I’m still shattered when I wake up but do heave myself out of bed when I’ve drunk my cup of tea. I am just slapping moisturiser on my face when Mike calls that Rosemary and Matt have arrived to say goodbye as they are going for the breakfast and send off at Hout Bay. A few minutes later, Jim, Annie and Lee arrive followed eventually by Bill. They are having to wait for their visas to be prepared at the Brazilian embassy (the British don’t need visas).
Although it’s sunny in the marina, looking towards the sea I can see fog beginning to roll in. I hope it doesn’t delay our departure and burns off before we leave.
Mike goes for a last visit to the chandleries and to fill the car with petrol before handing it back while I start to drag all the cockpit cushions out and scrub them while there’s still time for them to dry in the sun before we depart.
It’s hard and very unglamorous work, sprawled out on the deck elbows deep in froth which takes on a distinctly brownish tinge the more I scrub. Mmmm. Lovely. Rinsing is time consuming too. When I think the front is rinsed, I turn it over and rinse the back, only to see more bubbles coming out the front. Thank goodness we are not on a meter.
Mike returns with a bloody great anchor muttering something about it being a bargain at $80 (usually around $400. There’s no time to attach it to our anchor chain now so he stows it away to be done in St Helena. He then leaves again with Brent following behind to give him a lift back.
Just before midday we are ready to leave. I am just sending a last minute e-mail to Jutta asking her to get me a couple of bottles of Amarula (the African equivalent to Baileys) when Ana comes over to say goodbye and give us a bottle of champagne to crack open when we arrive in Brazil. What a lovely thought.
The lads from Isis come over and with Brent, help us cast off. With very little breeze in the marina, getting out is a lot easier in the very tight space than getting in was last week.
We motor out and head for the fuel dock at the Royal Cape Yacht Club. When we get there, someone is spray painting their boat on the other side of the pontoon, which is more than a little inconsiderate given that the pontoon is only about four feet wide and the wind is blowing towards us. He must have seen my face because he comes over and tells us that it’s not a problem as it is dry spray paint – we might just get some dust. Great. More crap over my newly cleaned boat.
We refuel as quickly as we can, using a rag around the nozzle to stop the diesel spurting out when it stops, then back off from the dock just as a monohull starts to be lowered right next to us from a crane as we are manoeuvring backwards. It hovers in mid air, halting while we make a hasty retreat, then comes down with a plonk.
As we exit the harbour we see seals in the water, looking far more graceful than when they lumber along the pontoons, crapping everywhere and barking. We practically run of them over as he doesn’t notice us coming and has to make a hasty exit, leaping out of the water and away.
I look back at Table Mountain, a wonderful sight as we gradually pull away. It dominates the whole landscape and can be seen miles away from land. There’s still sea fog all around and as I watch, Robben Island (where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for so many years) disappears into the mist.
I prepare the salad ready for lunch, and get the steaks ready. We can see Wild Tigris in the distance, about a mile ahead, and as the wind appears to be coming round to a decent direction, Mike decides to get the mainsail up but as it goes up it suddenly gets stuck. Mike can’t see any reason for it sticking but when I try to get it down using the downhaul, it won’t go down either. The bloody think is well and truly jammed. It appears that the main halyard is caught around the lazy jacks at the block two thirds of the way up the mast and Mike first loosens them and tries to shake the halyard loose. Even after releasing the lazy jacks, the mainsail still won’t go up as the halyard is still caught on the fitting on the mast. Then when we try to take the sail down, it won’t come down either. Mike then notices that one of the jammers on the mast, which is meant to always be open (as we use the one on the salon roof) is closed. The riggers must have shut it. That’s why it won’t come down. Once that is opened the main comes down easily, but in a heap, as there is now no way to keep them in the bag. We have to turn around so that we can anchor offshore and re-tie the lazy jacks up.
We put the anchor down in 60 feet of water and Mike says it will be quicker if he pulls me up the mast as he can winch me by hand at the mast rather than untying everything so that I can pull him up there using the electric by the cockpit. Wonderful.
While we wait for the anchor to settle, I film what looks like a shark, circling the boat, slowly. We are not that far off the beach – I wonder if the people there know what’s hanging around in the water!
The waves are bashing sideways against us, and small movements at deck level are very magnified higher up. I get into some trousers as I know I will be bashed around a bit and have obstacles to overcome as I go up, then I clamber into the bosun’s chair and sit back.
Mike starts to winch me up with the lead for the lazy jacks firmly tied to my chair. I overcome the obstacle course (stays, spreaders etc) but begin to bounce around and be knocked against the mast the further up I go. When I am nearly to the block that I need to get to, Mike realises that the line has not been taken up on the right side of the mast or correctly round the stays, so down I come, then back up again, this time taking the line the correct way. On the way up the second time, the knot in the line holding my chair to the line hauling me up catches on the light half way up the mast and I scream at Mike to drop me a few inches before I yank the bloody thing right off the mast.
Eventually, stopping a few times on the way to give me the opportunity to cling on when the waves knock the boat sideways and I start to sway too much, I am there, and clinging around the mast desperately with my legs, I attempt to thread to line through the block. This means that I have to let go with my hands to grab the line which is now so firmly gripped between my teeth that I think I may have developed lockjaw.
I thread it through and Mike lowers me again, pausing as I overcome the same obstacles (not easy to see now that they are below my bum) and take the line back down the correct way around the spreaders and the stays. Nearly at the bottom, I get Mike to check the threading. He needs to stand away from the mast to look, but the sun is constantly in his eyes and the lines are all moving around making it difficult to see if it’s all correct or not. I hang in my chair. No sense in coming all the way down if I’ve got to go up again.
It looks ok, and after bringing me down to deck level, Mike gets everything ready and brings the anchor up while I go back to finish getting lunch ready. It’s now almost 4 pm and we have wasted nearly two hours.
The salad has wilted to nearly half it’s size while it has been waiting but it is good and so is the steak. We set sail immediately after eating, and while Mike sits at the helm, I go and lie down for a while, battered, bruised and totally exhausted. I’ve only just drifted off to sleep when he comes down with a cup of tea.
While I have been in bed, the sea fog has thickened. A huge cargo ship comes out of the mist just two miles away – if we hadn’t had AIS, Mike would not have been aware of it’s existence which is scary. All the other WARC boats are now well ahead of us after our false start. Never mind. It’s a good job Mike decided to put the main up when he did. We could have been miles out to sea when the jam happened and going up then would have been much worse, and turning back a real pain.
Around us we hear fog horns blaring every minute, ships warning those around of their presence. The sea is lumpy and quite uncomfortable although the wind isn’t very strong. Waves come over the side making a mess of my lovely boat. How pissed off am I?
After some smoked snoek on toast (snoek being a barracuda-type fish found off the African coast), we watch some TV and I head off to bed an hour late.
Our position is: 33 deg 25 min S, 17 deg 40 min E
Distance so far: 18714 nautical miles
No comments:
Post a Comment