Boeuf Bourgoignon a la Mode

It has been a while since my last venture into cooking for fun. The recent adventure of sailing a boat from the Seychelles to Gordon's Bay left me with hardly any energy to experiment. Besides, I had to do most of the cooking on board.

But now it is time for having some fun in the kitchen.

It is still winter here in Cape Town and surrounds, so the choice fell on a stew of some description. I searched at length on the internet for some ideas. Perhaps wading through a quagmire of recipes would be a better description. After some random reading, I decided that some experimentation would be in order.

Some recipes require the meat to marinate in wine and herbs for a long time. Especially the French versions. Italian versions cook the meat in copious amounts of tomatoes and tomato paste. All of the recipes, including the Thai and other eastern versions, have lots of garlic. I came across a recipe that requires twenty, yes numerals two zero, knobs of garlic. The mind boggles.


Having learnt a thing or two about getting flavour into a dish, it was clear that the process dominates the flavour. You certainly don't want to make a concoction of herbs and chemicals to obtain flavour.

I am also not partial about cooking with wine, preferring soy sauce. It is either wine or soy sauce, the two flavours clash. And then, in true Banting fashion, I started cooking extensively with real butter. Butter imparts a wonderful flavour and I like to think that the butter adds some fat to the dish, making it nice and rich. In addition, butter makes the meat and onions go brown.

So the choice fell on a French style beef stew, rich in gravy. And I called it Boeuf Bourgoignon a la Mode because it is made in a fashion of cooking that I like and, perhaps, to appease the French culinary purists.

Ingredients

750 g beef shin or chuck
250g fatty bacon
4 knobs garlic coarsely chopped
1 medium to large onion, coarsely chopped
4 fresh tomatoes, coarsely chopped
½ sweet bell pepper
1 small carrot diced
3 medium carrots in coarse wheels
3 shallots, coarsely chopped. Use the green leafy parts as garnish
1 cup mushrooms, button size or coarsely chopped
1 small can tomato paste
50 ml soy sauce (a largish dash, I suppose)
½ cup of flour
Pepper to taste
small sprig fresh rosemary
1 teaspoon dried parsley or a sprig of fresh parsley
1 teaspoon thyme or a sprig
1 dried Thai chilli, chopped
water
150g butter
some cooking oil

Process

The process here provides the stock part of the dish, so no additional stock is required. Start by getting the butter nicely melted and up to a decent hot temperature. While this is happening, cut the meat into cubes, keeping bones if any. Dry the meat diligently, then dust lightly with the flour. This will make the meat go brown. If there is any water in there, the meat will stay a dull grey colour.

First fry the bacon until crisp, then remove it from the pan. Try to keep as much of the juices as possible in the pan. Do the frying in batches if necessary. After the bacon, the meat gets fried until a nice dark brown.

There will be an accumulation of caramelised meat and flour on the bottom of the pan. Leave it there, that will become the stock for the dish. Again, do it batches if necessary. Remove the meat from the pan when done.


Next comes the onions, sweet pepper and the diced carrot. There should be a decent amount of fat in the pan. If it looks a bit dry, add some more butter. Fry the onions, pepper and carrot until they are a light brown, then add the chilli and garlic. Fry these for fifteen seconds, then add all the meat and the fresh herbs. Add the tomatoes now.

Also add the soy sauce at this stage, then add enough water to cover the ingredients. Bring the dish to the boil, then set the gas to the lowest setting, put the lid on, sit back and relax. Drink some wine.

The dish now has to simmer for at least one hour. Stir often with an egg lifter to help the crust come off the bottom of the pan and into the dish. You will notice that the sauce thickens on its own. This is good. Top up the water as the dish goes dry, you don't want it to burn. After an hour the meat should start to go tender.

When the meat is almost done, add the mushrooms,the shallots and the tomato paste. Simmer for another fifteen minutes or so, then remove the pot from the heat. Then start with the mash and veggies to accompany the dish. This will allow the dish to repose. That is a fancy word for letting the dish rest and develop flavour.

I use copious amounts of butter in the mashed potatoes, along with milk, salt, freshly ground pepper and some chopped parsley. Don't go overboard, though. This is supposed to accompany the main dish, not overpower it.

This dish is not really spicy, therefore it will go with a nice full-bodied red wine. This time around you get to drink the wine, not eating it as part of the dish!

Bon appetit!



Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-08-26

The Magnificent Silence Of The Tankwa Karoo

One of life's interesting aspects is the effort that we all put in to relax. Chill in the modern vernacular.


I recently returned from a sea voyage lasting two full months. Two full months at sea, essentially. And people I meet tell me how lucky I am to have such a wonderful relaxing experience.


Well, I have news for them. Passengers and guests may have a wonderful relaxing time on board, but not the skipper. You work extremely hard. And you don't get to sleep as much as the guests either.


So I needed time to chill.


After getting most of the post voyage admin out of the way and my teeth fixed, we set off for a weekend of chilling out away from the sea. (Yes, I lost some fillings while at sea.) The choice fell on the Tankwa Karoo National Park. About as far away from salt air as one can get in South Africa. A great place to do nothing. No cell-phone reception, no internet facilities. Not even a land line telephone. Gas stoves, electricity for the refrigerators and the lights. Nothing else.



And a great silence. It is so quiet that one can hear the airliners passing overhead at 36 000 feet. That is basically the extent of real urban civilisation to be encountered.

The road to this place leads through some of the most scenic parts of our country, passing through the picturesque town of Ceres. Ceres is situated at the top of a mountain pass, so it is easy to imagine the stark contrast of the beautiful verdant mountain passes versus the arid, stony countryside of the Tankwa Karoo.

The road to the park takes you from Ceres on the road to Calvinia, two hundred and fifty kilometres away. The turn-off for the park is about half way along this road. A dirt road to boot, with no fuel along the way. You fill the tank in Ceres, and let down the tyres to a pressure suitable for the roads and your type of vehicle, then you drive very slowly so as to not get a puncture.  A puncture may literally see you waiting in the road for more than a day, waiting for the next vehicle to come by to render assistance. You also watch your fuel consumption with a beady eye for the same reason.


We have never been down this way before, so it was with great surprise that we saw lots of motorcycles and other vehicles along the way. Afterwards we realised that these may have been weekend riders and visitors leaving the park on Sunday as we were arriving.


Another great surprise was the Tankwa Padstal, a roadside shop selling sweets, beer and coffee in tin mugs. You can also have a hamburger, but that is where the real food ends. Of course, being an oasis in this veritable desert, there were lots of patrons. Incidentally, they also sell braai packs and wood, so you can have your own barbecue right there on the premises. A braai pack, for my overseas readers, consists of a few portions of lamb or mutton chops and a piece of boerewors. This area of the country is famous for the tasty lamb and mutton, so it is a very popular choice for visitors.


After having a beer, we carried on with our journey. Even inside the car one can feel the silence enveloping you. The countryside is bleak and austere at a passing glance, but it tends to grow on you as time passes. You look into a far distant horizon lined with ragged mountains, forever changing hue as the clouds come and go and the sun changes its angle.


The park itself is another study in simplicity and peace. There are quite a few old sheep stations and old farmsteads, some now turned into very basic camps. These are all situated at springs in the dry, almost stone desert hills.

The overwhelming silence allows you to hear the sounds of the veld. No city noise pollution or telephones ringing to confuse the issue, you hear jackals calling at sunset and again in the morning. You hear doves cooing down in the dry river bed, other smaller birds chirping away happily around the house. And in the night your see the bats flying, catching insects in mid air. The barn owls squeaking their song as they fly.




And then a peace descends on you like nowhere else. You sit and relax, then your brain also relaxes and you sleep a deep, peaceful sleep. It is almost like being on a three day meditation trip.


For food we had picnic snacks. And the requisite lamb chops, done to perfection on the coals. Served with a tomato and cheese sandwich toasted on the coals, rounded off with a glass of red wine. Perhaps even two. Simple food to add to the simplicity of the lifestyle and the surroundings.


We came home different people, the better for he quiet meditation offered by the tranquility of the place.

Perhaps we are more blessed than we realize.




Authored by Johan Zietsman.

Last updated on 2014-08-20

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

Sailing Out Of The Doldrums

Our doldrums woes were not over yet. The wind died on us yet again.

It is most frustrating not to have a weather forecast. It eats away at one's psyche.

We have been taking it very easy for the last few days, just relaxing and catching up on lost sleep. The lazarettes were repacked to have the stuff judged for most urgent use at the top. We also checked all the blocks and shackles on the mast and sheets after finding a loose split pin on the deck. The culprit was soon found and the problem fixed.


We lost a shackle after the mousing came undone and the shackle pin unscrewed itself.. Not something you need often.

The worst problem was identifying the source of the oil slick we were trailing. We tried every possible source, then checked them all. In the end we decided it was the last bit of spilled fuel from an earlier break during a storm. We then washed the bilges properly.

Yesterday we motored for seven odd hours in an effort to find some of the Agulhas current. We had drifted back several miles during the night, a heart breaking occurrence, if any. Our gamble paid off and last night we drifted at around one knot in a southerly direction. Free transport for a change.


This morning we ran the motors again as is customary to charge the batteries. Then a nice breeze sprung up from the ocean.

What a relief! At the time of writing we are merrily sailing along at around six knots in a more or less south westerly direction. Hopefully Mother Nature had taken pity on us and will keep the wind  going to take us home.


We still are seeing the most magnificent sunrises and sunsets. Both are a vivid red. A wonderful sight. Sometimes there are absolutely no clouds. Then the sky is lit up from a dark blue through all the yellow and orange to the vivid red. Difficult to tell the greens, though.

Perhaps this is where the green flash stories come from. Or maybe my eyes are just not accustomed to seeing hues.

Of course, having clouds around always make for a picturesque scene. The cloud patterns conjures  up amazing beams and rays as the sun comes up or sets behind them. There are so many photo opportunities that one needs to be a bit harsh and not take too many photos.

I think the red sky may be due to the fact that we are looking over dry land at the sunrise and sunsets.

Two days ago the moon was full. With no wind and a flat calm sea it seems like one has been transported into a dreamy haze of surreality. Much like the dream catcher symbols that the Native Americans have and is depicted in some movie introductions.

You see an oily smoothness, the water lazily moving up and down from some far distant disturbance. Then there is a lightness beginning to happen, a lazy brush painting the world a silver coat that envelops your thoughts as well. You sit mesmerized and watch as the scene unfolds before you, the shades of silver and grey cast by the clouds as the moon rises.

Then the world changes to yellow for a while before being bathed in a silver bath when the moon is high enough.

Sailing in these quiet conditions, it is easy to understand the visions of native folk. We have such visions here on board as well. To think that these people are regarded as backward by some so-called civilised westerners. Perhaps they are just more attuned to the world around them and the wonders of nature. I get the idea that they are much more advanced in their psyches than most city folk in the western world.

It is an easy transition back to Nature, this voyage through the doldrums. However, not many people will make this voyage, as your progress is not under your control. Weather conditions in this are are shaky, to say the least. Nothing consistent, except the variability. Luckily it is not variable into gale force conditions.


This voyage is also an easy transition into the backwoods areas of your mind. An exploration of your inner being, where there also may be some doldrums, not being visited that often. Much like this area of the globe we are traversing.

Not many people travelling here, I'm afraid.

A lonely path for all, even if you do have travelling companions.



Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-07-14

Homeward Bound At Last

It's been a while now since my last post. We weathered a cold front, which did not leave much energy towards literary efforts.

Whatever energy we had was used to keep a level head under the circumstances. This is not easy when you take the odd wave over the coach roof on a 14m catamaran.

This sort of weather was certainly not expected in the area where we found ourselves. I rather fancied the idea that cold fronts would pass more to the south of us, stealing our wind by pushing the high pressure cell over our heads.

However, I was rudely awakened.

After three days of absolutely no wind, we had advanced about sixty miles per day, mostly due  to the currents in the Mozambique channel. Then came the cold front.


I remember it well. There was a squall and I shortened sail accordingly, letting it out once the squall had passed. Then there was a second squall and I did the same.

The third squall did not stop for three days. I dropped the main sail after about half an hour. The sail remained where it was and we sailed under a sliver of jib, just riding the storm. This happened during the midnight watch. By sunrise the waves had grown to over six meters.

We shortened sail some more, just so we could lie a-hull. This time we drifted about fifty miles a day due to the wind drift and the current.

The buffeting of course also claimed its toll. The saloon windows had sprung leaks again, probably as a result of the twisting of the hulls in the storm. So now we have to dry out the boat every so often.

The barometer eventually started climbing and I knew our ordeal was almost over. We rode out the last of the waves that day, then set sail again.

Three reefs in the main and a sliver of jib. The sea was still uppish and we certainly don't want to break anything here in the open ocean. We sailed along at around three to four knots for the rest of the night.

This morning we checked out the waves and the wind and decided to put up some more sail. So now we are sailing merrily along at around seven knots. The water still splashes over the coach roof, but this time it is due to our fast speed, not the wave action.

A positive difference for a change. It is now day ten of our voyage from Nosy Be in Madagascar to Durban, South Africa. We had hoped to be in Durban already, but the weather did not play along.

How many times have I written that you can't order Mother Nature around. Now I am feeling the growing pains!


We are still having decent food on board, but for now it is limited to one cooked meal per day at dinner time. We eat snacks like a sandwich at the other times. However, it seems that none of us is really hungry at the moment. Your body complains about the constant buffeting and you lose your appetite. I make sure though, that everyone has at least one decent meal per day.

One must not allow your body to degrade to a level where you cannot think poperly. And in this weather I need all the crew I can muster. The boat is not really laid out for single-handed operation, although it is possible.

This layout has an interesting side-effect. The amount of sail carried is very much influenced by the weather and the boat's design parameters. This we all understand.

However, crew numbers, their proficiency and fatigue level also play a part in this equation. You can sail at breakneck speed, bumping through the water and slamming through the waves, but your crew will not be able to rest as much as needed. How long before there is an accident?

So we ease things a bit. We are not in a racing mode. Take it easier, take a day or two longer. So I take it easier, let the sails out a bit. Ease things up.

Then, a while later, I realise that we are going at almost ten knots through the water. The wind had changed. Mother Nature taking us home.

Enjoy the ride. Live longer.

Sail fast, live slow.

I have a T-shirt saying that.


Authored by Johan Zietsman


Last updated on 2014-07-10

Doldrums Off The East African Coast

We are still living inside the Rime of the Ancient Mariner.  Or on a Saturday Night in Toledo, Ohio, the song by John Denver. John Denver's version of being bored is more tongue in cheek that Coleridge's.  We sit and watch the sun rise, the moon rise, then the sunset and the setting of the moon. This as opposed to visiting the bakery and watching the buns rise or sitting in the park and watching the grass die, as John Denver would have it.

Coleridge had a much heavier tone to his description of boredom.


Perhaps we are in a different situation, but eventually boring nevertheless. It is easy to think this as you go through the roller coaster of emotions on this voyage.

The past few days saw us sailing for about twelve hours a day before the wind died and we had to motor. This pattern had been slowly changing, however.

To less wind, more quiet sea. The peak thus far was today, when we had a glassy smooth sea at sunset. However, when I came on watch at midnight things were different.

The moon was lazily setting into an oily smooth sea. There was no swell even. Normally one loses some feeling for the swell when lying down. Tonight is no exception. But even on deck I am able to walk around without fear of falling over.

In fact, the sea is flat calm that I was able to photograph the moon sinking into the sea using a hand-held compact camera. The camera even reported sufficient light to focus.


I was also able to get shots of the southern cross and the two pointers, but these were a bit shaky.

Flat calm sea indeed.

On the other hand we have a serious problem with this lack of wind. If I did nothing, we would run out of food in the middle of the ocean, just like the sailors of old. Or we may run out of fuel before the wind came back. Which will have our refrigerated food go bad with the same starvation staring us in the face.

But we are resourceful, can think and make decisions. Like going closer to the coast to make use of any breezes there may be due to the effect of the hot land. Hopefully our windless woes will soon be a thing of the past.

I am also making an experiment with the pineapple vinegar. We started the experiment today, so we shall see how it goes.

Today was also the first time we had the full main sail up. Up to now we played it safe with the fluctuations in the wind and sailed with one reef in the main to alleviate the deck work load required by the solitary watchkeeper.

The little wind there is is so steady that I decided to shake the reef and see what speed we can make using the full main. The wind was on our port quarter, so the main could actually be blanking the jib.

This was not the case and we had some very good sailing in flat water for about an hour. Then the wind died.

On preparing to pack away the sail we found a shackle pin in the sail bag. Quite disconcerting, as the pin was very thick, meaning that it was supposed to hold down something big and  strong. We found the culprit a few minutes later. Luckily, the shackle was still in place. It was the shackle at the clew of the main sail, holding the clew and the girdle round the boom together. The webbing and the outhaul line had held the shackle itself in place. Talk of some luck.

Another latent problem sorted.

Up to now we have only seen three man made things in the ocean. No, that is not correct. One of the crew saw two ships, the rest of us saw a drill rig. But the crew member in question saw the drill rig in full dress as they switched on all their lights as we approached. This of course happened in the middle of the night, so only the watchkeeper saw the spectacle. The rest of us just saw a bright light on the horizon.

Speaking of bright lights, we are now running with navigation lights again. But I got caught out the other night when I saw another bright light appearing on the horizon. I quickly switched onb the navigation lights, just  to realise fifteen minnutes later that it was indeed the planet Venus rising. Another sign of very calm weather.

We have started our fishing efforts again, but to no avail. Probably due to the calm conditions and our slow progress. The closest we came to catching fish were the whales visiting us late this afternoon. They visited again just before midnight, scaring the living daylights out of the watchkeeper as they blew next to the boat.

Interesting how the simple things in life become important when you are far away from the hustle and bustle of city life.


Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-07-06