antidote to her haunting book his ‘English Pastoral,’ will work nicely. Herdyshepherd1 is his Instagram page and is well worth following for its magnificent photos of Mattadale where he lives with his wife Helen and their four children. He is going to be busy with home education, farm chores and writing for the next few months so he recommended following his wife on Instagram theshepherdswife. He has also written The Shepherd’s Life, his first book. They are an inspirational pair in these dark times.