South to the Cape Verdes
Dandelion
Rick, Helen, Sue, John
Fri 14 Oct 2016 11:58
>
> Monday, 3rd October, San Sebastián, La Gomera
>
> We slipped from our berth at 1415 and puttered over to the fuel pontoon. Here we were attended by one of the marinos, a really most helpful chap, who had no problem with us dribbling every last litre into the two main tanks plus our 'deck stores' (4 X 20 litre cans lashed to the rail). Water, fuel, provisions, grog, we're ready in all respects. A quick, 'we're all in this together', prayer to the Weather Gods and then we're away.
>
> Tuesday, 4th October.
>
> Well, notwithstanding yesterday's entreaty to the WGs, and despite the fact that we're supposed to be out in the most reliable area of the trade winds (Columbus, Cook, HMS Beagle, Robin KJ et al all noting good, solid, 'fair winds' hereabouts) we're messing around in a rubbish F3 and as we're 'running before' that affords us the choice of either broad reaching to achieve some sort of sail set, but at the expense of being 30 degrees above our rhum line, OR, pointing the bows at the Cape Verdes - dead down wind - in which case the canvass slats, bangs and clatters as we roll along in the swell.
>
> In the 'CR' column, however, we have an almost completely blue sea (no white horses due to absence of WIND) and above, an entirely blue sky. We saw our first flying fish today and just before sunset about 20 North Atlantic dolphins have come along to visit.
>
> These animals are of medium size (comparing one species of dolphin with another) and are distinctive in that their sides are quite mottled. Behaviourally they're noted for 'bow-riding' fast boats. (OK, can the laughter, clearly we are the only deal in town right now so they'll bow-ride Dandelion until something better turns up.) They also leap from the water and whilst doing so describe a kind of exuberant corkscrew before crashing back into the oggin. We've seen this behaviour in the Azores where a group of dolphins - apparently working as a team - create a ring of aerated water in which they 'net' fish. If this happens it's usually a very bad day to be a fish as, trapped in this ring, you have the dolphins coming up for breakfast from underneath whilst gannets, attracted by the commotion, dive on you from the air. You'd be forgiven if your last thought was, 'Yeah, look, thanks a lot, but next time, I don't care what, but could I just not be a fish, OK?'
>
> We're 'fast' approaching the Tropic of Cancer (21N) so the nights are getting longer. The night watches are running 2000 - 2300, 2300 - 0200, 0200 - 0500 and 0500 - 0800. We rotate them so no one stuck with the two till five. The nights are actually truly specular especially as moon-set has been quite early (today about 2100). If we're following the rhum line (about 210T) our old friend the Milky Way is stretched out along the route, the twin arms dividing almost over the boat and then snake down towards the horizon, merging into a haze of a billion stars.
>
> A couple of shooting stars carve a lightning fast trail from N to W and disappear in a blink. I make a wish. 'Come on, let's have it, just a bit more wind, please.'
>
> Wednesday 5th October.
>
> This morning we had our first flying fish on deck. Apparently it collided with one of the Pilot House Windows and as far as it was concerned, that was that.
>
> 1745. We've been plugging away all day on the Donk. Now a nice little F4 NNE has found us so we're gliding over the ocean swells at 6 knots with a single reef In the main (to help out with hydrovane balance) and doing our best to keep the Yankee filled behind it. The silence is glorious. We're out at 24.42N, 20.21W which, to save you looking it up, is about 300M west of a place called Aricpres Grande on the Mauritanian coast. (Wherever that is.)
>
> Thursday 6th October.
>
> 1200 The midday plot revealed a rather pathetic 24 hour run of 110M. On our passage chart (which covers the whole of the North Atlantic) today's little pencilled triangle was a depressing 3/4 inch from yesterday's mark.
>
> Saturday 8th October
>
> We've just finished a 40-hour run under power with a poled out Yankee. We've had the Donk running at 1600RPM which is pretty economical and with the Yankee gives us 5 - 5.5. Overnight the wind came back to create a moderate sea which, as it was meeting us on our port quarter, created a not inconsiderable roll. Anyway we've now killed the Donk and are back to 'wing and wing' * a charging along at a rip-roaring five-and-a-half.
>
> (*this is a sailing condition where, with the 'wind behind' one arranges the mains'l to one side and the foresail (usually 'poled out') to the other, in order to present the maximum possible sailplan to what breeze is available.
>
> During the night we have a semi-close encounter with a fisherman. In these waters, especially if one is somewhat paranoid, one is not always confident as to how well deposed a fellow seafarer might be to one. And as this chap is not transmitting on AIS nor using his radar prudence suggested we might give him a fairly wide berth and at the same time douse our own nav lights. In the end I'm sure all was fine - in fact his radar came to life as we were passing - and he disappeared behind us, busy, no doubt, with his catch, and not at all concerned by a passing unlit sailing boat.
>
> On these sort of passages there develops a daily routine. First job: Walk round the deck and return any 'landed' flying fish whence they came. Second job, go round the ship and do a rigging/shackle/chafe check. 10.00 Coffee (real coffee on this vessel, let me tell you). Then there's a bit of a lull - yarning, looking at the sea, reading, writing, fishing, practicing our music, catching up on sleep, etc until 12.00 when we do the midday plot - culminating in that little pencilled triangle on the passage chart - and update the position re consumables - water, fuel etc. We have lunch in the cockpit. (Through all of this, you understand - and not just over lunch but hour after hour, day after day - the Hydrovane is silently steering the ship.) All we must do (perhaps, more accurately, what I must do) is to keep an eye on the course steered and adjust the sail trim and the Hydrovane as necessary.
>
> If there's a difficult time on these longish passages it's the period between lunch and tiffin. The sun moves crawl overhead, one tries to find a shady spot until 17.00 when we have tea and cake and as the sun starts to dip we have a sun-downer followed by dinner and the night watches start.
>
> Sunday 9th October
>
> 0235 just taken the watch.
>
> This should be our last full night at sea on this leg. We're 86 miles from the waypoint which itself is 27 from the harbour at Mindelo on Sao Vincente. Of course we're going to end up getting in at night. The bloody harbour is strewn with unlit freighters which, once the rust takes over, become unmarked, half-sunken wrecks. So we'll need to be a little canny. The breeze, which has been up in the 4s and 5s since we gybed at 1700, has gone on a bit of an unauthorised break so consequently we're fooling around at a clattery five to five-and-a-half.
>
> 1550. Well it's the old story. The nearest land is only 30M away and 5000' high but it's a typical, slightly hazy tropical day and, whilst we can acquire it on radar, we can't actually sight it.
>
> 1920. Land Ho! Over the starboard bow a misty shape appears out of the murk. Santo Antoa.
>
> We enter the Channel between Santo Antoa and Sao Vicente pretty much with the last scrap of daylight and go slap into the Acceleration Zone. So the wind, squeezing between the two land masses, goes from a benign 15 knots to a, 'hang on gov'nor', 30 plus. We drop from full main to three reefs and suddenly the air is full of flying fish as clearly we've run into a shoal, who, panicked by our presence, take-off and then get flung hither-thither in the F7.
>
> Mindelo, the port, is not exactly as advised in the Pilot Book. And this is a shame as our Plotter-thingy's chip doesn't include the Cape Verdes and, on the only chart we have, the entire island appears as a 2" X 1" blob.
>
> For anyone, perhaps following in our wake, the Fl(3)13s on the summit of the 86m high pyramid-shaped Ilheu dos Passaros is lit but hard to positively pick up until you're quite close in. The R Fl 2s off the shipyard was not working and nor was the Fl.R.3s at the end of the breakwater is not lit. There are, however (as foretold) unlit, rusting freighters dotted about, some at anchor, some resting comfortably on the seabed and one, on its side, just breaking the water. The whole area is dominated by the city lights so picking out the various obstructions is actually a little tricky particularly at 0015 in the morning. Anyway, we identify the port itself, clear the bows of the parked-for-the-night Armas ferry (which is probably obscuring the R Fl(3) and head into a darker patch in the NE corner. Eventually we work out that we've managed to stumble into the anchorage. It's the work of a couple of minutes to drop the hook, kill the Donk, turn off the Nav lights and wrap ourselves around a lovely long dram. Another leg completed.
>
> We'll be here for a few days, then it's down to Brava - a tiny island at the other end of the archipelago. A couple of days there and then we're off on the long leg to Brazil. Better start practicing, 'como sobre uma Caipirinha'.
>
> Just to be on the safe side.
>
> Love the crew
>
>