Another dream we had to shatter as a result of our summary expulsion from Mauritius was that of Tony visiting us there for Christmas. However it was not too late for him to reschedule his flight and change it for one to Mahé in the Seychelles.
2. Mauritius to Seychelles
The day set for our departure dawned clear and calm, with hardly a breath of wind. We cleared Port Louis at 10 a.m. and ghosted out of the port to make our way northwards. Our plan was to wave a final farewell to Hummingbird as she entered Balaclava Bay on a lunchtime charter. We made it to the rendezvous and 'cut the dragon's tail' in front of the assembled guests aboard Hummingbird. Having performed this ritual, we set sail for the distant Seychelles with the sounds 2. Mauritius to Seychelles
The day set for our departure dawned clear and calm, with hardly a breath of wind. We cleared Port Louis at 10 a.m. And ghosted out of the port to make our way northwards. Our plan was to wave a final farewell to Hummingbird as she entered Balaclava Bay on a lunchtime charter.. We made it to the rendezvous and cut the dragon's tail in front of the assembled guests aboard Hummingbird. Having performed this ritual, we set sail for the distant Seychelles with the sounds of hand clapping, cheers and Hummingbird's foghorn fading astern. We kept radio contact with them till the last possible moment by which time it was dusk and we were only just out of sight of land.
We had very light winds for the first few days but all the wind was from a direction which made it possible for Number Seven to do the steering for us. The days were warm and sunny and we were able to get an all-over tan. At midday the sun was almost directly overhead, and it was during this passage that David excitedly announced that the midday sun was now in the southern sky - the familiar position for anyone used to living in the northern hemisphere. The evenings generally brought squally showers but rarely anything too heavy to handle. We had a few small islands and shoals to avoid on our way, but also one group where we hoped to stop. We never did see either of those we had to miss - good navigation on the part of the skipper's part. David celebrated his thirty-fourth birthday at sea. I had had no opportunity to find a gift for him before our departure, and what money there was in my purse was spent on last minute extras for the voyage. However, I did manage to concoct a present and a party of sorts, and he loyally said it was the best birthday ever. The following day, a week out from Port Louis, we were due to sight and put into the Agalega islands.
I was hit, during the course of the midnight watch, by a severe squall for which I required David's help, as the helm was too heavy for me to hold in those conditions. We had too much sail up. Visibility had dropped to a minimum and the squall gave every sign of turning into a mini-gale. We shortened sail, which helped a bit with the steering, but it was obvious that we could be in for a spell of very rough weather and navigation was going to be difficult with the reduced visibility. The proximity of the islands of Agalega was now becoming a matter of some concern. We had little way of telling how close they were and could not risk running up on them unawares. David did manage to get a dawn sextant sight of the bright southern star, Canopus, together with the moon, at 4.45 a.m. This made our position fifteen miles south-south-west of the southern island of Agalega. Since the wind was from the east, now at a strength of force seven to eight, David decided we should harden up as much as possible. He did not want to end up directly downwind of the Agalega islands and therefore unable to reach them. Our new course was north-north-east and our speed was reduced to two and a half to three knots. He insisted we had to keep going, keep a good lookout, and hopefully we should soon see land. Failing this he would try to take a sight of the sun to determine our position more accurately.
By half past eight we had still seen nothing. David was virtually dead on his feet and I was exhausted. The wind had built up quite a steep sea and both of us were far too tired to cope. The decision was made to heave-to. We got everything battened down, re-lashed the anchor (which had slipped slightly in its cradle of rope), put the storm covers over the vents to stop the deluge of spray finding its way down below and snuggled ourselves in to sit out the weather. David went below to sleep and I set the timer in the wheelhouse and dozed under a duvet on the settee there. At half past eleven the sun threatened to show its shape through the clouds for half a minute. I shook David out of his sleep and he stumbled out on to the deck with his sextant to take a reading. Twenty minutes later he had drawn a position line on the chart which put us beyond the islands, to the north of them. What a disappointment! It seemed we were not destined to stop at Agalega after all.
I continued with my pilothouse watch. Every time the timer rang I roused myself to do a radar and visual sweep of the horizon. I kept watch like this till half past two when I went down below to get something to eat. The last of the Mauritian pineapples went down well. David surfaced around then and we both went back up to the wheelhouse.
At around half past three I spotted a smudge on the horizon off the port bow. At least I thought I did - I guess I thought I was seeing things as there should have been nothing visible in that direction at all. David climbed up on to the wheelhouse roof with the binoculars to get a better view. He confirmed that I had indeed spotted land. It could only be Agalega which we had thought was behind us! (David re-worked his sun-sight some days later and found that because of his tiredness he had made an arithmetical error that had resulted in our position line being drawn wrongly.) A radar check still gave no indication of land though, in spite of the fact that it was only five miles to the north of us as we were about to verify. Our first radar from Mars really was useless, although the repairs we carried out in Sri Lanka did improve it slightly.
Had we time to make landfall before darkness fell? Never has a boat so quickly started sailing again. We didn't waste time getting up more sail, just re-set them to get moving. We rushed past the southern tip of South Island and gratefully entered the calmer waters in the lee of the land. The only likely looking anchorage was at the north-western tip of North Island, twelve miles away. Could we get that far in less than two hours? The palm trees raced by two hundred metres to starboard of us, giving us a wonderful sensation of speed, as we did our best to beat the approaching dusk. Later, we both agreed it was one of the more exciting sails we had on Tin Hau.
We made it to the point where we were able to see the anchorage by the crumbling jetty in the fast fading light. We continued to sail as hard as we could, but by the time we had lined our compass and Tin Hau up for the entry, the jetty was no longer visible. A vehicle had been brought to the water's edge and a torch was being waved about in the dark. Supposedly this was to assist us, but it gave no indication of how close to the shore we really were. David had got the anchor ready to drop. All sail was down and temporarily stowed and we moved forward slowly under motor alone. We had just enough way on to control her against the heavy rolling swell. The radar proved to be of some value here as we were able to pick out various details on shore and work out just how far off we were.
The positioning of the anchor at this spot was crucial. Too far in we could have gone aground, yet only one hundred metres offshore the water was hundreds of metres deep. The chart showed a narrow platform of seabed suitable for dropping the hook. Our echo sounder was not being very helpful. It was hard to read accurately in the dark, so David was casting a lead line to determine the depths. It took several tries to get the anchor to hold. After each failed attempt David had to wind in the full seventy metre length of anchor chain, dangling vertically below, by hand, as we drifted out into rougher waters. Eventually we were satisfied that we had got it down reasonably securely. Once settled we had a quick drink and snack supper before hitting the berth for a really good sleep. At least I went to bed. David stayed in the wheelhouse, the echo sounder shallow depth alarm sounding every time a fish swam beneath the transducer. He was worried about the strong currents which ran parallel to the shore. He told me afterwards that these changed in direction half way through the night. At one point, he said, he could
almost have stepped out on to the beach, by then visible in the moonlight.
When making ocean passages, we always had the dinghies well stowed and covered (at least until Cyprus, where we made many changes to the stowage arrangements). In this mode, though the main dinghy was on davits, it took quite some time to get it all unpacked for launching. We had, therefore, to decide if a visit to the islands was going to be worth the effort. Our main reason for the stop was to get a bit of rest. We watched the activities on the shore for a while - there was a good sized cluster of people assembling on the beach. Eventually we realised they were preparing to launch a boat. Logs were rolled into position on the steeply shelving sands and a boat was run out over these. Several people got into the boat and it was launched by the rest of the men on the land. The boat drew alongside Tin Hau and permission was requested for two of the men to board. We were asked who we were and what we wanted. We explained that we merely wanted to have a break from sailing, but if an opportunity presented itself for us to visit the island(s) then we would like to do that too.
Agalega is a dependency of Mauritius, and it is forbidden to land on any of the outlying islands without a permit obtained from the Government. The senior official on Agalega was the head of the police unit stationed there. It was he who had come out to the boat to meet us. Sergeant Bhurton suggested that as 'the lady is not well' he could obtain permission by radio for us to land. I started to contradict him then bit my tongue as I realised he was looking for a reason for us to be allowed to stay. The boat then left us so that the officer could go and make his request.
Permission was obtained and we were granted a period of forty-eight hours on the island. Sergeant Bhurton came out again to stamp our passports and officially welcome us to the islands. When the fishermen who had brought him out to the boat returned to collect him, they collected us too. They had, all the while he was aboard Tin Hau, been fishing off the surrounding reef. As soon as we had stepped ashore and they had landed their catch, we were handed the largest croissant (a large red fish with lilac spots and a crescent tail) for our supper that night. We were introduced to two young islanders from the village of St James who were instructed to take us to visit the shrine of SacrCoeur, and then for a long beach walk.
On our return we cut inland through the coconut groves, where one of the lads shinned up a palm and brought down a couple of king coconuts. These were quickly and skilfully opened and we were handed one each to drink. The nut was then split and we were given pieces of the outer shell to use as spoons to scoop out the jelly-like flesh of the fruit. Many people do not know that the coconut they see on supermarket shelves is nothing like the nut fresh off the palm tree. A 'drinkingcoconut' is a very young form of the fruit, with a much more succulent flesh and considerably richer milk than the harder, drier version of the matured fruit. The nut on the tree is a larger item altogether, still bearing its green or golden green outer skin, which is very smooth. The pointed end of this nut is shaved off with a machete to reveal the fibrous interior - at this stage white - surrounding the inner nut which we usually call the coconut. When the kernel is visible, the machete is again used to lop off a tiny bit of the inner shell. The coconut is then ready for drinking.
By the time we got back to St James, the manager of North Island was waiting with a jeep to take us on a guided tour. His main aim was to take us to view the newly constructed airstrip. It had been built some time before but had never been used. The airstrip existed for emergency and strategic purposes. There was no tourism and certainly no plans for any in the future.
The total population on the two islands was three hundred and fifty in 1986; sixty per cent of these being juveniles. There were around one hundred labourers and the rest of the adult population were either wives or administration personnel. The main occupation was centred around copra and coconut oil extraction. Their only contact with the outside world was the ship which called on average once a year, and a radio link with the Seychelles and Mauritius. All their provisions would arrive on that ship and be off-loaded by small boats on to the jetty in our anchorage. There was no money on the island. All the provisions went to the government store, from where they would be drawn by the islanders on a book system. Earnings by the Illois would be credited to the store in each islander's name, then purchases would be offset against these. If, at the end of a contract, an islander was to choose to return to Mauritius, he would be paid any money owing to him then. Electricity was provided on each island, between nightfall and 10 p.m. only, by two large generators. Water from wells was used for washing, and drinking water was obtained from rain catchment. Accommodation was in the form of shanty type houses constructed of corrugated iron sheeting. These would blow down every time a cyclone hit the islands, and the sheeting would be collected after the storms to rebuild the homes. The islanders were natives in the sense that many of them had lived on the islands for several generations - descendants of old slave stock, mainly African. The administrators were mostly Mauritian. Some of the Illois were repatriates from Chagos, unable to settle in Mauritius when the Chagos archipelago was ceded to Britain at the time of Mauritian independence.
It poured with rain in the morning of our second day. Robin Bhurton paced the shore for ages before coming out to fetch us. He brought the island's Meteorological Officer with him to meet David. When the fishermen came back to take us ashore, they brought us yet another whopping great fish (this time a rock cod) for our dinner that night. Once ashore, Robin took us to the island's 'capital' Vingt-cinq, so called in memory of the twenty-five strokes which used to be administered, in that spot, as punishment to slaves for their misdemeanours.
We were shown over the remains of the police headquarters - they had been devastated by a cyclone the previous year. Being brick built, they were not so readily replaced as the shack dwellings. We met the duty officers who were playing a game of dominoes in the canteen. In the whole history of the islands, no one had ever spent a night in the cells - in fact no one had ever been locked up at all. The authorities were justifiably proud of this record of crimelessness. The police cells were put to good use as stores for salted fish and octopus, as well as providing a room for stretching and drying the shark-skins for sega drums.
From the police station we were driven to La Pointe at the southern end of the island so we could look across towards South Island. This is accessible by jeep across the sand bar at very low tides. After a wander around that end of the island we were returned to St James and the care of the Aglae family: Jean-Claude, Linda and their three children. Jean-Claude was a very talented craftsman (a welder by trade), working as a contract labourer on Agalega as there was no work for him on Mauritius. In his spare time he fashioned all sorts of wonderful things from coconut shells and found objects washed up on the shore. A modern display case in a corner of their home was full of models made by him. Each had been done without the benefit of plans and was accurate to the most minute detail. There were planes, racing cars and sailing ships, to name but a few. The most intriguing item of all, however, was the full set of drums, such as those a pop band might use. The drums were hand made from diesel barrels and sharkskins by Jean-Claude, who played them as well.
I could go on for ever about our two day stay on those islands. The people were so hospitable. They had nothing (by most westerner's standards), yet they were willing to share what little they had. We really were very grateful to them for enabling us to share for a while the peace and tranquillity of their simple lives. All we could do in return was to satisfy their curiosity by showing them round Tin Hau. We must have had about forty of them on board at the same time, mostly children. Without doubt we have never come across people more worthy of our trust or children quite so well behaved.
Robin came out on the day of our departure to officially stamp us out, and he also gave David a birthday gift from the people of Agalega - a large cowrie shell. Jean-Claude accompanied him and brought four fresh eggs from their only chicken, together with a few she
lls for my collection and a carved coconut-shell basket for David as a birthday present from the Aglae family. They had already given us one of the half dozen cassettes they owned, a tape of sega music. Jean-Claude was horrified when he learnt that we did not carry on board a single cassette of sega music. With the Aglae's gifts came the following letter:
Good morning for 22.11.86
Mr David and Mrs Lynda
I do not sure if you can come today because the little boat is no good. My wife, my children and I wish you and Lynda a Happy Christmas day and a new good year.
My wife, my children and I kiss David and Lynda a Christmas day
your best friend in Agalega.
Jean Claude
Linda
Jerry
Jenny AGLAE
and
Jonny.
Bye Bye.
By a quarter past two in the afternoon we had all our lines in and the anchor up, and we were on our way once again.
On 24th November we collected a passenger. A common noddy with an injured wing landed aboard Tin Hau in a very drunken manner. He stayed with us for a couple of days, resisting all attempts on our part to feed him. Eventually he had mended enough to fly off.
Cutting the Dragon's Tail Page 15