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

Sail Cruising False Bay: Simon's Town

 

Yearning for an exotic cruise on a sail boat? Look no further than your own back yard.

Literally.

Seal Island up close. The home of the great whites in False Bay

After long discussions through the year, the opportunity came up for a short break into cruising. So a friend and I set off in his boat. A three day trip with no cellphones and hardly any internet.


Provisioning the boat was easy. Two dinners and two breakfasts, some snacks. Water. And, of course, a few beers. It is a holiday after all!

After calling False Bay Yacht Club to arrange a mooring just to find out that there is none, we set off anyway. Real cruising by real sailors.

Peaceful afternoon sailing

Along the way we experimented with a stays'l arranged to be self-tacking. This makes for a lot less work when turning the boat. This had us sailing merrily along the beach front at the coastal town of Strand where I live. Wonderful views from the seaward side, the Helderberg basin making for an exotic backdrop to the golden beach. The wind freshened to seventeen knots, gusting twenty, from a southerly direction. Exquisite sailing weather indeed, not a cloud in the sky and I am sure lots of holidaymakers from upcountry enjoying the weather too.

Balmy weather

Soon we were close to East Shoal, a rocky outcrop about half way across the bay to Simon's Town. We had to make a choice of going north of this shoal and north of Seal Island. This would put us substantially downwind of Simon's Town, so we opted to bear into the wind and beat it southwards. One reef in the main and a bit of the genoa rolled away had us sailing about thirty degrees off the apparent wind at between five and six knots. The stays'l was still up, balancing the rig beautifully and we sailed for an hour and a half without touching the helm. The boat sailed like a dream, making happy noises while punching through the small choppy seas.

We sat quietly in the cockpit, having a grand old conversation about small things and big ideas, just enjoying the calming rythm of the sea and the boat. A balm to the soul, this felt like a continuous meditation in an idyllic atmosphere.

Look Ma, no hands!

Strand beachfront scenery, the Helderberg as a backdrop

Not too long after, we had cleared all the islands and rocks along the way and had to start stowing sails before anchoring. With the Governor's Cup race imminent, the marina looked a-buzz with activity. We opted to anchor in the outer anchorage, next to another boat clearly on a cruise as well. We had left our dinghy back on the quay at home, so we had to arrange the water taxi from the club. We were too late for that, so we just sat and enjoyed the scenery.

It is at times like this that one is reminded of the peace and quiet of an anchorage. A marina is very different, with people walking about, the and the creaking noises from the strain of the boats tugging at the quays. Here in the anchorage it is quiet. We could hear people talking on the beach about two hundred meters away.

Dinner consisted of chilli con carne and a loaf of bread that we baked while the chilli was resting. The evening breeze made small swishing sounds as it caressed the rigging, wafting us into a proper sleep.

Some decent speed

The next morning we caught the water taxi ashore and had a nice warm shower in the club. This left us with the rest of the day just to relax, explore the town and do nothing. It is surprising just how busy you can get just doing nothing, passing the time of day with a friendly chat to the odd shopkeeper and passers-by. Coffee was in order, then some shopping for more provisions.


We had invited our neigbours over for a braai on board that evening, which called for additional provisions. This proved to be more difficult than anticipated, as Simon's Town does not have a butchery in the town. The nearest shop that sells meat is about five kilometers away.


No problem, we caught a minibus taxi to Fish Hoek, the next town. Yes, one of THOSE minibus taxis.

Very cheap fare, we had a wonderful time chatting away with the other passengers and the driver. Our shopping took all of ten minutes, after which we simply caught another taxi back to Simon's Town.

Our stress levels were hitting rock bottom by this time. The weather played along and we had a balmy afternoon. We even had time to read a book. I managed to finish Ayn Rand's Anthem. A wonderful short read.

Our dinner guests arrived shortly before sunset and we had meat on the griddle. How else, this is South Africa in summer. The meat was complemented with a salad and yet another freshly baked loaf of bread.

Wonderful company to share the dinner, our guests turned out to be a couple from California on a world cruise. Lots of stories were exchanged before they rowed their dinghy back. Yes, rowed. No outboard motor to kill the quiet sounds of the anchorage.

The next morning we hoisted the anchor, set our sails and had yet another wonderful sail back home. The wind was the same as two days before, seventeen knots gusting twenty from a southerly direction. Again, I was pleasantly surprised at the boat's performance. We were going at over seven knots average, peaking at seven and a half knots speed over ground as measured by the GPS. Decent performance from a seven and a half ton cruising boat.

This was a wonderful cruise. My first proper cruise where we did nothing and just relaxed. We did not even visit the pub in the yacht clubAnd it is on our own doorstep.

Freshly baked bread

Having done this has now rekindled the wanderlust in me. This cruising thing grows on one. I started reading the sailing directions for False Bay and found lots of other nooks and crannies where one can spend a night or two, given the right conditions.

Increasingly, I get the impression that fewer people do these little overnight trips, opting for far more expensive long trips, flying overseas.

False Bay Yacht Club marina, Simon's Town

For my money, I  am rich in time and have enough money to enjoy my own back yard.

One of the most beautiful places in the world.



Authored by Johan Zietsman


Last updated on 2014-12-24

Taking the plunge

I was recently approached by a friend to participate in his campaign to participate in a long distance ocean race. Starting in the historic Simon's Town, the race then continues around the famous and awesome Cape Point and continues to the distant island of Saint Helena. One of the most remote places in the world. Only reachable by sea.

There is no airport on the island. However, this will soon be changed forever. Construction work on the airport is well under way.

So this opportunity knocks on my door. To sail in a race to this remote place, steeped in history.


I have been to the island several times, stopping there on the way across the Atlantic ocean. Not much to see on the island. Napoleon's house, the Anglo Boer War graveyard in the dell, Plantation House with the world's oldest tortoise. Interesting, but limited.

But the visit is not about the tourist attractions. It is about the getting there.

This will be the first time that I shall go there just to get there. The island is the end of the voyage. Once one starts to think about this a little, one then realises that that is not quite the whole picture.

You have to get back home again.

And therein lies the rub.

Going to the island is relatively easy, the voyage is basically downwind and with the ocean currents. Going along with prevailing weather patterns, following the trade routes of old.


Getting back is a different story altogether. You travel from the island due south until a day after you see the first albatross, then turn sharply to port and continue on to Cape Town. This will take you right down to just north of the roaring forties in the South Atlantic ocean. With the swells higher than the boat's mast. Following a route just north of Gough island and Tristan da Cunha, you then turn slightly north again to reach Cape Town. A far longer voyage than the race itself.

Or you can sail back whence you came, making a landfall at Walvis bay on the Namibian coast. This route is much shorter and will allow you to replenish supplies at Walvis Bay. However, this route will take you against the wind and the ocean currents.  Not an easy route either.


From Walvis Bay you then do what is known as harbour hopping.  Wait for a suitable weather window, then dash to the next harbour.

Altogether an interesting voyage. Supplies in St Helena are very scarce, with sketchy supplies to the local market. Almost all their fresh produce comes from Cape Town and Britain, which makes food very expensive.

So the provisioning for the race must then include provisions also for the voyage to Walvis Bay.

Interesting thinking required here.

All of these thoughts washed around in my head before I answered the question. Shall I or shall I not?

Eventually my sense of adventure prevailed. My friend is a sly old fox and read my instincts correctly.

So I took the plunge. Again.

Having said this, I started to wonder just how many of us face similar opportunities and do not even  recognise them. This opportunity is probably the last time that one will visit the island in its present state. Soon, people will travel there by air. Already there is talk of a five star hotel advertising the most remote golf course in the world. The time capsule of almost medieval culture will then be exposed to big money and the tourist business.

People often come up to me and tell me that I am living a dream. Interesting, this phenomenon.

I live my dream, yes. And I used to think that other people are also doing the same thing, not just eke-ing out an existence. After some reasoning and deep thought, I realise that lots of people have, like me, buried their dreams deep inside themselves and are working hard to conform to some social needs fired by urban civilisation. Some, it seems, die at twenty, but is only buried at eighty.

It took two knee replacements and the passing away of one of my children before I realised that life is terminal. I then dug up my dreams, dusted them off and made a lifestyle change.

Now, life is not really easier. Putting food on the table takes much the same effort. Life is much richer, however. I have freedom of my spirit. And I am less of a slave to Mammon, the god of money.

I am rich in experience.



Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-11-17

Sailing The Wild Coast

One of the most notorious coast lines in the world: the South African Wild Coast. The world of sailing is littered with stories of shipwrecks on this stretch of the South African coast.

Probably because of the peculiarities of the continental shelf being very close to land and the Agulhas current running along the shore. This makes for very big waves when the wind comes up. And the current is not to be sneezed at. Three knots of current in the open ocean.


It was with some trepidation and much soul-searching that I made the decision to carry on the voyage from Durban to Gordon's Bay. Negotiating purportedly the roughest stretch of coast in the world, then rounding one of the more notorious capes in the world, all at the wrong time of year sounds like folly.

This time around may have been beginner's luck or just good passage planning. We slipped moorings on a dead calm morning in Durban and motored most of the way to the quaint little port of Mossel Bay on the Western Cape coast.  The wild coast was passed in dead calm conditions, the sea an oily smooth liquid reflecting a red sun in the morning.

We did get some wind, though. We actually sailed for about four hours before the wind became too strong and changed direction. Then we battled against the wind towards Robberg, a mountainous cape at Plettenberg Bay which would offer some shelter.

However, the wind abated around three in the morning and we promptly did a sharp turn to port and continued on our way to Mossel Bay. Here we had to make a weather stop as there was a cold front approaching.


The cold front materialised in the Cape Peninsula area with heavy wind and rain. We had some cold and a few drops of rain. However, there was a forty knot gale at Cape Agulhas, so we sat tight and enjoyed the brief respite. The Mossel Bay Yacht and Boat Club has one of the more idyllic settings that I have seen across the world.

The harbour is quite small, providing a service to the local fishing industry, as well as the nearby offshore gas production platforms. We actually had time to made friends with the tame bull seal in the marina. He came to visit a few times and scratched his back against the boat's hull. Perhaps a bit like our cats at home making you feel welcome.

The stay gave us time to clean the boat after the rigours of the long voyage. This made a big difference in the effort of demobilising after handover. There is always one more problem to solve, one more cupboard to clean or one more form to complete. I am told that the job is not finished until the paper work is done.



Well, in this case I was determined to have as much of the paper work complete as possible before the end of the voyage. I had been on board for two full months and it was time to disembark and say goodbye to the boat.

The cold front passed and we set off from Mossel Bay on another balmy day with no wind. This time Mother Nature smiled on us and we found an easterly wind as we reached Cape Agulhas. This wind picked up to around twenty five knots, sweeping us along at a decent speed. We budgeted for a reasonable speed that would take us to Gordon's Bay in about forty odd hours. However, with the wind as it was, we did the two hundred odd miles from Mossel bay to Cape Hangklip in twenty-eight hours.

We lost the wind again just after entering False Bay at the Cape Hangklip light. The day turned into a beautiful early spring afternoon with bright, warm sunshine. A most hearty welcome home from Mother Nature.

All of this brought us home at Friday three o'clock instead of Saturday morning around lunch time. Of course this wreaked havoc with the arrangement of the welcoming party at our home yacht club!

Not too much of a problem, we just drifted in balmy conditions in the picturesque Kogel Bay. We had time to take a much needed hot water shower and to dress in clean clothes. In my case I put on my cleanest dirty clothes. After two months on board nothing is really clean any more.


Looking back I had a most interesting experience. We cruised beautiful sun drenched islands and sailed through storms and doldrums. The coral was exquisite, my first experience of unspoilt and pristine coral reefs. The fishing was excellent, giving us the chance of having various fish dishes on board.

We met the most interesting people in the islands. And we made good friends at the various yacht clubs. Interestingly enough, if you arrive anywhere by boat, you are automatically part of the family. If you arrive by car, you are a stranger and a visitor. This was brought home in no uncertain way in Durban and again in Mossel Bay. And not to forget the welcoming that we got from our home club.


Then it was time to greet old friends and say goodbye to the boat. My home for two months.
A last entry in the ship's log signed the boat over to the owner.

A job completed.

Perhaps the world will stand still now that I am back on dry ground.



Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-08-14

The Run To Durban

Our woes with the fickle wind were not over yet.

We were on the run, not running before the wind, but for a short while. We sailed for a decent bit, then the wind freshened to a gale and we had to shorten sail yet again. Taking green water over the coach roof again.


This was getting tiresome.


Then we saw the barometer dropping a whopping twenty points, from 1025 to 1005 Hpa over twelve hours. Scary, very scary.

We immediately set. Course for the port of Richard's Bay, our closest shelter. Game-fully we struggled against the sea and a north-eastern gale to get closer inshore. The wind freshened to 38 knots, gusting 45. I promise you the crew was not a bunch of happy campers then.

We game-fully fought the weather, but shortly after sunrise we realised that we were fighting a losing battle against the elements. We had already blown to a position south of the harbour entrance and were still over twenty miles offshore, going straight to Durban.

We resignedly changed course accordingly and tried to get a weather update on the VHF radio. Richard's Bay port control curtly informed us that they were not at liberty to divulge weather information. So we were stuck for the moment.

Our satellite phone airtime was on the verge of running out, but I managed to get a message through. Half an hour later we had decent weather info and was able to take stock of the situation and update our passage plans.

Then, two hours later the wind died completely. Quite contrary to expectations. We sighed a heavy sigh of relief and started both engines. I was not taking any chances of getting stuck in the open ocean with such a low pressure system around us.

The rest of the sixty odd miles to Durban was covered in due time, seeing our arrival in Durban at two o'clock in the morning.

Never had I seen such a tired bunch of sailors tying up a boat. It took us the best part of half an hour to get the boat tied properly in the dark, with a gusty wind making life that more difficult.

We had arrived just in time. The wind freshened to around fifteen knots in the marina, which is sheltered. We were very glad to be tied alongside and not out  at sea in these gusty conditions.

It always happens in the middle of the night, doesn't it? A bit like Murphy's Law. Things go wrong or a problem crops up at the most inopportune times.

We had the worst gale force winds in the hours of darkness after midnight. On all three occasions.
Then we had the most inopportune gusty wind spring up just as we were entering harbour at Durban. The very wind that I was scared of being caught in out at sea. We barely made it into harbour in time.

Almost. It cost us some serious sweat to get the boat tied up properly without banging itself to bits against the quay.

Then the rest phase kicked in. Funny how your body does not adapt to the change in sleeping pattern. We now did not have to stand watch, so we had time for proper rest. Which, true to form, did not come.

All three of us had intermittent sleeping patterns, waking you up every two hours or so. After a week alongside, I still battle to sleep longer hours.

Perhaps it it the specter of the last leg of the voyage looming that keeps me awake.

The boat did not come unscathed through all the adverse weather, so there was some repairs and maintenance required. And a lot of cleaning. With stormy weather everything gets clammy and a bit  damp. Your clothes in the cupboards start to grow mould, so there is lots of washing and airing of linen and clothing.

The refrigerator and freezer gets a good scrub as well. Things start to leak sometimes, developing a smell and some growth if one is not careful. Interesting how your mother's teachings come back to you in a roundabout way.

Being a ship's captain sounds very romantic and stylish, until you do a bit of thinking. The job is more of a housekeeping job than the seafaring part. The seafaring just makes it more difficult, as this house bobs around on the ocean.

My perspective certainly changed. There is an overt realisation that the job of a captain is very rich and that the scope is far wider than meets the eye. I thought I was properly prepared, but learnt a lot on the way.

Seafaring, yes. One knows how to sail, but each boat has its own idiosyncrasies. But the housekeeping requirement is relentless. The motors have to run for so long twice a day to keep the batteries charged to keep the instruments and the refrigeration running.

Then there is the watch-keeping. Three hours on, six hours off. Except in my case I had to do the cooking, so every day I was awake from about four thirty in the afternoon to half past six. Dinner time. Luckily I did not do washing up and cleaning duties.

But it gives a new perspective on being in charge and be responsible for everything on board, including the well-being of those sailing with you. Not always easy.

But now the boat is serviceable again. Provisioning is under way. What remains then is the clearing out via the bureaucratic process before we hit the road home.

Time to say goodbye to the land.

Sea fever getting back to me.



Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-07-25