Lost And Found

We left Nosy Anambo with its derelict lighthouse and set course for the island of Nosy Mitsio. The wind was not in our favour and by middle afternoon we had made it to Nosy Fisaka.


The fishing, however, was very good and we caught one large and one medium size wahoo. Needless to say, we had fresh fried fish for lunch with a sashimi aperitif.

Nosy Fisaka, the basalt outcrop proved to be a very interesting place. There were some locals fishing and smoking the fish. Two other visiting boats left shortly after we arrived. We were somewhat apprehensive, until we realised that the locals were not interested in our doings.

The night was not with out fun, though. At about ten we discovered that the dinghy was lost. Our crew had gone ashore to explore and had tied the dinghy to the aft rail. However, the dinghy was now gone and we were facing a long trip without a means to go ashore.


Not something to sneeze at.

We went to bed with heavy hearts, sleeping intermittently. We were all worried about burglars. Our fears proved to be unfounded, though. Just after sunrise we spotted the dinghy high and dry on the rocks.

So much for not paying attention to knots! Of course, the crew now had to swim ashore some hundred and fifty meters, retrieve the dinghy over some fearsomely sharp rocks and then paddle back to the boat against the wind.

I am sure there were some choice words spoken, not for our ears.

With lifted spirits we had breakfast and set out for the island of Tsara Bajina, just to the north of Nosy Mitsio. The countryside here still looks like something out of a sci-fi movie set. Perhaps a scene from Riven, the computer game of old.

Little basalt rock outcrops stick out all over the ocean. Most have cliffs into the sea with no landing spots at all. Definitely uninhabitable.

But then some are not so big and have a small beach attached, you might say. Papaja trees, mango trees and the odd baobab tree groe on these. Some also have knee -high grass, much like you would find in the African Savannah. And the coral is just something else.

Here you have little influence from the western world. Very few people come to visitthese shores, although there are signs that this is changing. There is a hotel on Tsara Bajina. A very small one. The staff lives in palm-thatch huts a few hundred meters away in one of the most picturesque spots in the world, never mind the island. It would be one of my favourite out of the way places. Probably as far from real civilisation as one could get. With a beautiful beach of coral sand and powdered shells.


I shudder to think about the logistics of getting here other than by cruising here. I suspect they have a regular ferry to and from Nosy Be. Still, a wonderful out of way place with no tourists other than the few hotel guests.

Another place lost in time that we just found.

The main island of Madagascar is only just visible through the haze, a high mountainous country far to the east of us.  Our world has now shrunk so much, the main island feels like the mainland!

Our diet has now changed to a variety of fresh fish, potatoes and the odd salad. We have now consumed all our cabbage and would need to replenish our vegetable stock. That we can do easily at Nosy Komba, our next stop.

We went snorkelling after dropping anchor in the lee of the island. For lunch we had one of the Hungry Sailor's standard pasta salad lunches. I used a can of “luncheon ham” that I found in the pantry. This complemented the pasta, cabbage, oniond carrots and cucumber. I topped this off with some feta cheese I found in the refigerator and two or three table spoons of chopped olives. This went down very well after the snorkelling.

Tonight we shall have a braai. Very South African we all love a braai. And we have some pork belly from the Seychelles just for such a feast. This should go well with the sweet potatoes we have in the pantry. I need to think a bit on what else. Perhaps we shall just have this.

Our cruising pattern does not lend itself to disciplined eating!  It's OK, tomorrow we shall be able to get more veggies, then we are set again.


This cruising sea gypsey life grows on you once you give the first steps...



Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-06-22

A Night At A Derelict Lighthouse

Not something that one sees every day.  A real ruin on Nosy Anambo. Seventeen years ago this lighthouse was working. Complete with a lighthouse keeper and staff. 

Now just ruins.

The worst part is that the charts that I purchased exhorbitant prices still shows the light as Oc (3) WR. 14/10 M. Which means that it occults once every 3 minutes. Occulting means that it is on more than it is off. Fourteen meters above the high water mark, the light is visible for 10 nautical miles.


But not any more. A sad state of affairs indeed. Or is it?

Technology has made the sextant, paper charts and manual navigation almost obsolete. Ditto for lighthouses. Do you really need a lighthouse if you have electronic means of navigation? The answer is probably no. But in the real world not every vessel that goes to sea has electronic navigation. And when sailing around the ocean it is very handy indeed to have a visible means of identifying where you are.

So we spent the night at anchor close to a derelict lighthouse on a small deserted island. Very spooky, almost like sailing into an Alfred Hitchcock thriller. In a land where the islands are basalt rock formations sticking up into the air in the most fantastic convoluted shapes. You really get the feeling that you sailed into history.

This afternoon we anchored at another rock sticking out of the sea. The most beautiful beach attached to this rock, making it look like a shrine. There is this large rock formation, with a pretty white sandy beach, linked by a small tongue of rocky ridge. Some trees and knee-high grass completes the picture.

We are still in another world, sailing from desert island to desert island, staying overnight enjoying the atmosphere. Captain Fatty Goodlander has it right: We are fast becoming sea gypseys.


We are not citizens of a country anymore. Well, almost.  We are fast becoming a small republic of our own. We make our own decisions of where to go and what to do. As the captain of this vessel my task has now changed to taking the boat safely from one beautiful anchorage to another. Taking the most scenic route, of course.

This gets interesting in a different way. Pilotage and detail navigation takes on a whole new meaning once you understand the rider at the bottom of the chart or in the title block. The warning  to take utmost care in using the information depicted on such a chart.

Especially when you realise that the chart has been compiled in 1964 from survey data dating from 1896. After contemplating this, you realise that you are now using very fancy electronic means to track your progress on a chart made using data from a hand survey, with hand held instruments and a plumb line.

The chart depths are shown in fathoms. In those days the internal combustion engine did not yet exist, so they used rowing boats. Do I have to go on? Today we motored ever so slowly into the anchorage. I used the chart as a rough indication only, piloting on the contours and depth only. I also looked at what the locals were doing.

Locals always know more than you as the visitor. And their movements and behaviour also provides some indication of info that you require.

Like a weather forecast. I was quite apprehensive about our anchorage being exposed to a south-easterly wind. When we anchored, the wind was blowing south west. It still is. So I watched what the local fishermen were doing. They anchored their boat about ten meters from the beach.


A lee shore if you ever saw one, depending on the wind direction. So I reasoned that if they are not worried about a lee shore, I need not to be worried either. They obviously have a better understanding of the weather than I have. So I relaxed and put out another anchor, just in case.

A lesson in disguise. Sometimes I wonder just how many lessons we get disguised as problems. In academic circles we learn that our problems are self-inflicted. A world view causing our experiences. And some of these we class as problems, without realising that these problems are those things that happen to us because we did not pay enough attention to some detail.

Mostly detail that we considered as insignificant.

Shakespeare said in Macbeth that “oftentimes the instruments of darkness tell us honest truths, win us with honest trifles, to betray us in deepest consequences.” These honest trifles may just be those little details that we tend to ignore.

But for now, I heed the smallest details and tune myself to the language of Mother Nature. And we are having the adventure of a lifetime in a place where time clearly has stood still.

How rich we are today.



Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-06-21

Dodging Atolls In The Dark

At our last sojourn we discussed the passage to Farquar.

Which turned out not to be to Farquar. Infact, not even to the islands of the Providence group. We got blown past them all.

Except for Wizard Reef. But we got past that one safely.


However, true to form, we did not get blown away from all the dangers in our way. There are many other dangers along the way, all in the form of mountain tops just under or just above the surface of the ocean.  Known generally as atolls or banks, they are the remains of volcanoes and make very interesting study material. They also are home to a very rich sea life, as evidenced by the flocks of sea birds preying on the near-surface fauna.

These atolls have a very interesting side effect on what you experience as you pass them by. They have an influence on the wave pattern around them, as well as the currents. Even though they may be submerged. Coupled with the wind, these side effects emerge as side-swiping currents and a sea that resembles a washing machine.

Of course, when you get in the lee of these banks and atolls, the swells are smaller, albeit more muddled. Do this at night and you get an added dimension of alertness. Here is where a GPS chartplotter comes into its own. It is almost a pilotage exercise to get past these atolls. And they remain invisible. Only your trusted chart will show them.

It does take some getting used to. As Shakespeare remarked in Macbeth “our new clothes cling not to their mould but with the aid of use.”

But we made it safely past all of these obstacles. The last one was this morning on my watch. The McLeod bank is 18 meters deep in a sea which averages between 2000 and 3000 meters. Something akin to the rock pillars in Monument Valley in Arizona, just bigger and taller.



The only visible sign of the McLeod bank is that the sea in the lee of the bank has smaller swells. But watch out for the eddies around the place. For several miles around there are rip currents that make lines of little wavelets on the surface. And they just sweep the boat along on their merry way as you cross them. Quite disconcerting if you are not very alert at the helm.

Luckily these eddies are quite narrow and just add to the fun of sailing the boat.

All in all, a very good exercise in navigation and on the fly passage planning. Much like real life is supposed to be. Thinking on your feet. Except that, in the case of the boat, your shipmates are dependent on you for their safety as well.

At the time of writing this we are less than a full day's sail from the northern tip of Madagascar. Hopefully we shall make our landfall in daylight, in which case we may anchor in a quiet spot along the coast for a brief respite from this hectic passage.


I get the idea that my crew has grown in confidence after this passage. There is a saying that calm waters never made good sailors.


Perhaps this is true for all of us on board, including myself.


But only time will tell how much we grew.




Authored by Johan Zietsman
Last updated on 2014-06-19

The Passage To Farquar

Today is day three of the passage to Farquar island. A quite hectic three days, I should add.

It started on my sixtieth birthday, of all days! We were quite busy with all the final preparations, provisioning and clearing customs and immigration. A myriad of small tasks, all required to be complete to the satisfaction of the captain before he will cast off and depart.

Which, in this case, means yours truly. By four thirty in the afternoon I was quite exhausted. We did not even take lunch. But everything was in place sufficiently for us to cast off and go.


I took a few minutes off to say goodbye to loved ones and thanked well-wishers over the internet for their love. Then it was time for casting off.


One of the most difficult things in sailing, perhaps for other sailors too, is to make the 'go' decision. A friend warned me about this. He told me that it is one of the clear distinctions of real sailors, this ability to say 'go'. And then do it.

When I reflected on this, I realised that he was right. I know quite a few people who purport to be sailors. But very few of them will ever leave for a week's cruise, let alone an ocean crossing. And then I also know a few real sailors who know this difficulty and battles with it. It turns out that some of us need a nudge to make us go, then we go.

Also, not everybody has “Sea Fever” to the level that John Masefield describes in his famous poem by the same name.

Of course, once at sea, you lose all interest in the land, except its proximity. Things that will hurt the boat.

For instance, last night we sailed at a speed that in some circles would be described as breakneck speed. We topped ten knots speed over ground (SOG) a few times and averaged over eight knots. This with  the wind on our beam and a swell on our port bow. Which made for wild and wanton conditions and lots of splashes over the coachroof. Wonderful sailing conditions.


Sailing a catamaran means that you have lots of leeway and we are no exception. The wind literally blew us straight from Mahe Island on to St Francois island in spite of valiant efforts to make way to windward. We had to drop the main sail and start the engine to creep past the island.

Of course, we were not in any real danger. But it does raise the question on how the sailors of old, before the advent of GPS, managed this voyage. Not very well, I guess. Not when the chart has the word “wrecks” printed at the windward side of the island.

In plural...

Saint Francois island is in the middle of nowhere, only a few metres above the sea, with not even a palm tree on it as far as we could see. You would need a very good lookout and some very fancy navigation skills to avoid the island. Or else plan your voyage to get to the island in daylight.

We were blown so far off course that we lost any hope of making it to Farquar and resigned ourselves to head straight on to Madagascar.

Then the wind turned. The wind backed to the east far enough for us to lay the island of Farquar. Perhaps we shall be blown off course again, but for now we can replan and try again. Such is the way of sailing. Set your sails to the wind, I think the adage says. We certainly do.

Today I can honestly say that we have settled into a daily routine on board. It took me two full days at sea to recover from the hurly-burly of the last day's preparations ashore and alongside. Rather like a hangover from an overdose of land-things.

I am both the captain and the cook on board. It means that I work very hard, but there is compensation. I never have to do any dishes!

So far everybody appear to be happy with the fare as prepared by the Hungry Sailor.  Being both the captain and the cook, I am acutely aware of the fact that the crew may be too scared or too decent to complain about the food. However, food disappears off plates at a rate of knots. (How's that for a tacky sailor's pun!) This is sufficient positive feedback that my culinary skills are up to standard.

The only real complaint was that there was not enough food per meal. The portions were too small! A problem soon rectified. I haven't cooked for such a big bunch aboard yet, so portion size and quantities become a place for some experimentation.

The menu is basically a repeat of my previous recipes, which makes it easier on me as pertaining to blog posts. The chilli con carne and pasta Bolognese alla the Hungry Sailor seem to be favourites for now.

Life at sea is less complicated than on land, but asks for more responsibility. Rather like having a few loose specifications, requirements, rules and regulations enforced tightly. There is much freedom of choice on board, but you face the consequences directly. And I don't mean your behaviour towards your fellow sailors.


I am talking about your preparations, both physical and psychological. Preparing the boat is relatively easy if you understand a normal household.

But it does not help at all going on an extended voyage if you or one of your crew are scared out of their wits about the undertaking.

Choose sensibly, think things through before making a decision. Use Mother Nature's forces with care, and you will feel alive like never before.

Perhaps more people should go on at least one ocean voyage on a small boat. Just for the life skills gained.



Authored by Johan Zietsman


Last updated on 2014-06-18

The Seychelles Shakedown Round II

We anchored off Ile Felicite for lunch yesterday, but the tide turned and the wind shifted, so we motored across to the next island which was the famous la Digue. We anchored just outside the picturesque little harbour and spent a quiet night, if a bit choppy.

Dinner consisted of a chilli con carne a la the Hungry Sailor, after which we took an after dinner drink and went to bed. Between the sailing and the snorkelling life took nits toll and our physical energy levels were quite depleted.


The next morning dawned on a beautiful sunny day with some clouds. An exploration of the island by bicycle was called for. We moored Mediterranean style inside the harbour, a new experience for both the crew and myself. You swim the lines ashore. Not a real problem, as the water inside the harbour is tepid, not just warm. I have had colder tea than that!

Soon we had a few beers in the saddle bag, along with beach towels and were on our way to explore the island. Bicycles appear to be the transport of choice on the island. You can reach any part of the island on foot within an hour, but a bicycle is much faster, even if you go slow as most islanders do. All bicycles are fitted with a shopping basket on the back, which I like to call the saddle bag. Very handy when you go shopping.

The island also has ox carts. These carts work like an open bus and can take about ten passengers. The oxen are quite stocky built, about half the size of the Afrikaner bull of South Africa. They are quite docile and takes to petting like a duck to water. However, this can get quite rowdy when the ox wants more petting...

We pedalled to a beach named Grande Anse. One of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen. The white sands are cradled between two arms of granite boulders, the waves breaking in the light blue to turquoise water. The boulders are majestic in their beauty, resembling a line of cathedrals.

We just sat in wonder for a while, before taking some pictures. Swimming is quite dangerous at this time of year, with the swell and the wind making for big, muddled surf and dangerous backwash.

Lunch was along the way at a quiet restaurant by the roadside. Traditional Seychelles food on the menu, we all had something different. The stewed fish was quite tasty, as was the octopus curry. The prices were on the high side.

And all of this amongst the most beautiful sunsets imaginable. I suspect that this is always the case in the tropics, with some cumulus clouds around the islands and no dust or smog in the air.

From here we went snorkelling at the island group Ile Cocos. Three very small islands close to Ile Felicite. The most wonderful spot for snorkeling. From there we sailed to our overnight anchorage at Ile Praslin.


Of course, this is a shakedown cruise and true to form we had some interesting experiences along the way. Not the least of which is a battery isolator switch that broke and thereafter made intermittent contact. We tried some “boereraat” repairs, but even those did not solve the problem completely. So now we have to permanently connect the batteries in order to have any electrical power on board and to start the engines.

Yet another idiosyncrasy to contend with.

So far these have not dulled the sense of adventure or the spirit of fun aboard.

Today was declared a rest day. Which means we unpacked the hookah pipes and limbered up the dive compressor. Soon we all had a go at looking at the oceanic fauna and flora underneath the boat.

Several dusky batfish were calmly hiding in the shade of the boat, patiently waiting for a morsel from their host. These fish will come up right to the surface for a breadcrumb or two, fighting to be there first. Quite handy to know if you want to take some underwater pictures.

For now, we are having a great adventure of discovery in a part of the world that one can easily dub paradise. And yet the long voyage is lurking. The big adventure itself.

So far all systems seem to be working properly and we have hopefully identified most latent problems.

So here's to looking forward to yet more adventure aboard and abroad.

Authored by Johan Zietsman


Last updated on 2014-06-12

The Seychelles Shakedown

  

The plane was shaking from the cold Cape Town wind as we boarded. Dressed in thick clothes, our dress code had no hint of our destination.

Nothing really different in Johannesburg when we disembarked for the next leg to Mahe in the Seychelles. The wind was cold, the weather hazy and the wind was gusting through the Gauteng highveld dust.

Our third crew member joined us in Johannesburg. After checking him in, we were ready for our new adventure. Little did we understand the magnitude of travelling from the Cape winter to tropical summer in seven hours.

On arrival at Mahe airport it was already after sundown and quite dark. Luckily for us we arrived after dark. The temperature was still at twenty eight degrees Celsius as we disembarked in our jeans, two T-shirts and wind breaker jackets. Grossly overdressed, I guess.

We looked as out of place as can be. After arranging transport to the marina where SV Freedom was moored, we could sit back and start relaxing. The worst part of our journey, being the flights, would soon be over.
The owner of the boat met us at the hotel entrance and from there our hearts lifted. A change of clothes brought us back to reality. Then a cold beer in the hand and soon we were making friends with the owners and the boat which would be our house for the next month or so.

And my first ocean command. A Knysna 44 catamaran. Not bad for a 60th birthday present!

The next day we set out to the town of Victoria for some shopping and sightseeing before departing on out Seychelles shakedown.


This was to be a cruise to check out all the systems on board and to ensure that we have a serviceable boat for the long haul across the ocean to Madagascar and then on to Durban. Final provisioning would come later.

The weather looked bleak as we carefully watched the forecasts on the internet. We were getting worried that we shall be sitting in Mahe for another week due to adverse winds, but a local yachtie soon dispelled our fears. The internet forecasts for this area appear to be very unreliable indeed.


This is exactly what we found as we slipped moorings on a sunny Sunday morning and set sail for the island of Praslin some thirty odd nautical miles from where we were.

Of course, no cruise is complete without some fishing, so the lines were soon out. Two very nice fish were caught and we lost some tackle to another very big fish.

With a wind of sixteen knots on our beam we made good way and arrived at a sheltered anchorage just off a very picturesque beach. We went ashore to sample the local brew in a palm-thach bar, but to no avail. It was Sunday afternoon and all the pubs were closed.  Of course, being the Seychelles, the beach was filled with several young honeymoon couples, some not so young either.

We decided to call it a day and went back to the boat to fetch snorkelling gear. The snorkelling was very good and we saw a lot of reef fish towards sundown. The sea water also took care of all our Cape Town and Gauteng sinus problems.

Back on board we had dinner in the form of fried fish. This was the fish that I had kept aside from the other hungry sailors, who devoured the smaller fish as souchi. I must admit, the raw fish went down very well with some wasabi and a dollop of soy sauce. Not much in the way of cooking effort, with the presentation also leaving much to be desired. However, hungry sailors never complained about the presentation of the food served to them!

I dipped the fish in a scrmbled egg, then in spiced flour before frying them in light butter in a pan. The butter was flavoured with some bottled chillies and garlic that we found in the market. A teaspoon of this stuff fried with the butter was enough to impart a wonderful glow to the dish. The rest of our dinner was made up by some basmati rice and a cold salad.

After this dish I was officially appointed the designated cook as well! An interesting twist of fate, as this leaves me quite free from mundane duties on board. Like washing  the dishes, for instance. I happily accepted.

Today we sailed from our overnight anchorage to the islands of Curieuse and around Grande Soeur to our lunch anchorage at Ile Felicite. Again, the snorkelling was excellent. We saw a baby turtle and some very colourful fish.

The wind is from the south east, so we had some planning to do to find a lunch spot in this area, as the wind tends to creep around corners, making an otherwise nice anchorage quite uncomfortable.


The lunch anchorage was so beautiful and sheltered that we decided to stay the night. So here we sit on board, watching the sun go down and enjoying the beuatiful scenery. The crew went ashore in the dinghy to go exploring. Hopefully they will come back with some fresh coconuts.

Then we can have another fresh coconut curry, perhaps with the fresh fish we have.

This week, life is wonderful to me and I feel very rich indeed. Rich in friends, companionship, good food and adventure.

What more would one wish for?



Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-06-09

Present Fears Are Less Than Horrible Imaginings

William Shakespeare certainly hit the nail on the head.

The run up to the phrase uttered by Macbeth in Act 1, Scene 3 is also to the point:

“(aside) This supernatural soliciting
Cannot be ill, cannot be good. If ill,
Why hath it given me earnest of success,
Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor.
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
Against the use of nature? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings.”

It is as apt to my feelings today as it was pertinent to Macbeth's feelings at the time.

I am not the Thane of Cawdor. I am the designated skipper of a yacht on a voyage across the ocean. But I guess the feelings are pretty much the same.

These emotions overtake us all from time to time. Normally when you are about to venture into another adventure. In my younger days the psychologists and physiologists would tell you that this is a normal feeling. This elevated level of adrenalin that keeps your heart pumping chocolates when you see a pretty girl.

For me it has always been like this when planning a new adventure. It is part of the excitement running up to the day.

But it can be negative. In fact very negative. I have been in situations where I have not prepared sufficiently, mostly due to laziness. In those cases you have this sinking feeling in the bottom of your heart. You know that you are set up for failure even before you start.

I have gone to great lengths to avoid this feeling. It is debilitating.


The question is then how much preparation is enough for this feeling to go away? Well, as far as I can glean from my own studies, it never goes away. In fact, Susan Jeffers has written a whole book about this: “Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway.”   You feel like this because you are, amongst other things, also extending your comfort zone by moving outside of the old limits.

So, how to deal with this fear on a passage plan? One idea is to get positive affirmations. For these you need friends who dwell in the same environment, so to speak. People who have lived through the same fears and acquired some skills in this regard. These people are your support system for your journey into the unknown recesses of your psyche.

And simply asking what to do is no help at all. You have not learnt a thing or extended your comfort zone. You need to do your own digging. You need to think the problem through and have a plan. Then review the plan or idea.

Very much like playing a “What if...”-game with your plan. Then you adjust your plan as required. Only then do you go and ask for advice. In this way, you have gone through the thinking at least twice. Once for the original plan and at least once again in review by playing “what if...”

When faced with a situation during your adventure, you have to be able to do independent thinking. Your own thinking. In the case of an ocean voyage it is easy. You know that you will be on your own. But the level of preparation required is not always obvious.

And you need to get your ego out of the way. That little voice in the back of your head saying “we'll make a plan when that happens.” Your ego. It simply means that you have not thought the problem through properly.


Of course, going on a long voyage requires its own physical preparation anyway. In our case it is no use arguing that we are going into the tropics, therefore only the lightest clothing will be required. You will come very short very quickly, as the weather where we are sailing to is simply not the same as where depart from.  A simple example.

I am at present worried about the navigational information I have on hand.

Some charts were compiled from survey data dating back to 1904. The chart datum states something like “17-24 feet below the jetty at XXXX Harbour,” complete with a rider in the title block of the chart stating that, due to the unavailability of newer survey data, the compiler is not able to vouch for the integrity of information depicted on the chart.

And the depths are in fathoms. No indication of compatibility with GPS co-ordinates.

Not very reassuring if you need to go there at night, believe me.

So the obvious answer lies therein to stay clear of such places as will be shallow enough to pose a problem. Then a lot of insecurity goes away. Update and adjust the planning.

Simple. Don't complicate your life by overloading your brain with unknowns and imponderables.

Having said all this, it leaves me happily moving forward into the last phase of my preparation. I did not realise just how much psychological support I have until people contacted me with advice or just a moment of shared peace over a glass of wine and a coffee.


Wonderful to have the reassurance that others are in synch with your emotions and thinking. And surely a blessing.

As our departure date draws near, I can feel the positive vibe in my head. Gone are the withdrawal symptoms from a lack of exposure to the open oceans.

Lay on MacDuff!




Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2014-05-31