Reunion’s customs had cleared us at the Marina at eight in the morning. Two guys, Steve asked if he could take their picture, as he had never seen customs officers like them. And that request was denied. Both were in their twenties, that’s a guess, of course, the black guy in shorts, the white guy in cut-off jeans, I didn’t know people still wear those, T-shirts and flip flops completed the uniform. Maybe they were undercover, and we were part of a sting operation. Not likely. The whole visit lasted the better part of a minute and a half. Passports stamped and exit permit in hand.
You’d think we leave now, but no. I’m still surprised that after being cleared, you actually, in most places, start the clock on your departure. I think in Rodrigues, we had until sunset. In other places, it’s four hours. I don’t know Réunion’s limit, but after clearing, we went to the market, took the boat to the fuel dock, and did not sail out of the harbor until just after two in the afternoon.
The infamous stretch of water ahead of us. About 1400 nm of potentially pure misery. It is cyclone season, and on average, between five to nine annually, affects the waters around Madagascar and Réunion. But I think we’re looking good on that one. No cyclones have been reported as far as we know or are in developing stages.
Five times a year, on average, Revolving Topical Storms (RTS) form in the Mozambique Channel between Madagascar and the African continent. These are not classified as cyclones but still sustain wind speeds of 50+ knots. That’s an awful lot. They move down the channel in very erratic patterns and then often tend to hit the most southern tip of the coast of Madagascar.
We’re looking pretty good weather-wise for the first four or five days. Beyond that not a clue. Downloadable GRIB files, model forecasts give, at best, information up until seven days in advance. But how trustworthy is that info for days six and seven? These 1400 nm will take us at least eleven days to complete, so we set out without information on what is occurring along the African coast. The crux of the matter is no information and two significant weather factors affecting our voyage. The cyclones slash storms factor, and then there is the Agulhas current. As the name implies, it is a current, a very strong one, that starts in the Mozambique Channel, along the coast of Mozambique and flows southward all the way to Cape Agulhas, Africa’s, and of course, South Africa’s, most southern cape. This current can be a sailor’s delight under favorable weather conditions, increasing sailing speed by four to five knots, but when it locks horns with a southwest depression, often running up the coast two to three days apart, the resulting waves become very short and steep creating nasty conditions for anyone out on the water. Climbing waves as high as 20 meters, rare, extreme, and lethal, is something I’d rather stay away from.
Entering the picture, with appropriate drumroll, is Des Cason. Des is a retired ocean sailor living in Durban, South Africa. He has an incredible knowledge of the Indian Ocean and the Mozambique Channel, and he can read GRIB files like no other. Steve’s wife Judy had approached him some time ago and requested his assistance planning our voyage if he would be so kind.
Using trip planners is not uncommon. Often they are retired meteorologists and well worth their modest fees. On a previous trip, New Zealand to Seattle, we used one for the first portion from New Zealand to Tahiti. The captain, Dan, gave him info on when he wanted to leave and where he wanted to go. The planner then comes back with weather windows of opportunity and the most favorable routing. This might end the arrangement, or they provide you with ongoing advice.
Now Des isn’t a professional, and this guiding has become one of his hobbies after the passing of his wife, with whom he sailed over 40,000 miles in 13 years. He has guided over 500 yachties to Africa, some from as far as Panama, and we’re going to be number 94 for 2022.
Every morning we have to send him our position and speed at 03:00 UTC (Greenwich time is now called UTC). A few hours later, we get an email back with details on conditions to be expected, perhaps a comment about the required boat speed or heading. I do believe Des has a little more info at his fingertips than I have with my downloaded GRIB files. Still, the big difference is his superior skills in reading, interpreting, and understanding the files. I’m learning at a frantic speed, and my skills so far have been adequate, but it’s sure wonderful to have a guy like Des in your corner on a passage like this. And he does it for free.
Day 1. Wednesday, December 7. We left Réunion in the early afternoon, and right outside the harbor, the slight wind that was there died an untimely death. The weather forecast showed wind about six miles away. There was actually a banner of no wind around the whole island. Landmasses often play tricks on mariners. Sure enough, we found our wind after an hour of motoring. However, it had paired up with some really nasty waves. Moderate size waves, nothing out of the ordinary, maybe a little steeper than usual, but nothing special. What made them nasty was the lack of order and predictability. They were all over the place rocking Code Blue simultaneously in all directions, at least, it felt that way.
For dinner, I made a salad. Cutting board on the kitchen counter and salad bowl in the sink, bracing myself with knees, feet, and elbows, cutting vegetables, and hoping the chopped pieces would roll from the cutting board into the bowl. Most did. And that was it. I did not intend to set a pot on the stove, no matter that the stove is gimballed, swings freely from port to starboard, and has clamps to go with it to fasten the pots. That doesn’t prevent the lids from popping up or liquid sloshing over.
The wind was alright all night, and the sea eventually settled down.
Days 2 and 3 were beautiful. With good winds, we had the repaired pole out again, sailing along at around six knots. Des emailed us daily with little or no news on developing fronts. All clear sailing in the near future, so far.
Day 4, December 10. No news from us and no news on any storm brewing. ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’.
Day 5, December 11. We are getting close to the 27th latitude. It is as far south as we want to go for the moment. We are turning due west from there, keeping the bottom of Madagascar on our starboard by about 100 nm. The idea is to stay that course for about 700 nm and then turn south, taking advantage of the Agulhas current, sailing smoothly into Richards Bay.
Email from Des:
The GRIBs show an intense trough of low pressure developing at R Bay
on Sat 17\12 with N\NNE 20 to the north of it and SW25 coming up from the south. The system may slow down or speed up or collapse completely but would suggest you try to maintain SOG 6 min for the next 6 days. If you arrive too early you can always slow down but tough to find extra speed if the conditions are against you. Would recommend you stay above 27S until you hit the current at 34-35E.
What Des is saying keep the speedometer above six knots, and you have ample time to make it into Richards Bay before that potential front hits. Right now, keeping that speed up is not a problem. We have the gib poled out and reduced in size to not much more than an oversized beach towel. The main is completely rolled up, and we are still doing 7 to 8 knots. The waves are big, and our automatic steering system can’t really handle the movements. It is turned on, but every so often, a wave comes along and pushes the stern completely sideways. Instead of facing west, all of a sudden, you’re looking north. Overpowering the steering system makes the automatic pilot jump out of gear, going into standby mode. One of us has to grab the wheel and muscle the boat back onto course, and when done, re-engage the automatic pilot. The next perfectly timed wave will move the stern sideways again, perhaps only seconds or minutes later, and the process repeats.
The wind is coming directly from behind, which sounds great, but really it isn’t. It’s best to have the wind on the beam at a 90-degree angle, perpendicular to the side of the boat. If the wind comes a little bit from the left behind us, the sail wants to be on the right. A slight push from a wave, and all of a sudden, the wind comes a little bit from the right. Now the sail wants to be on the left. Spontaneous, unintended gibing can do a lot of damage. We have our genoa poled out, so it can’t go to the other side, but it still wants to do so, resulting in a lot of shaking and flapping. Potentially very damaging.
At one point in the night, I heard an unfamiliar noise, and right now, for the life of it, I cannot remember what that sound was, but it wasn’t good. I shine a flashlight onto the foredeck and notice the pole out of position and a lot of flapping activity from the genoa. We are rocking, and we are pitching. I can barely hear myself over the noise of the ocean. I call Steve, and we both don our PFD’s (life jackets) and tethers and make our way forward. We managed to store the pole and roll up the genoa. Both sheets (lines) had broken off the sail. The one that leads to the left side of the boat holds the genoa when it bellows out on port side. And the one to the right side when it bellows out on starboard side. The force necessary to break that has to be huge, unbelievable. I was truly taken aback. In hindsight, lesson learned, we still had too much sail up.
Day 6. We did a proper assessment of the damage at first daylight, and indeed it was just the two sheets that had broken. We had worried that the ring in the sail, to which the sheets
are attached, had been ripped out too, but not so. An hour later, after some difficult balancing on a very choppy sea and some screaming back and forward over the noise of the ocean, we had attached the sheets to the genoa again. We killed the engine and were sailing once again.
Des later re-confirms the brewing storm near Richards Bay and again tells us we have to move at a minimum of six knots to make it safely into the harbor on time. Obviously, the closer we get, the more accurate the predicting models and the weather forecasting are.
We have now completely cleared Madagascar on our starboard, and nothing but open sea between us and the African continent.
Day 7. All is well, and we’re moving at a good speed. I’m back to reading my Kindle countless hours a day while consuming copious amounts of coffee. Steve doesn’t drink coffee, but at least had the decency to keep a very nice, insulated French press on board, of which I’m making very good use. I just started Hemingway’s Islands in the Stream. Again! I’ve read it a few times. Unfortunately, my Kindle has trouble charging, and I lent my spare one, yes, I carry a spare Kindle, learned it the hard way, to the captain under the sole condition that if something happens to my primary one, I need it back. And I’m not sure he’s going to give it up.
Day 8. Oh boy, the wind is diminishing. We’re not staying in our above six knots parameter. Des, once again, stressed that we have to make it to Richards Bay before 08:00 UTC on Saturday. That’s 10:00 South Africa time and noon for us, as we’re still on Mauritius time. Why? Just to complicate matters.
Late afternoon we hit a squall. We tried to get around it but didn’t quite make it. Rain, thunder, lightning, a lot of lightning actually lit up the sky all through the night. That squall also marked the end of winds. We started the motor and managed five and a half knots the rest of the night. We must have had a current against us. However, five and a half isn’t good enough.
Day 9. Thursday, December 15. It is a beautiful day. Easy seas, sun tanning weather, but no wind. We are running the engine all day, making about six and a quarter knots. We’re still on schedule, but that schedule can change with an email from Des. Watching these calm seas and beautiful sunshine, it is hard to believe that a major event is brewing less than two days away.
Des says we have three options. One, make it to Richards Bay on time. Two, turn and run for Inhaca island, Mozambique. Three, go south and stay at sea at a respectable distance from the storm and wait. Right now, we think we can make it to Richards Bay on time and continue to stay on course. Tomorrow will be the deciding day. I hope our weather window will open up a bit, but hoping is not a strategy.
Day 10. Last night I woke up at a quarter to eleven on the floor. Apparently, we were given a little wind, not much, but enough for Steve to raise the sails. And enough for the boat to slightly heel to starboard and enough for me to literally roll out of bed. I had not put up my lee cloth, that piece of canvas attached to the bunk and walls, meant to prevent precisely that event from happening. I lay there and inwardly just laughed. I feel I’ve been taken through the wringer this last week. I can just see one of those old fashion laundry devices with me going through it, forward, backward, sideways, and upside down. I can feel every single bone, and I can feel every single muscle in my body. I’m black and blue from hitting, bracing, banging into, and falling, and now I have fallen out of bed.
That little wind wasn’t sufficient to sail the boat, so we motor sailed. It’s sailing with the engine running, but at a lower rpm, enough to make those six knots. At three this morning, I took the sails down as they were just limply hanging there. And that front is now less than 24 hours away, hard to believe. I don’t enjoy this motoring, and having to move with an attached deadline is not my idea of freely roaming the oceans. But no complaining. Since we left Réunion, the first three days were mostly pleasant. The following four had, to say the least, intense, thrilling moments. So far, the last three have been somewhat ‘blah,’ but this day ain’t over yet.
At three in the afternoon, we had enough wind to cut the engine and managed to do six knots on wind power alone. Actually much better than that, up to seven and seven and a half. We hit the eight-knot mark by eight in the evening, now only 56 nm to go until safe haven. Looking around at sky and sea, them looking so benign in the last sun rays of the day, with an occasional whitecap here and there. But I know what’s coming. I won’t be fooled, although I can’t see any of it yet.
Almost midnight, and we’re sailing on the genoa only, reduced three times now, at only 50 percent of its size. We are still doing well above seven knots. No thunder that I’m aware of, but a lot of lightning all around us.
In an email this evening, Des welcomed us to South Africa, or as he calls it, gangster land. He warns us against all sorts of rip-off activities in the harbors and marinas. If you want anything stolen, just leave it on deck. And don’t pay for anything upfront.
Day 11. Saturday, December 17. 03:13 local time. All tied up in Richards Bay.
