Sunday 14th March dawned benign with a promise of blue sky and mirror calm water in our sheltered marina. Two yachts left early, Conrad and his crew from Switzerland aboard their 47-foot Hanse and Henk and Marjolein on Jori, but we took a leisurely approach, moving most of the contents of the foc’sle onto the aft berth and shoving two sails in their bags under the table in the saloon to level up Zoonie’s waterline. I moved around her saloon and galley with a critical eye looking for anything that could come adrift in the inevitable motion that was to come.
The lovely men on their daily wheelie bin round collecting rubbish from the yachts for re-cycling were sorry we were leaving and wished us safe passage. They offered to help with our lines but I said there was no movement in the water so we’d be just fine. In fact, it was just the kind of berth leaving I like, quiet and just the two of us.
After breakfast the instruments went on and we were ready with ten minutes to the next bridge opening at 9.15, so Rob disconnected the electrics after calling Port Control for permission to exit the harbour and I called the jovial man in the portacabin control room, next to where we had had our gin tasting, requesting first the raising of the bastion bridge and then the swing bridge.
Zoonie backed slowly out of her home of the past five weeks as the oyster catcher was walking the rocks by the window in the aquarium beside a solitary penguin. Only a few seals were snoozing on their wooden platform after the gas explosion on a small motor boat the day before had sent noisy reverberations through the water that even the most chilled seal couldn’t stand. It was quite a bang that had me looking at my watch thinking, ‘That’s a bit early for the noon day gun,’ “Barb there’s been an explosion, I saw part of a boat fly into the air, in a plume of smoke.” Nobody appeared to have been hurt and miraculously the boat was still floating perfectly as if it had just suffered a slight case of flatulence and nothing more, but it would be a few more hours before all the seals returned.
Of course, we saw no sign of the female otter who had graced the concrete steps in front of Zoons the day before. She had lain in the sun grooming herself and by the look of her pink nipples she had a brood of pups nearby. Joshio in the office said they come from the kelp beds outside the harbour because the fish in the canal are much easier to catch than those outside. So, they have taken up residence to the chagrin of some of the apartment owners who have woken up to find the tooth torn remnants of their pool covers, after the cheeky otters enjoyed a midnight fruitless search for fish in their swimming pools.
Young families on both sides of the bastion bridge waved to us as we left which was really nice; a farewell from strangers, so I wished them well in return and waved to the bridge operator in thanks and as a farewell.
As soon as we left the harbour wall the swell and wind became apparent to us and by the time we had passed Robben Island the latter started to turn in our favour, while whales surfaced and breached and small groups of Jackass Penguins swam away from Zoonie looking over their shoulders at us. Solitary seals raced through the water quite a few miles from CT and as we cleared the wind shadow of Table Mountain the wind started rising to a near gale which stayed with us for 24 hours, giving Zoonie a fine send off.
During our first night we called up one ship bringing to the officer’s notice our presence in front of him. He was trying to squeeze between us and a long line fishing vessel. He then called the fisherman to ask the length of his line. Six miles was the answer. Our early impression is that it looks as if the long-liners try to fish in parallel line with regular shipping routes, thus making it relatively easy to pass them. This ship was on a course across the regular shipping route. There was an AIS transmitter on the buoy at the end of the line and on the fishing vessel which made spotting him at night so easy.
At the moment (07.26 on Tuesday 16th) Zoonie is romping along at 5 – 6knots in a nice 20 knot trade wind, let’s hope it lasts.
Those Dark and Moonless Nights
When the stars were out, some floating in the Milky Way and Orion in his geometric glory was prominent in the sky above Zoonie’s port bow, the celestial sphere, his realm, turned and descended as we and the night moved on; an illusion of course because it is us, on our earth that move.
When I was a child, I denied infinity and decided the sky ended at a brick wall; but today maybe it is a glass bottle wall, secured in place with cement and adobe, using up todays shameful waste in a literally constructive way, such as Kate Humble describes in her heart-warming and helpful latest book, ‘A Year of Living Simply.’ She spends time with interesting people who answer questions for her about how to de-clutter our lives and make them happier and live in harmony with our world and the people in it. The drinks bottle bricks are used in housing are near Taos Pueblo in New Mexico. Building was underway when I was there in the 70’s and is a revolutionary way to live sustainably and recycle; one days rubbish another day’s home. You can buy one today for up to $1.5 million. Kate also talks with members of Men’s Sheds and provides the website for men and their wives to find the nearest one. She visits friendly Frome in Somerset where everyone says a genuine ‘hello’ and when at home she runs with her faithful companion, My Dog. What wonderful ideas and what a big heart does our Kate have.
Rob and I were thrilled to see luminescence in the water at night and bigger, brighter sparks of light presumably squid in Zoonie’s foaming bow wash. There are no ships now as we move gently north, just us, a gardenia petal being blown across a pond 4,570 metres deep.
The nights are long, no hint of dawn until after 7.00 am. The latitude of the sun must be near the Equator now as it slowly brings summer to the northern hemisphere ready for our return!
In the hours of awake solitude in the cabin at night I use the glow from my mobile phone to write in my note book. Anything brighter, like the phone torch or head lights would disturb Rob’s sleep and sleep is precious out here. We have just come through 48 hours, two days and nights of Zoonie leaping and bounding with the waves and neither of us slept for long, so there is some catching up to do.
We flew the Diva in 100% perfect conditions, the sea and clouds following us hand in hand, every blue you could imagine and just the right blow for her performance lasting for a day and almost through the night before the wind picked up. A front was on its way.
The next morning started off with a miserable monochromatic sunrise and Zoonie rolling, well-reefed in the wind of 16 – 25 knots. We were approaching the Valdivia Seamounts and just hoped no more had risen from Cape Basin Abyssal Plain since our paper chart was produced. The seamounts did not appear on the chart plotter so we kept the odd cursory lookout for breaking waves ahead.
Ladies, probably if you came out of your en suite loo and asked “Do you think we’ve got a foul bottom dear?” he’d think you meant something quite different to what it means on Zoonie and her sisters. Rob is looking forward (!) to giving her hull a scrub if it needs it when we are moored off St Helena because it feels as if something is holding her back.
Neither of us have had any hint of nausea her in the South Atlantic unlike in the messed-up sea of the Indian Ocean. This is as we expected but to be fair to our last ocean it is also possibly because we managed to get some Stugeron Travel pills in South Africa which are not sold in NZ or Australia.
My happy tummy has let me get on with a major chopping of my book; ‘The Tale of Two Yachts.’ Rachel, my very own consultant editor, has suggested I reduce the wordage by 50,000 to 60,000 and I have already done 36,000 over the last 8 days working for about five hours a day, from before light to early afternoon. I have just written to her to tell her so and I hope she’ll be pleased!
Last night 21/22 March the wind was a pickle and had us leaping about doing stuff with the genoa and its pole and then fretting as to whether we’d done the right thing. So, when the morning light entered the eastern sky this morning, looking like a silver dagger slicing through the mantle of grey and welcomed us back on deck to move the pole to the other side, everything felt right in the world of our own out here, 650 miles from the coast of Namibia.
We worked like a well-greased coffee grinder, Rob on the fore deck attaching lines to the pole and me on the side deck threading said lines through blocks and onto cleats, my toes getting a nice cool wash in seawater as the side deck dipped into the ocean blue. Then out goes the pole to the horizontal, “Yeah, we got it right this time,” I yell to Neptune.
Then it was a rewarding breakfast of bacon butty and scrambled eggs for my winch grinder in chief and scrambled eggs and biscuits for me.
I don’t feel old at sea because I am comfortable in the surroundings both physically and psychologically. Zoonie’s confines are room enough for our voyaging and the constant moving around, up and down and balancing with the motion keeps us fit. I may not move as quickly as I did, in fact I have been likened to a camel getting up, but at least we are not limited by the aches and pains of cold and damp.
Zoonie gets greener all the time, or so we would like to think. With the Watt and Sea providing 5 amps of power, we can use the accurate electric auto pilot instead of Henry the Hydrovane. The AP works on the main rudder giving more muscle and speed to course corrections than Henry, who has his own little rudder and takes much longer to respond, which is problematic if there are big waves shoving Zoons off course in strong winds, where steering accuracy is important. But the W & S needs Zoonie to be moving at 5 knots through the water to produce enough electricity for our daily needs.
However, one day we had no wind for a few hours, so the W & S produced no power, Henry could not steer without wind and as we are reluctant to use the engine, we just drifted in blissful peace and it was WONDERFUL, because it didn’t last long.
We left the Diva on stage one night, giving her performance and went below to test how long we could make two squares each of plain chocolate Aero last. About as long as a mosquito sneeze.
Did you know that studies have shown being near a water body has a positive impact on our minds, boosting creativity and reducing stress. It’s called Blue Minds. Well, I would never have guessed! That was from Megan McCubbin’s book written in collaboration with her step dad, Chris Packham, “Back to Nature, how to love Life and Save it”. It is a hard book to read simply because one learns about the sorry state of wildlife in our lovely country, but in it there is also hope.
Rob has spotted some Wilson’s Petrels, sweet little black birds with a snazzy wide white V across their tails. They are stable and prolific, at least they were 15 years ago, and let’s hope they are still please Neptune.
Looking Out
During the day I stand on the saloon seats to watch our watery world speeding by; yesterday Zoonie was skimming along on a smooth, gently curving skateboard sea, and every few minutes I view the scene from the cockpit and over the sprayhood; but at night the area of the companionway is my lookout post. Standing on the bottom step, clinging on for dear life, I can see to the horizon if it is even vaguely visible in the gloom, as it is now the moon is waxing.
Are there any lights, near or far? That is the question. Go one step up the ladder and careful not to bang my head on the sliding hatch cover, it wouldn’t be the first time, I can see forward through the big windows either side of the mast and cover the whole area as Zoonie obligingly sways from side to side. through the transparent companionway wash boards, the horizon astern is in view and often reveals ships moving out to overtake us, but not of late.
Last night in my lookout position, one elbow resting on the step, I worked out that with only her genoa out and pulling, if a gust were to get the wrong side of it and push her off course she wouldn’t go far because the sail is in front of the mast, and the next gust would push her back again, whereas wind power in the mainsail could push her sideways on to the waves into a broach position; not that I’m worried at the moment because the waves are not big enough to do her any harm, and the main is tucked safely into the mast anyway. I find it reassuring to work things out, to understand what is going on, even if I need correction later on.
Shearwater and petrels are with us, checking our wake for disturbed fish, two of which landed on board a couple of nights ago. Yesterday I went into the foc’sle to ready the Diva for her appearance up through the hatch and onto her stage, when I was met with a strong smell of fish. Rob said knowingly “I reckon its in the bag,” and he was right, as we rummaged through the folds of her dressing gown, right at the bottom was a very dry, dying flying fish, (actually it was well dead but I liked the assonance and contradiction) busy shedding its scales. The other one was in the scuppers and both were too far gone for the pot. It must have fallen into the open bag while the Diva was performing the night before. This night that is barely gone we were keeping a special lookout for Jori as she is just a few miles away from us, and a close encounter would be very embarrassing.
At the changeover onto my watch at 5.00am we snuffed the Diva as the wind was picking up and the genoa is back in business. The Diva because she is attached with soft ropes and can swing with the wind and waves, always gives Zoonie a smooth ride, like a mother’s hand on her baby’s cradle, and we have both had a number of very peaceful hours sleep as a result. It’s bliss, how much better one feels out of the oceanic washing machine.
Just 532 miles to go at around 130 per day, enjoy the maths.
We have been fortunate enough to see one White-Chinned Petrel, but concerned there was only one as they usually flock together in good numbers to fish. Sadly, they go to where there is long line fishing activity and die by the thousand day and night, so although they were plentiful 15 years ago, I don’t know how healthy is their population now.
The wind has gone light but trustworthy today, 23rd, so Henry is working with the Diva in a generally northerly direction at 3 – 4 knots, it’s all progress and we are treasuring our last days of ocean sailing. It is a rare breed of people who love deep sea sailing in short company or in solitude and we are a part of that breed.
Back to Chris Packham and Megan McCubbin’s book ‘Back to Nature’ and in a brief moment he alludes to the carbon footprint of East African safaris in comparison to European Safaris now being offered by Rewilding Europe, and of course I agree that the distance flown adds to the carbon footprint, but I’d still love my grandchildren to see lions, rhino, giraffe, elephants, wart hogs etc in their rewilding reserves before these animals are pushed beyond the brink. Maybe we’ll go by sea.
The companionway is open at night now that we are in the tropics and night times are as warm as daytimes are hot. So, we are having our meals out there if it is calm enough.
When the Diva is flying all is quiet except for one weary groan, I think the halyard at the top of the mast, and the hissing and bubbling of water disturbed by Zoonie’s hull. No carbon footprint here Chris, just harmony with the elements as each one of takes it in turns to sleep. How often can we experience that?
St Helena Opens Up
Usually when we approach a new destination there are at least two reasons to be happy. For one the current voyage is nearing its successful end and our planning and tailoring of the journey has proved satisfactory, and second there is the excitement of exploring a new place; but with St Helena in our sights from early morning on the 28th March, we thought at the time we would not be going ashore, which left us with a sad and empty feeling.
We saw first a few lights and the cool light from the full moon outlined the island; a charcoal black modest sized volcano without its eroded peak.
As daylight spread its tentative fingers over us so various shades of magenta materialised and then hints of green amidst the dark rusty rock and one big caldera and a number of smaller ones enclosed by sharp peaks with houses dotted around. Red lights showed aircraft solid ground to avoid and the familiar turning propellors of a wind farm told us modern technology was at home.
We were in no hurry to arrive; we were in no hurry. Too early into the Northern Atlantic and we would come across the remaining winter storms and as we couldn’t explore the island, we’d just be waiting on Zoonie for the right time to leave, so we slowly motored around the east of the island to the little mooring field where Rob was already with our long-handled mooring device, whose cunning design used a heaving line attached to it to pass both sides of a metal loop or ring. We had heard the buoys are almost at water level and so reaching them to secure a line requires some thought.
Then by clicking the closed part of the catch to the other side of the little horseshoe over the ring, he was able to retrieve said heaving line to which Rob had tied the mooring line previously. It’s quicker and easier to do than to write about! Hey presto we were attached. Except one pointy end of the horseshoe then became stuck between the ring shackle holding it on and the light line already on the buoy and Rob didn’t want to pull it too hard for fear of breaking it.
“You’ll have to stand on the buoy to get it back.” I suggested and Rob, with acrobatic skill proved that the buoy was indeed sturdy and buoyant enough to take his skilfully balancing weight while he reached down and eased the device clear of the crablike jaws of the buoy.
We handed the device over to Anna Caroline and she used it to perfect effect. When Henk and Marjolein arrived on Jori they used another method by moving alongside the buoy until it was alongside them where the freeboard is lower and the buoy easier to reach. Simples.
Soon after we got in, two gentlemen from Port Authority (one from Portsmouth and the other from Swindon) arrived and were delighted to be able to tell us that if we were going to stay around a few days then we could have a Covid test on April 1st and depending on negative results we could go ashore as they were opening their borders again from that date. We had planned our departure from CT with the hope this might happen while we were nearby and we knew that they had taken delivery of enough vaccine for the entire population before we even left Cape Town. But we were still thrilled with the news.
So, we had four days to prepare Zoons for our next longest voyage of around 4,600 miles to the Azores before we were given the freedom of the island.
Rob has scrubbed her hull, taking three days and after he did the keel yesterday was rewarded with fresh baked scones topped with jam and cream for tea. Zoonie is now using 2 litres diesel per hour even at only 1500rpm so a clean bottom will help. It was last done at Emu point and wasn’t at all bad, or not as bad as it has been before.
During the passage here at one point I went up onto the foredeck in calm weather and laid down to gather some rays for a few minutes. Rob came up on deck and couldn’t see me and had that dreaded moment of dread until he spotted my foot idly swinging with Zoonie’s roll.
Well, when he was scrubbing the hull wearing only his snorkel for breathing, I tuned in to hearing him blow out the seawater from his mouthpiece every few seconds, roughly after 13 seconds down there scrubbing. Then I noticed I hadn’t heard it for a while so I dashed up on deck to see him lying face down and totally motionless in the water, “ROB!” I yelled, he rolled over smiling, lifted his mask and said “It’s OK hun I was just looking at the next section.”
So, we both know how it feels to think the other one could be in big trouble.
The other reason for feeling Zoons is lacking some of her usual speed could be the engine needs a big, 1000-hour service, the only one of which she had done after her NZ submersion at 1360 hours, she has now done 3156 hours so she is overdue.
We had to alter our clocks back two hours so we are now BST and UTC, so no more changes needed! Also, we used that two hours gained by having a nice uninterrupted snooze.
As Zoonie turned the corner towards the mooring field I became convinced there must be some football practice going on. We listened to lots of whistles being blown as if youngsters were under the benevolent control of some footy maestro, but they turned out to be the cries of the beautifully elegant white tropic birds with their long tail feather. We are also in the company of booby birds, terns and noddys and a thirty-foot sailboat manned by five likely young lads. Who have in fact just left missing the opening up of the Island. There are 6 visiting boats including Zoonie who are now waiting to venture ashore and the medical team are due to arrive in less than two hours, today the 1st April, so I’d better get up!
Things are looking good; the bread is rising well and Rob has just tuned in to the BBC World Service, the sun is out and the swell not too bad, at least not as keen as in Vanuatu and Woody Island, South Australia.
So, it is April Fool’s Day and we are sitting on Zoonie’s coach roof as the medical team are rolled by the sea in their little wooden ferry boat alongside and the nurse is offering up our nasal swabs on their little plastic sticks so we can do our own test. Much better I found than wondering just how much further up my nose the lady in Richards Bay was going to push it before it started to affect my thinking. Not wishing to make a fool of myself I carefully and slowly inserted the stick, surprised by how far up it actually would go.
Today and tomorrow are a public holiday so we will get our results this afternoon but we cannot in fact go ashore until Saturday when the little ferry will be running from 4.00am until 7.00pm and later by request. Taking the dinghy ashore from here would not be a safe idea in this ocean mooring field.
Then from Monday we can call in to the hospital and get our first free Covid vaccination with a little vaccination passport to show to the authorities in The Azores and Falmouth, by which time they may well not be interested anyway.
I was thinking a couple of days ago about the plight of the younger generation today and how, like us they will be looking forward to a difficult future because of the dire state of nature and the world we live in. But unlike us they cannot look back on a childhood when nature was so much healthier than it is now, and if the shifting baseline syndrome is working, they will think how the world looks today is similar to how it always has been.
Chris Packham mentioned in his book ‘Back to Nature’ how mental health care doctors; psychologists, are being trained to help children suffering from depression about the future of themselves within the environmental problems that surround them and I worry that they do not have our wonderful memories. Our children’s mental health is our country’s future wealth is a quote I have just heard on the radio and I think it is true and our responsibility.
Rob and I have been so lucky to spend six years going to sea, that beautiful natural element, and during those times being comforted by the lack of human evidence. The sea will always be there to be travelled by humans under sail, as much as possible and there is also a comfort in that, an unchanging element and the means of using it.
I distracted myself from such thoughts for a while by making dahl for supper, with lentils and split peas, starting a glossary for my book and chatting with Marjolein on channel 77.
Fingers crossed for our results in five hours!