Chatty log | Passage to Seychelles

Passage to Seychelles

21 March

Caro: My thumb is much better, I hardly feel it anymore. But I cannot let it get wet which is awkward. Wonder how long it will be before I can go swimming again. John has arranged with Juma that he will drive us around for the shopping. We buy lots of fruit and veg on the market, although variety is limited today, there are no tomatoes or leaks worth buying and no courgette at all. We stock up on unripe mango, papayo, avocado and bananas, buy kilos of onions, garlic and potatoes, cucumbers and carrots. We get 60 eggs on two trays tied with string for safekeeping. At the supermarket we get nutella and peanut butter (because the kids only want bread for breakfast these days), some other bits and pieces and luckily we find cans of catfood. We were completely out. Most of the time we have fish for the cats, but we cannot count on always catching one in time! Last thing on the shopping list is fuel. We fill up the jerry cans with diesel and petrol and get some oil. Now we have a van full and have to ferry it back to Jocara in the dinghy and store it. We're almost ready to leave.

John: So finally things are coming together for getting out of here. Today was, actually, remarkably successful. Having Juma to run us around is a real bonus. He obviously has nothing much to do at IMS and seems quite happy to run around town hunting down supplies.

22 March

Caro: John goes ashore to the internet and to clear out. I stay on board to get the CD roms and our post ready and go to the internet later to check my jocara account now I finally know how to log into that. John picks me up there and we head back to the boat, buying more bread on the way. John went to the market again and found good tomatoes and courgette this morning. Nearly ready now. We move Jocara back to her old anchorage right in front of Amore Mio and go ashore to have one last lunch there and say goodbye. They have been very good to us, giving us free icecream to cheer us up and medicine to help. Now they give us a goodbye present, a small bucket with all sorts of little things in it including some basil. Lovely! Then it's the post office and a money changer to change our last Shillings for Euros. With the 1000 Shillings (US$1) we have left Alex manages to buy a little necklace. That's it. Nothing to keep us in Stone Town any longer. Not that the boat is shipshape and the hull still needs scrubbing. But that can be done somewhere else. We upanchor and head about 15 miles north where we anchor in a bit of a bay just as it's getting dark. We have left!

John: It feels strange, to be shedding our last Tanzanian shillings and walking down the steps outside Africa House to the beach one last time, retracing and reversing the steps we first took almost three months ago when we washed up from our tumultuous passage from Mayotte. Last time to raise the anchor here and say our goodbyes to picturesque Stonetown in the late evening sun. I can almost feel the fledgling roots tearing free of my heart.

23 March

Caro: Woke up too early because it started raining and I had to quickly close all the hatches and the cockpit. When the rain turns into a drizzle we send the kids to the beach to explore for a while. They haven't had much chance for that the last weeks and won't have in the coming weeks either! John wants to clean the hull but the anchorage is becoming rather rolly, so we first move further north to the northern tip of Zanzibar and find a calmer place. On anchoring we find ourselves a little too close to the reef for our liking and put the engine in reverse. Oops! The dinghy line gets sucked up in the propellor and starts to disappear under the boat. Engine off. Fortunately, we have enough anchor chain in to hold the boat and John already has the dive gear ready. He quickly jumps in and rescues the dinghy. He might as well continue cleaning the hull and I'll keep an eye on the reef. All goes well until the wind picks up. The sky is turning black and the wind is gusting up to 20 knots from the west. The beach is behind us and the reef is looking too close again. Time to leave. I want to go straight to Seychelles but John convinces me we really should clean the other side of the hull first. We sail to the east side of the island and just before dark anchor off a big reef. The wind has calmed down again and the sea is flat.

John: So I surface after 90 minutes scraping half the hull more-or-less clean. Exhausted, hands cut and bruised, I struggle to heave my weight pockets, fins and tools up onto deck. When I get up the ladder, Caro is at the wheel, engine started, so I gather she's nervous about the wind and reef and is anxious to move off to a safer distance. As I stagger about getting my stuff off, swaying in the chop, I realise she's not just moving to a safer distance, she's planning to move the boat 1000 miles! I haven't got more than half the hull cleaned, there's stuff all over the decks needing packing away, steps dragging along the hull in the wake (we're now making speed through the water) and it's not long to sunset. I gather she's got the bug to get going. Bad. When I suggest that maybe we should finish the hull cleaning job before leaving and that maybe we're not ready for sea, I get accused of procrastinating. That just about sends me stratospheric, having beaten myself to an exhausted pulp getting ready to go. Caro is suddenly and violently anxious to leave, has developed an urgency to move on that's quite a sight to behold. I take a good long look into myself and realise that maybe part of the reason I'm so flabbergasted and insulted by her accusation is that I am, just a litle bit, frightened at casting ourselves back out to sea after 3 months of tame shoreside living. We've not been to sea overnight for so long, it's scary staring at the range of hardships we might have to endure in the coming weeks with promised contrary winds and seas. And yes, I have grown fond of being at anchor, sleeping comfortably each night (apart from the showers).

24 March

Caro: John is back in the water early in the morning to get the other side of the hull cleaned. When the kids get up they help scraping the waterline. Alex soon is screaming. He is very sensitive to jelly stings and when he gets stung everybody within a mile will know about it. A couple of hours later the hull is done and the last things are being put away and tied down. This is it. We haul the anchor put up the mainsail and the genoa and quit the engine. There is a light breeze, just enough to sail at about 3 knots more or less in the direction we want. Our passage to the Seychelles has finally begun. It feels strange to be on our way. It has been 3 months since we did a passage and we're leaving Africa behind. We're enjoying the peace. The sea is calm, the sky is blue and Jocara is moving along gently. Later the wind slackens and we run the engine for a while. There was a bit of a problem when the engine overheated and a pipe burned the fresh water hose, but John managed to fix it. Then the wind picked up again and we were able to sail slowly and steadily towards the east.

John: OK, so I get up early with a vengeance, determined to get going and avoid any more of this nonsense about procrastinating (see, I'm still stinging!). I'm in the water with scuba gear and stainless steel scraper before anyone else is even out of bed, godammit! Self-righteous, who, me? My 'crew' get up soon after, no doubt roused by the smell of burning martyr. I get the port side scraped clean of the fascinating range of algae, barnacle and coral growths (with at least 4 crabs in residence!) and the waterline cleared of it's green shaggy mane in 90 minutes. Then I get some of that Spinelli coffee down my throat and I'm ready for anything. The weather serves up a gentle breeze and entirely comfortable sailing, if slow. Alex gets the watermaker going, but unfortunately 'forgets' which way the valve goes for routing the output to tank and test lines, inadvertently filling the tanks with old, biologically-toxic, salty product water. Ouch! so we decide to drain the tanks and then make fresh water to flush them.

25 March

Caro: In such a gentle sea it wasn't too difficult to get some reasonable sleep. John however was up very early playing with the sails to try get the best performance with the very little wind and not having the boom slap. Though we're very happy we can sail at all in the right general direction, doing only about 2.5 knots becomes a little frustrating. We agree that when we start doing less than 2 knots we start the engine. Most of the day, however, we seem to do 2 to 3 knots. We should save our fuel for when we really need it. The kids pass the time with sleeping late, drawing and computer games. John is making a wooden coffee pot holder. I'm spend a lot of time reading. I love it to read for hours when I'm into a book. Late afternoon we catch two dorado's within seconds of each other. That will feed us for 4 meals. Star is really pleased, she's been getting can food the last few days.

John: The engine keeps overheating; a seawater cooling airlock that keeps cropping up though I have no idea how. The only plausible explanation I have is that the intake is positioned just so it gathers air bubbles from the bow wave and they steadily gather in the intake line. I just have to bleed the system before starting the main engine every time to be sure. The coffee pot holder is to protect our last remaining french press (we have broken two already this trip). I enjoy these little projects when at sea, if it's smooth enough to work. Teak is a wonderful material to work with. I love the smell, feel and texture of teak. It's a cross between mechanical engineering and sculpture, working on this kind of project. I am always inordinately proud of the resulting little fixture whenever I've crafted something like this. As the sun makes it's final dive for the horizon the air cools rapidly, the light breeze now refreshing and the light mellowing to gold. Caro has developed a taste for a Gin 'n Tonic sundowner, so we sit out on the coachroof sipping G&T's as we gently slide along under full sail. It doesn't get much better than this.

26 March

Caro: Another day, another book. What luxury. Of course there are some chores to do, we have to eat, but there's not much else that has to be done right now. We're going to be on passage for at least another week or so. So far so good. The winds are quite favourable. It's full moon tonight. We all sit on deck watching it rise and take turns looking at the craters through the binoculars. It's beautiful. How many people get the chance to see the moon like this.

John: The moon rises right after sunset (as full moons are wont to do) like a big, flattened tangerine, its juice seeping into the surrounding clouds. The air is so clear and devoid of other, polluting, light that the vision is extraordinary, spellbinding, hard to drag ones eyes away. We all gather on the foredeck and take turns with the binoculars. I can see individual craters in the impossibly bright 'seas' between the darker rock ranges, radiating patterns of debris blasted across hundreds of miles of surface. Later, just after our traditional nightly film (when its calm enough), I see a dark shape pierce the surface and yes, there are dolphins. We crowd the bowsprit, watching dolphins play in the bow wave by full moonlight. What a treat!

27 March

Caro: This morning we still have 700 miles to go. Progress has been very decent so far. We're heading a bit too far south, but that is likely to change later on. We do as much easting as we can. It's actually really good sailing in about 12 knots of wind. Early afternoon a pod of dolphins come to play in the bow wave. They stay for quite a while taking turns swimming across the bow. Then they take a break but are back 15 minutes later. I wish I could see them underwater again. But we're going too fast and the sea is too rough and anyway, my thumb isn't ready for sea water yet.

John: There is the usual littany of small failures calling for repair (Casper left the water pump on running dry for an hour today, so that caused a scare!) but really this is remarkably pleasant, gliding along gently in light winds and almost in the right direction! Today we reached the devil's mark, 666 n.m. to go, and are now about 1/3 of the way to the Seychelles. Not bad at all! Casper, watching the dolphins play, suddenly remembers a dream he had in which the sea and time freezes over and becomes multi-flavoured ice cream. So he asks "Can we make ice cream?" But of course! So we set about making some coffee ice cream with a good strong expresso brew of Spinelli's finest beans, cream, milk, sugar and eggs. Fresh Mahi Mahi fish curry and rice for dinner, then a film. This is almost like being on holiday!

28 March

John: A good, long sleep last night, awaking to find the boat still at a reasonable angle to the wind and making even a little northing, which we now need if we are to stay in the equatorial counter-current. Caro makes a splendid lunch of smoked sailfish and avocado sandwiches, followed mid-afternoon by our home-made coffee ice-cream. What luxuries! The ice-cream is icy, rather than creamy, but what can you expect when you don't have a proper machine to stir it all the while it freezes?

29 March

Caro: The sea surface is strange today. There is hardly any swell, but the surface in areas is very rough. Maybe it's to do with the eastward current (the equatorial counter current) were in. Although when we're moving from a smooth patch into a rough patch I don't notice a change in our speed. Hmm, interesting! We're starting to feel we're getting a bit too far south and are worried we might lose this favourite current. When we run out of wind we start the engine and turn onto a more northerly heading. The kids pass the time by doing a few hours of school work, reading and playing on the computer.

30 March

Caro: We've run the engine all night and made good progress. In the morning there's just enough wind to quit the engine and sail again. But as the morning passes the wind slowly dies to a measly 3-4 knots and at lunch time we lose steerage alltogether. Meanwhile we're waging war on the bugs. We're all getting bitten by something invisible that leaves really itchy bumps. We don't have any mosquitos on board anymore. Is it fleas? We have also spotted tiny red ants on foraging duty. Not good news. These critters probably came on board with the shopping. Question is now how to get rid of them. We're getting bedding out to wash in chlorine water. Mattresses are out on deck baking in the sun. We're vacuuming everything, including sofa cushions and underneath cushions. Let's hope that helps. Just as we start the engine I spot a whale. We slowly motor towards it. It's not very big and has a very small dorsal fin. It breathes a few times and then dives down showing quite stubby flukes. It was a bit too far away to guess what type of whale it was. We hang around waiting for it to surface again, but no luck.

31 March

Caro: Motored all night long. This is quite good for progress, but not for getting good sleep. With the engine running I'm worried about not hearing the radar alarm in case it goes off. During the night John was reading in the cockpit in order to keep an eye on the sails when he was attempting to sail in a few knots of wind. Knowing he was out there I fell into a deep sleep. Some time later I woke up and heard the radar alarm. John was no longer in the cockpit and the genoa is furled up again. I got up to check the radar and found the little blob had already traversed half the radar screen. If we had been on a collision course it would already have sunk us! The alarm must have been beeping for at least 15 minutes without managing to wake me. We were lucky this time. But that's it. No more deep sleeps for me when the engine is on. Indeed later that night I woke at the first little beep when another ship barely touched the edge of the outer alarm ring. Still hardly any wind, but the promise of more later today. Late morning the sea around the boat suddenly comes alive with dolphins. There must be about a 100 of them, they're everywhere around. They're a very energetic bunch of common dolphins and they have time this morning to have a little play break with the boat. They come speeding in and taking turns swimming in front of the bow. They are sleek and healthy looking, I spot just one with a damaged dorsal fin. It's a lovely sight. John connects the bowcam and takes some great video showing numerous dolphins flitting back and forth. After a while they decide they have better things to do and disappear. Bit by bit the wind builds up coming from the stern. Just enough to put the sails up wing-on-wing. Finally we can turn the engine off and enjoy some quiet.

1 April

Caro: April Fool's day it certainly is. So far this passage we've had nothing but sunny weather with just a little bit of wind and not a drop of rain. We kind of got used to that. This morning was different. Sitting in the cockpit just after dawn I'm admiring the ominous dark threatening sky to our starboard. The radar is showing a big squall 7 miles off. It looks so impressive that I get the video camera out to film the sky. Back in the cockpit the radar is now full of squally blobs to our starboard and stern. Then in no-time these blobs merge into one big swarm surrounding us. Oh, oh. "JOHN, SQUALL!" We've got to get some sail in quickly. John was still sleeping and comes rushing on deck wearing his glasses. I see the first gust approaching at a ferocious speed and 2 milliseconds later we got 40 knots of wind. We still have all our sail up. Not good. First things that happens it that the boomvang (which holds the boom down) breaks, again. The mainsail is out all the way leaning against the spreaders. Nothing we can do with it now in this fury. We're trying to run directly downwind but it is nearly impossible to steer. This is bad. John gets about half the genoa furled up before the sheets tie themselves in knots around the forestay. This is really bad. All we can do now is run downwind as best we can until this squall has spent its fury. I'm scared. Any moment I expect to hear a big bang and see a sail blow itself to pieces, or a part of the rigging snap. Cats and kids are scared too. After a seemingly endless time, probably about an hour, the wind eases up and we can breath a little easier.

John: When Caro calls I'm on deck in double-quick time. Maybe it was something in her voice, but I sensed an urgency. No sooner am I on deck and looking around at the situation than the wnd pours on and it's already too late to reduce sail; we're fighting for control. The boom vang goes first, then the Genoa reefing winch fouls up and then the Genoa sheets tangle. We're stuck with half the Genoa out and uncontrollable, the main pressed against the shrouds. On deck, I am buffeted by thewind so badly it's difficult to move about the deck and work on the Genoa reefing line. I'm guessing 40 knots wind with 50 knot gusts. With both hands wrestling the steering wheel over to hard a'starb'd she still only just comes round in the brief lulls. Once we have the wind directly astern it proves impossible to hold her there for more than a few tens of seconds without risking a violent and catastrophic uncontrolled gybe; she barrels round to port and lays hard over on her side with almost no way on to give me just a pittance of steerage again. I struggle witht the steering until my forearms burn. Caro isn't strong enough to take over, and no-one else is up to taming the Genoa. We get the staysail out, and this helps balance the boat a little. Then it starts to feel like the violent steering and continual pressure-relief valve operation on the steering is aerating hte fluid; the steering is starting to get 'spongey' without steeriage, we are sevely vulnerable. we are reduced to waiting it out, hoping it lets up before something big snaps. Eventually it does. Dmage report shows another broken stantion. This is a 1" stainless steel tube beaten to breaking point by the flogging Genoa sheet, just imagine the forces and what would happen if you got your head or limb in the way of that! Another stantion has been ripped out of the rail. We are badly shaken, mostly (on my part) by the realisation that our systems are so frail, so quick to break down when under stress, leaving us unseaworthy in an instant.

2 April

John: My fore-arms ache like I worked out too long at the gym yesterday. As we near the shelf break the wind dies to the point of desperation; so we turn the engine on. Soon after, the depth rockets up from an open-ocean 3000+m to 60m and we get a strike on the starboard lure. Halfway in the fish frees itself from the lure, but it is undamaged and we get the gear back in the water as soon as we can, hoping for more strikes. Sure enough, within the hour we have not just one but TWO beautiful yellowfin tuna aboard, the very best catch (in my opinion) for sushi and sashimi. The colours and vibrant life of these fish are stunning as they come up alongside and it seems brutal to gaff them aboard, spearing their sides with the big hook then opening up their rich bloodlines to have them bleed out (or the flesh will turn bitter). Big, shining eyes stare at me as I insert the knife. The deepest blue/black colouring on their upper sides gives way to spectacular rainbow yellows, greens, blues on the side of the fish, where stark dagger-like pectoral fins jut out from a firm, muscular body shaped like an elliptic torpedo. Casper cleans and fillets the second fish, approximately copying my procedure for the first. Now on the shallows of the reef flat, a good-sized barracuda hooks up, but Caro is not interested, it might just have ciguaterra. We bring it on board without a gaff and I eventually release the lure with a wet towel over his eyes and body to hold him down and gloved hand with pliers. Hey, I'm not a wimp! These guys have sharp teeth! Once free, I drop him back in the sea, hoping he makes it. Sunset is spectacular. Dinner consists of a mountain of sashimi with a salad of raw sliced carrots and green peppers.

3 April

Caro: What a glorious dawn. The sky is very clear and full of fluffy clouds as the sun rises between two shapely Seychelles islands 30 miles in the distance. Lovely to see the land, to be almost there.

John: The moon rises through the patchy clouds looking like a distant forest fire around 04:00, then bursts bright and clinically white into the clear sky above. Later, the steep granite mountains of Mahé and Silhouette Islands are a spectacular sight in the clear morning sun. Reminds us of landfall at the Marquesas in the South Pacific. Still, it seems to take forever to get any closer! We start the engine to increase our speed from about 3 knots under mainsail alone to 5 under mainsail and engine at low revs. This way we can enter the outer harbour in daylight. Caro and I take showers, and I give myself a shave (the first in a long, long time) to spruce up in anticipation of meeting civilisation again. Even so, it's Sunday and we won't be getting officials on board to clear in until tomorrow morning. The kids are excited, too. there will be much to do (as always) and very little time in the Seychelles, especially if they charge us US$20/day to have the boat in the country and the initial permit is only for two weeks!