Arrival Day

Day 30 of the Return Trip

I must begin by apologising for the delay in getting this post up. After our arrival, the landslide of post-crossing work as well as the cumulative undone things from almost 6 months of being away took their toll on the blogger.

We had huge expectations for our arrival. We pictured our first sighting of land on a clear day - Hout Bay, followed by Llandudno and the twelve apostles leading onto Table Bay and a blue-sky entry to the town under the mountain.

It turned out to be somewhat less glamourous than that. The forecasted north-wester arrived, bringing with it the thickest fog that we had seen thus far. The best we saw was the loom of the city as we approached the night before.

But it didn't matter. We were nearly home, and no bit of fog could have made our arrival any less sweet. We got Bren/Lula on the helm, Gina on soup duty, Chancho on lookout, NaviDave on the chart-plotter, and Uncle Ric on foghorn.

Our biggest concern at the time was fishing trawlers. Big ships weren't such a worry because we cleared the shipping channels pretty swiftly, and they all have radars to see us. The fishing trawlers don't, so we had to keep a very sharp watch. 

We fancied our chances of catching one last fish. Maybe a nice big snoek or yellowtail close to the coast. So we trolled out Dave's obscenely big lure with the hopes of not arriving at the dock empty-handed. The only thing the lure attracted was a handful of flappy coastal birds who had a field day of circling our backstay.

With Dave shouting instructions of where to steer and when to tack, we were literally going in blind. When the mist finally lifted enough to catch sight of land, we were already 50 metres from Green Point lighthouse - close enough to see cars and people on the promenade!

We entered the harbour and dropped sails so that we could make our way to the dock. We were welcomed by a host of happy faces, including the Robinsons, the Moorcrofts, the Teanbys, the Eckermans' and a whole lot of other friends. I want to acknowledge the patience that you guys showed coming out in the cold, drizzly weather to see us in. you can't put a price to it. It really means a lot.

Hugs and kisses were flying around all over the dock, and the chef at RCYC sent out a huge plate of toasted bacon sarmies to go with our fresh milk and other treats that we had waiting for us. 

We went inside and sat around a large breakfast table that RCYC had arranged for us and shared stories over breakfast, in between taking turns to go off and shower. Donning fresh dry clothes after a hot shower is heaven. There is no other way to describe it.

And so the adventures of Lula, Chancho, Davidaloca, Geniaas and Uncle Ric came to a close.

I'd like to think that I have done all the acknowledgements and thanks along the way, but I would just like to thank everyone who was a part of this thing - our friends in Brazil, our friends who came over to sail with us, our hosts and hostesses along the way, family and friends who sent messages, all of you who came to see us on the dock, dad.

And lastly I want to thank the crew. It takes some doing being couped up on a small boat with the same four (or sometimes more) people. It requires a huge deal of patience and understanding. The fact that we came out of this without keel-hauling anyone is commendable. We've had a great jol, and tackled one of the more serious challenges that the natural world has to offer. And we have the passport stamps to prove it. I'm stoked and proud of you guys, I couldn't have done it without you.

Capitao Lula - OUT.

Up Around the Bend

Day 29 of the Return Trip

With our destination so close we have been keen as ever to keep this boat going fast in the right direction. The Golden Earring sum it up quite nicely for us:

"I've been drivin' all night, my hands wet on the wheel. And there's a voice in my head that drives my heel..."

It's not just the driving will to get home that is spurring us along. We are also trying to outrun a very big Westerly breeze that is hot on our heels.

We may have been a bit cheeky and pulled out the A3 spinnaker from its burrow in the forepeak (thanks, Investec!). Since we broke the pole ring on the mast the other night, we can't use any of our symmetrical spinnakers, so we dug out and hoisted our biggest asymmetrical kite. We've had 15-18 knots on the beam for the whole night. It did get over 20 for a few hours, during which we changed to our trusty work-horse #1 genoa.

This morning, shortly after a magnificent sunrise (probably the best we've seen on this trip. Maybe even ever), we crossed the 15 degree line, which puts us in time-zone Bravo, or UTC+2, and on SA local time! Gina made pancakes for breakfast to celebrate.

We are now less than 150 miles from Cape Town, and hoping that the forecasted weather will hold out. If it does, then this will be our last blog post send from the satphone. Our current speed puts us at the entrance

to Cape Town Harbour at 10AM local time. 

If you're in Cape Town and free tomorrow morning, take a mozie up Signal Hill and look to the west for the little boat under a big blue spinnaker.

We'll post a more accurate ETA closer to our arrival. Probably once this

evening and once tomorrow morning. So watch this space!

Fly Away on My Zephyr

Day 28 of the Return Trip

 

Whew, where to begin? Last you heard from us was that the breeze had arrived and we had just put a reef in the mainsail, and were contemplating changing spinnakers to Florence Kite-in-Gale. We did just that, and what a good call it was.

 

The breeze built steadily into the evening - just as forecast. Ric was tearing up our daily speed record and was having so much fun that we literally had to pry his hands off the tiller so that Dave and I could have a chance to steer before it got dark. From 1400 to 1700 UTC, Ric and Raf were on watch, and from 1700 to 2000 it was Gina and I. And in those 6 hours, we covered over 60 miles. If you extrapolate this, it equates to a

240 mile day.

 

The breeze was up and down through the night, and we finally dropped the spinnaker at 4AM after a particularly eventful broach. Our best 24 hour run thus far now stands at 217 miles.

 

So without meaning to boast, I just want everyone to know that we were SMOKING it last night. But let it never be said that we didn't work for it.

Everyone on the boat is shattered this morning, but the sun has graced us with another day of its presence. So at least we can get things dry.

 

At this rate we'll be in Cape Town in 2 sleeps! (Actually, night watches make it about 8 sleeps for us).

 

That is all that I'm capable of for now.

 

Bren

Follow the Zebra

Day 27 of the Return Trip

 

This collaborative team blog is brought to you by Ciao Bella Airlines...

 

Let's start with yesterday. Brennan forgot to mention a morning incident in very poor visibility. Him and Gina were on watch when a humming was heard.

It wasn't the engine or the prop spinning, but a massive container ship - 200m away! It appeared out of the rainy mist like a ghost ship. Luckily it wasn't  on collision course, but it was an eye opener.

 

The breeze took until 19:00 to fill in from the North. Until then we were motoring with only the mainsail up, desperately trying to maintain some kind of appreciable average speed. Despite it's inefficiencies, the team continues to refer to our Yanmar 20HP engine (the donkey/kadonkadonk) as the tumble drier. And we got some long use out of it yesterday.

 

In the late afternoon, we got our first bit of sunshine in ages! Frowns were instantly turned upside down, and there was a mad scramble to get clothes, mattresses and sleeping bags out to dry. Hillbrow Hotel deluxe!

Next thing the shirts were off, people were showering on the sugar-scoop and basking as if they'd never see sun again. Given the past week it wasn't an unlikely eventuality. Dave's inventory of dry clothes went from a pair of undies and a singular sock to a full wardrobe in the space of 45 minutes.

 

The sunshine only lasted an hour before it clouded over again, but it was enough to make us all happy. And as the sun vanished so did all the goods hanging all around the guard-rail, boom, spinnaker pole, spreaders, winches, pulpit, etc. The cloud cover that followed brought with it our breeze. It started from the NNE, so we hoisted the #1 genoa. At sunset it had broadened enough for the code 0, but the breeze was building fast, so we held off on it for a few hours. At 22:00 we made the change, and our hopes of another 200 miler were sparked again.

 

We had a fast night, which got faster in the morning when we executed a "slick peel" ( to quote Ric D) to Tallulah, our big Zebra spinnaker.

 

The sun rejoined us today. So our rainy:sunny day ratio now sits at 19:8. And our stoke:man ratio is up to 10:1. I think you will agree that this is a much more favourable ratio compared to the dismal 0.02:1 we had before the sun appeared.

 

We were also rejoined by a couple of wandering  Albies (albatrosses). These mighty birds looked like dinosaurs. Wing-span for days ek sê. They float on the air with wing-tips almost touching water. What a pleasure to be graced by such company. A crew member who has chosen to remain anonymous has even promised to name his first child Albert Ross Robinson. Even if it's a girl.

 

This morning's breakfast was interesting. They say that necessity is the mother of all invention, which Brennan proved when baking some fresh bread.

We were a short on flour, so we cut it (drug-dealer slang for supplemented) with FutureLife! The resulting bread was outstanding. Bren has named his brain-child 'FutureLoaf'.

 

Raf got schneid out of one piece of FutureLoaf, which spelled controversy.

We think the sandwitch theif struck again, right under our noses. We even dedicated labelled lunch-boxes (/conflict-prevention boxes/anti-oorlog

boxes) to prevent this kind of thing.

 

Things might get slightly more tense in this department as we are down to our last luxurious food pack prepared by Kax. After today we are eating dry rice-cakes and 2 minute noodles.

 

In other news, Ric washed a pot today. We are thrilled.

 

We are shunting along, probably going to change to Florence (the smaller Zebra kite). We have introduced a new decimal numerical system for our speed based on our ETA. For instance, most of last night we were doing seven-point-Monday. This morning we were doing eight-point-sunday, or eight-point-sunday-lunch (correct to 2 decimal places). Certain parties on the boat are pushing for ten-point-friday-tigertigerwithhobson.

 

In tomorrow's update you can expect: the results of our night's run, our new midday position, a description of our bunks, and Gina's horniman.

 

Ciao!

Great Weather for Ducks...

Day 26 of the return trip

 

We are getting by with everything being wet by making a joke of it -  making light of a pretty unideal situation. It will be interesting to see how far we are able to stretch this one out.

 

We have had 7 days on which it hasn't rained. That's 19 days of rain so far. 19 days on which we haven't seen the sun.

 

We decanted diesel from the reserve tank to top up the tank we are currently using. Dave and I had quite a time balancing fuel tanks and pouring diesel through the funnel while the boat pitched and rocked over the waves. All the while trying desperately not to get diesel all over ourselves. And, yes, in the rain.

 

We tried to dry the cushions from the starboard bunk by stacking them around the engine box while it was running. It didn't help much, but at least the thought was there.

 

Dave cooked us a lekker lunch of feijoada. We had been waiting for the day that the feijoada would crop up in the food bags, and today was the day. It was like Christmas.

 

We are in such a shit weather system that even the sea-birds have forsaken us. We haven't had any of those okes soaring around the boat in days.

 

There was a glimmer of sunshine at dawn today, but then the sun tucked itself in behind its blanket of clouds.

Zulu Day!

Day 25 of the Return trip

 

So as you all know, yesterday was Zulu Day, which we celebrated as we crossed into the Eastern hemisphere yesterday. The celebrations entailed dressing up in one's most appropriately themed outfit, followed by tea with Amarula chocolates (yay for Goldy!). The music was cut from the festivities because of our electronics nightmares.

 

Shortly after everyone calmed down, so did the wind. It got to the point where we could hoist Tallulah, our big zebra spinnaker. That was somewhat shortlived, because shortly before sundown, the breeze dropped, and we had to react by dropping the kite. While we had the spinnaker up, we discovered a sizeable tear on the leech of our trusty #1 genoa. Because of the prevailing moist conditions (to put it lightly) it was impossible to do a repair at the time , as nothing would stick to the sail.

 

After a half an hour of motoring under the mainsail in a very sloppy sea, the South-Easterly wind began to fill in. This put a bit of pressure on to get the #1 up again and start making some good headway again. The only possible way to get the sail dry was to hold it over the gas stove, and doing the same with the sail repair tape. After that we had to do the same with a rag to get it dry enough to clean the sail with acetone. Another drying spell of the sail over the stove and that tape stuck like a wet sleeping bag.

 

Voila! We have a useable #1 again.

 

Either out of boredom or intolerance of the conditions that we've descended to living under, Raf decided to do a big clean-up of the galley.

He unpacked all the cupboards, wiping and drying and uncovering all kinds of interesting treasures. Like the oranges that had rolled to the back of the cupboard under the sink. One of these things was so furry that we weren't sure whether to chuck it or send it to Chuck Testa the taxidermist.

 

The new day held a lot of promise for us yesterday, but after a night of rainy watches, our hopes of a 'drying-out' day were dwindling. It's okay though! This will only spur us on in pursuit of our new goal, namely "Royal Cape Yacht Club for Sunday Lunch."

 

Optimism prevails again!

 

We are going to have to find a new name for the sunrise watch, seen as none of us have actually seen the sun rise in at least a week. When it became apparent that this morning was going to hold no sunshine for us, Raf and I had to do think of something uplifting to do for the rest of the crew. So Raf took the wheel while I went down below and baked us a handful of fresh, hot broodjies which we had with butter for breakfast.

 

Now if that isn't worth crawling out of your wet bunk for then I don't know what is...

Out of Harm's Wave

Day 24 of the Return trip 

 

So firstly, since the last blog we passed a pretty significant milestone:

1000 miles to Cape Town! That's right, our distance to home has dropped by an order of magnitude and is now a 3 digit number.

 

But wait! There's more! As I write this, we are within 15 miles of the Greenwich Meridian. This is big, because the majority of the crew have never crossed this line on a boat. Zero degrees longitude indicates the military time zone 'Zulu'. As such, we have been building up since months before departing for the day we cross the Greenwich Meridian. We have even designated the day 'Zulu Day' and have a whole host of celebrations lined up. You can read more about them in the next blog.

 

If you've been watching the tracker even a fraction as closely as my dad has, then you'll see that we have been putting ocean behind us faster than you can say 'Voortrekker'. Since that howling breeze settled down, we have had 20-25 knots on the beam which has stuck with us for the last 24 hours.

Our average speeds have been outstanding. BUT, where I come from, we have a

saying: "Nothing for Mahala, baba"

 

In the words of Greg Hunt (Rio return delivery 2011): "Hows this rain bru.

F*** and h***."

I could kick myself for the irony of making the 'they pay for it in kak weather' comment in the Tristan blog post. Since the night we left Tristan it has been raining more than not. Just when we were starting to get accustomed to chasing sunrises, the sun stopped rising.

 

EVERYTHING is wet. Anything that didn't get drenched by spray, an open hatch or a leaky stanchion base got nailed by the condensation dripping down everywhere (unless it was in a Ziplock/Dry-bag, of course). We've written off books, biscuits, some electronics, celebratory cigars, and paper towels. Dry socks and underpants have become the most valuable commodity on the boat. The next most valuable is Talcum Powder -  which the boys have just realised does wonders on damp feet and bums. With all the clothes and fine white powder strewn around the cabin it looks like there's been one CRAZY party on Ciao Bella. Add to that the straggly looking adloescents clamouring around the boat with tired eyes, and I think you get the picture.

 

We are down to ONE SINGLE BUNK that is still dry. The port-side quarter berth. Two people now have to share this bunk with all of our bags on the other side of the lee-cloth. It's cosy. Then one poor soul has to have the slightly damp quarter berth on the starboard side. When you get woken for your watch, you have to peel your sleeping bag off yourself, then hold your breath when you put your wet foul-weather gear on.

 

But it's fine. We have passed 1000NM to go, we are moving fast and...

it's Zulu Day!