Our entry into Cape Town was rather spectacular! It seemed to be an echo of the entire trip. We had sailed through 3 big weather systems – the biggest being “The Bugger” and the scariest being the one that came out of nowhere and rounded us up three separate times with gusts above 60kts. While we’d known there was a last weather system to be endured before we reached Cape Town, we had all secretly hoped the winds wouldn’t peak above the forecasted 40 knots. They hardly did. However, in the small print, the liars snuck in that there would be 5 to 7 meter swells and while the wind over wave effect wasn’t  too bad (still whipping up spume and throwing it about), the swells really did come and they were every bit as big as the forecast said. We were up and down so significantly that a ruddy big oil tanker about a mile off our starboard side was only visible every 30 seconds or so (and hence my comment about technology – because we could see him on the chart plotted, but infrequently in real life).

Finding the buoys marking the entry channel into the harbor was also stupidly challenging. They are clearly marked on the chart, together with their light characteristics (color, flashes, timing), but we were almost on top of them before we could actually see them. I eventually spotted them from the cockpit, having climbed up on the winch pedestals while hanging on for dear life! Our plan was to head up the channel and try and get some respite from the seas by hiding behind the breakwater and then get the boat ready for docking. Breakwater be damned – frankly water just piled over the top of it shooting up into the air about 100 feet. It was like a fat man’s underpants trying to stop farts from spilling over.

We needed to get the main sail down, having earlier dealt with the head sail. There was a level of relief all around when the engine started first time without any problem, about 2 minutes before we entered the channel.  When it came to getting the sail down I’m not sure the phrase “well oiled machine” comes to mind, after all, we hadn’t dropped the main for almost 3 weeks, but we manhandled it down and got it tied up, all the while the boat was bobbing like a cork in a hot tub with the wind trying to whip the sail off the boat (we’d lost the port lazy jacks some days earlier, after one of the storm systems hit). With the main down, the skipper deftly squeezed the boat through the narrow entrance into the first of three basins that make the V&A water front.

Now, can someone help me here, because I’m truly ignorant – shouldn’t the A in V&A stand for Albert – where the V is for Victoria? Here it’s plastered all over the place as Alfred – is that right? Who the hell was Alfred and didn’t Albert mind that his bride was clearly holidaying overseas with a man who sounded like him, but wasn’t. Victorian values may not have been everything they are made out to have been! Late breaking news! Alfred was Victoria’s son – mystery solved – incest!

Anyway! Once inside the basin the seas subsided and that afforded us some cover to get the lines and fenders on. Thomas opened the hatch to the fore peak where everything needed for docking was stored. The most important job we had allocated for when the forepeak hatch was opened, was to get the beer into the freezer, which was in the forepeak and to do so as we set the lines, giving us about thirty minutes of freezer time to chill the beer. Because Thomas was going to be primarily concerned with getting the lines and fenders up and into our hands on deck, we allocated the beer cooling to one of us – Juan in this case. As Thomas popped his head up and pushed the massive metal hatch up for two of us to latch back, Juan moved forward to drop down the ladders and get to his job. The importance of his role cannot be overstated. However, Thomas was blocking Juan’s entry and here we were in a howling gale, pouring rain and trying to get the boat ready to dock in an alien place in the pitch black. There is always some tension associated with docking, and these were extreme conditions. Asking Thomas to move to allow the beer run to continue might be a request too many. Thomas is a serious and safe seaman. However, the entire event came to a conclusion when Thomas announced “The beer is in the freezer,”and thus showing his ability to juggle multiple important priorities. 

The fenders for a boat this size aren’t your mamby pamby white and grey leisure boat sort of fender – these are massive buggers, one being obscenely round and big and red, weighing a ton and, because of its shape, it provides massive windage and here we were with massive winds. Once on deck it took me sideways at a rate of knots and I had to wrestle it down using my entire body weight! Now – why would the weather cooperate when it didn’t need to?! So as we prepared the boat to dock – the heavens opened going from nastily heavy rain to a deluge of water falling in massive, heavy drops and of course, the wind chimed in and we got a proper good soaking. I hate sailing – it’s stupid! 

No sooner we’re all the lines and fenders secured and frankly, admired by the first mate Thomas, when the skipper declared – change of plan, move them all to the other side. Dutifully, we obliged – well what are you going to do when you’ve travelled 3,729 miles to get somewhere and all that stands between you and the end – are the lines and fenders being on the wrong side. We moved them. It continued to rain!

The boat is owned by the infamous ocean sailer, Skip Novak, who made his name racing in the Whitbread around the world races (now the Volvo) and later as an expert in high latitude sailing. He is a character and we eventually got to meet him the day after we docked, but what you need to know for now is that he has his network of old sailing buddies, one of whom owns the boat yard right in the middle of the inner basin at the V&A. It is the only undeveloped site around the waterfront and likely worth multiple millions. Manuel owns the boat yard, but not the real estate. Manuel is a very large, round looking man with a character to match and he had sailed with Skip back in the 70’s an 80’s. He had a huge 120 foot motor cruiser stuck on the end of his pontoon and we were to raft up to this mammoth vessel, which would dwarf our sail boat, but provide a good place for us to rest.

With the rain throwing it down and the darkness of the night almost total, we eased into the middle basin where we saw our berth for the night for the first time. At first glance it looked like a simple ferry glide into the wind to gently nuzzle up against the big bugger that was sat there. As we drifted in, we could just see that this vessel had a bow line out at 90 degrees – which meant we had very little margin of error at the front, otherwise we would snag that line. What we didn’t spot was the very black stern line which came out at 90 degrees to the back of the boat. Black line, black water, black night. The skipper gently put us right on our target and Thomas climbed onto the mother yacht and started to take lines from us and tie them on. Other than a security guard who was on board, the boat was empty.

There are a few things to point out about tying a boat up. First, there are two different sets of lines – the obvious ones that you tie up the bow, stern and mid ship which basically stop the boat moving off the pier (in this case our pier was the big motor cruiser), and then there are Spring lines, which are used to stop the boat moving forward or backward and they go from the boat directly forward or aft to the peer –  so stopping that zig zag kind of action. So that means you can have 6 or more lines connecting a big boat like ours to wherever you want to attach to. The second thing you need to know is that whenever you have more than one sailor involved, you will have more than one view of where these line come from and go to. We had eight sailors and therefore at least eight declarative opinions. In fact, each of us had multiple views – so opinions abounded.

Consequently, once we were initially tied up, then the “more secure” options were shared and all of a sudden, lines and fenders were being swapped out and the boat was moved forward and back wards. Remember that stern line coming off the motor cruiser – neither did we and guess what happened – yes it snagged onto our propeller. The engine stalled. The skipper let forth with a string of cuss words, individually suggesting frustration, collectively indicating we were done docking this boat. All the while, the rain, it poured!

I dropped down the three steps from the cockpit into the pilot house, undid my life jacket and nodded at Juan, who asked “Should I do it Nick?” I nodded back! He went down the boat to the forepeak and retrieved the beer. As the first can popped, the first alcohol for any of us for 21 days, even the most ardent of spring line provocateurs switched their mission form active docking mode to inclusive drinking mode. Dave, our excellent skipper was still shacking his head at the thought of once again having to clear the prop (which we insisted he didn’t and in fact Skip Novak adopted my earlier plan B and called Acme Divers who came the next day and in less then three minutes freed us up – no, they weren’t really called Acme!). It was now after midnight, and the six unpaid crew were all ready to dig in for a while, regardless of the impending early start to complete immigration and customs. Dave and Thomas ducked out at about 02.30 and the rest of us shortly after 03.00. We had moved on from beer to red wine – a case of which had surfaced the evening before, to allow me to get some flavor into a three bean chili with only onion and meat, three cans of beans of dubious provenance , no chili power, instead Tabasco! Ernesto, our resident Human Rights Lawyer from Colombia, kept disappearing down the boat returning with bottle after bottle, insisting that no one move “I have more gifts for you!” Sharing to the end!

It was slowly dawning on all of us that we had actually just successfully sailed one of the ugliest stretches of water in the world, The South Atlantic Ocean and survived it. Not a single one of us would have listed loss of life as a possible outcome at the start of the journey. We were on a big boat with an experienced skipper (who was only 31, but who’s head was certainly much older and who has crossed the Atlantic 12 times already, two on this boat on these seas). This boat successfully made this delivery voyage every year. Last year it only sailed for 2 of 20 days – no wind. This year we sailed on 20 of 20 days, with the engine assisting on a couple. Last year they hadn’t even smelled a weather system. This year we had the lingering after taste of numerous! We’d all sat and stood in that very pilot house that was now our party venue – and watched the wind gauges zip up to 70 knot gusts, burying the entire boat in swirling water – and individually thought – “What if we go down here?”

I’m sure I’ll reflect and share after a little time, but the reality is I don’t know whether I would have done this trip had I known the specifics of what did happen. Knowing it could happen versus it would happen gave me leeway in assessing the practical realities of the thing. However, I have now done it and I am so very happy I did. I learned to live in close proximity to a bunch of 5 guys who I didn’t know from Adam, but who I depended on on a daily basis, to not screw up on their watch and allow something life threatening to happen. 

I also got to know them in a uniques way, and they are all unique. Edgar, the Intensive Care Consultant and ship’s quack. Juan, the young, questioning and effervescent Colombian real estate lawyer. Tig, the enigmatic Canadian doctoral data collector. James, the sailing nut and technocrat who could reduce anything down to a level of detail that made all things a lengthy discussion. And lastly Ernesto, the urbane Human Rights lawyer and academic who had the silliest laugh, a growing English vocabulary and a ready word in whit and wisdom. We’d been herded like children at times, by Dave, our young, but highly qualified skipper, who could switch in a heart beat from friend to boss and who was always switched on and engaged in every aspect of managing the boat – inside and out. Lastly, Thomas, the workhorse seaman who intuitively knew what should be happening and was quick to point out when it wasn’t. He is a philosopher and journeyman – quite the combination.

Let’s not forget Pelagic Australis – she is just an out and out enigma. She looks like a sailboat, but behaves more like a tug boat at times. She sits proud under sail and threatening under engine. She rolls like a rocking chair and she’ll hurt you if you don’t pay attention to her movements – bruises to prove it. Never touch one of her sheets without thought and commitment. These are not your normal sail boat tensions and power levels. If you take a sheet off the winch, you better have your hands the right way round and your core engaged – she will pull you, even in a light breeze. In the end we could all work her, but it took time. You better pay attention and be quick if something doen’t move the way it should – it means there’s a jam and if you try to keep grinding through it – it will lead to terrible consequences (we lost the lazy jacks – just saying)!

Thank you to you guys who bothered to read this stuff and sent through comments of support. It was most comforting to know you were there. Alice Bear did a wonderful job of editing and posting and then feeding back the comments. She had to deal with the limitations of a satellite connection.  

Finally, thank you to the wonderful Bernadette, who once again patiently put up with me – as we stretched our relationship across an ocean and squeezed out thoughts and words through a short phone call with a lengthy atmospheric delay making spontaneous discourse an impossibility – functional only.  

So here I am sitting on the docks in the V&A Water Front, writing this last piece (probably!) and thinking how grand life is to be here in Cape Town waiting for Bernadette’s plane to arrive later this morning and with the prospect of having drinks tonight with my sailing buddies – and not a three hour watch insight!

We took a much bigger boat and sailed an infinitely bigger and angry ocean and learned to drink real man’s coffee and even eat an egg sandwich I hadn’t made, but I still can’t live with curly hairs sprouting from my eye brows – there are limits.

So what’s next……

Pip pip

Today, Thursday  at 23.30, we tied up our lines on the East Dock in the Victoria and Albert Waterfront Marina in Cape Town, South Africa, having successfully crossed the Southern Atlantic from West to East.

The ocean decided to have one final blow before we made land and so for the last 12 hours she whipped up the seas to a very rough state and gusted winds well over 40 knots. She also brought some friends out to play and after seeing nothing for nearly 3 weeks, there were a fair few boats all heading in our general direction or out fishing in stupid weather.

No kidding, there is no water here in Cape Town and yet it pissed down all the time we docked and for an hour after. Really! 

Thank you technology for making things a lot safer (AIS).

All is well and life is good!

Part 2: How morale changes with the wind!

A couple of Sundays back, I indistinctly remember telling you that morale was in good spirits. Well, within a couple of hours it wasn’t. Words were had in the pilot house about offering a slice of the fresh bread before the last slice of the old stuff had been consumed (serious stuff). This was between the adults and the children, not between us children. Then, Ernesto’s roast beef dinner turned out to be less than desirable – too much fat in the meat (which was undercooked and very salty). This was a very unusual occurrence, as Ernesto and Juan had proven to be the best cooks aboard. The final straw was the weather kicking off again. Up until the weather bit, we were mostly taking other things in our stride, but the prospect of more weather seemed to dampen the spirits and things started to taker on a brooding presence. I’m not saying the weather was the cause, but I think there is a pretty strong correlation!

Once the weather started to abate early a morning or so later, the mood lightened and then there was a veritable party atmosphere around lunchtime that day as we approached Tristan and while that quite soon subsided, things are still quite light around here (mood wise). I think the prospect of my freshly baked bread may be driving this (hmm – maybe some license taken here – try the count down to Cape Town and the improved movement of the boat as being the two big drivers with freshly baked bread coming a very distant third). It shouldn’t be a major surprise that the movement of the boat and the demands made by the weather place a physical and mental strain on the crew. While things can be helped somewhat by a positive attitude, a lack of sleep and a heightened sense of danger combine to drawer down energy reserves and before you know it – you’re knackered and only getting worse and there is a very serious and at times fractious vibe.

The energy reserves seem to immediately, it only temporarily, improve once the barometer starts to rise, the winds drop a little and the new sailing objective is set – for us at that time – it was getting to Tristan – a doable distance and in improving conditions. It wasn’t about getting to safety, because Tristan doesn’t afford any! We were only 130Nm away at the height of the last storm, but Tristan has no safety resources, and in any case, there are no means of launching any from this remote, challenging place. So, for all intense and purposes, help really it doesn’t exist! There is no airstrip, no helicopter, no life boat, nothing. Our nearest source of help would have been Cape Town or, one of the non existent passing ships. There was great excitement when a vessel turned up on the Chart Plotter (on AIS) and showed itself to be a beam of us, but over 10 Nm away and in those seas, we definitely would have we seen it.

So, knowing that the nearest source of help is just over 1500 miles away when you’re suspended 4 miles above the sea bed in howling winds doesn’t provide much relief. But, getting to see land, achieving a shared objective, knowing we’re much closer to achieving our ultimate goal – completing a crossing over this vast ocean – this combination is the source of relief from anxiety and to be honest, the ultimate irradiation of any pettiness. But, intimate proximity like this on what might be a big sailing boat, but still relatively small compared to land facilities, where we still fall over each other in the shared parts – is just like being part of any family living together in a restricted space over an extended time period. Sometimes small things combine to obscure the bigger more important ones.

So, morale was restored relatively quickly, and to be clear, it was never a huge deal, more a personal thing, but we all palpably felt it and knew we needed to keep ourselves restrained and be careful in what and how we said things.Whatever happened or happens on this boat it will be filtered when we get on shore and I think we will all retain great memories, and some may never be spoken of, because the positive outcome we’re looking for, doesn’t need to factor in any of the negative. The negative were all transient and the positive are all lasting. But, as I write, we’re far from being there yet and as I said, let’s not count our chickens!

This is a bunch of really good guys and we work well together. My watch buddy James and I get on very well and we’ve had some great late night discussions. Over time, normal people reveal things about themselves when in close proximity and sharing trying times and that’s exactly what we’ve done. He is a massively experienced sailor and he has overcome some major health issues to get to where he is – active and fully contributing. I like and respect this guy a lot.

I’m sure once we’re on land, there’ll be time to reflect further about this entire group and provide some insights and color to help you get to know them better, but for now, morale is good again and I hope the prospect for decent weather and a good run to the end keeps our spirits high.

Pip pip

P.S. When I wrote this, the weather piece was taken from the weather forecast and as we’ve already established, there seems to be an alternative facts to that. We didn’t get better weather and it remained challenging and likely will so until the conclusion, but those memories too will be limited to what is needed too keep the experience in perspective and no more (well, may be a little exaggeration for effect, but no more).

Part 1: The hole!

Generally, when I go sailing, I acquire a greater appreciation for the many small things around me. The rhythm that comes from a gently rolling sailboat with nothing but an occasional sail flapping in the wind or water lapping against the bow to break the near silence, affords an inner calm that means small local details can fill the space vacated by the usual worldly minutiae. It’s not unusual to find oneself observing the patterns of the waves, the gradation of the light across distant clouds and the patterns made by birds in flight, which affords them a level of importance in my world, not afforded to them when I’m on land doing my day things (at least not before my conversion to Eco Warrior status).

There is an enforced rhythmic change that is beyond self control – it just happens. I love that state. I tend to play on it to move my thoughts to whatever I choose to think about, not what I have to think about and to do so in a more focused and relaxed way. After a while I can appreciate the colors of the waves while contemplating the greater significance of the most important things in my more normal world. I like this sort of introspection. I like the time I get to appreciate things previously left in limbo or unrecognized. I can’t tell you it leads to sweeping changes (there aren’t too many egg sandwich and caffeinated coffee life shifts available), but it definitely leads to a fuller appreciation of what means most to me and how wrong some of my priorities can sometimes be.

Surprisingly, even through the storms of the last week, I was able to move into a more contemplative state (have I mentioned the storm of last week, or of this week – either?). Of course there were times during those howling winds when the factor of fear might have kicked in and my focus swayed towards self-preservation and doing deals with God. Without wishing to get too deep in my own shit here, I did find it interesting to try and answer this simple question while dealing with 70 mile winds – if I weren’t in this world anymore, whose life would be really affected by my absence. I don’t mean whose life would have a hole in it, a hole I currently fill, I mean where there would be a substantial impact and a definite need for a sustained change to their behavior to fill in for my absence.

One of my conclusions was that there are some people who I want to be much closer to, not so I can cause them pain should I pop off ahead of them, but that is a bit of an additional benefit, like an unintended positive consequence (joking – don’t get concerned), but people who I don’t get the time with and I really want  to. Of course there are people who I give time to (physical and even emotional) and frankly, if I wasn’t about, nothing of significance would change for them. I’m affording them way more significance than I should. So, a conscious rebalancing might be in order, but having failed to answer emails for so long now, I may not have anyone left to give any time to.

I’m not sure sailing the Southern Atlantic is necessary to do this sort of reflection, just getting stuck in an elevator shaft or watching episodes of Real Housewives of Highland Park might provide the mental state and space to use for reflection and you can save yourselves the thrills and spills of being flung through the air at the whim of the South Atlantic.

Pip pip

As you know, the Skipper managed to release the rope tangled in the prop and with it, our ability to deal with the balance of our journey, including entering port and docking the boat. However, we still have just over 400 miles to go – sounds like nothing – but wait – is that a nasty weather system sitting up the coast of Africa heading south. Oh yes, that would be it!

We’ve been seeing this new system build and head down the coast bringing Northerly Winds at about 40 knots. Nothing too crazy, but an unpleasant wind direction given we will be sailing directly west. In any event, getting into the port at Cape Town is not something to do in those winds, so we’ll figure something out, no doubt.

BUT, we no longer need a plan b and so the strokey beard session won’t be needed. We just don’t want to get into another slugfest with the weather just before we make landfall – but it would be true to form for this passage!

Anyway, when day dawned this morning, all was quiet aboard. We were trickling along at 2.5 knots in the lightest of winds. Dave had gone down to grab a little  shut eye and the rest of us started stirring. James and I took on our 09.00 watch and we all started to ready the boat for the big dive. First, the equipment had to be checked over and laid out. We needed to put a long line off the stern with a huge fender on the end as a safety line. We opened up the stern gates and lowered the swim ladders. Dave had emerged looking like a prize fighter before a major slugfest where the betting is all on the other fellow, but your family are being held captive until you beat the other guy against the odds and the big bet on you, that will come in just before the first bell rings – pays out. Complicated – maybe. It was best to say nothing, offer no advice and let Dave get himself into the mental position he needed to be in to go and make this dive. I knew in my head, I could execute this perfectly and without issue, but the problem was, it wasn’t in my head it had to be done – and as we’ve already established , not the job for me! Things were tense. Maybe beyond tense. The only way to break the tension was to either do this thing or abandon it. 

Anyway, after viewing the latest recon footage of the prop and the rope, courtesy of the Colombians’ GoPro, having assessed the sea state as being as calm as it was likely to be – which was still a sizable swell, Dave announced it was time. We helped him into the diving suit, added the weight belts and tank and then he was in. The boat was still bobbing significantly and their seemed to be a current flowing. We tried our best to hold the boat still and at the right angle to the wind. But – there was precious little steerage.

After an up close and personal look, Dave asked for a knife on a stick. We duck taped a rope cutting knife to the Boat Hook and he took it down and started to cut into the rope. Some definitely came loose. Progress, and with it, confidence. After taking a breather, down he went again and this time, with just the knife in hand, he disappeared under the boat, emerging soon after for a breath and then diving straight back under. He may have issued a string of expletives about the boat speed and direction in between gasping for air. In fairness, he was entitled to get pissed off and show it, but there was precious else we could do about the boat – it was showing 0.3 knots of speed and without steerage, turning it too a specific heading was impossible.

Anyway, having vented his annoyance he ducked back down and under and two minutes later the huge ball of rope emerged behind the boat and with it Dave! He had freed up the prop! I couldn’t gauge the look on his face, but knowing his family would be safe and the bet had been won must have made him quite relieved! You can imagine the relief and the reaction of the rest of the crew. Well no – a whale had surfaced less than 50 feet off the  Starboard beam and with the exception of Thomas and I who were at the stern supporting Dave, the rest of the crew were in raptures having grabbed cameras and they were “cooing and purring.” Luckily, Dave didn’t know that and by the time he emerged up the swim ladders, attention was all back on Operation Freedom and the glory that was rightly his. Incidentally, the whale moved to astern of us and surfaced again – it was awesome, but only a good runner up to the awesome from the achievement of releasing the prop. The ball of rope was a seriously large jumble of crappy fishing related stuff. We wrapped it in a large tarp, tied it and moved it to the fore peak for later revelation once on land.

So now we are motor sailing and heading towards the coast of Africa. Dave celebrated by having some of us out on deck whipping chaffed lines and generally doing maintenance tasks. Wow, that boy knows how to celebrate – I was for a beer, but we are staying a dry boat until the end! Back off to watch, but tonight it’s a boat with a much lighter feel to it!

Pip pip

And so it came to pass, that in the very early hours of Tuesday morning, 00.25 to be precise, the wind it did depart! And so we sit here on watch – watching very little. We’re cracking along at 2.2 – 2.4 knots (VMG, you remember), after a day where we averaged closer to 7.8 kts. We’re 520 Nm from Cape Town and if we were to keep this speed up, it would take us just under 10 days to get there. Thank heavens we have an engine. Oh no you don’t – you say, and you’d be right. But, we do have an engine, it just can’t drive our propeller, but by mid afternoon later today, it should. The ball of fishing line is still there, but it is allegedly hanging tantalizingly just to one side of the prop with a few winds on the shaft itself. Hopefully after 12 hours or so of these calming winds, coupled to the ever increasing atmospheric pressure weighing down on the ocean, we will be ready for the dive of the century. The theory we have developed, and trust me, we have developed a bunch, is that this tangle is only held on by a couple of winds and either a quick unwind or a quickish cut through and – Bob’s your uncle!

There are alternative theories including the rope being fused to the prop, but we’re not going with those bleaker outlooks. Even with the simple, most popular theory, it requires Dave to don that nasty dry suit and lower himself into the bottomless pit of an ocean, dive below the hull, make sure he isn’t smacked in the head when it bobs and then deal with the offending and offensive stoppage. If he were to do it now, there would be a lot of bobbing and that would be dangerous, but another 12 hours of light winds and increased atmospheric pressure and we’re hoping, him especially,  that things are much quieter.

Now, we did ask for volunteers from us children, to do this instead – based on experience and qualification, after all, it is quiet common for sailors to also be divers. My good friends Hugh and Claudia are both, but of course they’re not here. However, when we discussed volunteers, none of the crew offered up any relevant experience. But – slowly over the past several days we’ve unearthed that one of us used to dive when they were a little younger and another dived up until a couple of years ago – but, neither feel qualified to execute Operation Unwind. I don’t blame them – you couldn’t pay me enough to put on a diving suit and face mask, breath compressed air from a cylinder, wear weights on belts around my waist and ankle and then jump in cold water and swim under a bobbing boat with a knife in my teeth. For a kick off, I’ve spent a bloody life time trying to take weights off my waist and I don’t need man made weights added there, thank you very much. This just isn’t work I feel is suited to my skills and qualifications (multi talentless, as my friend Bryan would say). So the only way this is getting done, is if Dave does it. Of course, our lack of experience hasn’t stopped us opining on how he should tackle the job. Suggestions on how to avoid getting clunked on the head by the bobbing boat (best way – don’t go under the boat?), to what tools to take with him (try a couple of the crew?), to how to get wound up rope off a propeller (talk to it first until it calms down?). I suspect, at this very moment, Dave is in his cabin mentally rehearsing his technique (the tech) and under his breath cursing fishermen from Tristan and lily livered crew members who are full of proverbial shit. However, come the hour, we will all be gathered to hand things to him, pull on ropes, provide words of encouragement and even “turn him on” if that’s what gets him going, to make us feel we have contributed and to assuage our guilt.

I am confident that if he gets under the boat, he’ll achieve his mission and once done, we’ll be free to roam the high seas and more specifically, motor in to Cape Town and tie up on the Dock. If he isn’t successful, then we’ll await the winds, sail everyone of the last 500 Nm and then sit off Cape Town and stroke our collective shaggy beard and pontificate on what to do next.

For what it’s worth, my plan b is to call Alice and have her identify Acme Divers of Cape Town on Google and have one sent out to wherever we’re anchored in the bay and have them take care on the task – but there is just one tiny little problem there – wherever we are anchored. Dropping the anchor is a task usually done under motor and …… you’re way ahead of me. I have dropped an anchor under sail – and there is a technique for doing it and it’s something one is trained to do – but not in something like this – a 60 ton aluminum hulk of a sail boat. Not with sails that take an eon to firl away and with a boom that takes 5 men to shift a foot either way manually against the wind, both of which are pre-requisites of dropping an anchor under sail – and don’t get me going about sailing off an anchor!

So, let’s just hope and pray Dave Does It, does it tomorrow and equilibrium is once again restored and there is deliverance of the eternal hope of a sodding cold beer in Cape Town on Saturday (Friday – make it Friday, oh Lord)!

Pip pip

P.S. Here we are at 08.35 getting ready to take the watch, 6 hours after passing it over and we have moved exactly 15 NM towards our target! The winds will come back (ignore those sodding forecasters, winds come back in these latitudes) and we will be sailing along later tonight (yes, I am persuading myself, but that’s acceptable – right). We will have the use of our engine and we will be en route to a FRIDAY arrival. That’s my forecast – and it’s accurate!

P.P.S. If you were sat where I am sitting – you would hear the sound of beautiful diesel engine purring and pushing us through the water at 7 knots with only a 7 knot wind. So, as you see, the propeller is working again! God Bless the Skipper and 45 minutes of frenetic work to release (and I shit you not) a ball of rope about 4 feet in diameter. After cutting, tugging, cussing and shouting, it came free just before 12.00 hrs and at the same time a Whale surfaced just 50 meters from the boat. Maybe he was looking for his rope toy!

I spent the early hours of Sunday morning on watch – we were keeping the boat tuned in order to maintain our progress towards Cape Town – known as our VMG for those in need of the technical stuff. There were squalls all around us, basically coming up from behind and dumping on us, but just rain and fresher breezes, nothing too bad. We’d spent Saturday watching the miles click off – through 900 – 850 – 800, but the highlight was just before dinner when we all crowded into the pilot house to watch the Chart Plotter show our Longitude as we crossed the Greenwich Meridian – 000 degs 00 minutes! I’ve done this numerous times before on a boat, but not down here I haven’t! And, it isn’t a big deal in the English Channel or out in the North Sea (check it out, it goes from London directly North and therefore out into the North Sea). It was a little strange to think I was at the same Longitude  as a whole bunch of you – just a long way south! Thomas cleared the Chart Plotter of all other data and made the numbers fill the screen. If we’d had a glass ball we could have emulated New Year in Time Square. I suggested dinner and dancing to follow, but there were no takers on the dancing!

After finishing watch at 06.00 this morning, I turned in for a few hours kip. I was just coming around and making a move towards the head to do my morning ablutions, when the boat started to lurch viciously from side to side, rounding up significantly to the port side and sounding like we were doing 100 knots. There were raised voices up on deck and then a bunch of alarms went off in the Pilot house, one of which was Otto, the auto pilot, kicking out of auto leaving us without anyone on the helm (if everyone was up on the deck- I hoped not, but thought this to be likely). I had one leg over the Leeboard on the floor and the other still in my bunk. The brute force from being rounded up pushed me hard back into the bunk and pinned me up against the side of the boat. So what happened to the consistent 25 knot winds gusting to 30 we read about? What had happened was that the guys on watch were up on deck dropping another reef in, in anticipation of stronger winds when a series of out of the blue 50 – 54 knot gusts turned up. Luckily, Dave, our skip made it on deck from his bunk in time to take the wheel and direct operations. Also luckily, no-one was hurt (other than my bloody shoulder which took a pounding) and the only damage to the boat was a blown sheet on the yankee.

With everything dying down, I made it up on deck to help repair the sheet, which we completed shortly after lunch when James and I were back on watch. My role was only to work with Juan whipping a length of chafe protector onto the new sheet (the old one reversed). It took a while to get the thing done properly. The hard work went to Thomas who had to be winched up the forestay in the bosun’s chair and had to cut the old sheet off the clue and then fit the new one – all the while the boat was bouncing on messy seas and he was working slightly above himself. Top man.

We’d been watching a system building behind us through the night watch last night and it was still there this morning. Well ,shortly after we took over this afternoon, the leading edge blew through (identified in the forecast chart as a cold front with blustery winds, reducing in speed, and backing to the South West with showers most likely). Well that’s not what we got is it – you know my view of these lying forecasters!

Out of nowhere, the seas built and boiled, we started to violently corkscrew, the skies got pitch black and then the winds starting gusting 60 knots plus. What is the matter with this ocean? We all get your ability to play havoc and drive weather events, but when is enough, enough. We say now! As if that wasn’t enough – 20 minutes later it did the self same thing again, but slightly stronger winds and once again we were lost in the boiling ocean with waves drowning us and it drew the boat head up into weather, but not before we rolled a good 50 degrees over into the sea, posing the question, would we roll over?

Well –  apparently not,  the skip assured us it would take something infinitely more than this – but let’s not tell the weather Gods that!. We had seen significant lightening astern of us last night, but it hadn’t caught up overnight. Well, it did this afternoon and that got thrown in for good measure – before the skies cleared! Another 15 minutes and all had calmed down again and within 30 the skies cleared to reveal some blue – enough to encourage us that we were back on target for better weather – and we believe that – we’re idiots, there is no better weather down here. This ocean hates us. So now we’re trying to figure out the real weather pattern and see what actions we need to take before to gets dark – so we don’t get caught out tonight. It is pretty clear that this ocean isn’t finished with us yet!

Now, not 15 minutes after trouncing us, the weather had given up enough to allow Edgar to perform a little medical procedure out in deck – whereby he  syringed Juan’s ear to relieve him of pain caused by a build up of wax. He’d already prescribed drops for the last few days and now he went in with a big syringe of warm water. Quite a contrast in less then an hour – the decks awash with sea water to the decks being a wash with Juan’s ear detritus. Seriously, ear wax seems very enticing now compared to being submerged by sea water. We had to hold Juan’s hand as the surgical procedure was executed but, he claims while painful, he can hear better know. That could be good or bad for him – more weather to listen  to and he can hear the bitching and crying as we all struggle to keep upright! 

But – as I write – the skies are darkening and I guess here comes the next system – please- 40 knots only – it’s Sunday and you can take a day off can’t you?

Pip pip

PS Now back in watch and there is no way this weather lark is taking any time off. I guess we’re getting what one get’s when sailing down here (although the last crossing had light winds and they used the engine most of the way – at least we have hardly used the engine – and recently, not at all!)

UPDATE: 

The last job we did last night (Sunday) while on watch and before handing over at 00.00 was to jibe the boat to get us set for the night’s sailing and move us closer to our Rhum line. The seas have calmed some and by the time I came back up on watch (at 05.00, an hour early – idiot) we were bounding along at almost 9.0 Kts VMG (Velocity Made Good – distance achieved per hour towards our target). Awesome. The radar screen shows not a sign of a squall (but they can bubble up quickly), and so hopefully we are set for a decent day’s sailing without further incident! And the sun is just lifting its face and there are glints of light sneaking through the darkened outlines of the clouds on the horizon in front of us. That’s Africa over there under the sun. Tonight, late, we will start entering some very light air and our speed will drop to may be as low as 2.0 knots. We should have this air for about 12 hours or so. Our hope is that the seas also calm and that we eventually can get Dave in his diving suit back under the boat to clear the tangle on the prop and therefore be in a position to motor on a little until the wind returns. Of course, we can then set our final course for Cape Town and steam into the dock and complete our journey.

Finger crossed for a clean prop and no further incidents! 

So you know how I was predicting making land next Thursday – may be late afternoon. Well – that might have been a little premature! This morning around 05.00, I was just coming round from a decent “between watch sleep” and getting ready to go up for my 06.00 watch, when I heard the engine start and then abruptly stop. This was repeated a number of times and then there was frenetic action up in deck, trimming sails, which seemed like a plan b going into action. I decided to stay put and not add to any potential larking about. Well, it was a plan b!

I made it up stairs about 05.30 to be greeted with gloom and seriousness. The hypothesis was that our prop had something stuck around it, thereby preventing us from using the engine. The significance of this is two fold: 1) it means when the wind dies (as it surely will early next week for instance , according to those lying bastards, the forecasters) we can’t start the engine to maintain our average speed and 2) we need the engine to get into the dock and park the boat when we do eventually get to Cape Town!

After waiting until daylight, observing the prop through the little observation portal in the aft lazarette and confirming the worst, and getting various items ready so someone could dive down to inspect and hopefully free things up, Dave our skipper did exactly that. He really took one for the team. He donned a dry diving suit, tanked up and jumped off the back of the boat grabbing a floating line we’d put out for him. Just before he jumped, his last words were “can someone turn me on please?” Now, I thought that was completely the wrong time for that sort of talk, and him with a new girlfriend as well. He did look terrified as he jumped – and so would I jumping into the Atlantic Ocean, 1225 miles from anywhere other than bloody Tristan. The difficulty is that you have this hulk of a Yacht bouncing up and down on you – just above your head and going underneath is a little tricky.

So the prognosis is that we have a load of fishing line caught tightly around the prop and the shaft. It isn’t going to come away easily. Dave was unsuccessful in freeing it this morning and so time for a plan b!

So we’re off sailing again, hitting 7.5 to 8.00 knots on the most beautiful clear sky day with a nice blue rolly sea. The problem is, we are unlikely to be able to maintain this speed as an average and thereby we probably won’t make land much before next Saturday, if we’re lucky. I was really hoping to be able to go to the airport on Sunday morning and meet Bernadette. Now there is a chance that she’ll be able to come and meet me when she arrives on Sunday! This is all fine, except there is some poor weather working it’s way in on Thursday/Friday that might mean we have to either heave to or hide somewhere to miss it (again – not another Bugger I hope) or sit on a mooring ball in the outer harbor waiting it out – so we can then have another go at freeing the prop – so we can steam into the dock.

So there you have it – given the size of the South Atlantic, the fact that we haven’t actually seen a single other boat, we missed out in going ashore in Tristan – we still managed to snag some fishing line at night in this vast ocean – the probability of that happening – tiny. As we so often say – it is what it is and we’ll have to see what happens next. Now, I have done my secret calculations and I believe we can get 8 or 9 knots out of this thing in the coming days (we have all afternoon today) – as the wind is meant to pick up (currently a gentle 16 knots and we’re powering a long at an average of 7.5 knots, touching 8 occasionally and nudging 9.0 from time to time). If that is the case and if we can get the prop sorted and if we can avoid the bad weather and if and if and if – we might make land early Saturday morning and a sense of relief will be achieved. You see, loved ones aside, we have an appointment with cold beer (and not too cold champagne) and that has Saturday latest – written all over it. Also, I’m tired of cooking every 3rd day, tired of not showering very often (like once in the last two weeks), generally tired of not sleeping for very long!

It’s time again to finish this thing, no matter how good it has been, or how much I’ve enjoyed it. There is no valor in extending the journey, whether you enjoy it or not. To be honest, I really like these guys, I quite like the boat, but the sea may be starting to lose a little of it’s luster and now there is a need to get off the water and back on land – something seemingly very appealing. Understandable? I think so. We’ve been on this boat for the last 5 weeks straight and you can have too much of a good thing. I have a heightened sense of need to do some near normal things – a flat bed, a hot shower, clean clothes, access to communications – a drink in a bar – a drink not in a bar! Although the satellite phone has worked well for me, just getting access to the basic coma in life would be great (not FB or any other social media channel – just a phone I can call more folks on will do.) Also, I miss Bernadette and six and a half weeks was the plan – and I’m now at five and a half – so max one week left – no messing here!

Also – our great friends, Ian and Debbie, will be meeting us on Sunday and I don’t want to miss time with them – so for a myriad of reasons – come on Pelagic, stop screwing around and let’s get our act together and make land pronto –  Saturday morning latest.

So, I’m going to be positive and ask Bernadette to change the hotel booking for the 5th time and start it on Saturday June 2nd!

Pip pip! 

I think it was yesterday that I wrote about sitting in the pilot house watching the weather build and play out. The winds were getting up, but the sea state was causing us the bigger issues – because we were beating to wind. Well, I’m back in the pilot house and back on watch and we’ve just sailed by Tristan da Cunha and seen how big the swell was – way too big to attempt to anchor and go ashore. A disappointment, but it was always a long shot. The anchorage is just a patch of water off the main settlement – completely open to the seas from 180 degrees – which is all of the prevailing wind areas. The harbor entrance is a tiny break in a break water requiring the boating version of a handbrake turn and the seas were being thrown up about 15ft in the air over the top of the walls. So that was a big fat NO to trying to get in there!

Instead, we have moved straight into sailing the last leg of this crossing, from Tristan to Cape Town – all 1504 Nm – or about 1750 statutory miles. By any measure, it’s a long way, but we’ve already sailed 2200 Nm to get here – all since a week ago last Saturday or 11.5 days, or 267.3 hours (but who’s counting). Right now, (it’s about 19.30) I’m watching the same instrument bank as has become the norm and the winds are a little lower than this time last night (about 26 this time yesterday, 20 tonight). Last night the winds hit only about 37, but they were howling and of course, as you know, ahead of our beam – which was why we were beating to wind. It was a very uncomfortable time and the boat was swinging and dodging and making life ver tough for all of us.

Tonight, the wind is coming from almost astern of us and I’m wanting more than that to keep us sailing at over 8 knots. It must be said that the seas state is infinitely easier tonight, so it’s not just the lower wind. While we were disappointed not to be able to stop and go ashore at Tristan, tonight we are heading to Cape Town with half a moon and a semi clear sky. The boat is gently rolling from side to side with only a very occasional thud, no bloody big thump! I think we’re all looking forward to actually sleeping when not on watch.

….

Time had moved on a little, and it’s me again, same place different time! I’m back in watch and it’s 04.30 Thursday morning. James and I took over the watch at 03.00 and since then we have maintained our target speed of 8.3 knots, there are three loaves of bread proving downstairs ready for the oven – so, quite a productive watch. I can’t remember if I mentioned this, but we bake bread during this particular night watch – to make sure we have supplies for the coming day. Last Sunday night when the “Son of Bugger” was kicking off, I baked a couple of loaves of Honey White and three loaves of Banana Bread. Baking is not my finest skill (understatement) and once again, I apologize to Trevor Bread for letting the side down – but people will eat this stuff I bake, I assure you! We have a box of very sorry looking bananas up in the fore-peak and we need to use them. When it came to last Sunday night’s output from The Great Pelagic Bake Off, it took us a couple of days to eat the actual bread, but the Banana Bread was gone within the day. Had anyone seen the amount of butter and sugar that went in, may be it might have gone slower!

Later this morning we have to commit to the “guess when we’ll arrive” bet, which is the time we tie our first line up in Cape Town. After the last week or so, I don’t want to count my chickens and all of that, but the weather forecast is either fair or good, with variable winds and so we should be able to clock off 200 Nm days between sail and engine (it looks like a few days of very little wind – so we’ll have to augment with the iron genny). If that all works out, we should arrive sometime on Thursday early afternoon, a full day early (accounts for the day we picked up from not stopping in Tristram). However, there are the unknown variables like small weather systems, boat issues, navigational errors (never) and general misdemeanors to try and take into account – so who knows. I know that we’ve already knocked off the first 100 Nm since Tristram – and we’re currently looking at 1405 to go.

I laid in my bunk after the alarm went off earlier this morning to wake me for watch duties at 02.30 and tried to figure out what the distance would be to our destination by the time I climbed up into the pilot house (it’s always on the display together with VMG for the more technical minded) and figured it should be 1424 – and when I got up there – to my delight- it was! Now replicate that accuracy over the next 7 days and Bob’s your uncle (there you go, Jim Lynde – there’s that phrase again)! I think we will arrive mid afternoon next Thursday into Cape Town and, allowing for the usual messing about, our first line will be tied at 15.20 (Universal Time – like GMT before people messed with it).

This is massively optimistic and by far the earliest estimate from the crew members (the skipper isn’t participating – for obvious reasons). I think that is 17.20 local time. I don’t know what the bet is – I guess a beer from each of one’s shipmates – in which case I hope I’m wrong. If it’s buying a beer for each of them – bring it on. Sitting at the height of the weather festivities yesterday afternoon, Ernesto (Colombian brother) turned to me and said, “In Cape Town, I think we drink Champagne – not too cold.” The most sensible thing I heard all day! So without tempting bad karma, chill down those bottles, not too much though, and get ready for us Cape Town, because we’re heading your way right now!

Pip pip

And again, we’re in the pilot house on watch and it’s blowing like crazy, the sea swirling and rising and dipping, and with it, us! We’re being bombarded again – not so much by the winds, as the sea state, since before midnight last night and it’s now 15.00 the following afternoon. Through the night, we once again had the big thumping as Pelagic smacked down into the sea, throwing me upwards from my bunk (the four of us in the fore cabins are the ones most effected.( It’s not soul destroying, but I can’t exactly find the humor in it!

So, to place things in some perspective, here is the chronology of the last week. The storm of the millennium was last Thursday/Thursday night – OK, maybe the storm of the season – millennium might be an over statement. Incidentally, I misreported the wind speeds in an earlier piece. When we went back through the data recorded on the instruments, the highest gust was 72 knots, not 68, which is roughly 80 miles an hour – which likely pushes us over in to another Beaufort category – from Force 10 – Significant Storm to Force 11 – Significant Idiots only out in this! Anyway, that storm took until late Saturday/Early Sunday to really calm down (mainly the sea state) and then we had about 24 hours with decent seas and winds. And then, and there has to be an ‘and then’, it all kicked off again (Monday evening), ever so gradually, almost imperceptibly, but kick off it did.

And so here we are, Tuesday afternoon. The forecast doesn’t show this low to be anywhere near as low (bad) as the previous one, but the last one wasn’t meant to be quite as ridiculous as it was. In fact, the forecast has this one getting just a little worse later tonight (winds picking up) and then calming down late tonight/Early tomorrow with the wind veering from its current easterly direction back to the more normal North Westerly. The problem we have is that the winds this time are coming from in front of us, so we are “beating to wind” which is a more uncomfortable point of sail than running (as in with the wind from behind) which is what it was last week.

If you were here now, what you would see is more what you might normally picture when you think of a boat going through rough weather. The bow ducks way down into the waves (which tower above us) then the bow shoots up to the top of the wave as the wave continues to build. At some point, either the wave breaks or the boat rides through and over the wave. If the wave breaks as we get to the top, it does so all over the front of the boat and it dumps massive amounts of water all over the bow, deck and the pilot house – thumping against the reinforced windows (I presume they’re reinforced – or maybe more prayer needed). If the wave doesn’t break, then there might be a kindly wave waiting there, right behind the first, and that will catch our bow and kindly support it and we just plough on. Now, if there’s no other wave immediately behind the first, then the bow of the boat dives right back down towards where the sea should be (way down there), so it drops (remember, what goes up must come down) and keeps dropping until it finds the water way below and hits it – that’s when it violently smacks into the sea and the entire boat vibrates and goes BANG! Hitting the sea this way is literally like hitting concrete. Finally, there’s one more scenario – the monster situation – when there’s no wave to catch our nose and she dives down and down until she reaches the bottom with a huge bang, but to add insult to injury, a sneaky waiting wave above us breaks all over us from up high and drowns the entire boat which disappears under a thundering torrent of water!

Choose your poison, a drowning with convulsions or hitting concrete with reverberations and shock waves.  Me, I like neither. Show me the gentle conditions of the mill pond right now and make me smile! About 4 in 10 waves end in one of the two main scenarios, 1 in 10 takes the piss and is a monster, the other 5 are less spectacular, but still quite violent. In any event, we’re back to moving in unnatural ways to just get around the boat and, by the time we get to land, I will be a mass of bruises and bumps from hitting so many walls, ledges and doors.

My biggest concern right now is that as the watch keepers, we need to produce dinner in less than 3 hours! As we sit here watching and feeling this latest dumping of weather and ineptly chatting to keep our spirits up (and avoid talking about ‘what if’ scenarios associated with weather impact on the boat), we keep downgrading our dinner plans and at this rate it could be pot noodles with cold water! Earlier today, our Colombian cousins, who set the bar for the quality and variety of cuisine on this palaver of a trip, asked if we could all simplify our menus! Looks like they blinked first – or maybe the bangers and mash scared them off (or the rather nice Risotto a la fungi). However, in the end, the weather has made this decision for us, because cooking in these conditions can be life threatening. If the smell doesn’t get you, then the swaying will (cuts, boiling water, dropped ingredients). So, simple it will now be. But, I have my eye on several cans of Heinz Baked Beans in one of the food lockers, and I don’t care how much I like the Colombian guys, if those Beans appear in one of their simplified concoctions first, that would constitute a fully fledged international incident – the only beans a Colombian should be concerned with are coffee beans.

Back to what happens when beating to wind rather than running down wind! When beating, the wind in front of you starts to push the waves up in front of it, building upon the already nasty swell which comes from currents and weather further afield. The conflagration of the swell and the wind over the waves causes the appearance of complete disorder and anger within the sea, which leads to to the boat rising and falling in that corkscrew way I’ve previously mentioned. The winds today are currently only half those of the “Millennial Bugger” of last week, but the movement of the boat is probably more violent because of the wind’s actions on the waves and the fact that we are driving right into them.

This is not untypical weather for this boat to be going through – it’s what it encounters when it comes back from South Georgia Island to the Falklands – a regular exploration trip it makes each summer, beating through the Southern Oceans. I say roll on tomorrow when we should be abeam of Tristan with a much prayed for change of weather system (literally – roll on)!

But – big breaking news – needing to be reported immediately. Thomas, our first mate and all round great sailor and seaman, has just asked me if I would like him to cook dinner tonight. Would I? Oh yes I would indeed! He was obviously listening to the menu changes we were talking about (we started with a lentil and chicken stew and got to baked potatoes with baked beans) and decided if he wanted anything decent to eat, this evening he needed to step in. I usually don’t mind cooking in heavy weather, but right now, stick needles in my eyes please and let me stay up here watching “Son of Bugger rides again” in glorious 3D with surround sound! Sadly, which ever way we look at this, we’re in for another dose of fury from this sea and it’s not going to be a fun night on Pelagic.

Batten the hatches again!

Pip pip