The South Atlantic

St Helena, Easter




Whoever said the Atlantic Ocean is a “gentleman’s ocean”, with steady 15 knot SE trade winds obviously went on a different day to me.

The first few days after leaving Cape Town involved several hours of motoring through the calm patches. There were also moments of the most beautiful sailing I’ve ever had on the open sea, with 8 knots on the beam, sunshine and very little swell. This turned out to be the calm before the storm.

Three days later I was in huge seas, up around 6 metres, wind 35 plus. It was a wild slalom ride, slewing off to left and right, gybing at the bottom of each wave as poor Tilly (tillerpilot) struggled to hold course, no matter how many degrees off I gave her.  Every few waves one would slam violently against the hull like hitting a brick wall. 

Torrents of water doused the entire boat, cascading through the middle hatch over me in my bunk.  The forward hatch might just as well not be there.  Everything was soaking wet.

Worst of all is the Sadler design feature/flaw of the “bathtub” stowage area under the cockpit floor which lets a bathtub full of sea into the boat at every slam dunk or broach.  The bilge pump can’t deal with it as water sloshes from side to side up the walls. The floorboards are awash and of course, everything is on the floor.

A side swipe from one of those Mach trucks bursts open locker hatches and all contents go flying.  Butternut pumpkin missiles are lethal.

Three times the wild ocean tried to claim the blue canvas lee cloths from the sides of the cockpit, as well as the newly side-mounted solar panel. On each occasion, I heard a thunderous wave approaching; nothing I could do but hang on tight and get soaked to the skin.

I felt at a very low ebb, having little sleep or food for three long days and nights.

Here is my “Perfect Recipe for Sleepless Night”:

“Add 35 knots to 5 m swell to choppy top layer. Mix on minimum drive power and equal parts of slalom slew.  Stir well, trying to keep upright. Watch for excess froth and bubble, followed by collapse, then sudden and violent alternation.”

This could also be called “Gybing the night away”.

Gybing bunks.

I don’t recall it being quite so harsh in the Indian Ocean, but then, bad memories fade as the sun comes out.

The1800 nautical miles from Cape Town to St Helena took 17 days. The wind continued to be fickle, ranging from 5 knots to 30 knots. The last 48 hours were the deadest calm, with not a breath of air to ruffle the sails.  It was fortunate that this total becalming happened at the end of the passage, and not the middle, so I could burn the rest of my small reserve of diesel to motor in.

There is nothing quite so surreal as the sight of a lump of rock rising out of an empty ocean in the pre-dawn light.

 

The positive side of this lull is that the mooring field at St Helena is relatively quiet.  I heard that a couple of weeks ago it had a 3 metre swell upsetting everyone. Then they “close” the harbour.

Going ashore is challenge enough in good weather, and impossible in rough. A robust little wooden ferry offers a commuter service for GBP2. The surge sometimes drowns the concrete landing, which has ropes to assist the leap ashore.

(Had a good pic of this, but internet is very limited here).

The town itself has a quaint, olde worlde charm, with beautifully preserved historical buildings clinging to its steep slopes. A British colony, with around 4,500 residents, everyone is super friendly and helpful. It is Easter now, and the whole island has gone camping. Some fellow cruisers and I are hiring a car to explore further afield.

The interior is a constantly changing landscape, from barren, windswept rock, to verdant fields and cool canopies of dense forest. We visited the blighted, narrow strip of airfield, ending abruptly at the edge of a sheer precipice, built on the most turbulent side of the island and subject to much criticism, but providing a necessary link with the world.

Also the house where Napoleon was exiled and tomb where his body once lay before being taken back to France. All in all, a fascinating bastion.

Happy Easter All from Shanti, St Helena.