2200 - 0200 Lynda and Martyn
0200 - 0600 David and Darren
0600 - 0200 Lynda and Martyn
1200 - 0800 David and Darren
1800 - 2000 Lynda and Martyn
2000 - 2200 David and Darren
0630 Breakfast
1230 Lunch
1830 Supper
Darren washed up the dishes arising from the cold meals of breakfast and lunch; Martyn washed up the dishes from the hot evening meal. An efficient ship (with clearly defined routines and responsibilities) is a happy ship - so they say. We would certainly agree with this philosophy.
On this particular voyage, most of my sights were of the sun, which was usually visible when I needed it. Lynda would often jot down the readings for me, using the normal shorthand of a circle sitting on a horizontal line to show that the sight was of the lower limb of the sun. She went a degree further than normal by drawing a face or other feature on the circle to illustrate the mood - happy, sad, exhausted, terrified, angry, puzzled or whatever.
As well as 'shooting' the sun, I also took sights of the moon (usable for the first time on Day Twenty); the planets Venus (clearly visible at an altitude of about twenty-six degrees in the evening) and Jupiter (also visible high in the sky in the evening); and the stars Arcturus (a bright star at the convenient altitude of about fifty to sixty degrees, by far the most useful star on the voyage), Spica, Rigil Kent, Regulus, Dubhe, Procyon, Alphard, Alkaid, Capella, Rigel and finally - for fun - Polaris! (a sight with the very low altitude of thirteen degrees was taken for the first time on Day Twenty-Three). This made a total of one hundred and twenty sights over twenty-eight days, which never left me in any doubt as to where we were. Most of the other yachts had the luxury, ease and accuracy of Satnav - (Satellite Navigator), but we learnt later that about one set in five had broken down, and in certain localised areas off the coast of Oman just about every set stopped working for a while due to some sort of interference.
On the second day we continued to sail due west away from Galle in uncomfortable moderate to rough seas, crossing the busy shipping lanes during the night and the early hours of the morning. Remarkably we did some shopping in the afternoon, even though we were ninety miles from land! We traded a packet of cigarettes for a fish from a Galle fishing boat.
Darren worried us a bit, as some untreated cuts he had picked up on his leg from the sharp barnacles on Tin Hau's hull were going septic. He continued to decline Lynda's offer of medical assistance, preferring instead a 'natural' approachof applying onion compresses.
On the third day the wind and sea moderated. By half past one I considered it worthwhile turning the engine on and going about on to the port tack. At long last we could head northwards again, although it was a pity that we had to consume fuel. With Number Seven no longer steering the boat we could test our new Autohelm 6000 autopilot (which we had named 'ERNI’ - Electronic Rudder Nudging Instrument). It worked brilliantly! Figure 10 of Tin Hau's steering system, shows how the autopilot motor was installed in the lazarette, together with an additional slaveshaft. From that moment on watches became much, much easier. In fact Tin Hau became what we had always wanted - a boat that could be easily handled by just the two of us. Erni steered a better course than any human being could. All we had to do was to keep a lookout, tend the sails and watch the ammeter to see that Erni was not having to work too hard. Often the needle would sit for long periods at zero amps, showing that Erni was simply holding the wheel,
not turning it. Once every thirty seconds perhaps - depending on the conditions - Erni would apply a small correction and the needle would show that, say, two to five amps of power was being consumed. It was all so simple to operate.
Later that afternoon we were visited once more by a Sri Lankan fishing boat, in fact two of them. This time, nothing was offered to us. Instead the fishermen begged desperately for food, water, cigarettes, diesel or anything else we cared to give them. We shouted at them to wait and made signs that we would throw them some bananas. They weren't interested in bananas and started preparing to come alongside. By this time we didn't believe for one minute that they were in any plight. We did our best to look aggressive. Sure enough, as soon as it was clear that we were not an easy prey for whatever they might want, they both revved up their engines and disappeared at great speed.
A couple of hours later we turned off our engine - our diesel supply had to last for a month at least - and we sailed gently towards the north-north-east and some distant lightning. Darren's leg had become much worse and had produced a large swelling in his groin. Lynda and I discussed the feasibility of returning to Sri Lanka. She was most disturbed by what seemed to indicate a serious case of blood poisoning, and insisted that Darren took some antibiotics. Thankfully he agreed.
We decided we would just have to wait and see what happened next.
By seven the next morning it was raining heavily. I decided to turn the engine on again and get away from the funny weather so characteristic of the ITCZ (Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone). Also by this time we were back in the main Singapore to Suez shipping lane. There were ships everywhere. We tracked them on the radar and took avoiding action for one or two. The weather became stranger and stranger. We motored through a plague of small flies, then moths (two hundred miles from land). Then the sea seemed to boil with jumping fish.
By the next morning my sextant fix showed that the ocean current, which the previous day had been setting two knots towards the west, was now setting one knot towards the east - back towards Sri Lanka! I had been half expecting this, having with us a book entitled The World is All Islands, written in 1957 by a Danish circumnavigator called Carl Nielsen. He had been in these same waters thirty years before us and had written about getting 'into a gigantic eddy'. Twice, in spite of using his meagre petrol reserves in an attempt to motor out of the eddy, he had failed. On the third attempt he had broken free, but only with the help of gale force winds which destroyed his headsail. He had then put in to a port in nearby India to carry out repairs and observed that a distance which normally would have been covered by his boat Nordkaperen in two days had in fact taken seventeen!
Not wishing to repeat Nordkaperen's experiences, I decided to use our engine to get out of the ITCZ and into the favourable prevailing north-easterlies which could not have been too far to the north of us. Luckily Darren's sores were beginning to look healthier and the swelling in his groin was not quite so bad. It looked as though we were going to be able to get away from Sri Lanka after all.
The funny weather, however, had one more surprise in store for us, which sent me scurrying down below to consult that wonderful book The Times Atlas of the Oceans which we were lucky enough to have in Tin Hau's large library. I looked in the index under 'Waterspouts' to learn how common they were and what to do about them if encountered at sea. We could see four! The highest appeared to be well over a thousand feet in height. And it was close!
I told Lynda to steer any course she liked to dodge these massive spiralling pools of water. Martyn and Darren did what they could to improve an already well-stowed deck. All hatches were battened down and the forward compan-ionway door was bolted securely. We were ready to dart inside the pilothouse doors, if necessary, and bolt them from the inside. There was nothing we could do to save the three sails if a waterspout 'hit' us. They would probably be sucked high into the sky.
All I could do was to continue to read what was said about waterspouts in the Atlas. Firstly, it appeared that the three most common areas in the world for waterspouts were The Gulf of Mexico, the mid- to south Atlantic, and the area where we were currently situated.
Secondly, even in these high risk areas, the chances of sighting a waterspout were extremely rare - only twenty to thirty sightings had been reported per 10,000 ships making weather reports over the last fifty years.
The next section I did not read out to Lynda and the others - it appeared that waterspouts travelled faster than a boat of Tin Hau's size co
uld motor and even the most seaworthy of ships may be damaged if a spout passes directly overhead
For thirty minutes or so Lynda did her best - and we prayed!
Then, to our great relief, the danger was past - as quickly as it had appeared in the first place.
We motored onwards for just one hour when at long last (at a position of about seven degrees north and seventy-seven degrees east) the wind we had been waiting for appeared. A light easterly breeze set in. The engine could be turned off and we started sailing again, slowly but steadily. The gentle sound of the bow wave as we ghosted forward in the right direction (north-west) was music to our ears!
So we continued for days and days; in fact, for just over three weeks all the way to Aden (it became apparent on about Day Eighteen that we would not be stopping in Salalah). On Days Six, Seven, Eight and Nine (the latter being Christmas Day), we chose to motor for a short spell as the wind was decidedly fluky. But from Day Ten to Day Twenty-Eight, when we arrived in Aden, we hardly used the engine. The winds, although often on the light side (force one to three), were sufficient and always from the right direction for sailing. Day Twenty produced a strong breeze (force six), which whipped up a rough sea. But, apart from that, the winds were normally perfect – force four to five. Erni did much of the steering whilst we enjoyed the sun and clean air. Only when the wind was near to dead aft and of a strength to be worrisome did we steer manually.
Christmas Day was a real highlight (our position was about nine degrees north and seventy-five degrees east) – our second Christmas afloat on the high seas, and every bit as good as the first one the year before. The entry in the log was: ‘Perfect sea and wind for Christmas dinner’. Lynda managed to cook a meal that was as good as anything we could have had ashore. We had our Christmas tree and decorations, carols on deck by lamplight and simple presents. Other than a sighting of two ships at four o’clock in the morning, we saw no signs of the human race all day, even though the visibility was exceptionally good (thirty miles or so).
We passed through the Nine Degree Channel of the Laccadive Islands on Boxing Day; and at half past eight the following morning we spotted the low lying atoll of Suheli Par about ten miles distant on the port bow. We drew closer rapidly, enjoying the benefit of what I estimated to be a 1.8 knot current. At twenty minutes past ten, just as we were toying with the idea of altering course for the island so that we could perhaps drop anchor for a few hours, or possibly overnight – we saw a small boat close inshore off the southern end of the northern island. It looked like a fishing trawler. The land was only one and a half miles away by this time, just forward of abeam. Through our binoculars we examined a long sand spit joining the two islands. These were clad with swaying palm trees reaching down to the golden beaches. We were so tempted to stop.
Then at twenty to eleven we spied a second boat, this time much closer and on our side of the northern island. This boat had obviously just seen Tin Hau. There was a flurry of activity on deck followed by a decisive alteration of course towards us. That was enough for me to make up my mind. We could not afford the risk of being detained by officialdom. I altered course twenty degrees to starboard and we raced past the island. The pursuing boat was not quite able to catch us – she turned round to head back for the island. It was with great regret that we watched Suheli Par disappear in our wake, which incidentally contained several eight-foot long brown coloured sharks, swimming in pairs. They too left us after a while as we left behind the Laccadives and entered the Arabian Sea proper.
A few days later it was New Year’s Eve – time for another celebration. Once again the weather was kind to us. The evening started with a beautiful sunset which had prompted Martyn to get out his camera for a photograph. The rest of us sat around on deck enjoying the usual ‘sun-downer’. At quarter past six a ship we had not seen before suddenly appeared – in silhouette – on the horizon right in front of the setting sun. We watched the sun sink lower and lower until it had just disappeared, when to our amazement we realised that the ship had also gone. I told the crew that this had something to do with refraction, the bending of the sun’s rays. But to this day I still do not exactly understand why that ship, which was heading in the same direction as us, vanished in the way it did, long before darkness set in.
Darren and I went for some sleep at nine o’clock, with the request that we be wakened just before midnight so that we could all see the new year in together, at which point Lynda and Martyn would turn in for an early night. Just before midnight we were awakened, but not in the way we had expected. Instead of the usual gentle shake and the ‘Dozey, it’s your watch’, I woke up to the sound of gunfire and explosions. Darren also woke up abruptly; and we both ran up on to the deck in great haste only to find Lynda and Martyn killing themselves with laughter. They had set off firecrackers just beside our open hatches.
The only other memorable thing about that New Year’s Eve was the fact that midnight – and 1988 – came three times! First came midnight in the current time zone (+0500). Then we moved our clocks back an hour for the new time zone (+0400). Sixty minutes later came the second midnight and a second rendition of Auld Lang Syne. Finally we put our watches back a further second in order to comply with an announcement we had heard on BBC World Service that this had to be done worldwide so as to make a necessary correction to world time. One second later came the third midnight!
As mentioned earlier, the long haul across the Arabian Sea proceeded without too much incident – just lots of easy, pleasant sailing. We often had dolphins for company and never ceased to wonder at these incredible creatures. They would swim in schools beside us for hours at a time, squeaking gleefully and occasionally jumping out of the water and landing with a splash, as though they were saying to us and to Tin Hau: ‘look how happy we are to be alive in this beautiful sea – are you happy as well?’
On Day Twenty-One we logged our best day’s run of the voyage – 142 miles, although twenty miles of this could be attributed to the favourable current. Salalah was now one hundred and sixty miles to the north of us; and the large island of Socotra off the ‘Horn of Africa’ was one hundred miles to the south.
The following day (8th January, 1988) was an exciting one. At quarter to seven in the morning we spotted a yacht coming up behind us with a multi-coloured spinnaker set. By quarter past twelve she was dead abeam and only fifty metres away, as close as she would get – she was the Swedish sloop, Lady Rosi, from Galle. We exchanged news with Roger and Siv and took photographs of each other, both crews saying how beautiful the other boat looked! I confirmed by VHF their Satnav position at quarter past one – thirteen degrees fifty-eight minutes north, fifty-two degrees forty-seven minutes east. Later that day we picked up Aden and Masirah RDF (radio direction-finder) beacons. Aden was only four hundred and fifty miles ahead of us, and Masirah was about five hundred miles to the north-east well up the Omani coast.
On Day Twenty-Five the sea became quite rough, and the deep blue colour changed to green. The first land flies appeared. There was a spicy smell in the air. We were getting close.
During the night the wind increased in strength slightly and the sea became rougher (it always seems to do this as land is approached!) Tin Hau was speeding along at six and a half knots at one point; and we were also being helped by a favourable current of perhaps two knots. We started seeing many ships the next day – a warship, a luxury passenger liner and many coasters and fishing boats.
We were treated to a wonderful display by the dolphins the following night, as they jumped and played around us in the phosphorescence, while baby dolphins surfed at the bow. At times it seemed like an underwater fireworks display. Star sights taken at eight o’clock in the morning showed that Aden was now only fifty miles distant.
At 4.25 a.m. on Day Twenty-Eight (13th January, 1988), we picked up the seabed on the echo-sounder; and at five o’clock lights were just visible off the starboard bow. We gybed to the port tack at half past five from a course of 270° to t
he more southerly one of 240°. By half past six the Aden peninsular was clearly visible.
It is always most exciting to see land again after a long spell at sea, particularly if the terrain of the new country is completely different to that of the country left behind. In this case we were staring for the first time at brown, barren land – Tin Hau’s first desert. What surprised us was how rocky and mountainous it was.
We started rounding Aden’s headland at half past eleven under power, having taken in the log. The wind had all but disappeared. Port Control called us on the VHF as we approached the harbour. There followed a most pleasant conversation during which I was asked questions about Tin Hau and her crew. The port controller took down all the relevant details, officially welcomed us to Aden, and advised us where to anchor in the harbour. We proceeded to weave our way past a large number of moored ships, many of them Russian.
At quarter to one we dropped anchor amongst a handful of other yachts, as directed. As soon as we had finished – but not before – a launch came up to us and tied alongside. Customs, health and immigration formalities were very speedily and effectively dealt with. Fifteen minutes later we were free to do as we pleased. Seldom before had we come across such efficient and courteous officials; it was an easy end to a relatively easy voyage.
5. Aden.
There are always so many interesting things to look at in a new anchorage. Aden, the main town of the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen, with a population of about 300,000, was no exception. Near to us were anchored other yachts from our fleet. Just three of them – Lady Rosi, Yemanja II and Aquilla. We compared notes on the passage from Galle. All around us was the bustle of a busy bunkering and refinery port, with a noticeable military presence. Towering above the town were steep, bare mountains. We couldn’t wait to go ashore.
Cutting the Dragon's Tail Page 24