This photo is the screen saver on my computer. I look at it every day, probably 20 times, or more. It still compels me.
What is the story behind this photo?
I took it on the way down the Africa Coast. It was just a two day run; Durban to Port Elizabeth.
Should be easy but we knew there was a southerly coming, the forecast said so. They said it was going to be 10 to 20 knots out of the south, but for only half a day, and then the northerly would fill. We felt we could handle that and we needed to get south, so we left.
But the southerly hit harder than predicted; 25 to 30 knots and more. And after half a day it was still blowing solidly.This was not what the forecast said.
Still, it wasn’t so bad. After all, this was Wings’ weather, we could beat into 25 knots. And the waves, while big, were manageable. We kept on.
And I took the photo.
But in the back of my mind there was the Agulhas Current to think about. In a southerly the Agulhas Current runs against the wind and the waves can mean trouble; they can get big. This was what had been spooking us about the African coast for a couple of years: rogue waves, ship killers, it gave Judy nightmares as far back as Thailand. Now it could be happening to us. I couldn’t chance it.
We tuned into the weather service. They warned of “abnormal” waves.
That did it, we hadn't seen any "abnormal waves" but it only would take one. Now it was time to be scared.
Next piece of wisdom: When the wind runs against the current, get inshore. We eased sheets and headed for the beach.
About two miles off the coast we got out of the current. It was still rough but the danger of wind against current was over.
We turned back to the south.
In a few hours the wind switched and we got our northerly.
And we breathed a big sigh of relief.
So what do I see when I look at this photo? I see the bow headed for the sky as we climb over the next big wave which looks like a mountain peak off to starboard. I see the #4 jib, close hauled, filled and pulling and a reefed main. I see seven turns on the primary winch and a double handle silhouetted against the spray and foam, standing ready.
I see the sea, the boat and the sky. I see big power, big waves, and big danger. I see all of this and I remember. And I remember that we got through it and that is what counts.
Wings departs Africa today bound for Saint Helena Island in the middle of the South Atlantic.
We expect to weigh and set sail at 14:00 and the wind, though light, should be adequate to get us out of Walvis Bay and out of Africa.
Hopefully we’ll reach the SE trades, which are in the forecast but otherwise nowhere to be seen, before the day's sea breeze dies out.
The fuel and water have been topped, the provisions refreshed, and the boat is in good shape except for the water maker and outside stereo speakers. No worry mate, she’ll be right.
It has been a good year in Africa, one which we would have been sad to have missed.
We’ll post the blog when we can.
Fred & Judy (and Randy and Laura), SV Wings, Walvis Bay, Namibia
Maybe it is something to do with the weather which has me down. It has been cold and cloudy here in Walvis Bay since we arrived. Cold? How can that be in Africa at 22 degrees latitude in the middle of summer?
Well, it is. There is a cold current coming up the coast and it brings cold air with it, and fog.
So, we have fetched up in an altogether dreary place, in my opinion, although our new friend here, Arri, said, "If you get sand in your shoes here, you will always come back”. If there is charm here it must be the people, they are wonderful. But the town is is flat, industrial, cool, windy, dusty; you name it.
But on the positive side, people here are very friendly, all of them, the yacht club is quite nice, we’ve found what we needed for the boat (not much, just a new computer!), and we’ll be able to get water and fuel and the other provisions we need for the crossing to Brazil. But boat parts? Impossible. Good thing we don’t need any. And right now I do have sand in my shoes but I find it hard to believe that I’ll always come back, as Arri said I would.
Right. Get me to someplace warm.
We leave Friday or Saturday for Saint Helena and Brazil.
Fred & Judy, (and Randy and Laura), SV Wings, Walvis Bay, Namibia
We rented a car on Wednesday and headed out. On Thursday morning we drove across the Namib Desert and for half a day and we encountered only two other cars.
That afternoon we saw four more cars and at the check point they said that they were having a busy day.
But we are glad to be here; the sights in the desert are amazing. On Wednesday we visited a ghost town where diamonds were mined for 50 years. We saw a herd of wild horses. We stayed the night at a roadhouse in the desert with good food and old cars, mostly American ones.
On Thursday we drove to a huge canyon, the Fish River Canyon, which is said to be second in size to only the Grand Canyon and we were only one of three cars (and a couple of motorcycles) there. We drove along the edge of the south rim for two hours. There were no guard rails and no guards. We could have driven off and no one would have known.
We drove though mountains which border the Namib and then along the Orange River which flows from South Africa to the ocean along the border between the countries.
On the way home we drove through a sand storm.
We were glad for the reliability and air conditioning of our rented ford truck.
And we were glad to get back to Wings anchored in Ludertiz Harbor.
You couldn’t tell it from the photos I posted but the bay at Luderitz is pretty windy. In fact the world record for speed sailing was recently set here.
Randy found out when he tried to take the dingy to shore in a near gale of wind. Only a few yards from the boat a gust of wind picked him up and blew both he and the dingy upside down. That’s when we also found out how cold the water was. He nearly froze to death and that is not an exaggeration.
I was on board Wings and I heard his shout and ran on deck to see him swimming alongside the white bottom of the upside-down dingy. From his gasps I knew the water was cold. In fact hypothermia was a danger. This was a serious situation.
I urged Randy to swim towards the boat and he urged me to start the engine and move the boat closer. We did both and soon he was back on board. That was a close call and we were lucky.
But in the end no harm was done and we learned a lesson. No boating in gales of wind without a second person’s weight to hold the dingy down to the water.
Fred & Judy (and Randy and Laura) SV Wings, Ludertiz, Namibia
On an otherwise nice day a Tsunami of cold air suddenly crashes over Table Mountain and pours down into Cape Town.
Sea gulls take shelter on the lee of our transom.
An afternoon Sou’Easter is coming and the masts soon catch the blast and the yachts begin a mad dance like they’re all on ecstasy and they’ll be up all night while we huddle in our cabin and listen to the howl.
It is just another normal summer day in Cape Town: sunny and warm at lunchtime when we washed the car in the parking lot. Then we saw the white cloud form over the mountain and the wind turned to the south and we wondered if there was any punch in it but Jim Burwick said if it turns black it’ll blow 40 knots and while we thought that was just talk, some sailor braggadocio meant to scare us Cape Town newbies, it did turn black and it blew like hell and by 21:00 it was over 38kts and the gusts were getting stronger.
So he was right.
But cape sailors shrug it off; they’re strong down here, have to be, boats were coming and going all day.
Not us; we check the dock lines and stay put.
Table Mountain is a rock in the stream for air blowing from either direction. In a SE wind it bangs into the Twelve Apostles and flies over the top before crashing down into Cape Town. A few days ago however we found ourselves on the West side, over by the Twelve Apostles, and on that day a NW wind blew and the cloud came over in the opposite direction and came down onto us on the coast highway by Clifton. In the late afternoon sun it was gorgeous and when it got cool we just climbed into the car and switched on the heater.
Like a few other places in the world, Auckland, Hobart, and Patagonia, for example, when you are on a point of land sticking down into the Southern Ocean, the air masses will take their measure of you, they really do, and we are reminded of what insignificant specs on this planet we really are.
But we could be at sea in this stuff. That would be worse.
Click here to see some boat work photos (Rope splicing and Stove Repair)
Fred & Judy, SV Wings, Cape Town
UPDATE!
It's the next night. The neighbor's wind generator sounds like it is self destructing, the howl is louder than ever, the instruments say over 49 knots of wind, and Wings is jumping around at the dock like a bronco on a short leash.
This is in the marina?
We wonder if this is a normal thing for Cape Town; the locals don't seem to be taking any notice. Maybe this is typical. If so, we're impressed.
It was a midnight kiss, lots of fireworks which we could hear but not see, and the sound of big ships horns blasting that brought in the new year aboard Wings. We didn't go out, maybe too pooped from the boat projects we'd been working on all day, but we had a good celebration anyhow.
Last year has been great and we are expecting another one just as great.
In a few weeks we will set out to explore the SW African coastline as far north as Namibia, where we are looking forward to a trip ashore to see the Namib desert, then we'll angle off to cross the Atlantic Ocean to Brazil with stops at St Helena and maybe Ascension Island on the way. It will be a big trip but we are up for it. Randy and Laura are coming with us and they should arrive in about 10 days. We are looking forward to seeing them and sailing with them too.
Here in Cape Town we have very glad to be in our snug marina berth at Royal Cape Yacht Club because it has been blowing nearly every day, often over 35kts and a few times over 40 in the marina. Outside I have no idea but we glad we were not out there sailing. However, we've been watching the local boats go out and we've decided that if they can do it we can too. At least we could go downwind in this stuff, and farther north it should get lighter.
(Sometimes the local boats which go out can't come back in it's blowing so hard. They have to tie off the end of the dock and wait for a lull before trying to get back into their berths. This place blows!)
It has been blowing just as hard south of here in False Bay at Simonstown where most of the cruisers go. We visited Jim and Carol on Nepenthe there and not only was it windy but the boats were jumping around in a way which brought back memories of other ports in South Africa we've been to where you have to hold on even down below to keep from falling over.
A side trip we took included Hout Bay and the bird park there World of Birds.
Four days ago we were anchored at Cape Agulhas and it was blowing forty knots and we could hardly stand up in the boat it was pitching and rolling so badly.
A few days before that we were in the port of Mossel Bay in 35 knots of wind and we were being slammed up against the wall and knocked down so badly fenders were exploding.
Now we are in the marina at Royal Cape Yacht Club in Cape Town, its blowing forty knots again and it's nothing. We are just so very damn glad to be here. There is no pitching, no violent rolling, no jerking and no shrieking dock lines. Judy looked outside and instead of breakers she sees ripples.
Forty knots? Bring it on. We’re in Cape Town.
Click here to meet our new/old friends in Cape Town
A low pressure system is keeping us hunkered down in the lee of Cape Agulhas at the most southern point of the African continent. For a few days the cold wind from the low cell, one of many that spawn in the roaring 40's and spin past Africa, has been howling over the cape and there is enough fetch where we have taken what little shelter the peninsula affords so that even here Wings pitches and rolls.
Outside it is worse; we can see the waves boiling by and crashing on the reef and they refract around and roll into the shore near our anchorage, the wind blowing their tops off like long grey beards. We've set the storm anchor and we seem to be holding but the snubber line shows signs of wear and we've put on chafing gear. We go on deck to check and adjust the gear and the thirty five knots of wind threatens to blow us off the boat. Walking forward is an adventure. We had a peak of 45 knots yesterday. That's more than enough.
Down below we are out of the wind but listening to the howling sound is tiring.
Our main occupation here is watching the weather. We need a break in the westerlies to get around Cape Agulhas and Cape of Good Hope, 80 miles to the west. The low out there should to move east and there could be a day or two before the next one sweeps in. We'll make a run for it when that break occurs, if it does. The weather is fickle. What looks like a window one day often evaporates by the next and on the weather maps we see the lows out there circling eastward one after the other; they look like monsters waiting to pounce. Sailing in the gap between them is like dashing across a freeway between trucks.
Other boats, also waiting in dubious shelters along this coast, are in similar circumstances including our friends on Nepenthe stuck in Port Elizabeth where the conditions are as bad as here, or worse. One boat, Sonia Azul, left Mossel Bay a few hours behind us in the last break but failed to make it here before the westerlies came back. Tuesday night they were battling to get around Struis Point a few miles east of here, and not making it sailing, when their engine failed and they called for help. A helicopter flew over and checked us out to see if it was us and on the VHF we told them. "No, we're fine, it's another boat farther east." They flew on. Later that night a rescue boat towed Sonjia Azul into the bay where we are and anchored them near us. At least there was a rescue boat. Sonjia Azul is still here and again waiting, like us, for the next window.
And a cormorant, blown down wind and unable to make it back to shore, landed on our deck and sheltered for a while. We hoped he'd stay until the wind quit but he didn't and we watched him try and fail again, then fall into the sea.
We've heard that Simon's Town is a great little town and an excellent place to stop before rounding Cape of Good Hope, but right now all we want to do is get this whole coast behind us.
We want to get to Cape Town and forget the southern tip of Africa.
We just anchored in a large bay within sight of Cape Alguhas, Africa's southernmost point, intending to sit out a three day blow which is supposed to be coming.
We think this bay will shield us from the westerly wind but right now the SE swell rolls in pretty good. It might not be the most fun place to be but probably better than the alternative of sailing around Cape of Good Hope in a westerly gale and anyhow, tomorrow the swell is supposed to come from the west.
The holding isn't so great either. With all the sand dunes on shore you'd think there would be some sand below our keel but the chain is rumbling on rocks already.
And the Internet here is slow.
On those happy notes I guess I should say that the trip here was fine. Wings sailed well and even though we were beating for about half of the way it was easy sailing, if not fast. Later we got a good shift and we eased sheets and reached towards this bay, our destination. We motored for the last bit after the wind died as projected and we arrived here right on schedule. Sometimes you get lucky.
Now let's get some breakfast.
BTW, The Volvo boats are somewhere near here working eastward, waiting for the same westerly we're sheltering from, but for them it will be good sailing and I don't expect to see any of them dropping anchor with us. We're watching the AIS to see if we can spot them as they go by.
We crawled over the rough gravel road for hours, climbing higher and higher, and wondered if we get across before dark, and that was only the first pass. The second one took us through a narrow gorge and the afternoon shadows had us into darkness.
But at 6:00 PM we came out onto R62, a long straight road through the dry rolling hills on the other side of the mountians and we let the merc stretch its legs.
Getting back to Mossel Bay before dark was easy with that car.
Mossel Bay is a fishing port, as are most of the ports on this coast, filled with rugged seagoing vessels and working boats which come and go on a daily basis. There is little provision for cruising yachts and we were lucky to find a place to tie up. In fact the port’s first response was to turn us away.
“You must anchor outside the port,” we were told by the voice on the radio. It was ungodly rough outside, exposed to the fury of the Southern Ocean, and we knew that anchoring outside would not be pleasant, probably not even safe, in the open anchorage on a lee shore and with poor holding.
There would certainly be no respite from the rough ocean or rest for us there.
I looked at the port control building and the row of blank windows and I was angry at the faceless men inside who would send us back out into the ocean. It was clear they just wanted us to go away, and any trials we might face after leaving was our concern, not theirs. At that moment I did not have a warm place in my heart for Mossel Bay.
But then they relented and we were allowed to stay within the port and come alongside the fishing jetty. Not a great berth with its high concrete wall and relentless surge but we were thankful for it.
We remained on that wall for a week and then we were able to move to the marina, where we are now, and today the wind still howls and the rain pours down but we are snug and safe.
Despite the days of bad weather and the tight conditions in the port we have come to like Mossel Bay with its clean air and clear water with the sea gulls wheeling overhead and the sea lions cavorting in the port. The salt air smells good. This is an honest, working man’s, port and the town on the hillside behind the harbor is charming with its old buildings and quiet streets and on a sunny day, and we have had several, Mossel Bay is beautiful. Even the harbormaster, who spoke sternly to us on the radio that first day, has turned out to be an OK guy.
When I talked with him about the rigors of sailing this coast and the need here for more yachts to be able to find shelter he said he would always find a place to accommodate yachts in bad weather but it was tough with the numbers of fishing boats and other commercial ships here. OK, fair enough; at least he is trying. We shook hands.
Now that we have a marina berth and wheels, (we brought the car down from Port Elizabeth yesterday) we can stay here for a couple more weeks and enjoy the nearby area before sailing on to Cape Town.
Knysna looked as beautiful as its reputation led us to expect: a blue lagoon surrounded by rolling green pastoral hills and mountains behind. The entrance looked a bit different though: white water all the way across.
Knysna is a river entrance with a narrow gap in the rocks called "The Heads" which is, apparently, impassable at times. This was one of those times.
There is a web cam (http://www.theheads.co.za/) with still shots every 30 minutes. We had internet coverage and we looked at the web cam shot. It showed a big wave just outside, coming in, looking like it was about to break.
I called the Sea Rescue Group and talked to Graham. He said it was flat at the moment but some big sets were coming periodically. We chatted a bit as we both watched the water, he from inside, us from outside. He asked me what our best speed was.
"Seven knots." I said.
"These waves come in at 20." replied Grraham.
Then there was a momentary gap in the conversation. I knew we were both watching the same big comber come in, 3 meters high or more, breaking all the way across the entrance and the wind was blowing the top off the wave. It looked like Sumatra surf to me.
"If you get hit by one like that we'll be picking up the pieces." Graham said.
"Thanks Graham, see you next time."
We diverted to Mossel Bay.
Click here for another shot and see a whale jumping.
Today we are securing the boat to go to sea; we're leaving Port Elizabeth with the tide in the morning bound for Knysna.
We've been here a week, give or take, since we were gone for a few days, but the boat was here. Anyhow, we've enjoed our stay and we like Port Elizabeth. It is, as the locals say, "The Friendly City", to which we concur. They also say it is "The Windy City", with which we also concur.
The central district is historic, filled with old buildings, some in disrepair, others undergoing refurbishment, and some already restored. We walked around quite a bit, and although I didn't feel like carting the big Nikon all over, I did get some photos with my Samsung phone.
Our red Merc thundered down the mountain at 145km with the silver VW right on our tail. Out of the Great Karoo we came, headed for the coast, and we could smell the barn, Port Elizabeth, where Wings was moored just four hundred klicks to the South, and we pressed on to make it by dinner time.
We’d flown back to Durban to pick up the car and after a wonderful curry dinner with the warm friends from Nepenthe and Windancer Thursday night we headed out Friday morning, climbing NW out of Durban up onto the Central Plateau of South Africa.
Up here on the High Veld the road flies straight and true and we watched out the car’s windows as mile after mile of low hills and waving grass reminding us of Eastern Washington or Nebraska, or Iowa, rolled by and we easily maintained a high speed and cut the huge arc around Lesotho and through the Free State towards Bloemfontein, arriving by late afternoon.
A hotel, called the City Lodge, and a steak dinner at the Mexican Restaurant which has no Mexican food but does have excellent beef, and we slept well after our drive. Saturday morning found us up at dawn and atop the local viewpoint, Naval Hill, at sunrise, surrounded by religious Afrikaners standing on the rock wall holding bibles or replicas of Gabriel’s horn shouting at God over Bloemfontein’s rooftops in a language which sounded a lot like Hebrew to me but I guess it wasn’t.
Back on the turnpike, headed towards Cape Town, we upped the speed. Straight roads and few cars made us feel we could cruise at any speed the Merc was happy at and it seemed to like 140.
The road to Port Elizabeth branched off at Colesberg and we turned left and started our descent. From the five thousand feet of the Central Pleateau, where it was cool dry and we were glad for the heater, we dropped to 1500ft and rolled out of the hills which looked like Arizona or New Mexico, onto the flat and dry Karoo desert where we needed bit more cool air and we switched on the air conditioning.
We had lunch in Cradock, which is where we picked up the VW, and he stayed with us as the road took its final drop out of the Karoo and down to the green coastal hills where the sweeping curves encouraged the Merc to stretch its legs before slowing for the traffic on the coast highway into Port Elizabeth.
The VW turned off at Alicedale and we came on into town on our own by 17:30.
This was the trip we’ve been thinking about, dreading maybe, for a couple of years. It’s the BIG African coastal hop and it has a reputation for wild weather and dangerous storms. But Saturday was a nice day, the forecast was good and we set out with optimism and excitement to be going to sea again.
The optimism evaporated with the new forecast we received a few hours after we left. Isn’t this the way it always happens? Now there was a cold front predicted and strong southwesterly winds, maybe even big winds, not light like we thought, and there was a blood chilling mention of “abnormal waves”. But by then we were too far down the track to go back, we felt we were committed.
The strategy we discussed was to sail fast, out in the Agulhas current to help speed us along, and when the wind came, we’d move inshore and out of the big waves.
And hope for the best.
Log entries.
Saturday: The wind died this evening and we are motoring however the wind is coming back a little now and we probably could set the genoa and sail but with more wind coming tonight we hold off. We just don’t know how much wind or when and neither of us wants to be caught out here tonight in a blow with that big genny up. So we’ll motor until the wind fills enough to sail with the small jib then we’ll set that. At least then when the shit hits the fan we will not have to worry about too much sail area.
Sunday: The wind arrived at midnight. Sixteen knots at first but more was coming and we reefed the main. By 09:00 it is blowing 22-26 knots and the waves are big. We have been slamming into the waves a lot and quite a few big ones have come on-board and swept down the deck. We came in-shore to get out of them but that didn’t work; we’re only a couple of miles off the beach and it is still too rough. We can see the huge waves crashing on the rocks, looking close, so now we’ve tacked back over and stopped; we are hove-to on starboard tack, slowly working back to seaward.
We had a drama with the genoa earlier. It was bagged and tied down on the foredeck, and with all the waves crashing over the deck it started to go over the side. I had to go forward and get it back on board. That was fun. I also had to go up the mast and replace a check stay which dropped out and that was some kind of fun too. But we did it and now everything is fine.
Monday: The front passed and the northerly wind that we based this whole trip on came in at midnight. In the morning we were approaching East London, our first potential stop, sailing fast under sunny skies and since the breeze was projected to last until midnight we make the tough decision to bypass East London and go on to Port Elizabeth, taking advantage of the good sailing conditions to make some distance down the coast. But after midnight another front is due so now we want to go as fast as possible to try to get into the next port before it arrives.
At five PM we are flying down the coast, as we have been all day, since midnight in fact. We are pushing the boat hard and we have covered the last 147 miles at an average speed of 8.6 knots, rushing towards Port Elizabeth but also towards the low which is supposed to be forming right between us and port. At the rate the barometer is falling we expect the cold front to hit us between midnight and 02:00 AM. We might make it to port by then and we might not, and we’re trying, but it makes us anxious knowing we are rushing headlong towards some unknown fate at over eight knots. I guess in about seven hours we’ll get to face it, whatever it is.
Tuesday: The new front arrived biting cold and at full strength just as we motored into Port Elizabeth Marina. We were glad to get alongside a moored fishing boat, the only place we could tie up at 03:30 in the tight quarters of the marina in that wind. Now we are safe for the time being and we are exhausted. We’re going to bed.
Next we have the hop to Knysna and then Cape Agulhas.
It should have been a 2 hour job but it turned out to be a week of work; par for the course for boat projects.
When we decided to put in the new Raymarine X5 Autopilot (after carrying it as a spare for several years) we found that one thing led to another: open up the autopilot hood and we found that we had to remove the instrument cluster. Remove the instrument cluster and we had to get into the main hatch. Once into the hatch we should sand and paint it.
So we did.
One week later the hatch is done and the autopilot is installed.
Time for sea trials,or... calibrate the new autopilot.
So we went out, did a few circles, discovered that due to a miss-wiring, right is left and left is right, (fixed that) and almost ran aground during the “Learn” phase where the auto pilot takes over for a few minutes, and got past that too. But you can see from our track that we went every which way.
And finally success! The old Autohelm 4000ST-GP was good, and was still working, but after 15 years, we felt we could risk the upgrade, and now we have it.
Pierre noticed it first; one day off the Sumatran coast when the sailing was good and we thought we needed a little loud music we turned up volume on the outdoor Bose speakers (the Bose 251’s that the crew bought for us in Singapore).
Pierre said, “Hey, what is that?” They sounded like crap; very weak and totally muddy. We were shocked. I used to think they were pretty good. I guess the deterioration had been gradual and I hadn’t really noticed it or maybe I just hadn’t tried them much for a few months.
On the Indian Ocean crossing we couldn’t do much except fiddle with the equalizer settings, cranking up the treble and turning down the bass, so the speaker fix waited. After the autopilot upgrade was done this week I decided on a speaker upgrade too. A new amplifier helped but the sound was still weak and muddy so we took a closer look at the Bose speakers themselves. Once the covers were off it was obvious: they needed new drivers (sorry team).
It took all day to rebuild the Bose speakers with the new “twiddler” drivers and another day to re-wire the nav station for the amplifier and the new switches but in the end it was successful. The Bose speakers are again good, clean, and loud; the ”Bose" sound is back and louder than ever!
Boat work is constant but if you have a car, car work is constant too. The ’94 Merc W124 is a great ride but while most of the other things work fine the heater has never worked since we bought the beast. A few false starts on fixing it later and I finally got under the covers pretty good. Hoses off, wires ripped out, parts on the sidewalk and some new ones, heater solenoid valves (used) installed, a bucket of water added and a short hose, and finally today I rebuilt the heater water pump. I’m not sure what it was but now the heater will burn your toes. Finally I got heat. That is good, however it is now late spring here and heaters are not much in demand. Air con is more likely the feature that will sell the Merc when we head out in January. Well that works too, like a dream.
Now that everything is fixed, we just need to get to Cape Town
On Wednesday a lightning storm landed on Durban and at least two boats in Durban Marina were hit including Doughty, the 70’er next to us, but we were spared. In fact I was on the computer typing an email when the sky darkened, the afternoon storm hit, the rain came pouring down, and the thunder and lightning struck. Again, and again.
“Bang”, then, “Bang”, then… “BANG!”
“Ouch!’ I said, “That last one must have been a close hit.”
I didn’t know how close.
The security guard told me it hit the boat next to us; he saw it strike, and sure enough, soon the crew on Doughty were removing fried electronic gear including the masthead unit. On the next dock over a boat named Revelation was hit and much of their gear was also damaged. But in that storm, on that day, not to say what might happen on future days or in other storms, we were spared; nothing on Wings was hit. Was it the 100’ mast on Doughty or the 80’ mast on Dream Free, on the other side, that saved us? Or just luck, maybe dumb luck? I don’t know; I’m just thankful.
Anyhow, the coast of Africa is unforgiving. The lighting storms are unpredicted, the strong fronts blow through with little warning, and boats limp into Durban with long lists of damaged gear. We’re seeing them arrive daily.
Our next jump down this coast will be 500+ miles to a small fishing port called Knysna. We hope to skip over two industrial ports on the way, Port Elisabeth and East London, however, given the unpredictability of the weather around here, we might have to duck into one of them.
We want to get going but we are watching the weather. No sense in going if the forecast is bad. Even if it is good we could get smacked, so might as well wait for the best possible weather window. Right now, from the data we see on the Internet, it is at least a week away.
Gives us time to fix a couple of things including the car we have.
Never thought we would own another car but we do. We bought an old Mercedes Benz while in Richards Bay and we have it here with us in Durban. It needs some work, so we have that to deal with. But we’ll leave it parked here, assuming it is fixed, when we sail to Knysna, and then take a bus back to get the car.
Fun, huh? A cousin of mine said, and he was right: “Freedom is nothing left to lose”.
And that includes a car. But we love driving that old Merc, so we’ll keep fixing it and keep moving down the coast.
In the 90’s grunge was in and Judy and I often visited Moe's Mo' Rockin' Cafe and the Crocodile in Seattle to hear bands that sounded like Nirvana and Pearl Jam where everyone wore black clothes and on Friday night the bands changed every twenty minutes. We were the oldest folks in the crowd and we were asked if we were the parents of the band, “or else why would you be here” but we didn’t care because we liked rock and roll and for six bucks you could hear 10 bands, some of which were actually good.
Since sailing out of Seattle we’ve kept a look-out for live music at the various ports we’ve visited and we’ve found it a few times.
In Mexico we could go to old Puerto Vallarta and hear Willie and Lobo. Not exactly grunge, but it was good music. We bought all of their albums.
In Papeete, Tahiti, during Fete’ in 1998, the sound checks from a rock stage near our mooring on the quay attracted us and we had a blast watching some young Polynesian punk rockers wail until after midnight.
Down-under there were lots of places to go in Auckland, Sydney, and Brisbane and we always preferred to find a venue where the band members outnumbered the audience and we’d have no problem getting up close. Intimacy was more important than a big name.
A real find was at the Gypsy Jazz festival in New Caledonia in 2003. We weren’t particularly fond of jazz but we thought we had to see at least one act as long as we were there. We chose one which was in an old warehouse converted to a club, reminding us of the venues in Seattle, and instead of jazz we found a USA rockabilly band with electric guitars and crowd all dressed in black. Hey, this is good! The French rock and roll fans just wouldn’t let the band leave the stage and even though we stumbled back to the boat at 2:00 AM I am sure that those guys played encores until dawn.
In Hong Kong we sat on the grass at Victoria Park for a couple of Rockit Festivals right downtown surrounded by high rise apartment buildings and neon signs and we wondered if the Chinese punk rock bands wouldn’t shake the windows out of some of them. Here the skinheads took the stage after midnight and the crowds got rowdy and we knew we were in for trouble when a couple dozen bouncers took up places in front of the stage to hold the barriers back against the crowd. Judy retreated from that mosh pit but I held my ground and got some good shots but barely avoided a fist fight when some asshole shoved me and said, “You don’t belong here, Grandpa.” I asked him, “You want to eat this camera?” His buddy backed him off, lucky for me. Those were the good ole days I guess.
In Bangkok there was Tokyo Joe’s and that was one intimate place; I had to turn sideways to keep from getting in the way of the bass player when I went up to get some photos. In Chang Mai, at one riverfront club after crawling through three others, we found where the action was and crowded our way to the front for some great Thai rock and roll. Memorable.
The next year at the Phuket Blues Festival I got bored at musicians who played sitting down so I plunked a full bottle of whiskey on the table and told Judy & Randy & Laura, “Let’s make our own action here!” Judy just shook her head; won’t this man ever grow up? But we drank the bottle, the bands somehow got better, and we danced until we dropped. I think that was the straw that broke Judy’s back however because after that we had to find a good surgeon for her.
Now, three years later her back is better and we are back at the hard rock and loving it more than ever. In Durban last week there was a blues festival and we somehow got tickets for the final show long after the event was sold out and we enjoyed a few great acts before a South African guitar player virtuoso named Dan Patlansky fuzz toned his way into our hearts. His style reminded me of Jimi Hendrix and Jeff Beck, only unique in his own way, and we clapped ourselves silly when his show ended. The management wouldn’t let him come back out, something about an agreement they had with the local landowners, but we bought his CD and we have a few photos to remind us of another great night of music around the world.
We’ll be looking out for more.
Click here for more images from the Durban Blues Festival.
Fred & Judy, SV Wings, Durban, South Africa.
PS: Here is another band we ran across in Durban which we rather liked:
Sometimes it seems that you are just along for the ride, when the boat is sailing itself and there’s nothing really for you to do. Once we got settled down (the departure was a bit chaotic) sailing to Durban Wednesday night was one of those times; we spent our watches just sitting in the cockpit staring at the flickering orange numbers on the knotmeter.
We expected light winds but when we got out of the marina we found 26 knots and at the end of the breakwater waves were breaking and it was getting dark already. We sucked it up and put up the sails in a hurry, Judy steering with her knees and tailing the lines with her hands and me pulling things at the mast and then jumping to the winches. We got everything done, got into our foulies, got on our life jackets, got the main and the jib up, put in a deep reef, set the wind vane, sorted out the autopilot all the while trying to watch our course and not hit an anchored ship. Then we took a deep breath and settled down for a midnight ride to Durban.
We headed the boat south and soon it was going fast. The wind was over 26 and increasing (it hit 30 knots by midnight and topped out at 37.7 knots around 05:00 AM.). Still, the boat just sailed itself. The wind vane steered perfectly and since we’d put in the third reef at the start, because that was what was rigged, with the number 4 jib, we had the right sail combination. There was nothing for us to do; we just sat in the cockpit, standing our watches three hours on and three hours off, watching the instruments.
Except for one jibe about half way down the coast we never even touched the sails.
But it was wild sailing. The waves were big and the boat was surfing down them. Even just riding, when Wings is squirreling and swerving its way downwind, hitting ten and eleven knot surfs, it is exciting. Nerve wracking you could say. It makes a believer of you. The waves were big enough so that any number of them could have easily come aboard and filled the cockpit. We couldn’t see them in the pitch black, no moon, night but when we heard the hissing of the big combers looming up behind us we cringed and we waited a deluge. It never happened. The wind vane seemed to have the knack of turning the boat down the front of the waves. The bow would dip, almost plunging into the deep, then it would rise and off we’d go for another ten knot surf, leaving the breaker behind. But white water swept by the boat like a river; we were moving.
It usually takes around 14 hours to sail from Richards bay to Durban, depending on the wind and on finding that southbound escalator, the Agulhas Current. We had wind, plenty of wind, heaps of wind, but never found the Agulhas current. In fact we had current against us the whole way. So even with the really high speeds we were making it took us 14 hours to get to Durban. We were watching the weather closely because there was a southerly due sometime that day and we’d heard it might come early.
We arrived at Durban at dawn, basically in one piece (there is a bit of a repair list but we will handle it quickly) and the dreaded southerly buster never showed so we’re quite happy.
Now we’re in another new place and we’re quite happy about that too.
Click here for other shots taken on our trip to Durban and arrival.
I called for the genoa, the “red bag”, and as it came on deck I went forward to help Andy hook it up.
When I called back to Judy, in the cockpit, to relead the sheets she demurred, “That’s the wrong sail.” She said.
I looked up from my work on the bow and saw she was right. In the few moments since I’d gone forward the wind had built. It had been 10 knots, now it looked like 15.
“What’s it blowing?” I shouted.
Judy glanced at the instruments and said, “16 knots, it’ll be more outside!”
We’ve had these conversations before and Judy is usually right, more often than I am, about which sail to set.
“OK, get the blue bag up here.” I shouted to the forward hands, and in a second the #4 jib came up. Andy rigged it and I went aft to line up for the start.
We reached back and forth a couple of times to get a sense of the line and set our clocks to the radio call: “Five minutes…NOW!” I decided on a port start at the left end, not the bold move that it usually would have been because for this race, being a reaching start, port was the only way to go.
We tacked, with speed, to leeward of Galactica, and went for the pin end.
“Three, two, one, START”. We were first to cross and we headed out of Richards Bay towards the anchored ships offshore, which we were sailing around today, leading the fleet and pulling out fast.
So, a good start, a good head of steam, and we had the right sail, for which I am eternally thankful. We just shouldered down and charged out to sea ducking the spray and looking for the first mark, a ship named “Sanko” five miles out, should be bearing 126 degrees.
We could see the ship’s masts and we homed in on it. Nomad, the 56 foot catamaran, overtook us on the way, her crew cockily demonstrating to us how their beer bottles could sit calmly on their cockpit coamings while we were heeled at 25 degrees and there was nothing calm about our ride and no beer drinking either. But we got the last laugh on Nomad. They were a bit shorthanded being only two aboard, and no navigator; they headed off to the wrong next mark. On Wings we had the next mark already entered on our plotter and Judy gave me the course: 250 degrees. We turned to that heading and saw another ship anchored three miles away. That must be it. Nomad, by this time, was nearly hull down, heading off on a course of 150, towards oblivion we figured, or Durban.
But with only three miles to go we had too little time to get the kite up, and anyway in 24 knots of wind we were already doing 9 knots and didn’t need it, plus, with the additional boost from the Alguhas current that flows southward around here at 1.5 knots, Banzai, the next mark, was coming up fast.
We jibed, rounded, put in a reef, and headed towards home, with Nomad nowhere in sight and the rest of the fleet following us a long ways back.
The last leg, like the first, was a close reach. We would have preferred a beat, but you take what you can get, and we sailed fast back towards Richards Bay and finished first by about two miles over Silhouette, the next boat, at 2 hours and 18 minutes for the whole course. We celebrated with cold beers, just like the old days.
At the awards party we found that going fast on the first outing doesn’t pay; they gave us a brutal rating and we corrected out to third. Silhouette won, 39 seconds ahead of Galactica and 14 minutes ahead of us on corrected time. But it was OK. We had fun, sailed well, didn’t break anything, and we made those other guys happy for beating us. Plus, we got a lot of favorable comments on how well Wings looked and sailed. All in all, a great day.
Wednesday we depart Richards Bay for the next port and the next adventure.
This morning I woke to find that for the first time since we’ve been in Africa a heavy fog had rolled into Zululand.
The air was still and damp and thick with the fog and the boats in the marina and the trees ashore were just grey silhouettes.
It reminded me of Seattle or the California or Oregon coasts and it felt like home.
I loved it.
I filled a cup with hot Zanzibar and grabbed the Nikon and went out for a walk in the fog.
The boatyard was silent, the guard asleep, and even the birds had their heads tucked under their wings. My feet crunched in the pine needles but otherwise there wasn’t a sound.
I didn’t find a lot to shoot but I enjoyed my little walkabout. I got back to Wings and Judy was still snug in her bed. I made another pot of coffee.
At 11:00 AM the sun burned off the fog and then the day was still and warm.
By mid afternoon a sea breeze came up and the flags were flying.
It’s been cool in South Africa and for weeks we’ve been looking forward to spring time.
Now the signs of spring are unmistakable: the days are growing longer, Wings’ heater is no longer required, and, most of all, the Weaver Birds are active.
The locals told us that when the Weaver Birds are active it is a sure sign of spring and boy, the Weaver Birds are sure active. In one nearby tree alone there must be a hundred nests being built by these energetic little yellow creatures and I guess they like to whistle while they work; the peeping is deafening.
The Weaver Birds build nests which hang down like baskets.
With the arrival of warmer weather work has resumed on boat projects all around the boatyard and marina. That includes our own projects and we’re redoing the big hatch on Wings’ bow.
The mast has been up a month, the rig is tuned, the mainsail repaired, the hydraulics all fixed; we’re ready to go sailing.
So today we took Wings out for a little test sail. The weather was perfect: blue African skies, blue Indian Ocean, big east coast waves, and 20 fresh knots of true cool wind with plenty of punch.
Wings loved it, we loved it.
We set the full mainsail, a bit flat, and a #4 jib and headed out into the fresh NE wind close hauled and doing 6.8 knots. We got a few splashes of salt water in our faces to keep it real, and we took turns steering. I went forward on port tack and checked the rig; the mast was perfectly straight and the shrouds felt good. Oh, I could take a couple of turns on the lowers and the D-2’s but nothing critical. Tacked over and checked again in starboard. Same result. Job done we settled in and just let everything work for a few hours. We smoked on upwind in the big waves and enjoyed life.
At 2:00PM we cracked off and the speeds climbed. We jibed over and headed back on a beam reach and started to surf: 8’s and 9’s; Judy saw 10+ a couple of times. Good sailing.
We surfed into the Richard’s Bay channel and Judy went forward to drop the jib. Behind Naval Island we took down and folded the main.
We were back in the slip at 3:30 PM.
Life is good when you can go sailing in the ocean in conditions like this.
We've now posted the photos we took in Tanzania, mostly on the island of Zanzibar. I've fanticized for years about sailing to Zanzibar since I first heard of the place the 1980's. We didn't sail there but we visited just the same. It was pretty close to what I'd imagined: a maze of a city of old buildings on the waterfront in East Africa with a mix of Arab, African, and Indian populations.
Well, nowdays most of the Arabs and Indians have left, but the architecture and the charm remains.
Click the links below to see photos from Stonetown (Zanzibar) and Dar Es Salaam (Tanzania).
Flying north from Johannesburg to Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania the captain came on and said, “We are now crossing the border from Zimbabwe to Mozambique, Malawi is on the right and Zambia is in the distance to the left.”
Those names were evocative of Africa. Despite the fact that we had been in South Africa since April and we’ve been to the Durban city a few times and to the bush on safari twice, it was just then, for the first time, I really felt it was Africa.
And Dar Es Salaam felt like Africa too. I sat back in the taxi on the way in from the airport and watched the African scene slide by: a long four lane road, crowds of people waiting at each corner for buses or shuffling along or riding old bicycles on the dusty path where a sidewalk would be if it wasn’t the third world. We crept through intersections with broken traffic lights and lots of honking cars and bounced over broken pavement into the city where the Holiday Inn was a refuge. Later we walked to the ferry terminal and were mobbed and jostled by ticket sellers. Dar Es Salaam was a jungle.
But the next day we managed to elbow our way onto the ferry to Zanzibar and there the pace was slower. We pushed out of the crowd at the ferry landing and walked down a narrow alley to our hotel in an old mansion in historic Stone Town and they gave us a glass of watermelon juice to refresh us and cold towels to wipe away the travel dust. The room was up three flights and it had a four poster bed with mosquito netting and a ceiling fan which rotated lazily. We looked out from the balcony over the roofs of the UNESCO heritage site with buildings dating back hundreds of years, back to when the Portuguese then the Arabs made Zanzibar the center of the East African slave trade and the Sultan of Oman moved his capital to Zanzibar. We heard the mullahs calling the faithful to prayer but other than that Zanzibar was quiet, particularly when compared to the bustle of Dar Es Salaam. We thought we’d like it.
It was just a short trip out of the country to get new South African visas but we made the most out of our three days in Zanzibar; we walked every alley and street in the ancient Stone Town and photographed it all. We shopped for a Persian carpet, but there were none except in the museums, and coffee beans, which we found in the market where we bargained with the shopkeepers and finally bought two kilos for a good price. We even found our way to a dark and smoky bar one evening and listened to a band play late into the night.
And then it was over. We took the ferry back to Dar and flew back to Richards Bay on Tuesday, landing in a violent windstorm and thankful to make it down safely, and now we’re back on Wings.
I am a sailor, born of a nautical tradition passed to me by my father and my Grandfather Alfred. I’ve spent most of life on my passion which is the sea and the vessels which go upon them. I have had many such vessels and now I live on and sail on the sloop WINGS.
which I acquired in 1986 with my wife Judy
who shared my passion. For ten years we lived on Wings in Seattle and sailed, including racing. Then we left the Pacific Northwest and voyaged across the world, across the seven seas, to faraway places, and made them our own.
For thirty-eight years I have lived and loved this life. I still live on Wings, in Mexico, and sail and race often. Judy passed away in June, 2023 and I miss her but you can still join us and sail the seas as we did for all those glorious years. Fred Roswold, SV Wings, Mexico
Sailing The African Coast
Blue Peter at the hoist
Walvis Bay, near the salt pans
Judy and Namibian Friends
Namibia
Wild Horses
Luderitz
Dolphins escort us
Blue Peter at the Yard
Wave of Cold Air Breaks over Table Mountain
Today's Highest Gust
Did this stork bring the new year?
Simonstown
Hello Big Bird
Cape Town: No this is not 40 kts
Cape Agulhas
Cape Town 
Green Winged Macaw
Coastal Mountains
Fishing boat in Mossel Bay
Mossel Bay
Sea Lion
On a sunny day the deck gets a good scrub
On the the Garden Route
Bar was rough
Port Elizabeth Library
ABYC on a Dramatic Afternoon
Drive Across the High Veld
Religion in the Morning
Church in Cradock
Our track
Speaker work
The Bose is Back!
Mercedes Benz
Afternoon Thunderstorm
Dan Patlansky
Hong Kong
Bike in Stone Town
Peaceful Below
9.22 knots
Racing in African Waters
Wings in the Zululand Fog
Weaver Birds at work
Nice weather to fix the hatch
Sailor Girl
Stonetown Waterfront Road
Laughing Man
Zanzibar waterfront
Walking in Stone Town
Stone Town.jpg)
