Half way round

Trinidad, 24/5/2018

For the first few days after leaving Jacare, Brazil, I was unwell.  Not just the usual mal-de-mer, but something more, a localized pain around the navel. I dug out my ancient copy of the “Ship Captain’s Medical Guide”, which offered several possible diagnoses, from hernia to appendicitis, with the recommendation to radio for medical advice (?) and head to the nearest hospital (??). Luckily it passed of its own accord, but it brought home to me the additional risks of this lifestyle that I generally ignore.

Despite her ailing skipper, Shanti sped off jauntily, taking full advantage of the Equatorial Current, which flows NW at up to 4 knots, setting unheard of records of 165 nM a day. 

Then, on day 4, came the doldrums, this time for real. Getting through the doldrums with only 75 litres of diesel is a challenge, constantly working at changing sails to keep the boat moving, taking advantage of every subtle offering.  I only turn the key when sailing is absolutely impossible and sometimes not even then.

Day 5; 7^th May, crossed the equator! ) 00 deg.00’ It was as hot as you’d expect, so I didn’t bake a roast dinner, but did have cold libations, liquid offerings to Neptune, music and song. I cut the engine to actually sail, rather than motor across that invisible line. I think I’m supposed to pierce an ear or get my head flushed, but luckily there’s no-one else on board to inflict such barbaric traditions upon me.

On day 9, I tried flying the spinnaker again, but with no success. There was just not quite enough wind. Whilst wrangling it, the pole swung wildly and banged me hard on the head.  It took my breath away for a moment (to give thanks that I was not knocked out, or overboard).  The very next minute, it tried again.  Despite Arnica, I quickly sprouted two large duck eggs, about an inch apart -  all this before breakfast!

Day 10 was a perfect day, with wind gusting up to 30 knots in the rain squalls.

There are vast patches of yellowish Sargassum weed everywhere, which are fascinatingly beautiful.  I wonder where they all come from, perhaps the Amazon.  Some are the size of a football field and stretch for miles, in disparate clumps, joined by a narrow chain, like a giant string of pearls.  They almost have the appearance of dry land, or an erupting, newly born, sandy quay.  The colour is totally uniform, as is the structure, like upturned gorse bushes. When the rising sun catches these, they glint like spun gold.

At first, they were a worry, lest they foul the prop or get sucked into the water intake when parting a semi-solid path, motoring through them.

On day 11 one of the especially fierce rain squalls hit and had Shanti screaming along at a great rate of knots as the rain pelted the sea into a rolling roundness.  The second after the rain stopped, she gybed.  I went up to sort it out, but was unable to.  No matter what I did, gybing kept on happening.  It was as if either “Tilly” (tillerpilot) had gone nuts or we were in the eye of the squall, with circular winds veering and backing constantly.

After about 10 minutes of the main crashing left and right – (“Make up your mind!” I railed) - we were away again. Thankfully we had no more of that nonsense overnight. It was another opportunity for practising acceptance of what is.

Day 13: there could have been lots to complain about last night, were one so inclined. 

At 1530 we rounded the imaginary “turning mark” and began heading inshore, toward the Suriname River. It was not my original intention to go there, but others had sung its praises and I had a bit of time to spare.  It seemed an attractive prospect to break the 2000 mile passage after 1500.

I had been buddy boating with another single-hander on a Jeanneau 44 (“Hierbabuena” – I’ll leave those of you who know some Spanish to work out the name) since Jacare.

A rare moment of proximity during the first week of sailing together.

We had been keeping a good distance between the two boats, but at 0330 my AIS alarm (which was set for 0.5nM went off). I called Paul on the VHF radio and found out the furling line for his genoa had broken and he was way over-canvassed for the conditions.

We discussed this for a while and concluded it was necessary to drop the sail.  This was not going to be easy. It was a pitch black, moonless night. The shoal water waves were steep, sharp and confused. To top it off, it started to bucket down with rain. Then on top of that, his engine failed. On top of that, a pin was missing from his boom, so he had to go below and hunt for another before being able to raise the mainsail.

An hour later he called back on the radio to say he was utterly exhausted.  I told him to sleep for 2 hours while I kept a look out for fishing boats.  When he awoke, we discussed the engine failure.  The symptoms he described (going slow, then fast), sound like what is known as “hunting” for fuel, requiring changing the fuel filters and bleeding the lines. He is relatively new to boating, but was able to do this, which was just as well.  Even though sailing in company gives the illusion of safety, really, there is little practical, hands-on help possible, with wind and waves preventing close contact. Still, he appreciated my input via radio and I was glad to be on the giving, instead of receiving side for a change.

Meanwhile, Shanti had made up her mind that Suriname was not for her.

Trying to make way against the current, basically going round in circles.

The strong equatorial current dictated that NW was the only way for a little boat with little power to go, so we bade “Hierbabuena” farewell and headed back out to sea, alone again. It was only another 510 nM further on to Tobago, which, with the favourable current, should only take about 4 days.

Things never go quite the way you think, so best not to think.

The favourable current took a break and it soon became apparent that Tobago before dark on the fourth day was not likely. The sun setting behind the dark hills splayed golden shafts of light through the clouds. A sight to behold and time might have stood still; only it didn’t. Darkness closed in.

Then, with only 8 nM between me and a good night’s sleep (yes, I was projecting my mind to that future comfort) an ear-piercing alarm brought me instantly back to the present.

I had no idea what it was, other than a painfully deafening noise that could have been coming from within or without.  My mind raced for a few moments, touching briefly on all kinds of external madness, from warships to air-raid. Entering the cabin, the sound was amplified to a supersonic pitch, as if magnified by bouncing off the confining space. It was a demonic shriek, an undeniable call to panic. In panic mode, I turned things off, first the VHF radio (no difference), then Tilly (likewise).

In hindsight, it’s amazing how slow my mind was to recognise the source of this as coming from the engine. There are processes to go through before shutting down the engine and I could scarcely remember them, but within another minute, the ignition key was turned off and the dreadful noise ceased. The pounding of my heart took a bit longer.

Then came the need to calm down and consider the situation. No engine. A pitch black night, a lee shore close by, wind holding strong (which was reassuring), a very strung out and overtired skipper.

What to do? Radio the coast guard for a tow? I tried that, repeatedly, but got no response (I found out radio calls are seldom answered here).

One possibility was to keep on sailing north to Grenada. Another was to head south west to Trinidad. Either way, it was going to be another sleepless night.

I opted for Trinidad. If anything serious had happened to the engine I could be stranded for a long while getting it fixed and I already had a booking to haul out at the end of June in Trinidad. It would mean arriving a few weeks earlier than planned but at least I would be there.

The wind held steady through the night but at dawn it dropped to less than 5 knots. Looking at the charts of the approaches to Chaguaramus, it seemed as if it might be possible to sail in. (Later, I wondered how on earth I could ever have imagined that).

It became obvious that I needed to get that engine running again. It was raining, there was very little wind, though with the usual roll, just enough to slide tools, engine covers, me, from side to side while changing the sea-water pump impeller. The last time this was changed was by Alex and Ron at SYC on the day of my grand departure, and I hadn’t really watched how they did it. I remember they didn’t have the correct size gaskets, so re-used the old ones. For some strange reason the new ones are just a little too big, so my replacement leaked.  No matter, I was greatly relieved when there was no panic alarm after I restarted the engine.

Six hours later, I was doing 1.5 knots through the narrow channel (“Boca De Monos”), with tide against me and the odd 25 knot “bullets” right on the nose.  There was no way I could have sailed through there!

Shanti's track to Chaguaramus from Tobago

It is said that if you can keep your primary focus in the present moment, all else that is needed will be added to you. I have been witnessing this along the way.

In Cabedelo, I took the train into Jaoa Passoa to clear out of Brazil. After running a few other errands I returned to the station, only to find I had just missed the 1605 train. At peak hour, one might expect a train every 10 minutes or so, but no, the next train was not until 1730. Most people, it seems, use the buses, even though the train ticket is only about 10 cents.

I could have left and gone to find a bus, but decided to sit and wait, or rather, to sit and “be”, keeping an alert attention on the present. Before long I noticed the iridescent green-ness of the untrimmed railway siding and the way in which the gentle breeze was swaying the slender fronds in a delicate dip and rise, almost as if engaging in an unspoken communication. It was delightfully mesmerizing and the time passed unnoticed.

On the train, a mother with two young sons sat opposite me.  One of the boys of around 10 years old, gave me the most charming smile and later lifted himself up by both arms from the overhead rail, as if to do chin-ups. His brother joined in, though without knowing why. At my station, we waved goodbye. It was a lovely interaction.

Four days ago, arriving here at Chaguaramus, with the usual uncertainty as to where to go, a dark skinned man on a large catamaran (“El Gecco”) suddenly appeared, leapt into his dinghy and helped me tie to a mooring. Later he came and took me to meet his American wife, Darlene, where I learnt that he is a South African solo sailor, (Neal Petersen) who has raced twice round the globe. https://www.youtube.com/user/nealpetersen. He is also a highly prized keynote speaker at international events, inspiring massive audiences with his beleaguered history. Their catamaran was badly damaged in hurricane Irma, (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurricane_Irma) but was re built, in Neal’s words, "courtesy of IBM".  This couple instantly took me under their wing, sharing stories, information and warm hospitality.

So even though I am here in Trinidad a few weeks earlier than intended, I don’t think I will suffer by it. There are plenty of things to be done on Shanti, such as replacing the mast head lights, removing and repairing the Fleming wind vane, etc. etc.

Chaguaramus on a cloudy day.

Here are some of my neighbours:

This beautiful aluminium yacht was dismasted and damaged by hurricane Irma.It has  just been bought by a young couple with baby, who intend putting it into charter in Greenland.  Very enterprising!

A family with four young children and a dog live aboard this yacht.  They have just had their fifth newborn! No idea where they put them all...

This translucent fish is to be found swimming alongside Shanti all day long. Must be eating something tasty off the hull, which is vey grubby.

At the end of June, Shanti will be hauled out on the hardstand in one of the several boatyards here. Others I have met along the way (the two Germans, Wolfgang and Klaus) will arrive here in a few days, so there will be more company, more happy hours to share.

Being in the northern hemisphere is an opportunity to visit long absent family and friends. Also to attend summer school and hopefully get a bit more French under my hat to be able to communicate with my bi-lingual grandchildren in Melbourne.

So this slightly longer than usual blog post will be the last heard from Shanti for a few months. Wishing you all good things.

Shanti over and out.