Yinne-koek

Day 23 of the Return trip

 

There is only one word needed to describe last night: Bedlam.

 

I have to bust this entry out pretty quickly, as things have not yet entirely calmed down.

 

Start off with this image in your mind: Picture a little fat kid, on a tricycle, going down a steep hill, with no brakes and his feet off the pedals. That was us last night.

 

Basically, when the wind finally swung around to the North-West, it cam through with a vengeance. We were getting gusts of over 30 knots before the sunset, which increased to very frequent gusts in the 40s as the night went on. What made the conditions so crazy was not the wind. It was the waves.

We weren't getting the nice long South Atlantic gentle-giants. These waves were short, steep and aggressive, with many anomalous waves hitting the quarter.

 

Before the sun set we tucked it in for the night, putting the second reef in the main, putting the gybe-preventer on and poling out the jib. In order to try manage the worsening sea-state, I slung two spinnaker sheets and the old main halyard from the stern of the boat. I had never done this before, but heard it recommended numerous times before. The ropes serve to help with directional stability downwind, take the sting off the the crests of the impending waves (thanks, Kelvin Thomas), and slow the boat down somewhat.

 

I'm not sure how much they helped with the third one, because we still maxed out at 18.1 knots, and got well over a 200 mile day.

 

Steering the boat was difficult for a number of reasons. Firstly, it was pitch-black. We're around the time of new-moon, and the clouds destroyed any hope of light from the stars. Most of the waves you didn't have to see, tough. You would hear the growling of the white water behind you as the stern of the boat got picked up. So take the picture of the little fat kid and add a blind-fold.

 

Fatigue made it a bit more taxing as well. Dave and I did tag-team driving through the evening and the night. 3 hours on and 3 hours off. We were poked by the end of it.

 

 

 

As I write this, the breeze has settled down to mid-twenty knots. But above that, the sea has calmed down into those nice long swells that we like so much. We could delegate a good couple of hours of the morning's driving to Ric which helped a lot.

 

Now it would seem that the fat kid is nearing the bottom of the hill, and may need to start climbing again soon...

 

BR

Eastbound and not Down

Day 22 of the return trip

 

Please excuse the fact that Day 21's blog entry hasn't been posted. It is waiting in the drafts folder until everyone has had a chance to contribute to it. This may take a while given our current circumstances. Read on...

 

We left the idyllic weather behind us just as fast as we did the island. We got the first rain as we were beating into a light SE breeze. As per our incredibly apt shore-crew's forecast, the breeze started to back around to the NE, as a small low pressure system moved in behind us. The wind continued to build very steadily as it backed further to the North. At 1500 we had to change to the storm jib, to accompany our reefed mainsail. Then at 1800, we found ourselves heading due north, which meant that to tack would put us bang on course for the V&A Waterfront. So we did.

 

The rain persisted on and off through all of this, but mostly on. The 25 knots of wind on the beam, and frequent spray from waves had us all drenched. But it's okay. At least we had a constant fresh-water shower.

 

Our cuisine on board has been nothing short of outstanding lately. Our previous night's kreef dinner set the benchmark, which Ricardo surpassed with a mouth-watering pasta bolognese using mince we bought on the island.

Then to cap it all off, half an hour before dinner time, Chancho and I reeled in another meal-for-four tuna. So we put the rice-cakes back in the cupboard and chowed that guy instead.

 

Back to the sailing side of things, we are riding the wind off this low, and heading as true East as is humanly possible. Maybe after a few 200 milers we'll have a chance to dry everything out again. Our longitude is in the single digits, and will be changing from degrees West to degrees East any day now.

 

Once again we'd like to thank everyone for their glorious emails of good tidings, well wishes and love letters. You all keep us moving!

 

BR

A Day on the Volcano

Day 21 of the return trip

 

When the ferry boat arrived at the dock, it was clear why they weren't able to collect us on the previous days. The surge in the 'harbour' was bad, even in the favourable conditions that the new day had brought. The original harbour had offered much better protection, but was entirely filled up when the (still currently active) volcano erupted in 1961. The new harbour consists of 2 straight breakwaters constructed of locally made dollices (sp?), which offer minimal protection from any kind of northerly swell.

 

We were led up to the administration building where we presented our ship's papers and received that coveted Tristan da Cunha passport stamp. Each one perfectly in the middle of a fresh page of passport. After receiving the hugs and best wishes that our families had managed to send to the island via one of the Admin office ladies, we were lead to the supermarket by Dawn - the island's tourism officer.

 

The supermarket on the island is just a bit bigger than your average corner shop. But it had everything we needed - MATCHES, Clean Green, Sunlight soap, etc. Due to Cape Town being the closest port, most of the shop's shelves were filled with some good homely South African things. No Chakalaka or Zoo Biscuits though. At the back of the shop was a little store selling curios and a lot of really nice handmade woollen items.

 

From the supermarket, Dawn took us to the Tourist Centre/Post Office, where we could put our bags down, have a little bite to eat, and put our frozen goods from the shop in the freezer.

 

From there we split up. And this is where things get interesting. We went off as three groups: Myself and Gina; Ric and Dave; and Raf on his unit.

Here's what each person has to say:

 

Raf: (who decided to narrate in third-person) After a brief stop at Tristan da Cunha's very own internet cafe (a concrete block attached to the towns police station) for some admin, Raf made his way through the town to find Ric and Dave making their way up the 1960's volcanic eruption site on the island. Following that, he went on his own mission to explore the west side of the island and to summit a hill that he had previously singled out from the anchorage. Hopping over a few streams, climbing several fences and pushing his way through many a cow, brave young Chancho made his way to the top, breathing out of his ass, yet took the time to appreciate the view and snap a couple shots. With only a few minutes to spare until rendezvous with the group he raced back to town to meet the others, stopping only at a conveniently unlocked bathroom with a tiny basin to which he took full advantage of.

 

Ric: (now in first-person)

Stepping onto land after a long ocean voyage is a magical experience, add to it the magic of the land being a fabled volcano, all of my being was tingling with excitement. In those first few minutes everything was happening at warp speed, there was so much to take in that it all had to be so quick, all the mannerisms and behaviours of these mysterious people on this overwhelming back drop. On the walk up the steep road from the harbour time finally settled down a little and the reality of Tristan da Cunha started to take over.

The volcano is ridiculous, it is so massive and ruggered that every-time you look up you are surprised at just how tall the cliffs are and how black the tristanite is. After clearing customs and getting a very rare stamp in the passport we quickly headed to the shop before spending a few hours exploring. I had no money and there is no way of getting money, so I spent the time at the shop speaking to a few of the locals and finding out a little about life on the Island and the 7 surnames. Once we were done at the shop it was time to really explore, we looked to the volcano and headed straight for the sight of the eruption. On the way there the town's doctor stopped to chat a little and gave us directions and a bit of advice. Heading to the volcano we passed around the top of the village and then round the green pastures to the east, the greeness of the grass only out done by the drama of the landscape massive gullies and striations criss-crossing the land (hopefully the photos will do it some justice). Hiking up the volcano was a really cool experience the primal untouched land and the awesomeness of the geothermal vents - then you looked up and saw the beauty of the town and the green hills just yonder. After the volcano I made my way west towards the green hills, to see if I could get to the potato patches, but due to a classic time mix-up, I didnt quite get to the potato patches before having to return to town. When I realised I still had an hour I wondered around town for a bit , visiting a few of the historical sites and then heading back towards the potato patches but I realised I wouldn't make it there so I enjoyed the journey.

I meandered along the edge of the cliff which must be at least 200m tall looking down at the rocks below and admiring just how far from the rest of the world these people live. After a little while enjoying the green hills and the mooing cows Gina and Bren appeared in a white Jeep with Iain the town's doctor, it was time to reunite with the rest of the team for our last hour on the island before our adventure home continued.

 

Dave:

Secretly, this island stopover was a glaring incentive when Bren invited me on this trip. Not only did we get to visit the island, but we did so on the most glorious of days. Once our immigration formalities had been completed, I made a B-line straight for the site of the most recent volcanic eruption on the island, that of 1961.

As a geology student, it was the most fascinating morning of exploration and discovery. Walking through the lava flows Ric D and I both commented how the scenery resembled that of Mordor - rich, black jagged, unforgiving pinnacles of volcanic glass. I'm sure the 200 odd pictures on my camera will do that justice. As we started climbing the mound I started noticing all those volcanic rocks and features I had only learnt about. The most interesting was pumice - a volcanic rock perforated with gas bubbles allowing it to float - literally.  We also stumbled across some geothermal vents - holes in the ground leaking out hot (50 degree) air. It was only towards to summit that I actually took the time to look up from the ground and admire the view, and what an impressive site. Afterwards, I continued my unabated rock collecting mission alone, venturing through the town and along the coast. Looking down from the steep cliffs I could see shoals of fish cruising through the kelp beds. once I had rendezvoused with the others, we were hosted by the islands docter for a Castle beer and locally baked bread. I returned to the boat with my pockets bulging with rocks, a handful in my hand and a few stashed in other peoples bags - souvenirs for the NMMU geology department ouens. All in all, it was a fascinating visit, and well worth the 2 nights spent bobbing about at anchorage waiting in anticipation.

 

Gina:

There's much to be said about a volcanic island. So lush and beautiful. A wide awakening to the fact that the only thing little about this island is the population.

Everything else is quite expansive with space and size as the mountain looms over you. When walking around it honestly felt like I'd stepped out of reality and into a dreamy meadow. It was such a treat too having a supermarket loaded with treats from home as the closest port is Cape Town! Liquorice and Top Deck!!! Having a personal tour by the Doctor of the Island with Bren was something else as we were invited into the history of the Island by someone who knew more of what we were wanting to know as he too had the outside perspective once. A friendly man, not that hospitality is anything to come by on Tristan. The smiles, waves and friendly good mornings were not hard to come by when running into a local and it made life just too enjoyable to see other people around. They must have thought we were another bunch of crazy though, travelling around on such a small boat at this time of year.

Having the grass between our toes again was something quite fantastic as Bren and I took our shoes off to walk along the path to the potato patches. I think it's about then that a local drove past and thought we might be out of our minds. So much is taken for grated with the simplicities of life - walking, grass under your feet, a friendly smile, hospitality of a kind stranger.

 

 

Bren:

The settlement of Edinburgh is very quaint to say the least. A handful of hovels in a group, cows and sheep wandering all around, chicken coups and potato patches. Then there's the colossal volcano on whose doorstep they perch. It looks a bit like Middle Earth, but with the Shire and Mordor right next to one another. It would have suited Frodo well, he could just simply have walked into Mordor.

It's all very green and pretty. I'm sure they pay for it in kak weather like the brits do. But not on our visit. They say that we saw the best weather the island has ever had.

Gina and I split from the others and set off towards the potato patches to the west of the town. We kicked our shoes off and left them next to a rock so we could enjoy the soft green grass under our feet. It was like walking through a post-card - green landscape with volcanic rocks scattered everywhere, sheep getting lost on the volcano.

They boast the World's Most Remote Everything here. The world's most remote population, bus-stop, hospital, golf course, post-office, potato patch, you name it.

Walking was like a new experience. We stumbled into doors, tripped on our own feet, and had to fight the urge to hold on to something while we re-learned walking on solid ground.

We had walked for about an hour when Iain (one of the resident doctors on a 6 month stint from the other Edinburgh) stopped in a Land Rover, and offered us a quick guided tour of the West side of the island. It was great. Though he was also an outsider of sorts he was able to answer a lot of our questions, and even invited us to his house for drinks and some fresh bread afterwards.

That's where we met up with Ric and Dave

 

And the story continues...

 

After Iain's, we rushed to the Supermarket and Tourist Centre for some last- minute purchases. Just before we hopped onto the rubber-duck to get carted back to Ciao Bella, Iain brought us a box of Kreef (crayfish) - the island's speciality, fresh from the factory - for us to enjoy on the boat. What a true gent.

 

Back on the boat, we had a bit of tidying to do before we could leave. The anchor line had put itself around the back of the keel, so out came the wetsuit (not the speedo this time) and Capitao got in the water to make right.

 

Just in case you thought it couldn't get any better, the kreef that we got from Iain went STRAIGHT into the pressure cooker, and was served hot with black pepper and fresh squeezed lemon juice. Ric jokes that we polished off the crayfish while we were still close enough to hear voices from the island.

 

As we motored away, the sun said cheers, and  the lights of the little town lit up under the shadow of the volcano before becoming a fading loom on the horizon.

The Waiting Game

Day 20 of the Return trip

 

Based on the weather forecasts, Dad's recommendation and the suggestion of Tristan Radio, we opted to wait out the rough seas at anchor. This was going to be a torturous wait, but we held onto the hopes that our visit to the island would be worth it.

 

After the Day 19 blog, the bad news is that the conditions didn't improve that afternoon. On such an afternoon, I could easily understand why the Brits would have wanted to settle here. It's cold, rainy and remarkably green. Until this point our spirits had been as up and down as the boat. We had to raise the anchor, cut the kelp off, and reposition the boat THREE times because our anchor had been dragging in the rough seas. Then as soon as we had committed to waiting another night, the westerly wind came through at about 25 knots. This made things harder to bear. We were in the face of the perfect conditions to continue our journey home. The frustration of the bobbing was nothing by compared to the zephyr that had mockingly arrived.

 

Now I feel that I have to follow up the last paragraph with some good news. The good news turns out to be very good - we paid our price of another night of bobbing and rolling at anchor; but on the morning that followed...

 

At 0800 UTC a call came in from Tristan Radio asking if we still wanted to come ashore. Was that a rhetorical question? The breeze had died of in the wee hours of the morning, and so had the sea state. The sun had risen on a perfect day in the South Atlantic. We radioed in to the affirmative, and requested that they send out the ferry-boat post-haste.

Pit-stop Arrival

Day 19 of the Return trip.

I've had my Day numbers mixed up on the blog titles. I wonder if anyone noticed. They should be correct now.

 

Flight SA 1398 landed at Tristan da Cunha at around 16:30 yesterday afternoon. We had a glorious sail in.

 

After yesterday's update, we had to drop the Norwegian Blue and go the rest of the way under the #1. The sky stayed blue, and although there was still a chill on the breeze, at least the sun was out. It was exciting to watch the volcanic behemoth grow in size and detail as we got closer. The sheer cliffs and rugged rock-faces make for a beautiful back-drop to the quaint and very much isolated little town. The town is situated on the north-east corner of the island, which holds just about the only patch of inhabitable land. It's big enough to fit the town, and leaves some space for the cows to roam.

 

On the same corner is the only bit of submarine-ground which is suitable for anchoring, which is where we are now. On the downside, it gets deep very rapidly, and also happens to have a kelp JUNGLE on the sea-bed.

Weighing anchor was difficult enough when we had to move this morning, but all of the kelp that we got off the anchor line ended up on our propeller.

So Lula got the goggles and went in the p1ss to cut it all off. Let it be noted that this morning is drizzly, overcast, and cold.

 

In other (slightly more pertinent) news this morning, we have not been able to get onto the island yet. When we arrived yesterday, the ferry-boat crew had all knocked off, and we were told to wait until morning. A movie and an uncomfortable night of anchor-watches later, we radioed in again to find out if we could come ashore.

 

We got our permission, but the hold-up once again was the boat crew.

Because of the large swell and choppy sea, they weren't going to be able to get out of their little harbour, and the transfer of people to boat was going to be sketchy at best.

 

So now we are playing the waiting game. We are patiently biding our time and hoping that the sea-state calms down enough to get onto the island this afternoon. If the wind comes up and the conditions get worse, we will have no choice but to be happy with what we've seen and get on our way again.

There is also the more remote possibility of spending another night at anchor on the off-chance that tomorrow holds better conditions for us.

 

Keep your fingers crossed!

Tristan in the Midst/Mist

Day 18 of the Return Trip

The breeze freed up from a beat to a slightly broader fetch by backing to the North. It didn't increase much, but has held at a steady 10-15 knots.

We have been pushing desperately to get to the island before the end of today. At 4AM the breeze had backed enough for us to put our Code 0 spinnaker up - the Norwegian Blue. We were happy with the added knot to our boat-speed and a slight change of scenery in the sail department.

We can see it now. At about 9AM, the monstrous volcanic island peeked out from behind its shroud of clouds to reveal itself to us. It looks tiny on a chart, but when you're looking up at the 2km high peak from 30 miles away, it's a lot more spectacular.

People are bouncing off the walls in this boat. The excitement is overwhelming - not just to hop onto dry land for a bit, but to visit a real hidden treasure of the world. We have a shopping list for the island which so far consists of: matches, lighters and eggs. I think our needs have become fairly simple.

With the wind coming from the North, it is significantly warmer than the last week has been. Though we will still not call this warm. Speedo days are now definitely a thing of the past. Regardless, the crew have been taking to the sugar-scoop one at a time to wash hair and freshen-up so that we are (mostly) looking sharp for our arrival.

We heard that there was some good fishing to be done around here, but our first catch with our newly untangled lines was a black sea-bird. Raf and Dave reeled it in and Gina baked it into a delicious pie. I'm kidding. Raf and Dave got it in hand, removed the hook and set the guy free.

Our next update may well be from Tristan itself!

Ciao for now

Stairway to Tristan

Day 17 of the Return Trip

The first thing that I need to do is acknowledge Ryan for the title of this one (or I will never hear the end of it).

We are about 180NM from the mystical isle of TdC, and thanks to a fortuitous change in the wind, are looking likely to make it without tacking again.

The moon came out for part of the night watches last night, and for the rest we had to endure a light drizzle of rain. The clouds made a little gap for the sun this morning, which has opened up to reveal some of that evasive blue sky. It's still cold, but it makes you feel a bit better to have the sun shining on you.

Night watches are cause for some great entertainment - particularly when it comes to waking the next candidate up for their watch. There is something about the  motion of the boat, or maybe it's just this boat, that produces the craziest of dreams. The responses of waking people from these dreams are priceless. Some choice ones have been from Dave: "Okay, just hold on, let me get my cricket bag", and "sure thing, where's my towel?".

Brennan: "Just wait, I'm busy explaining something to coach" and "What the hell did you give me a card for??". Ric doesn't say a word for about 20 minutes after he is woken up, but he does take a period of exactly 5 minutes to sit on the engine box and stare at his boots before putting them on (every time). Raf will pipe up with funny comments, but not when he's been woken up - right in the middle of his watch.

We had the mother of all fishing line tangles. It was a macrame of note. It looked like a pile of nylon 2 minute noodles. In fact, it looked a bit like Ric's home-made dream catcher. The two lines that we had out had just made a mess of one another. We stood more chance of catching something if we used them as a net. But we don't have much line to spare, so we took it in turns, and after about 5 hours of relay-untangling we got them undone. It has been decided only to have one hand-line out now.

Love your Monday, and enjoy the last of the long weekend!

The Team