Tag Archives: Rodrigues

Approaching Mauritius

Tonight is our third and final (barring surprises) night of this hop from Rodrigues to Mauritius. The passage has been pleasantly uneventful. We had a steady 20 knots for the first half, and we did an easy 6 knots with just the jib. Today the wind went lighter, and we flew our small spinnaker. Tonight the wind has nearly died, as predicted, and we are motoring — probably for the remaining 80 miles. Easy going. Beautiful night sky.

It makes one think, this being our last night at sea. Tomorrow we will be clearing in and getting settled. Then TC’s priority will be to get on a plane and be gone. Tim will have a week to help with boat tasks, and then he’ll be gone. I have another 3 weeks to deal with boat tasks, and then I’ll be gone. I won’t spend another night at sea for two and a half months. For Tim it will be over 6 months.

Mauritius is a major stop on our map. I consider it the two-thirds point of the circumnavigation. Eight time zones away from home. About 127 degrees of longitude. I look forward to taking a break — a summer in Maine. Following that will be an exciting adventure, getting to Africa and around the Cape of Good Hope to Cape Town. And from there it feels like a walk in the park back to familiar waters. (I may have to eat these words later!)

The most uncertain moment of this hop was actually a crew thing, and it occurred an hour before we cleared out with the authorities in Rodrigues. I should have seen it coming… It started three days before on our island tour by minibus. We were all piling back into the bus after a stop. Tim was climbing into the back as TC got in the front and closed his door…on Tim’s hand. Tim made a lot of noise about it, though he wasn’t really hurt. I’m not certain if TC even knew it happened. Probably he did, and he decided it wasn’t his problem that Tim put his hand somewhere that it shouldn’t have been. He said nothing. The incident seemed to pass, but it came up again a day later — Tim saying to someone else how there was no contrition on TC’s part. At this point I should have seen the similarity to what happened a year ago with Bill. But I let it pass.

As we prepared to leave, Chris dinghied over from Tom Tom to say goodbye, and he jokingly brought up a sensitive topic, asking who signs the papers for the authorities — who is really the captain…? While I was responding that it was purely a matter of convenience that I sign the papers, TC apparently was making comments about my being the real captain, and something disparaging that I didn’t catch about Tim being old. Chris departs, I go below, and then I hear Tim shouting at TC…repeatedly calling him an asshole…and adding that he understands why women don’t stick around with him… I hold my breath wondering what happens next. TC is hurrying silently to his cabin. After a minute I sneak a peek in his direction. He appears to be packing his gear! Oh boy! It’s not that we need him to get to Mauritius, but we have assured the police and immigrations that we are departing with the same crew that arrived. We won’t be allowed to leave without him until he purchases a plane ticket out of the country. Plus, I will be stuck with the aftermath…Tim’s one-sided story, starting with the hand in the door and no contrition.

I wait a few minutes, hoping everyone is cooling off. Then to the pilothouse where Tim is, and ask what happened. He vents, and he seems to relax some about it. Then I stick my head into TC’s cabin, and suggest that he ask Tim what set him off. To my surprise and relief, he cheerfully says that he will. A few minutes later I hear him going up and saying, “Can we clear the air?” And we all get through it. I didn’t hear any “contrition” about the car door though, so that may come up again. But the two of them seem to have gotten on well for the past three days. So many aspects to sailing…

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Someone asked a question about the boats I’ve mentioned, that aren’t in the BPO rally: Gaia, On Verra, Tom Tom, Convivia, and others. Sailors tend to form their own “rally” when not in a formal one (or when the formal one has only two boats in the vicinity). A radio “net” started, as several boats agreed on a time and frequency for staying in communication. Others hear of the net, and join. A “net controller” volunteers to coordinate the radio traffic, which gets tricky as the boats fan out, and some cannot hear others. When boats check in, they report their position plus course, speed and wind conditions. And when someone could be in trouble, like Tom Tom with a broken forestay (and Gaia’s autopilot and engine both failed), everyone looks to see if they can assist. There are about a dozen boats currently tuning in to the “Indian Ocean South Net.” We are the furthest west of the lot; the first to Mauritius. So we will be letting the rest know what we encounter regarding formalities, mooring, etc.

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A common question is what do I do to pass the time on a long passage. My answer has usually been that I love to just watch the waves roll by and enjoy my surroundings. But not so going across the Indian Ocean. A small dose of the waves was enough, and we generally wanted to stay inside the pilothouse. I read five thriller/mystery novels (probably as many as I’ve read in the rest of my life)! They became my “drug” to transport me to another world.

Rodrigues

Rodrigues is a pleasant place. To me it has a Caribbean flavor — people primarily of African descent, pretty laid back, a little crowded in the town but empty in the countryside. Some cafes, an open market, a supermarket, western (French) foods. The crews of 7 boats went to a nice restaurant last night. Of course it is impossible to talk to everyone, but it was still fun to all be together.

Everyone says it is much nicer here than in Mauritius, but we are on a mission and will be leaving for Mauritius (3 days away) this afternoon. We have 30 knot winds right now, but they are predicted to ease by morning, and will probably be overly light by the time we arrive.

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This photo is back in Cocos, showing me carrying a case of beer to the ferry from West Island (one local called it Naughty Island) to Home Island.

 

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We helped Chris on Tom Tom work on his broken forestay. Our help consisted largely of relaxing in his cockpit…

 

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…while he worked aloft.

 

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The boats comfortably anchored in the basin…

 

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…all had to leave to make way for a supply ship to dock. Two days later we had to do it again when the ship left.

 

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We took a bus to the eastern end of the island, where the previous set of photos was taken; had lunch at this restaurant. Excellent food, but swarming with flies!

 

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Another day we hired a minibus to take a group around the island. A bungee jump off this bridge was one of the attractions, but it was closed when we got there…

 

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We walked through an amazing cave, though. Half a mile long, 40 meters high at places. Come out through a separate hole than you go in. Obviously utterly dark inside.

 

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Monument and a little park about the slaves that we brought to Rodrigues early on, and the freeing of them, also pretty early on (at least compared to the US).

 

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Cocos to Rodrigues, Completed

Day 11 – Windy/bumpy all day. 195 miles noon to noon. Frustrating not to hit 200, though we probably would if I chose a slightly different 24 hour period. Our speed always seems to be over 9 knots, but of course with the waves we’re never sailing in a straight line.

We lost our hydrogenerator today. That is, the blades once again broke off the propeller. The $400 propeller…

It was a pretty day…sunny…but we stayed inside due to the occasional spray dowsing the cockpit/deck. For the night we have triple reefed the main, and reefed the jib a little as well. Tomorrow they say it is going to blow even harder. Hopefully it will be more from the east (behind us), not from the south (hitting us broadside). If the latter it will be a wild and crazy ride! 350 miles to go.

Day 12 – The wind stayed mostly south, and it’s been a wild and crazy ride. Almost impossible to sleep last night, until you were so worn out you just didn’t care what was happening around you; then you might pass out for an hour. It’s not easy for me to describe, and probably hard for you to imagine. For starters there is the whoosh of water rushing by your ear at 10+ knots, while your berth is moving around like a carnival ride. That’s the relatively pleasant part. The water is very lumpy, of course, and some of those lumps get between the catamaran’s hulls and slam into the bridge deck — the structure that connects the hulls, that comprises the floor of the pilothouse, and the underside of my berth. Some lumps hit with a dull thud. Others hit like a wrecking ball, with a deafening crash and an impact that wracks the entire boat. It feels like the boat, and the crew, are being shaken apart.

Then there is the weird wail emanating from the wind generator. It has an internal brake that kicks in at about 35 knots, so the blades don’t spin themselves into oblivion. The brake has the vibrato electronic hum of a Jedi warrior’s light saber in combat, but with an intensity more like the air horn of a large truck closing fast and wanting to pass. Go ahead — picture each of those, and then add them together. Lying in bed, this wail tells you that the wind is still howling outside at 35+ knots.

Then there are the waves that break against the side of the hull, since we are sailing crosswise to the wind/waves. This brings another kind of crash, and it lifts the boat up sideways as though it might flip it over, and sheets of salt spray fly at the pilothouse windows. All the hatches are closed except for one on the sheltered/downwind side. One wave sent such solid water over the top of the pilothouse that it splashed in that open hatch.

This all occurs in the dark, of course. You can’t see the waves coming. The hardest thing on one’s stomach is the anticipation — when you hear one about to hit, and feel the boat begin to lift, you brace yourself for what may or may not come next. The ones under the bridge deck come with no warning — just a sudden impact from below. It would be foolhardy to try to stand without at least one hand firmly on a handhold.

One wave lifted our man-overboard horseshoe buoy out of its bracket on the lifelines. It caught on a line on deck, so it didn’t go overboard, and it’s strobe light began to flash. A bonus feature of the carnival ride: visual chaos. It was almost funny going out to retrieve it — trying to do it quickly before a wave drenched me, yet being blinded by the flash of the strobe.

Add to the general pandemonium the items flying about the cabin. Books flying off of shelves where they had been securely (apparently not) wedged in place. My plastic glass of water flying off the table to the floor. Locker doors unlatching and banging open and shut. Our hard plastic granola container crashing to the floor and spilling its contents. Silverware rattling. Dishes (and a Thermos, a coffee maker, and miscellaneous other items) banging about in the sink, where they had been put to keep them from flying elsewhere. Plus the surprisingly loud sucking/gurgling sound made by the sink drain as waves rush by its exit. The bilge pump alarm suddenly trumping all other noises for twenty seconds, while some of the seawater that finds its way into our engine rooms gets returned to the sea.

Underlying it all is the constant gnawing fear of whether the boat and rig can withstand the unending pounding. Can the crew…?

At dawn the tension eases somewhat. The waves don’t look as awful as they are imagined in the dark. The wind eases back to 30 knots, instead of 35. It’s a sunny day, and that lifts ones spirits even on a day when the priorities are to get some food down and get some sleep. Ideally we would bear off and run with the waves, and it would be much easier, probably even fun. But that is not an option, as we would miss Rodrigues. We have to hold our crosswise course. The wind is ever so slightly aft, which I am very thankful for. Just a little more forward and the crashing and banging would increase dramatically. It is tempting to bear off just a little. But what if the wind goes even higher (in strength or direction)? We would have to make up that lost distance to windward, and it could be more difficult then than what we are experiencing now. So our course is just a couple degrees to windward of our destination, those few degrees providing a very slim margin of error/safety. 250 miles to go. If we can keep our speed up (without breaking anything important) we can have just one more night of this, and arrive in daylight tomorrow.

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Later in the day the wind gusted up to 40 knots. And while we were talking about lowering the mainsail altogether (it was already triple reefed), a wave picked up the back of the boat and sent us surfing at 22 knots! That is a record for No Regrets, and it is a record that I have no desire to break! Needless to say, we dropped the mainsail, and we have been sailing with just a reefed jib since. At nightfall it seems to be calming down (again), though the prediction is for continued high winds through the night.

Noon to noon run was 206 nautical miles. We even got an email from Jimmy Cornell congratulating us on an impressive run!

Day 13 – By noon we were entering Port Mathurin harbor on Rodrigues. Twelve days and a few hours to cover 2,000 miles. We just managed to clear in before everyone shuts down at 4pm. And we had a beer and dinner with Chris from Tom Tom, who safely made it in yesterday. I’m very much looking forward to some real sleep!

Our passage was fast. But it has been the most unpleasant passage I have ever made. Glad to have it behind me. We lost one spinnaker; broke the sock used to raise and lower another; lost the blades off our hydrogenerator; had our wind generator shake loose from its brackets (but it is already back together and functioning); the throttle control for one engine is not working, the temperature sensor failed but came back on the other. And we lost three fishing lures while catching no fish. Par for this course, perhaps…?

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Photos of waves never capture their majesty, their vastness, their power, or even their height. But these should give you an idea…

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Looking astern at the mountain of water approaching can be particularly daunting.

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Rodrigues in sight

 

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Port Mathurin, Rodrigues