Since we reached South Africa on the 17th of December, yes it has been that long, all sailing since has been a few days here, a few days there. All coastal cruising, no passages.
Setting out from Walvis Bay last Sunday was to change that. The 1250 nm from there to St Helena, the island probably best known for Napoleon’s place of exile, is going to count as a proper blue water passage.
Immigration and customs had been very fast and easy. Perhaps the only hiccup in the process, customs wasn’t actually in the building with the big attached sign that said ‘customs’. That would be too easy. Customs was a block down the road in a non-descriptive building and without a sign.
We checked out Friday morning and left Sunday at noon. I still struggle with the rationale of that, but all countries, so far, let us do that.
We didn’t expect much wind on the first day out, but to our surprise, there was quite a breeze after we had cleared the harbor and were away from land. Too much of a breeze really as we were rocking and rolling for the first two days out.
I’ve said it before, it is not so much the wind that troubles us, it’s what it does to the waves, and it created some big ones. We had to change course a few times by a few degrees as the waves were hammering us right on the beam. (we were sailing perpendicular to the waves.)
The problem we had was that we couldn’t change course all that much because of potentially accidental jibing, the sail going from one side of the boat, with great force, to the other side, which could do severe damage. It really is a balancing act of many factors. Not in the least trying to put the least strain possible on the boat. No matter how sturdy a vessel is, excessive pounding will eventually lead to breakages.
I was asleep in my bunk when we got hit by a truck. Not really, but it felt that way. It was a wave. A tremendous bang, just beside my head, and instantly we started healing over. We heal over a lot, but this time we went way beyond the normal point of return. I’m holding on and waiting for it, while I hear objects flying in the main cabin and boxes of wine starting to rain down from the storage bunk above me.
After Windsong righted herself, Ken calls out to see if everyone is alright. Maaike, who is on watch, is okay, I’m okay and we straighten out the cabin as much as we can. Books back on the shelves, broken dishes overboard, and all that has shifted back in its place.
I took over the watch and for a while, Ken and I spent some time talking in the cockpit. I sit on the starboard side, and although it is dark, I can see the waves coming that pick us up and drop us down.
Ken is just getting up to go downstairs and get some sleep. He picked up his empty tea mug and all of a sudden I see this breaker coming toward us out of the dark. “Hold on!” I yell, and instantly we get completely doused with a massive amount of salt water. There is a waterfall running down the stairs and we’re ankle-deep in water in the cockpit, which, of course, is self-draining.
Cleanup in Isle 7. We do the best we can for the moment. Tomorrow anything that was hit by salt water needs to be wiped down. Salt is so destructive.
After that wave, everything quieted down considerably. And all through the night, the weather improved. We should have easy sailing all the way from now on to St Helena. Ken calls it ‘champagne sailing’, speed of about six knots, the wind coming from behind, and the sea relatively calm.
Back to my bunk for hopefully a few more hours of rest, sleep is not likely to come quickly after all that excitement. Before I lay down I notice my claw marks on the mattress from holding on a few hours ago.
There haven’t been much of beautiful sunsets so far, but I did see a beautiful moon rise the other evening at a quarter to nine. I was early for my nine o’clock watch. There were clouds on the horizon, and the moon peaked through these on the way up, right behind the boat. Then all of a sudden the moon rose above this banner of clouds and lit a path to the boat, and a path ahead of us. Very spectacular.
On my next watch, a quarter after six in the morning, the sun rose in that very same spot. Not as spectacular, but seeing the sunrise, first thing in the morning, always makes for a great start of the day.
And it is getting warmer. Sitting in the cockpit in all my foul weather gear at night is a thing of the past. Famous last words. But the winds have warmed up just from three days ago. I now wear my Lululemon Merino wool sweater at night, a Christmas present from my daughter MJ. We are mostly going west, but after St Helena, our course will be almost due north to the equator.
St Paddy’s day coming up, a week from now. Ken wants to be in St Helena for the celebration. He holds an Irish passport, although expired, besides a UK one, and has been practicing Irish drinking songs for the last few days, something about drinking buttermilk during the week and whisky on Sundays.
We probably get to St Helena Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday, well ahead of St Paddy’s Day on the 17th. Looking forward to it.