Tag Archives: Mindelo

How to cross an ocean in a small boat…

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Leaving São Vicente behind

I left Mindelo just as a dust storm from Africa reduced visibility in the Cape Verde islands to less than 5 miles. While Santo Antão was not visible it wasn’t especially difficult to avoid running into it. Three cheers for the hand-held GPS!

This was it… the long leg… 1400 nautical miles of open ocean before I get to see land (at Fernando de Noronha), and another 240 after that before I can set foot on mainland Brazil.

Was I nervous?

A little… Since childhood I have had a healthy respect for the sea, especially as it almost took my life on three occasions, two of which occurred on the same day while playing in the surf at my local beach.

I know the sea can get nasty, but I have done everything I can to play safe. Time to roll the dice now and hope for the best. Luck plays a large part in this sort of venture and I’m expecting my due for the crossing.

Sailing goosewinged in the Trade Winds

Not that I think it’s particularly dangerous to sail across the Atlantic, but if you happen to have a run of bad luck things can get messy. As an example, one yacht taking part in the Soleil Rally sank on route this year after hitting a semi-submerged obstacle, but then, some people get hit by lightening playing golf… others win the lottery! I just hope to sit happily between these too extremes of fortune.

I note that some armchair sailors are interested in the “how to” of crossing an ocean in a small yacht. I know this from perusing the statistics of my web site and to them I say…

It’s no different from shorter trips, you just take it day by day and before you know it weeks have passed and you find you have crossed an ocean.

I set my mainsail with two reefs in Mindelo, tied the boom to starboard, set a whisker pole on the stay-sail (to port) and left the jib unfurled. I sailed in this goose-winged configuration for 15 days. The only adjustment necessary was the occasional 5 degree course correction on the wind vane (accomplished by pulling a string leading back into the cabin). This kept Eileen nice and steady in the 15 to 25 knot trade winds where I averaged 75 miles a day just sitting around doing nothing.

In the middle of the Atlantic

The best run was 105 nautical miles and the worse 63 in a 24 hour period. I could have gone faster but every sail change is a potential risk and what’s the hurry anyway?

Until reaching the equator, the weather was fabulously consistent. Trade wind sailing at its best. Yes the waves can appear intimidating but it doesn’t take long to grow accustomed to them. Waves are fine no matter how large… unless they start to break!

Technically, my crossing was elementary. A Yarmouth 23 is a sturdy boat, and Eileen of Avoca handled the conditions admirably. The other long distance sailors I have met in my travels all agree that “size matters not” (except for some reason to insurance companies). Small can be exceptionally seaworthy, it’s just that you tend to be a little slower than the rest of the cruising set.

While my boat was obviously in her element, it took me a little while longer to settle in. I spent the first two days feeling I had blocked sinuses or perhaps a head cold. This apparently is my version of getting sea sick of late. Luckily it does not impair my sailing in any way, I just need to get acclimatised.

It's the last doughnut.... 🙁

At noon each day (GMT -1 for my ships clock), I logged my position and the distance traveled, then set about killing time. No fishing this trip because I’d heard enough horror stories of people falling overboard paying too much attention to their catch, so in the tradition set on route to Cape Verde, I stared at my favourite water stains on the ceiling linings and daydreamed!

The passage of days were marked by numerous momentous events such as eating the last slice of fresh bread, pining over that final piece of cheddar cheese, boiling the last egg and snacking on my penultimate doughnut… Rather exciting don’t you think?

Such a happy chap!

More lengthy periods of time were denoted by the need to take a shower… something that I obviously enjoyed thoroughly (see photo). I had 10 liters of desalinated water reserved for this, the rest of my 100L supply was strictly for drinking. Not that I used very much, even upon reaching the equator the temperature remained under 30 degrees Celsius. I was expecting it to be far warmer.

By contacting the occasional passing ship I was able to keep tabs on the weather but this wasn’t strictly necessary. The winds are markedly consistent at this time of year (January), and the periodic squalls within the Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone (also called the doldrums), are not as severe as I had previously been led to believe. By day 17 Fernando de Noronha was within sight and my Atlantic crossing drew rapidly to a close.

Approaching Fernando de Noronha

After 17 days at sea I found myself reluctant to make landfall. How odd, I’d never have imagined feeling this way, but because Eileen felt so safe and cozy on route, I simply didn’t want the journey to end. I adored passing lazy days listening to the orchestra of sailing sounds. The creaking of ropes and leather, the trickle of water against the hull counterpointed by the slap of the mainsail or the growl of a passing wave. I felt completely safe and was loath to leave my floating cocoon.

While I now can boast of having completed a solo Atlantic crossing in a tiny boat, I’ll let you all in on a big secret…

Despite the cocoon analogy, crossing an ocean alone delivers no metamorphosis of the soul, or life altering catharsis. Not that I really expected it to, I’m not the spiritually receptive type, but “hope springs eternal” does it not? Well, no great surprise then that I didn’t “find myself” while at sea “a la Moitissier”. Perhaps the whole venture needs to be significantly more difficult, in which case, I’ll pass… 😉

Another squall approaches

I now understand how thousands of small yachts with retired crews and a high number of solo navigators, (some in boats smaller than mine), accomplish the same feat annually (though many choose not to advertise the fact). Yes, you can be unlucky and yes, help is a long way away if things go wrong, but it’s clear that by following the trade winds at the right time of year it’s possible to cross an ocean on just about anything that floats. Dare I say even a 10 year old could do it? Just equip the yacht with a Playstation and point it in the right direction!

I remain an ardent subscriber to “The hardest thing about sailing solo across an ocean is earning the money to buy your boat” school of thought, but I’ll happily accept accolades for the accomplishment regardless of whether or not it is truly merited.

I know that the real credit belongs to Eileen of Avoca….. My gallant fiery Irish belle!

Christmas in Mindelo

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Something, somewhere went terribly wrong!

I am in Mindelo, Cape Verde, and as a fellow sailor passes by, I am reminded why I ‘m here. “Something, somewhere went terribly wrong” and I have made a brief escape from a life that gave me little joy. I’m all the richer and all the poorer for it, and if surmounting difficulties builds character, I’m absolutely full of it…

Hmmm… funny, my friends used to tell me that quite a bit… 😉

Exploiting the loophole!

Eileen of Avoca is at anchor because the daily marina fee is significantly beyond my means! Would you believe it’s 4 Euro a day just to leave your dingy tied to the pontoon? Fortunately I have friends with deeper pockets than mine (using the marina), and I am able to exploit a convenient loophole by tying my inflatable kayak to their boat.

More 3-day friends!

My companions here are the Bretons: Karen and Gwenael (on a Pogo 8.5) and Michel (on a Benetau First 28, see photograph). Michel is the Frenchman that delivered my tuna to the wrong boat, and I know Karen and Gwenael from when they rescued Eileen from collision with a boat dragging anchor in Sal.

You sure do meet people in bizarre circumstances here. Adding to the posse of francophone’s is Gerard, the owner of the above mentioned infamous yacht (an Ovni 385), that almost rammed Eileen.

Mindelo isn’t a tranquil sleepy town like Porto des Palmeria. It’s the “big city” and it can be dangerous after dark if you don’t keep your whits about you (or happen to be unlucky).

The anchorage and marina are reasonably safe, with paid personnel watching both. But about town things can get ugly, especially late at night. All is not well in Mindelo, as evidenced by quarreling youths openly dealing drugs in the towns main square, but locals tell me there have been encouraging signs of improvement of late.

Making that anode fit!!!

If you are looking to make repairs in Mindelo, don’t get your hopes up. The small chandler is poorly stocked and it’s four weeks wait for any delivery. I discovered that the zinc anode on my propeller was completely consumed and bought the only replacement available in Mindelo. Two sizes too large, but nothing that can’t be fixed with some help from Michel and a hacksaw!

My water in the propeller shaft problem and lubricating oil persists, and I now know Eileen will need to be lifted if it is to be corrected (thanks Gwenael).

I just hope it all holds together until I reach Trinidad. Lifting in Brazil is not an option and it will be several months before I reach the Caribbean. Fingers crossed that the bearings don’t seize!

From Sal to Tarrafal, Sao Nicolau

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Tarrafal, Sao Nicolau, Cape Verde

The 22hr down-wind sail (averaging around 4 to 5 kts) from Porto de Palmeira to Tarrafal was exhilarating. Unfortunately, I was not able to get much sleep (for fear of running into the island), so I was mentally if not physically exhausted on final approach to Tarrafal, No matter, plenty of time to rest once at anchor.

Halil, my new Turkish "brother"

I was on a natural high, and having caught a large tuna on route I felt sure to win the fishing competition spontaneously organized with my Turkish sailing buddies in Sal. “Ah, what a fine meal it will make!”, or so I thought…

Of course, nothing ever goes precisely according to plan.

Upon arrival I found the small anchorage filled to capacity, and all shelter behind the breakwater taken by local boats. I spent almost two hours trying to set my anchor but it stubbornly refused to hold.

No problem, I can do stubborn…. besides I need the exercise. Hauling aboard my 25 meters of chain, I moved Eileen for the umpteenth time to seek better holing in shallower water by the beach.

I flagged down a Frenchman as he sped by in his dingy and asked if he could kindly deliver my prize catch to my Turkish friends so it wouldn’t spoil in the increasing heat (they have a refrigerator), and continued my game of drag the anchor.

Having unsuccessfully tried both my Danforth and CQR, (and motored backwards past everyone else’s boat at least a half-dozen times), a Spanish registered vessel took pity on my valiant attempts to plow the seabed, and surrendered their mooring to me.

I thought it was out of pity, but apparently it was out of extreme gratitude. Gratitude for mistakenly being the recipients of my tuna dinner. Curse that Frenchman, he took my catch to the wrong boat! Well, at least I will be able to sleep now that I am secured to their buoy…

No such luck…

Keep your mooring buoys!

What followed was a string of interruptions as several enterprising young men swam out to my boat, climbed aboard (despite my protestations), and began insisting they be paid a fee for using “their” mooring.

That triggered the proverbial “straw that broke the camels back” response in me, and I’m ashamed to admit that at this point I completely lost my temper…

Throwing the mooring buoy back in the water, I started Eileen’s engine, told my uninvited guests where they could put their fee, and sent them scrambling back into the water as I motored away.

So much for Tarrafal, I’ll sleep on route to Mindelo.

Photos from Sal

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Sal, Cape Verde

It is generally agreed among sailors here in Sal, that anyone sailing directly to Mindelo is missing out on some of the best of Cape Verde has to offer. I concur, Sal offers a fabulously safe anchorage, effortless formalities, and genuinely friendly village atmosphere.

Just be sure to check the price of everything before you commit (such as a visit to the hair salon… hint hint…), to ensure the few unscrupulous business types in town can’t take advantage you.

Perhaps the best way to describe Porto de Palmeira is with images. Below is my collection of favourites, enjoy!

The anchorage is one of the best in Cape Verde and your dingy is perfectly safe despite what the dated guide book might say.

Anchorage, Porto de Palmeira

The village has a pleasant sleepy atmosphere and everyone seems rather content.

Wandering around Porto de Palmeira, Sal

Certainly nobody here is going hungry, a boatload of fish is caught daily just a few hundred meters from the harbour entrance. I’ve never seen such abundance!

Fish in abundance around Sal

Water on the other hand is only available from the desalination plant. Not that it seems to bother the locals, just don’t expect to find a hose anywhere to fill your yachts water tank.

There is still plenty of time for recreation, here the locals wile away the hours playing the African equivalent of board games.

Just playing games on Sal

While the women take care of more domestic affairs. Amazingly, the art of crochet is not dead!

Being a little more productive than the men!

Order is maintained by the men in blue, they even recovered a stolen laptop briefly left unattended by a German crew.

Wearing the uniform with a swagger!

With what is perhaps a little excessive enthusiasm, children readily pose for your camera,

Children in Cape Verde

and even the local school teacher accommodates my impromptu photo shoot by re-establishing some order.

Order out of chaos!

So, what did I get up to while in Sal? Not much, just hung out at the local bar.

The mini bar! No backyard should be without one.

Checked the weather at the Cyber Cafe,

Time to update the blog.

and mingled with the locals.

It's the local hair models.

Had I been a little less strapped for cash I might have spent some money on locally produced music and a souvenir or two. I guess these photos will just have to do.

Local art, music souveniers... See this man!

I hope you enjoyed the visual tour.

A week sailing to Cape Verde

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On my way to Cape Verde

I managed to escape from Gran Canaria on the 11th of December, without any cockroaches or newborn baby stowaways. Ha!

While the forecast winds were in the right direction, they were too light for anything other than motor sailing, but that was fine with me because another monster low pressure system would reach the Canary Islands within 4 to 5 days, and I intended to be at least 400 miles further south to avoid its influence.

Isolated thunderstorms to the east and north made for an ominous departure but I needn’t have worried, winds stayed at under 10 knots for most of the journey and the seas were accommodating enough.

Sailing to the Cape Verde islands, there’s nothing to it…

Except, I’m really quite alone out here in the Atlantic.

When was the last time you can remember being totally alone, unable to see or talk with another person for days at a time?

While a few ships were visible on the horizon (or as dots on my AIS receiver) during the first half of my voyage, nothing, nada, niente, not a soul was in sight from the moment I reached Mauritanian waters. Perhaps it had something to do with the travel advisory for the country that read:

“We advise you to reconsider your need to travel to Mauritania at this time due to the unpredictable security situation and high threat of terrorist attack including kidnapping.”

With the right technology you can always cheat loneliness by sending text messages to your friends, updating your facebook profile, calling mum or checking out prospective dates at your next port of call with satellite Internet broadband, but I don’t have any of that on board. I’m old school… ( a synonym for poverty stricken). The best I can do is listen in to other boats on my cheap Target HF radio receiver. So, how did I manage the isolation thus far?

To set the scene, I suggest the computer savvy follow this link for appropriate background music as I recount how I managed to do without all the modern conveniences used to make solo sailing merely single-handed sailing.

Rusty tack and water stain

Let me start by saying that there really isn’t much to do sailing wise on long passages. You set your sails, occasionally check your course, and watch the weather, but that still leaves plenty of time to fill. Time I passed entertaining myself by staring at the water stains on my ceiling lining and reminiscing.

It’s amazing what you can dredge up from the past to amuse yourself given enough time. I wonder if this is this how I’ll get to spend my twilight years while incarcerated in a nursing home…

I filled one day just reciting the TV advertising jingles absorbed as a youth in Australia.

Anyone out there remember….

“It was an extra big, extra large, sizzling hot, family size, ham and pine, extra fine, pepperoni, big salami , dripping cheese, if you please, super duper pizza, oh yeah…”

Or how about…

“Today’s the big surf carnival, so Ted’s big breakfast plan, are all those sweet sultanas in Kellogs Sultana Bran… well the race is on but there goes Ted… Hey where’re you going man….. Back for more sultanas in Kellogs Sultana Bran”

Or:

“Everybody loves a better biscuit,,, so Westons make them good as they can be… Young will puts them to the test, to make sure that you get the best, from the Westons better biscuit bakery…”

Don’t panic, I’ll spare you the rest of my comprehensive recital which includes an international and multi-lingual repertoire of television advertising trash.

Then of course I have time to ponder on all those things I might have done differently given a second chance. All two of them! 😉

French Toast

Memories become my treasured companion at sea because in truth, looking at clouds drifting by only manages to hold my attention for three to four hours at a time.

Snack time inadvertently becomes the focus of my day. Hobbit style, it makes for at least seven meals in a 24 hr period, and depending on the success of my culinary experiments, (bounded by strict rules such as: everything must be cooked in a single pan), varies from the simply delicious (French Toast for pre-breakfast), to almost inedible (a mash of choriso sausage, sauerkraut and powdered potatoes for a midnight snack).

And here’s what I look like after seven days of solitary confinement!

Going quite mad!

Makes you wonder what I’ll be like once reaching Brazil.

I tried to catch some fish on route but my only success was thwarted by a shark (honest!). I know it sounds a bit like the excuse that “my dog ate my homework”, but it’s true, “a shark ate my dinner”, just as I was hauling it aboard. I hope my favourite lure gives it indigestion, and so much for my idea of stopping Eileen for a refreshing swim!

But the most dramatic event on route has nothing whatsoever to do with me. On day 5, I decided to tune in on my HF receiver to the weather routing given by Herb daily on 12359kHz at 20:00 UTC. The idea was to eavesdrop on any boats in the vicinity receiving weather information. Sure enough, two yachts were within 40 nautical miles of my current position and one (called Connect4), was in trouble.

I listened as a very concerned father sought information on the best options for reaching an airport or medical facilities as his daughter was suffering extreme abdominal pain and suspected appendicitis. Nobody could give him a definite answer on whether Mauritania was a feasible destination to seek assistance, and as far as the other HF users were aware, only Mindelo in Sao Vincente or Dakar had appropriate medical facilities.

I had done my homework and as mentioned earlier, knew of the travel alert for Mauritania, but as I am only equipped with a VHF transceiver, I could not tell him. I was effectively mute, confined to my line of sight transmissions and unable to assist. What a relief when I heard that he had decided to opt for Cape Verde, but if only I could have told him that Isla Sal was a closer prospect and had equal if not better facilities at hand. I did try, repeatedly calling on VHF 16 for several hours, but to no avail. They were just too far away.

In later transmissions I heard that the girl was improving with antibiotics and that after consulting a doctor on another boat, appendicitis could be ruled out. I hope to hear if she made a full recovery when I reach Mindelo.

 

Arriving on Sal, Cape Verde

At sunset on Saturday the 18th of December to the sounds of music and merrymaking I finally arrived in Porto de Palmeira after seven days at sea. Just in time for another party!

PS: I did make myself considerably more presentable than the above photos suggest before rejoining civilization. 🙂