During the heaviest of the weather, David did all the sextant work from inside the wheelhouse. Clipping harness lines from one handhold to the next gave him a sling into which he could lean while bracing his feet at the base of the bulkhead. It was an infinitely better method than struggling out on to the deck with that precious sextant, fastening himself securely, taking the sight and getting the sextant (and himself) covered in spray. All his navigation proved to be just as good from inside as out.
That gale in the middle of June was probably the most demoralising. We crossed longitude fifty several times, and apparently lost a lot of hard-won ground as well. More dead-eyes needed replacing and the sugar ration had to be decreased to three teaspoons per person per day! The crew were becoming almost mutinous in their belief that it was wrong to attempt to make our 'easting' so far south. We felt that the gales were more prevalent down there and that if we made some northward progress first we might find it easier to work our way east. David's original plan had been to go south to latitude thirty-five, there to pick up the prevailing westerlies, use them to take us east, then head north to catch the south east trades which would take us to Mauritius. The headwinds which bedevilled us at the outset had forced us into going further south than planned almost to the Roaring Forties. We reasoned that it would do no harm to try and get back up towards latitude thirty, then try and make the three hundred miles of easting we still required. The arguments went round and round. David was adamant he was not going to head north till we had made those vital three hundred miles to the east. The crew felt frustrated because we thought it would take longer his way. Added to this, everyone was feeling cheated of the warmer climes they had been expecting. It was still very cold, being almost midwinter down there.
On the bright side, we had the birds providing endless hours of entertainment. Even better, the unusual experience of seeing a rainbow at night. It formed an almost complete circle around the moon and was as vivid as its daytime counterpart.
By 19th June we had covered 1,711 miles, but still needed three hundred more to the east. David took the decision to head more towards the north. Though not entirely sure it was the right thing to do, he was at least content to have made a decision on which we could act. Moreover he had to some extent mollified the crew.
Morale improved immediately, and was further strengthened by the appearance of a ship heading straight for us. We warmed the radar up, tuned in the VHF and took bearings on her. She appeared to be on a collision course with us. Later we concluded that ships altered course to investigate, after picking us up on their radar sets. David ordered the engine to be turned on and ticking over, in case we had to take avoiding action. At a distance of 3.3 miles she veered a little and the bearings confirmed she would pass on our port side. We were unable to raise her on the VHF until she was close enough for us to get her name. Communication was difficult but we hoped we had got off a message to family and friends who would be glad to know that we were safe. This was the first encounter we had ever had at sea. The Formosa Glory had created great excitement, and provided a talking point for hours thereafter. I had been baking caraway rolls for breakfast when the ship was sighted. They came to no harm in spite of being abandoned halfway - in fact they made a delicious addition to the lively breakfast which followed. In all the excitement, the engine exhaust valve was not shut properly, and this caused a problem when we later wanted to start the engine. Fortunately, there was no damage done and it was only a matter of emptying the water trap on the exhaust system. The wind died that night and we motored right through till dawn.
Sometime during the dark hours we were joined by a pilotfish. He was spotted the next morning swimming along about six inches ahead of the stem, making use of the forward thrust of the small bow wave we were creating. By then we were coasting along under sail in a very gentle breeze. It was fascinating sitting on the anchor cat just watching him surf along. His progress looked so effortless. Looking down over the aft bulwarks we could see right down to the keel. The water was the prettiest inky blue in the sunlight. The barnacles on the section of the stern not covered by antifoul paint mere babes when we had set off had grown considerably.
The light breeze faded into nothing, and David decided to get the engine on in the calm and attempt to reduce the one hundred and seventy miles of easting still needed. We saw more night-time rainbows although not as distinctly coloured as the first. The clouds were becoming more and more like the ones David was expecting to see in the trades. In the early dawn they were tinted pink by the rising sun. Daybreak is an awe-inspiring time in the middle of the ocean. Colours are magnificent. The pilotfish had been joined by another and we christened them Cain and Abel. After some hours of motoring we stopped the engine to carry out some routine checks. While doing so, the boat drifted gently backwards, which confused Cain and Abel dreadfully. Next thing we knew, they had swum round to the stern and were guiding us, rudder first, back the way we had come. It took them a good half hour to catch up once we started motoring forward again.
The excess battery charging needed to be diverted, so we chose that day to make ice-cream. Altogether we made six litres. The power surge was absorbed by the extra hours of freezer time. Our ice-cream maker was the old-fashioned hand-churned sort. Each crew member had to churn for a minimum of ten minutes on each flavour, qualifying him or her for a share of that ice cream. The system worked well and it was a great treat.
The lull did not last long and we were soon back to the more familiar force sevens and eights. The seas grew rough again, though not as high as they had previously been. Initially this bout of heavy weather was adverse, but eventually it backed to the right direction for us. It had to be used to our advantage in spite of the fact that helming was heavier work than some of us could comfortably handle. On the plus side, David was pleased to see Tin Hau performing so well downwind in biggish seas. What a pity we were unable to log a full day of running - we might have bettered our 147 miles. As it was we made 111 miles, bringing our total to 1,921. Barry spotted the first flying fish (thereafter referred to as 'flish', which had all except the helmsman out on deck scanning the sea for more. Though the wind moderated in the evening, it was still taking us where we wanted to go. Morale was improving as we began to sense victory. Skipper appeared for dinner dressed in a three-piece pinstripe suit, complete with yellow wellies, amusing us all till he entered the whee-house. What an assault - he had dosed himself liberally with three different brands of aftershave!
My home-baking book was proving to be an absolute godsend. I had never had much success with yeast cookery before. Every recipe we tried from that book was good and we had no flops at all. The variety of bread rolls, loaves and yeast cakes we turned out was amazing.
Barry sighted the next ship during the forenoon watch. She was the Yamatama Maru bound for Texas with a cargo of oil from Borneo. Our first contact with the outside world for six days. This time we had a sighting of human beings as well. (The Taiwanese aboard the Formosa Glory had not shown themselves.) We were greeted with waves from the flying bridge and bon voyages over the VHF as well as a 'toot' salute.
More 'flish' were in evidence after the ship had disappeared from our sights. They are incredibly tiny, fly with rapid 'wing' movements, and travel relatively long distances skimming over the waves and swell before plopping back into the water and disappearing from sight. The noon sight confirmed that we had passed the 2,000 mile mark. Altogether a heady day. It was calculated that we should have entered the trade wind area, though there was still no sign of them. The wind was constantly shifting and gusting in nasty little squalls of rain. The swell gradually lengthened, but without significant wind. We had at last completed our easting and were set on a northerly course with only four hundred miles to go. Cain and Abel had deserted us and there was no sign of life on the miles and miles of empty sea; only Tin Hau and her motley crew.
Our first contact with our destination came when we picked up Plaisance aero beacon. Theoreticall
y having a range of three hundred and sixty miles, I was chuffed to have heard it even though the signal was very weak. Though the conditions were far from ideal in sailing terms, they had improved in that we were marginally more comfortable. The seas were less frightening, the temperatures warmer, and our goal getting appreciably nearer.
David turned in early one evening, leaving Barry and myself to complete what, till then, had been an uneventful watch. All continued well - light wind and the odd rain squall - until our final hour. Suddenly we were hit by a severe squall driven by a strong wind. Barry, on the wheel at the time, lost control of his steering and somehow ended up one hundred and eighty degrees off course. We had far too much sail up for the strength of the gusts which had tried to flatten us. It had literally gone from force two to force six or seven in a matter of seconds - a phenomenon we encountered a number of times in the Indian Ocean. It was less problematic during the daytime, but there was no way of detecting the onslaught in the dark. We all got very wet trying to sort out the tangles caused by the blast and it took a while getting Tin Hau back on course. Barry was very dazed he didn't really know what had happened at all.
After several such incidents we followed a policy of automatically shortening sail at nightfall, especially when we were short-handed. We did not lose a great deal in terms of distance covered and were better able to deal with the unexpected.
The wind turned adverse again and produced a choppy little sea. The freezer was shut down - partly because we had a bubble showing in the sight glass which oughtn't to have been there, partly because we had just about reached the end of our pre-cooked meals. Number Seven handled the steering for us and we were able to get on with various chores which had presented themselves.
We were gradually drawing closer to Mauritius. A glorious sunrise preceded the next favourable wind. We sighted yet another ship at noon. This time we had no problems making contact and I was delighted to speak to the captain of the Brilliant Venture. I put a request for Captain Anderson to send a radio message for us. He offered to go one better and send a ship's telegram giving our position and ETA at Port Louis, as well as a report that we were all well. This constituted a great kindness on his part and was greatly appreciated by ourselves. I learned later that this was the only communication which reached our family. The telegram was 'phoned through to them and they were very relieved to hear that all was well, especially since they had reached the point of expecting a phone call from us from Mauritius.
We adopted a new policy then, and stuck to it throughout our cruising! Never give definite dates of arrival, and be as non-committal as possible. This not only avoided panic on the part of the family when we didn't show up, but also saved us worrying about their worrying. We did set ourselves targets for every voyage after the maiden one, and almost always made them within a day or two; but they were only targets to aim for. David always maintained that the most dangerous and undesirable condition at sea was having an appointment to be kept no matter what. We were at sea to be free.
Cain and Abel reappeared and were joined by a third, bigger, pilotfish. Barry dubbed the new arrival FBI. I never did find out why. We were also aware of more birds of the land variety; small birds with a piercing, almost shrieking, call, still unidentified years later.
The sugar was holding out – just - as were all our other provisions. My cigarette supply was running short though. Each crew member who smoked (there were four of us out of six) had been asked to take care of their own tobacco requirements; estimate their needs for five weeks and add two weeks for good measure. Jean-Marc had grossly underestimated his requirements and had run out of cigarettes at the end of the second week. Jeff and Barry both smoked pipes, though Barry occasionally had a cigarette or two as well and had allowed for this. Each crew member had a small stowage box in the wheelhouse, a place to keep small personal bits and pieces. Feeling sorry for Angel, Jeff had loaned him one of his spare pipes and Barry and he had clubbed together to give him a bit of tobacco. I had passed on two of my precious packets of ciggies. Jean-Marc kept his smoking paraphernalia in his stowage box as did the rest of us, in ours. The only difference being that Jean-Marc also kept his sea soap there. When he finally ran out of the collected gifts of tobacco and we were unable to give him any more, he was collecting the tobacco left in the butts of our cigarettes, putting them in his box, and hoarding till he had enough to fill his pipe. The resultant smoking mixture was heavily tainted by the soap. We were all treated to the heavy mixture of pipe smoke laced with carbolic (or whatever sea soap contains). Ugh.
I was trying to get another fix on Plaisance aero beacon when I spotted our seventh ship a decidedly odd-looking motor vessel. We thought it might be an inter-island coaster plying between La Réunion and Mauritius.
David estimated our position to be one hundred and twenty miles from Port Louis. We had had good winds for the previous eighteen hours, though still not ideal, direction-wise. Everyone was becoming quite hyped up; Barry running around doing 'personality pictures', Jean-Marc doing some fibreglass touch up work on his surfboard, Jacqui and myself getting our laundry up-to-date and washing hair and bodies and so on - all in preparation for arrival which we hoped was imminent.
There was a very exciting moment when David sighted the most enormous school of dolphins about to cross our bow. We estimated there were between one hundred and one hundred and fifty of them, travelling at about fifteen knots in a very determined way.
Barry and I spent endless hours climbing on and off the wheelhouse roof hoping to be the first to spot land and have the pleasure of calling “Land ahoy”. A Mars bar had been promised to the lucky lookout. David had drawn two intersecting circles on the chart, one around Mauritius and one around Réunion (the latter having a larger ring because it was a higher island). The idea was that we should have been able to see each of the islands from within their respective circles, and if within the intersection zone ought to see both. It goes without saying that this only works in ideal conditions. We were unable to see either - not even at sunset, when we had calculated our best chance would be. Sod and Murphy, our constant invisible companions of the previous thirty-six days, decided the time had come to give us one more dose of their medicine before the voyage ended - one last night of nasty weather. Like Jeff earlier, Jax had the wheel snatched out of her hands when Tin Hau was struck by another of those sudden squalls, with almost the same result for her hand. After treating her and sending her off watch, I stepped in for her helming tricks but dozed while the others did theirs. I stayed on to do my own watch but was dismissed by David before we had completed the full four hours. We still had not seen land and I went to bed feeling thoroughly disgruntled.
On 30th June, David crept into our cabin at six thirty and said that land was visible. Hardly pausing to drag on my clothes, I raced up the companionway and stared at... nothing. The land was totally obscured by misty drizzle and low cloud.
By eight o'clock, at the change of watch, a clearer picture was emerging. Dramatic mountain peaks were offering their profiles to our view. David and Jeff were having quite a job deciding which peak was which in relation to the Pilot information we had. This was an essential fact they had to establish in order to know exactly how far up or down the coast we were in relation to Port Louis. We had got all that way with no navigation problems at all and suddenly it was a problem knowing where we were. As we closed with the shore, however, more and more details became available to help, and eventually David was able to pinpoint our position exactly.
The crew were completely entranced. Seeing land again was the best prize anyone could have dreamed up for us after our thirty-seven day battle with the elements. The vision before us of a lighthouse and lower buildings centred on large tracts of cultivated land. A strong smell of molasses emanated from burning sugar cane in fields surrounding factories. The beautiful mauve mountain peaks provided a stark contrast to the gentler sloping green hills. It was almost too much to absorb.
We were sti
ll one and a half hours away from the end of our voyage, but we were determined to have everything ready for that great moment of arrival and at the same time were determined to miss nothing of the approach. We hoisted our 'Q' flag, and the very colourful Mauritius courtesy flag, as well as breaking out the Red Ensign. For good measure we added the burgee of the Junk Rig Association and our own 'houseflag'.
We discovered, to our surprise, that a VHF facility had been introduced at Port Louis since our Pilot Book had been written. This was useful as we were able to receive courteous directions on where to berth and how to go about clearing in. Picking our way through the maze of buoyed and anchored trawlers was no problem. Neither was finding the customs quay and the berth we had been instructed to go for. In among the fishing boats we found what we were looking for, and tied up alongside a Swiss boat called Bubblehull.
Within two hours we had gone through all the clearance procedures and were free to go ashore. Tin Hau had completed her maiden voyage. Not without problems, it's true, but we had all made it more or less intact, with a third of our water and food and half of our diesel unused.
There is absolutely no way one can adequately describe the minute details or the see-sawing of emotions one feels when taking part in an enterprise of this kind. David had been through similar sailing experiences before. For the rest of us it was all totally new. We each coped with what came our way in our own manner. Each had his or her private fears and joys and benefited from the experience in one way or another. We were relatively free of the personality clashes so often associated with this type of journey - partly because we elected to take people we already knew well and trusted. There were a few small resentments and a few disagreements. But looking back they seem so small and insignificant in the greater scheme of things.
Cutting the Dragon's Tail Page 13