Sailing In English

Sometimes I wonder just how language affect our normal thinking and the way we go about our business. The last week is a case in point.

I already know about negative self talk and language. The stuff that the little voice in the back of your head tells you to scare you. You go surfing, for example, and when you see the size of the waves the little voice goes: “You're gonna get dumped.” And, of course, you do. It is because one tends to listen to this little voice, instead of ignoring it.

Idyllic dusk scene at Saldanha Bay Yacht Club

From what I read, this little voice is actually your ego.

Your inner self is strong enough to ignore this voice. Train yourself not to react to every input that you get from this part of your environment. Just like you train yourself not to listen to your small child misbehaving in public.

When you get to this same idea applied to a group, things get more interesting. You are now faced with a group-wide thinking pattern and group behaviour. Add in a sailing vessel of suitable size and you can have lots of fun.

Which is what happened the last week.

The boat was in Langebaan area about sixty odd nautical miles from Cape Town and had to be brought back to base. Not a big problem, I have done the trip several times. However, this time I had people on board that literally got on a sail boat the day before. This was not my making, but dictated by a suitable weather window. You wait for a north-westerly breeze to have a down-wind or broad reach sail back to home.

I made a very shortened lecture on docking the boat and reefing the sail, a long lecture on basic safety aboard, smoking practice and so on, then we set off. I taught these students basic knots on the way, names of the parts of the boat and as well as the names of the various lines. All a bit backwards, as I normally do these things on the first day and a half, before we go sailing. This helps with getting the new knowledge sinking in.

Our favourite seal

We had a wonderful sail down the coast in bright sunny weather, arriving in Cape Town an hour or two after dark. Quite an experience for these young people. Did I mention the seasickness?

Then, on the next day, the fun started.

Not having gone through the mill of getting the names and uses of the various lines under the belt properly, my intrepid group of students now had to remember the names of the lines very fast. I found a corner of Table bay with a breeze gusting to twenty knots where we could play around learning to sail.

Needless to say, I had a few glorious laughs watching the students' eyes grow wide in fear of the boat capsizing. We dipped a rail several times and had the mast just off the water once or twice. I had to step in several times to undo cleated lines. This dumps the wind out of the sails and gets back control of the boat. Of course, with the mast almost down to the water, things start to fall out of shelves and into the bilge water slopping about.

The ecstasy of  surfing a 4.5 ton boat

It was only afterwards, when I did a rehash of each manoeuvre, that I realised just how large effect language has on our daily drudgery.

Each time I asked the student in question what his or her impression was about what had gone wrong. And as sure as God made little green apples, I would get an answer in a sentence that does not contain any verb. Very disconcerting indeed. The person is not able to communicate to the outside world in a form of language that is understandable to another person.


After some reflection on this, I had the idea that it could be partly the influence of the electronic media available to people. Almost all of these young people use a mobile phone to communicate. And they use an abbreviated language. Probably without proper grammar and without verbs.

I then changed my style of lecturing to teach language skills rather than sailing. I taught them that the words “ease,” “dump,” and “release” are verbs, and that those words, used in conjunction with the words “main sheet” and “jib sheet,” which are nouns, not verbs, have certain semantics associated with such use. And that these terms, used in normal communication aboard, make life a lot easier on a sail boat.

Dusk near Cape Town

Arranging the course experiences around language of course has its own pitfalls. Everyone had to make changes to their way of talking, which meant changing thinking patterns as well. The students quickly cottoned on to what was happening and by the end of the course they were smiling again and could tack the boat without getting themselves knotted in the vagaries of the English language.

Perhaps their experiences on the boat helped them to made the change in their consciousness to a place where they can now communicate on a more level plane than before.

And here I was under the impression that a sailing vessel is very old technology, almost fading into the mists of time, to be fondly remembered as some sort of ancient transport.


Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2015-02-17

French-Moroccan Style Food Aboard

The last week saw me yet again playing the sailing instructor to a boat load of young people. Young, healthy people with appetites to match. Put in some physical sailing exercises, anchoring off Grainger Bay for a light lunch, then pulling up the anchor by hand before some more sailing.  Add a dose of the wonderful Cape Town weather at this time of year, and you have five ravenous mouths to feed. Six if you include your favourite sailing instructor.

Not that that is a problem, of course. Part of the course is to do the provisioning planning. This effort naturally includes finding out dietary constraints and then matching the provisions to suit.

In this case we had a crew member not eating red meat. Pork and chicken, yes. But no red meat. Matching this requirement with our standard list of single pot meals could pose a problem. Our food stipend for the week does not amount to much and one does like to keep the food within that budget. Part of learning to make do in a minimalist way.

So boerewors and mash, spaghetti Bolognese and chilli con carne were out of the question. After some deliberation, I remembered that the French has a dish they call cassoulet, made with beans and pork. A stewed dish, eminently suited for preparing on board.  Of course, no proper sailor would go without some spice, so here was some more room for creativity.

The North Africans are famous for their wonderfully flavoured stewed dishes. That gave me the idea of a fusion dish: French-Moroccan style chilli beans and pork. Something away from your standard chilli con carne using beef mince.

For this dish we added some thinly sliced potatoes as starch, thereby making it a one pot dish. The ingredients are kept simple, as we have but a small two-burner gas stove on board and no refrigeration to speak of. A cooler box with ice, I'll have you know. Work space for preparing food is also at a premium.

In addition, I have stopped using cooking oil on board, using butter instead. Partly due to the fire hazard of hot oil on a bouncing and rocking stove, and partly because the butter imparts better flavour. I have also found that people eat smaller portions when I use butter in the cooking. Banting again, no less.

Space is at a premium

You may omit the potatoes in favour of couscous. We did not have any, but it will work well with this dish.


Here the flavours lie in the process as much as in the ingredients. Just mixing it all in and cooking it will not bring out the flavour and you will have a bland dish that burns your tongue.

And thus French-Moroccan style spicy pork stew was born. This quantity will feed six hungry sailors.

Ingredients

750g pork leg chops, cubed to 15mm/½ inch size and trimmed of fat.
1 can red kidney beans
1 can butter beans
1 can baked beans in tomato sauce
1 can whole peeled tomatoes
1 sachet tomato paste
2 medium size fresh tomatoes, coarsely diced
1 onion, chopped
1/3 Green pepper, chopped
2 medium potatoes, sliced to the same thickness as the pork.
1-2 thumbs garlic, chopped and mashed
4 small chillies, finely chopped
1 teaspoon coriander powder
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 ½ teaspoon cumin powder
Some salt to taste

Small stove and galley area

Pepper to taste
2 dessert spoons butter for frying.

Process

Heat up the pot or pan that you will be using. Add a little butter. Fry the pork in small batches until they are brown. Set the fried pork aside to rest.
Using the same pot, which will now contain a nice layer of caramelised pork, add some more butter and fry the onions and green pepper until brown. They will pick up the caramelised bits of pork. Add the garlic and chillies and fry them for thirty seconds. Add the dry spices and fry these for fifteen seconds, then add the tomatoes, the potatoes and the pork. Reduce the heat when the the pot starts to boil and simmer until the potatoes are done. Check for sufficient saltiness, the potatoes may make the dish somewhat fresh.
Only then add the beans. Drain the fluid from the kidney- and butter beans. The baked beans go in complete with the tomato sauce. Mix thoroughly. The sauce will thicken substantially towards the end, so do make sure that nothing sticks to the bottom and burns.



Allow the dish to cook through, then take the heat away and allow the dish to rest. This may not be easy, as by now the whole boat or kitchen will be pervaded by a delicious aroma.

Bon appetit!


Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2015-02-07

On Being A Skipper

Many of us dream about a seawards life, independent of the land and making your own decisions. Programming your own life in accordance with your dreams, bowing only to the wind and the waves.

An idyllic life, no less.

I did exactly that. I changed my lifestyle from being a suburban dweller, commuting daily to and from a bureaucratic institution, to the life of a sailor. Granted, I do not own a boat. And I operate from a fixed base. I introduce and instruct others in the gentle art of sailing. Quite satisfactory, one would argue. Sailing for a whole week at a time and getting paid for leading this idyllic life style.

Yea, right.

Idyllic Hout Bay afternoon

Nothing in this life is free. Including this life style. There is a pound of flesh to be paid in return. And this comes in the form of responsibility. Accountability also, if you wish to play with semantics.

Who gets to explain when things go wrong? The skipper. And who is to blame if there is no more food on board? The skipper, of course. When someone gets hurt?

Always the skipper. As an aside, keel boats can kill you if you are careless, they are not dinghies that will simply capsize to tell you that you have done something stupid.

A heavy burden, if you are not alert. And even skippers get overloaded when they are not careful.

My experience of the last week is a case in point. I have the doubtful privilege of losing the Danbuoy, MOB light and life ring. The very safety equipment that is used to assist a person after falling overboard, the Danbuoy being a flag on a floating staff to keep a position indication of the person in the water.

It happened in broad daylight in a sheltered bay. So, how come the equipment was lost? The answer is “very easy,” actually.

We were doing some MOB (Man OverBoard) drills in Hout Bay, our neighbouring harbour. A sheltered bay on the Cape Peninsula. Also notorious for heavy winds. At the time of the exercise the wind was blowing 10 knots, gusting 15 in glorious sunshine. We were happily doing the MOB exercises, the day skipper students taking turns at the helm.

Quiet Hout Bay morning

Then the wind picked up and went from 10 knots gusting 15 to blowing 20 knots gusting 25 within ten minutes. I ordered two reefs in the main. While we were reefing the main, the wind went from 20 knots gusting 25 to 27 knots gusting 35 and picking up. We were in the process of reefing, so I ordered the mainsail to be stowed. The jib had unravelled itself while still being furled, with a piece of sail flapping in the wind on either side of the sheets wrapped around the middle on the furler.

After all that was secured, we set out to retrieve our equipment still floating in the water. However, by this time, which was under ten minutes time span, we had lost sight of the danbuoy. The water had turned to a frothy half a metre chop by then, obscuring everything that was floating lower than half a metre out of the water.

Hout Bay in 33 knots of wind

We set out on a rectangular search pattern, but gave up after an hour, the equipment lost. We made an official report to the Maritime Safety authorities and the NSRI (National Sea Rescue Institute) after docking safely back in Hout Bay harbour. This to ensure that they do not launch a search and rescue mission in the event that somebody else retrieves the equipment. Heavy liability there, if you forget and there is a fruitless expense on the side of the autorities. The authorities treat this in the same vein as a bomb scare. So we were covered there, at least.

All crew safe and sound, the boat back in harbour, tied alongside safely. Search parties sent out to check on the shore and harbour wall returned with empty hands. We then performed a lessons learned debriefing on board.

We were basically prevented from all sailing until we could obtain another set of equipment. Safety first and foremost.

Having had this experience, I then asked myself what could have been done differently to prevent this. And I did some very deep soul searching.

In the end, the answer is very easy: It was the skipper's fault. Mine. So, why did I not get this one right?

A very easy management problem to solve, viewed from an armchair. Don't overload yourself as the skipper. There is a crew. Use them. Delegate.

And make very sure you understand the vagaries of your local waters, even if you think it is OK, it's your own back yard and you understand the weather.

I did not, with results to show.

Another deceptively quiet early morning, leaving Hout Bay

And above all, remember that a person in the water will not be visible at fifty meters away from the boat in a half meter choppy sea with foam. Even in broad daylight.

A scary enough thought to give me nightmares.




Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2015-01-30

Withdrawal Symptoms: Sailing Into The New Year

  

This last Christmas season saw me doing nothing. Yes, nothing. Perhaps it is the Cape Town spirit getting to me at last.

This doing nothing included final convalescence from my torn biceps muscle, with a shakedown cruise across False Bay to Simon's Town. A wonderful trip indeed. The do nothing bucket list also included lots of beer. It is high summer here after all.

There is something to say for doing nothing along with your nearest and dearest.

However, the laziness eventually gets you. One can only read so many books and do thus many crossword puzzles before the withdrawal symptoms catch up. I had to take a deep breath and count to ten many times to just calm down.

How wonderful it was when the sailing school contacted me to book my time for instruction in the new year! Sailing again. Out of a wonderful place too.


The Cape Town waterfront marina has something special to it. There is a serene quietness in there at both ends of the day. Being at the back of the main harbour activities, the noise from industrial vehicles and -activities and so on does not reach the marina. Couple this with Table Mountain and Signal Hill standing guard over us and you get the idea of a peaceful, almost Zen-like mood.

Clifton beach  with Table Mountain standing guard

Of course, the sailing is exquisite, as always. I had a group of students on competent crew course, which always has some adventure looming. This time was no exception.

The competent crew course is very interesting to taxing, as the students literally have not ever been on board a boat. It is up to the instructor to get these young people to a level where one can begin to enjoy the sailing, as opposed to having the fear of God put into them due to their lack of knowledge and experience.

We got past this hurdle quite fast and was able to have a sail in decent wind of twenty seven knots, gusting thirty on the second day of the course. Everybody had a whale of a time after the first ten scary minutes of worrying that the boat will capsize. Then the real fun started.

The jib furler came adrift and I had to send someone forward to go and clear and stow the sail.
This was done with some splashing as expected. We carried on sailing, doing some point of sail manoeuvres, then motored back to our mooring.

Dinner. Chile con carne a la The Hungry Sailor

There I sent one of the students up the mast  to retrieve the furler. All on the second day of their course. Talk about adventure!


The next day we sailed to Clifton, one of the most picturesque beaches in the world. We were blessed with a balmy day too. The whole world and their friend also had the same idea, so it was quite festive with all the boats at anchor off the packed beaches. The students took a quick dip in the cold Atlantic water before making a scrumptious picnic lunch. Much fun was had by all, until we hoisted the anchor.

Or at least, we tried to. The anchor was stuck fast and I had to make a fast plan before everyone else departed the anchorage. Our neighbour helped with pulling a spare mooring line doubled around the anchor chain in the opposite direction. Soon the recalcitrant stuck anchor was tripped and we could sail home.

By Friday afternoon these students had broad smiley faces and little skin left on their palms. The vagaries of an introduction to yachting.

These adventures really set me thinking about what I do. I am the instructor and normally are quite tired by the end of the course, both physically and mentally. Yet I cannot remember when last it was that I enjoyed a week on the water so much. Not even mentioning the fact that, really, a bad day on the water beats any desk job ever.

I got home and sat in wonder for a while, counting blessings. Perhaps one gets a bit blasé about the sailing and then needs a break from sailing altogether. Just to clear the mind.

But your soul tells you it is time to get back on the water. And Kenneth Graham's story “The Wind in the Willows” comes to mind. I quote from Wikipedia.

In the story, Mole and Rat are rowing up the canal in Rat's boat. They are discussing nautical things and life in general when Rat is heard to utter:

“Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing — absolutely nothing — half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing... about in boats — or with boats. In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not.”



Authored by Johan Zietsman


Last updated on 2015-01-12

The Cape Winter Sailing Experience

Life in this neck of the woods gets very interesting in winter. There are fewer tourists, the sailing school is less busy and the Cape night life seems to slow down a tad.

Even the wind and weather seems to feel the vibe and slows down. The southeaster is not as strong, the north-westerly gales tend to be not as severe as their south-easterly cousins in summer.


And we get rain, as we have a Mediterranean climate. Dry, hot, sunny and windy summers with the odd cold front to cool things down. Then wet winters. We think they are cold, but my friends from Europe just giggles. Certainly we get rain.

And some very nice, steady breezes from the north-west, interspersed with some mild south-easterlies. Don a rain jacket or foulies and you have the most magnificent sailing weather.  Not to mention the cruising part of it.

This was yet again brought home to me during the last week or two of sailing instruction. 'Sailing instruction' is probably not a good word to describe what what I do. Perhaps it is more of an introduction to cruising and the associated lifestyle.


Just last week we sailed the boat back from Saldanha bay to Cape Town in the most idyllic conditions. I wrote a blog post about our experiences in The Lore Of Sailing.

This week was a repeat of the experience.

The week started out misty and with no wind. We did other things and shuffled in a diesel engine course. Then it was time for sailing. An overnight trip to the quaint village of Hout Bay, about twenty odd miles down the Cape Peninsula. We planned our voyage carefully, the students doing the passage plan. There are a few rocks to avoid, and we were to go inside Vulcan rock and just off the Dungeons.

Vulcan rock is a rock some distance off the entrance of Hout Bay itself, but really in the way when approaching from the north. The Dungeons is the place where you get extremely big waves breaking in nice tubes, making it a world-famous spot for the big wave surfers.

This trip is a prime candidate for manual navigation practice, as the route takes you down the very picturesque Cape Peninsula coast with all its mountains. It is also a prime candidate for a leisurely cruise. Being one of the most beautiful coast  lines I have seen, it is a bliss to sail this voyage.

The entrance to Hout Bay

True to form, there was hardly any wind as we left the port of Cape Town. Around Green Point light the little wind that there was disappeared as we entered the wind shadow of Lion's Head and the Twelve Apostles. However, we did have a visit from a flock of dolphins. Yes, a flock, not a pod. More than fifty, I guess. Swimming all around the boat and frolicking in the bow wave.

Then, to our delight we found some breeze just off Camps Bay. This breeze was southerly, so we had a long tack out to sea in flat water. Just imagine, sunny skies with a few lazy wisps of cloud, some winter haze, mild temperature and a breeze of around fifteen to eighteen knots carrying you ever so gently forward. The crew had a competition on who does the most accurate navigation. Side bets to decide who is it.

All in good spirit, having a good time. Not to mention the stories. Lots of stories, tall tales and yarns. As always.


We managed to sail our course as planned and arrived at our destination in good time, just before sunset. Enough time to enjoy the quiet harbour at the end of the working day, watching the sun go down. Even the seagulls and the resident seals were quiet. The birds preening and the seals taking a quiet nap somewhere on a buoy or a deserted quayside.

Hout Bay at dusk

We cooked a hot dinner of spicy stir-fried chicken with stir-fried vegetables and noodles. Having a bunch of hungry sailors aboard made it a bit problematic with quantities, but we managed. I spent the evening with some quiet music while the crew went to discover the town. It so happened that one of the crew hails from this beautiful place, so there was much excitement among them.

The night was quiet, with no wind. I slept like a log. The next morning dawned quietly, still with no wind. An idyllic scene, if ever I saw one.

The mountains in the background, the harbour and the boats reflected in the quiet water of the harbour. We had a short conversation with other dock-dwelling visitors from other climes. It is wonderful to meet these travellers and exchange stories. A boon to the soul, I hold.


We left early, as there was again the expectation of no wind. However, we were surprised again to find a little breeze off Llandudno. This one died away quite soon, though and we had to motor back to Cape Town.

Then, at the harbour entrance we found a south-easter of around eighteen to twenty knots. Some little sea horse helping us along. This wind drew us into the Woodstock corner of Table bay, where we had a ball!

We did some MOB drills, giving everyone a chance until they felt comfortable at it. Tacking and gybing exercises followed. Soon everyone had doffed their warm clothes from the exertion.

At the end of the day I saw some very broad smiles and happy faces. As for me. I had a ball too.

Being the instructor means that I do not get to touch any of the controls of the boat. It is up to me to talk the crew through any new technique or manoeuvre. But this time was exciting for me too.


And after experiencing all of this, I still wonder why there isn't more people enjoying this wonderful weather.

For now, I still count my blessings.



Authored by Johan Zietsman


Last updated on 2014-05-24

The Lore Of Sailing

Ever wondered why so many people fall in love with sailing?

I think it is the images of idyllic beach scenes, blue water and flat seas. Wonderful sunsets, some white clouds and an image of a sail boat sailing off into the distance. Or anchored a short distance from the shore. Adorned with athletic, sun-tanned bodies. Scrumptious food on the aft deck.

Get the idea?


The last two weeks were yet again taken up with sailing along with students. Not too much coach­ ing though, mostly due to extreme weather conditions. It is the Cape of Storms, after all.


The scheduled booking allowed shuffling of the timetables and we took advantage of this. Which saw me in Saldanha Bay and Langebaan area for two days, then the voyage back to Cape Town.

Having said that we live at the Cape of Storms, we don't have storms all the time. And when the storms abate, there is magnificent weather with the associated beauty of nature around us.

This was yet again brought home to me on the voyage from Saldanha Bay to Cape Town, a distance of some sixty nautical miles. On this occasion we had no wind, open skies and blue seas. We saw seagulls, Cape gannets and some cormorants. Jackass penguins diving and scurrying as we ap­ proached. A whole flock of seals.

Is that the right word? 'Shoal' doesn't sound right, 'bob' sounds too small and 'herd' sounds like cattle. There were probably more than fifty of these animals. It appeared that they may have been hunting as a group. They were jumping out of the water making belly flops, unlike their normal por­ poising for breath. And of course the sea birds took advantage of this. They joined in the glut, diving into the water for a morsel.

We also saw a dolphin or two, surfing the slipstream of the rudder and the boat's bow wave. These animals will jump out of the water to attract your attention, then they will frolic in the bow wave and the slipstream of the rudder. Performing a dance that is indescribable in it's intricacy. Then they would disappear suddenly.  Almost as if to say that our company is too boring and they are now done with the visit. It must be wonderful to have the freedom of choice that they have in terms of association.

The cherry on top was the whales. I have always seen whales along this section of the coast. These huge animals don't dance, they just come alongside the boat, look at you with a beady eye, then they sound and disappear. An immensely satisfying experience, until you realize that these animals are at least twice the size of the boat. Then you get scared. Normally too late, as the whales will have dis­ appeared by that time. Luckily these giants of the ocean are not really aggressive.

The views of the land seen from the boat of course are just something else. This is not something that one sees every day. And normally you would be driving by in a car, speeding along and having a very quick impression of what the countryside looks like. Things are different in a boat. A sail boat goes along at more or less six knots, depending on the wind. Therefore a journey of two hours by car for the hundred and eighty kilometres from Saldanha to Cape Town will take about twelve hours by boat.

You have lots of time to see the sights and contemplate the beauty of Nature. We travelled on the day of the full moon. We saw the moon rising over the mountains of the Boland region, making a light path on the glassy smooth seas. In fact, the moon is so bright that it obscures all but the bright­ est stars. Combine this with the city lights along the shore and you sit with an idyllic environment, albeit quite cold. The water temperature around this neck of the woods, so to speak, is around thirteen degrees C. This cools the air too. But a jersey and a proper wind jacket does wonders.

The four of  us on board were silenced by this wonderful sight. We just sat there and drank it all in.  Two of the crew were on competent crew course, so they got a chance to steer by the stars. Get a course to steer from the skipper, turn the boat in that direction, then look for a star straight ahead. Keep the boat pointing in that direction, aiming for the star.


Yes, the star will move in the sky as the earth rotates. But it is good enough for the next hour or so. A wonderful adventure, sailing at night.

The whole experience is just overwhelming. To me it is akin to having a very long meditation exercise. Your whole being and senses are enveloped in this cocoon of peace.

At the end of the voyage you are quite rested emotionally, if a bit tired physically. It is times like these that one just sit and enjoy the experience.

And give thanks to your Creator for the ability to enjoy this.



Authored by Johan Zietsman.

Last updated on 2014-05-18.

Travelling Through The Mists Of Time

Every voyage by sail boat is a new adventure. I have travelled many miles in our local waters this year and every time there was something new.

You get to understand, perhaps, where some of the seafaring stories of old come from. Like the story of Van Hunks and his pipe challenging the devil himself to a smoking match. And not to forget the story of the Flying Dutchman trying to get into port at Cape Town. Don't take his mail from him, for then you will also be forever doomed to sail the dark and misty waters around Cape Town.

One gets these ideas out on the ocean when there is adverse weather.

South Head Light, Saldanha Bay

On this last voyage it was for real. We travelled through the mists of time and had the most wonderful experiences.

In fact, we experienced all the possible weather conditions imaginable. We left Cape Town in a howling gale, albeit in bright sunshine. Then we had to motor the last bit into Saldanha bay as the wind left us.

We arrived at our destination just in time to dock in the dark. That dark time just after dusk and before the last bright light of the sky has disappeared. When shadows are very dark indeed, especially when docking at a strange place for the first time.

We had good fun along the way though. The swells out of the south west reflect off the coast, then make an interference pattern with the incoming swells. This creates a veritable washing machine effect. You get mostly broken swells and small choppy wavelets as a result of this mixing. This is interspersed with the odd one that actually compounds into something in the order of five meters.

North Head light, Saldanha Bay

The boat mostly corkscrews over these, but you get to surf the big ones. Imagine surfing a four and a half ton boat. We were doing just that when we noticed whales in the swells next to the boat. They also seemed to enjoy the weather, but it was difficult to see whether they were actually surfing or just on their way somewhere.

The surfing story sounds better.

It was somewhere north of Robben Island when the boat did not surf, but just slid sideways down the face of a five meter wave. We hit the bottom of the through with a gut-wrenching lurch, enough to wake up everyone lost in the reverie of the nice sailing conditions. I had a very wide awake crew after that.

Later in the week we travelled to the quaint little town of Paternoster. The weather had settled and the wind subsided by this time, so we had to motor there. Anchored in the little bay, we had the most magnificent view of the both the town and the sunset. I suppose the townsfolk had a magic photo opportunity too, complete with a sail boat in the bay. Not something seen every day.

Saldanha Bay sunrise

That night was magnificent, with the town lights reflecting on the water and hardly any wind. The stars, of course, always look like you could pick them out of the sky. But it was cold, so we cooked dinner and went to bed early.

Just as well. The next morning dawned grey. Very grey indeed. A thick fog enveloped us, with visibility down to around fifty meters. With absolutely no wind the water looked oily smooth. Some time later the sun came up. We knew the sun was up because the grey went a lighter shade.

Eventually the mist thinned a bit and the visibility changed to around one hundred and fifty meters. The sun made a wan appearance for a few minutes, then the mist settled in again. Real blind navigation stuff here. Luckily for us Paternoster is not situated in the most populous place as regards shipping, so we were reasonably safe where we were. However, we had to get back to Saldanha Bay, a distance of some thirty odd nautical miles away.

This meant travelling through this thick stuff with special attention to navigation and all available beady eyes on the lookout.

And here we were, motoring along gently and slowly, keeping a careful lookout for other traffic and navigation hazards. This is where one's eyes and mind start to play games with you. The intense concentration on the environment causes one to see things. A dark shadow here, a white splash there.

In fact, quite a number of white flashes. We were quite worried, until we realised these were seagulls taking off as the boat approached, making a splash in the water. The fog made it seem like the bow wave of a small boat. Some of the dark spots then translated into the dark backs of other sea birds.

In all of this we had quite a scare too. Suddenly we had a big splash just off our port bow. A hurried check on the GPS confirmed we were far away from any rocks. So it must be traffic. Another splash got our hearts stuck in our throats. Then we saw what it was. Traffic, all-right. In the form of a pod of whales. Five of them.

Paternoster sunset

The first one was some distance in front of the others, making the first splash. Our hearts were still stuck in our throats, as these animals are all much bigger than our puny little boat. They crossed our path by diving under the boat. Very scary indeed.

Paternoster night scene

And here is where we had this eerie experience of travelling through time. The last we saw of the land was the previous night before we went to bed. The beautiful lights of the town lining the little bay. The last we saw of the sun was as it set over the ocean the day before. And we were surrounded by a thick grey mist. You lose all sense of movement. Of course, you know that you are moving, but there is no sense of distance.

Only time. You measure distance travelled by time passing. Not even the GPS instruments will give you a sense of having moved along. Yes, it gives a picture with a line on it. But after a few hours you lose sense of direction and where you are. You are enveloped in a grey cocoon, where not even the sun's rays can penetrate. The boat gently bobs and rolls on the sea, which makes it even more difficult to sense your advancing movement.

The mists of time

The first that we saw of the sun or land was after we entered Saldanha Bay itself. Before making the last turn we had to call port control to confirm that the harbour entrance was clear. We don't have radar, so things may get dangerous in the event that there is other traffic in the harbour entrance.

What a wonderful experience to see the sky clear, the sun out and to see land where you expect it to be.  After six or seven hours of this fog, seeing land is indeed a blessing.

And perhaps we did travel through time. Being cut off from modern technology and your senses takes one back several centuries, if you will. There is also the sense of sharing some experiences with the sailors of old.

After this you travel through your own comfort zone with a different view.

And, to top it all, now we all have some more tales to tell...



Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-04-26

Messing About In Boats

Table mountain and Cape Town at dusk.

"Is it so nice as all that?" asked the mole, shyly...

"Nice? It's the only thing," said the Water Rat Solemnly, as he leaned forward for his stroke. "Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing -- absolutely nothing -- half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats."

A shameless beggar in the V&A Waterfront

"Simply messing...about in boats -- or with boats... In or out of 'em it doesn't matter. Nothing seems to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not."

"Look here! If you've really nothing else on hand this morning, supposing we drop down the river together and have a long day of it.?"

Some people mess around
 in bigger boats...

As far as I am concerned, Kenneth Grahame hit the nail on the head with this passage in his very famous book “The Wind in the Willows.” I have now introduced a number of people to the world of sailing. I have instructed these people in conditions that varied from hardly any wind, a warm sun  and flat water in Table Bay, to something resembling the storm from the film Forrest Gump, sailing at night.

We have made passages to Hout Bay, a little fishing village on the Cape Peninsula. Some times it was dark when we got to Cape Town, entering port in the dark. Other times we had fog and cold weather, even though it was summer here in the Cape.

I remember the time I had five young men on board sailing to Hout Bay. The wind was from the north west, so we were sailing on a broad reach going south. Which means we were sailing diagonally down wind, for my non-sailing readers. Surfing the boat every so often down the swells. I shall forever remember the look of ecstasy on their faces when the boat surfed while they were holding the tiller. On that day I had to force these people into changing places so that everyone could have a go at surfing the boat.

There would be fighting, perhaps. With a large amount of testosterone, an adrenalin overload and bragging rights. How many people can rightly claim that they surfed a boat of around four and a half tons down the swells?

Gordon's Bay Yacht Club marina

We sailed around Robben Island on other occasions, leaving the port of Cape Town late in the afternoon, sailing into dusk. Then, just north of the island we would heave-to and cook dinner as the night settled in. A proper cooked dinner, hot food. And then sail back in the night with a totally different view of Cape Town than when we left.

As the water rat said, there is always something to do. On the last day of all of my courses we do a closing cruise. Then the students can do anything they want, as long as I consider it safe. On some of these days we have done MOB (man overboard) drills until every hand had blisters on them, sailing in winds gusting over thirty knots. But the fun never stops. The crew would then see just how far they can make the boat heel and who can make it go the fastest. We had a GPS switched on just to get a proper speed reading. Of course, there is the limit where I say no and they have to ease somewhat on the sheets. Safety comes first. The boat has to stay afloat and come back to the mooring in one piece. Ditto for the crew.

Strand sunset, seen from False Bay. This is where I live.

But it is tremendous fun. A rich life, even. And it is a life built on experiences, not the possession of goods and things. It is only lately that I have come to the full realisation of the lesson that the Bible, Buddha and various other religious groups try to teach us.

We are but the temporary custodians of the goods that we ostensibly own. I always wanted my own boat. But now, having sailed other people's boats, I have a changed perspective. I treat the school's boat like my own. In fact, it is virtually my own for the week. I have full autonomy of use within the syllabus that I teach. And when it breaks, I fix it myself. Sometimes with the help of the students.

I treat the boat as my own property.

Sunset over False Bay

Somehow, this Karma, if you will, comes back to me in the form of great joy and pleasure in sailing the boat. An angel looking after me. Psalm 23 says I shall not want. Perhaps this is it.

I still would like my own boat to go cruising to wherever into the wild blue yonder. I still have plans and dreams. However, life is what happens to us while we are making other plans, in the words of the late John Lennon.


So, for now, for me, contentment is in sailing and sharing these experiences with other people who also have dreams in their hearts and a glint in the eyes.


Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-04-08

Sailing Into Maturity

The screen saver image of sailing.

A rite of passage, perhaps.

How do we grow up? We go to school, get some education from the school environment in addition to that from home. Then we perhaps go on to study at a tertiary institution and get some more education.

Education as opposed to training. According to Wikipedia, education in its general sense is a form of learning in which the knowledge, skills, and habits of a group of people are transferred from one generation to the next through teaching, training, or research.

Training, on the other hand, is defined by Wikipedia as follows: Training is the acquisition of knowledge, skills, and competencies as a result of the teaching of vocational or practical skills and knowledge that relate to specific useful competencies.

So, in one case you learn some techniques and a craft, if you will. In the other case you get taught habits and behaviour.

In my younger days we had national service in the armed forces. This forced one to stand on your own feet and understand that the world does not revolve around oneself. A rite of passage in itself, as your parents also got used to the idea that now you are an adult. Letting go of your mother's apron strings, so to speak.

Are you mature enough to take charge of a boat like this?
S/V Georgia, once the largest sloop in the world.

Some of the indigenous people here in South Africa still has the practice of a circumcision ceremony lasting a week or more and a rite of passage before you are regarded as a man. The girls have a similar rite of passage.

But in our modern urbanised society children increasingly live at home until quite an advanced age, sometimes into their late twenties. Well, for me that seems an advanced age. Yes, work is scarce for young people nowadays. But living at home under your parents' guidance seems to be not quite the right idea in terms of reaching maturity and self sufficiency as a useful citizen of your country.

Here in South Africa we have what is generally known as a democratic society. Everybody has a say in government. However, to me it also entails taking responsibility for what one perpetrates as one stumbles along your life's path in the search for happiness and contentment.

Enter the sailing world.

I had this gleam in the eye for sailboats and sailing in general from a very young age, but never had the chance to go sailing until I was a student at university. I remember my first sailing experience with some nostalgia. It was on a racing dingy and we swam more than we sailed on that day. A sobering experience at best.

My next sailing experience came when I made a concious decision to dedicated myself to sailing. A lifestyle change, if you will. I went into keelboat sailing. Sailing boats that can take you across an ocean. And the first, most noticeable impression was that one needs to take responsibility for the boat and those who sail with you. You are dependent on each other. Your very lives may depend on this coherence, if you will.

Are you also lost in the land of nod?

And a sailboat is not a democratic environment. No, it is very autocratic indeed. This idea comes home on every course that I teach. On more than one occasion I had to enforce an instruction in some way.

Sometimes it is simple and quite funny. A student that is scared that the boat will capsize when it heels and then refuses to steer the course as instructed. This person then steered a course that kept the boat upright, but aimed directly for the shore about three hundred meters away. I had to keep my foot on the tiller to keep the boat pointed in the right direction. The student in question quickly overcame his fear of the boat heeling and we all had a bit of a giggle afterwards.

There are more examples of this nature. Overcoming fear and extending one's comfort zone. There is another aspect of personal growth, however. This relates to the educational part of sailing a boat. The part where one learns the habits and gain knowledge of the sailing environment. And this knowledge does not relate to the finer skills and arts of sailing, but more towards the management efforts in and around a boat.

The part where one needs to understand that managing the boat is an autocratic process and that  teamwork is imperative. Aping around when your shipmates are dropping and stowing the main sail is not on. And the skipper's decision is final. There is no arguing on whether to make way against the wind or to have a nice outing instead. Is there enough food, water and fuel on board? Who's responsibility is this? What happens when something breaks? Phone a friend does not help, you are out in the ocean.

There appears to be a lack of understanding authority. Complete with a lack of understanding responsibility and accountability. Coupled to a lack of management skills in terms of basic decision making. A fear of making decisions or simply a lack of interest.

Hanging on to the apron strings, perhaps?

Increasingly, I get the idea that young people entering life after school lack some of this understanding. Is it due to the easy life in an urban environment? An easy life at home? Does the education system fail us?

Where is the natural rite of passage into adulthood? Who knows.

But it is most satisfying to see people grow in their maturity during a skippers course. And emerge as skipper material after some psychological growth during the week.

On a boat you can sail into maturity...



Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-03-30