SAILING
FROM DURBAN, SOUTH AFRICA
TO DAR ES SALAAM IN TANZANIA
Click
on pics for larger view.
It
was eight months later and we were finalising plans for our next
cruise.
We'd been out for an early morning sail in Durban Bay and had spent
the afternoon tinkering about on the yacht. We were hot and thirsty
so we decided to pop into the Royal Natal Yacht Club for a cold drink on our way
back to the car park. We were joined by the "Admiral" who was sitting
in his usual spot and we told him of our plans to sail up to Kenya.
Ern was still sailing with us but we needed another crew member to ease the
burden of night watches. We'd interviewed numerous hopefuls and had
short listed two, a male and a female. The "Admiral" suggested
that we take the girl along, as she'd probably be better company for
Ern.
I was delighted that we'd settled on Liz as it meant that galley fatigue
wasn't going to be a problem. She loved cooking but hated washing the
dishes. Wild horses couldn't drag me anywhere near a stove but I had
no problem with the cleaning up.
Bill cautioned us to get all crew members to sign an indemnity to the
effect that should they disembark at any foreign port of call for ANY
reason whatsoever, they would assume responsibility for their own repatriation
costs back to South Africa. He warned Bob to ensure that he held enough
of their money in trust to cover a plane ticket home from the furthest
point. We were providing them with everything they'd need on board and
their only expense would be their spending money ashore. Once again
the Admiral had given us sage advice.
Foreign exchange allowance was a problem in South Africa at the time
as we were only permitted $3000 US per person per annum. From past experience
we'd learnt that fresh meat and certain groceries were not easily obtainable
in countries to the North so we stocked the yacht to the hilt with food,
taking the crew along on our shopping expeditions to enable them to
select their preferences.
Next we had the fridge/freezer upgraded to 220 volts and packed it to
capacity with both fresh and cooked meat. The conversion had set us
back in excess of $1000 US but we felt it was money well spent.
We
left Durban, South Africa at 09h50 on 6 April 1995 and reached Maputo Bay,
Mozambique three days
later. There was a sudden change in the weather and the wind picked
up to a 50 knot South-Wester. This was a complete surprise as there'd
been no forewarning on the barometer or from the weather reports. We
realised it was too late to seek shelter in Maputo as we were unable
to enter the bay under cover of darkness. We couldn't rely on the buoys
as they were unlit and to top it all, there are strong cross currents
in the bay. We decided to head about 8 miles off shore and hove-to until
morning.
By next morning the swells were up to seven meters. A "curler" broke
against the side of the yacht with such force that all the books in
the book shelves dislodged and flew across the saloon, landing on Ern
who was asleep on the pilot bunk. A sheet of water washed across the
decks and poured in through the air scoops. Every single bunk on the
boat has an air scoop above it and every single bunk was saturated!
We drifted northwards at about 3 knots per hour and found ourselves on
a collision course with the fishing vessel "Dio Valente" which was anchored
with a 300m rode. We called them on VHF and the captain, Zigi Bauer,
told us that he wasn't moving whilst his anchor held, so we gained sea
space by motoring around his bow. We remained in radio contact with
him for days and struck up a lasting friendship.
After 52 hours the wind finally abated but by this time we'd been blown
over 100 miles past Maputo. We were utterly exhausted. None of us had
had any sleep because it had been impossible to lie down on the saturated
beds and bunks. Even the towels that we'd folded thickly to sit upon
were soaked, so we decided to press on to Linga Linga at Inhambane.
That night during Bob's watch, the compass globe blew. Fortunately we
all carried pocket flashlights so Bob was able to hold his bearing by
periodically shining his torch over the binnacle. When Ern relieved
him for the next watch Bob explained what had happened and showed him
how to handle the situation until he could replace the globe in daylight.
The following morning Ern proudly announced that he'd swung the compass
as he'd noticed that it was out when compared to the bearing on the
GPS. Bob almost had a stroke as there is nowhere between Durban and
Singapore where a compass can be swung professionally. On further investigation
Bob discovered that by using Prestik, Ern had affixed his metal pocket
torch to the centre of the compass dome to give himself continuous light.
So now we knew exactly why the compass was "out"!
Bob in his customary quiet manner explained the ramifications to Ern
who withdrew into a resentful sulk. It was such a shame as the atmosphere
on board was never the same after that. He'd grown close to us and was
like one of our own children. He'd lived in our home, sailed with us
and in fact he was always with us and it was obvious that he hero worshipped
Bob.
Click for larger view.
We'd
barely dropped anchor at Linga Linga when we were hailed from the beach
with a message from Mike inviting us to join them for dinner that evening.
He served a delicious grunter (fish) and we met his two new recruits, David
and Chad. As usual Bob's evening was spent at the chessboard with Mike
while I caught up on news with Mel.
Linga-Linga Point at Inhambane is an extraordinary area and a veritable feast of nature
so the following morning we had a round table conference and decided
to extend our stay to allow ourselves time to explore the area properly.
There are flocks of flamingos and magnificent stretches of palm-lined
beaches. The bay is filled with Dolphins which regularly circled the
yacht in water about ten metres deep. Unfazed by our presence they played
and caressed and squeaked to each other in their strange language and
smiled their beautiful happy smiles. This is also the migration area
for a species of birds from the Tundra - a fact which the Ornithological
Society took years to discover.
Next morning we by-passed Mike's cottage when we went out exploring.
There he was sitting in the sun on the patio, locked in a game of chess
- against himself! It must have been a tough one as he never even noticed
us! The devil took over and a tune popped into my mind; "Mad Dogs of
Englishmen Go Out In The Midday Sun". I rephrased it thus:-
"Mad Mike the Englishman plays chess in the midday sun
Sitting on his patio ignoring everyone
Mad Mike the Englishman keeps building his little huts
Mad Mike the Englishman is more than a trifle nuts."
We took the long walk over to Pansy Bay, a magnificent swimming beach
literally covered with millions of pansy shells (or sand dollars as
some call them). We each collected a few then waded into the water where
we could feel the little animals wriggling between our toes. Bob ensured
that we gave Mike's garden a wide berth on our return to the yacht as
he was in no mood for yet another game of chess.
That weekend a TV crew arrived from Johannesburg and it was a refreshing
change to have new faces and stimulating conversation around the campfire
in the evenings. They'd been lured there by Mike under the pretext of
an opportunity to film the Dugongs (known as Manatees in other parts
of the world). They are shy creatures and in fact we never laid eyes
on any in all the time we spent there. Yet Mike feigned surprise when
the TV crew reported that they hadn't seen any.
It soon became apparent, to us anyway, that his real reason for bringing
them there was to trap them into doing a free "puff" on the lodge. Months
later when we flew home from Dar Es Salaam on a short business trip,
I walked into our lounge and caught the last few minutes of their documentary.
And there was "SEEROSE" lying at anchor near the beach, with the cameras
focused on her throughout the fade out.
Mike threw a party for the TV crew and we, along with everyone else
in the entire area, were invited. The party grew and grew as more and
more guests arrived ..... and continued to arrive. We couldn't imagine
where on earth everyone came from but most were locals. It was the only
time we ever saw Mike's companion Pamiera remain awake throughout the
entire evening. She was the "belle of the ball", dancing her feet off
and doubling as the disc jockey.
The African beat blared from the speakers as the guests whirled and
twirled and twisted and gyrated, all in their own peculiar dance-style.
Every few seconds one would leap into the air - then another would leap
- then the next would leap - until everyone had had a leap! Then the
cycle would start all over again.
Their "leap" is quite different to the one done by the Watusi in Kenya
who hold their bodies erect and keep their arms straight and flattened
to their sides. These guys looked as though they were running a flat
race, and simultaneously doing the "twist", ..... all in midair! I
called dubbed
it "The Linga-Linga Leap".
Mel decided to give it a try. He leapt into the air did a quick running
twist and as he came down he landed on his own foot. We shrieked with
laughter! But the poor chap limped for days and subsequently lost his
big toe nail! As usual Mike, totally oblivious to it all, was locked
in a game of chess. Much to Bob's relief he'd trapped one of the TV
crew!
On 14 April the copper pipe blew off our freezer and all the gas escaped!
We were in an absolute quandary as we had no idea where to find temporary
freezer storage in this remote camping/fishing area. Fortunately the
meat was frozen solid so we hastily packed it into Styrofoam boxes.
David Grande, who was one of the guests at the lodge, knew of a refrigeration
technician in Maxixe so he offered to send a message to him to come
over the following morning. He duly arrived and got busy and it was
only after he'd "finished" the work and had our $500 US clutched in
his tight little fist that he switched on the freezer. Our brand new
compressor immediately blew up! It transpired that he'd used the wrong
gas. He shrugged and apologised ....... that was the only gas he had!
There was a dinner party ashore the following evening and I'd promised
Pamiera I'd bring the makings of cheese cake and show her how to prepare
it. This was done in no time at all so we couldn't work out why she
only started cooking the soup at 20h00. Dinner was finally served at
23h30 and the cheese cake never made it's appearance until 02h00 the
following morning. It was served with some dreadful cheap wine which
we secretly emptied into the sand. Who needed wine at that hour anyway?
But it was a positive evening as one of the guests was able to tell
us where we could store our meat in Maxixe. Ern ran it over there in
the dinghy the next day.
Then our dinghy disappeared! The motor was still there as we'd hauled
it up on deck. Looking around we noticed an old wooden dugout lying
on the beach and immediately suspected that one of the locals had "done
a swop" with us. Bob asked Ern to swim ashore and find out if Mike could
shed any light on the matter.
It transpired that two of his guests, Peter and George wanted to go
up the creek in search of dugongs so they'd hired a dugout from a local.
The dugout had no paddles so Mike had lent them a spade. As there was
no spade lying on the beach, we correctly deduced that, being unable
to handle the dugout, they'd come out to the yacht and simply helped
themselves to our dinghy.
A local collecting crabs in the lagoon
& That" dugout.
Late
that afternoon we spotted them returning, battling against the incoming
tide. One of them was paddling with the spade and the other (true
story) was holding up his jacket in the hopes of catching some wind
in his "sail"! Ern offered to go to their rescue but delayed doing
so for long enough to teach them a lesson. He first left them to bake
in the merciless hot afternoon sun then to chill in the cold evening
breeze, by which time they were both completely hoarse from shouting
out to us for assistance, while we'd pretended not to hear them!
The following day while Bob was replacing the globe in the compass and
resetting it as best he could, we picked up radio contact from the yacht
"Star Cat" which was approaching Inhambane. Bob "talked" them into the
bay and it transpired that they had a refrigeration technician on board.
Once more our spirits soared!
Immediately they'd dropped anchor Charlie came over to look at the fridge.
He was unable to assist us but we were nevertheless cheered by his announcement
that their chef was expecting us for dinner and Barracuda steaks were
on the menu. They were a super, festive crowd introducing themselves
as "Billy the Chef"; "Izzy the Groper"; "Linda the Loo Lady"; "Trevor
the hooded Israelite"; "Gruesome George"; "Indiana Jonathan" and "Max"
the skipper.
The following day the crew went off to dive the wreck armed with appropriate
protection gear and Bob and I set off up the lagoon to see if we could
find something interesting for dinner. We got a crayfish (lobster) and a bucketful
of crabs and that evening "Chef Extraordinaire" Bob, prepared a delicious
dinner.
One day we took a two and a half hour dinghy ride over to Maxixe to
cash travelers cheques. We left our dinghy at the camp site and cadged
a lift to town with David Grande to find a money changer and buy petrol.
Missions accomplished we bought ourselves some ice-cold cokes and boarded
the ferry for a visit to Inhambane town. Half way across the bay the
hydraulic steering ran out of fluid and we were told to disembark. "She
bloken", informed the Captain in pigeon English.
An enterprising dhow-owner drew up alongside and for a considerable
fee, took us ashore. I shall never know how I managed to board as the
descent from the ferry to the dhow was about a two metre drop. Once
aboard we were instructed to sit upon a narrow cross-board. There was
no deck below so we had to hang onto the cross-board for dear life.
He cut the motor just short of the beach and evicted all passengers
into waist-deep water. Liz logged the next episode thus:-
"Bob, as gentlemanly as ever, offered Sally a lift on his shoulders
across this deep channel and needless to say it was almost a disaster.
Sally was perched precariously above, giggling while Bob staggered around
clutching onto the dhow for support. The odds were against Bob who battled
to maintain his balance in the soft sinking sand with water to his waist,
an outgoing tide and Sally shaking with laughter on his shoulders. Ern
was waiting to catch 'the hat' and I was trying to get the camera out
to capture the historic splash!! But the hero of the hour made it safely
to land and set his Lady down as dry as a bear!!"
We wandered around in search of a restaurant and ordered "Gahlinka"
(chicken) and "Lula" (squid). As it was being served Julian, our new
friend whom we'd met on the ferry, popped out of the woodwork and seated
himself beside me. He never ordered anything so I offered him a taste
of mine. The poor chap must have been starving because he devoured most
of my meal. After lunch we visited the market to buy fresh fruit and
vegetables for the yacht, then made our way back to the jetty. Pathetic
little beggars followed us all the way.
Our chartered dhow back to Maxixe was owned and operated by Harold.
He told us that he knew South Africa well as he had worked in a coalmine
in Witbank. He'd originally gone there because he couldn't find work
back home. This way he'd accumulated sufficient funds to purchase his
own dhow but still returned each year to subsidize his income. "Business
bad in Mozambique now, no more tourist come".
Due to a strong headwind our three-hour dinghy ride from Maxixe back
to the yacht was wild, wet and freezing cold. On arrival back at the
yacht we each had a sherry and a mug of hot coffee laced with condensed
milk to thaw us out. It had been a long day and we were a very tired
ship that night.
We backtracked to Maputo on 22 April as there were no immigration facilities
at Inhambane and we hadn't been able to check into Mozambique.
We also needed to locate a new compressor and find someone to repair
the fridge.
We'd hardly dropped anchor in Maputo when Immigration and Customs officials, who'd
obviously been watching us through binoculars, pulled alongside. They
boarded wearing their filthy leather-soled shoes and as the first one
hit the deck I opened my mouth..... then immediately shut it again as
Bob gave me "the look"! Black lace-up shoes are a status symbol in this
neck of the woods where most people have no shoes at all. Furthermore
they were obviously totally ignorant of the damage they'd caused to
our deck. With a forced smile I enquired whether they'd prefer tea or
coffee. They said they'd have whiskey. The hour was 09h00! In anticipation
of such occasions the Admiral had advised us to cart some cheap whisky
with us so I produced a bottle of it and the four of them flattened
it in under an hour.
They told us there were no immigration offices North of Maputo and offered
to simultaneously stamp us out of Mozambique. This way we'd be spared
the trouble of having to sail back to Maputo when we wanted to exit.
We parted with an additional $12 US. The following day we ran into one
of them in town and he relieved us of yet a further $12US......for being
in the country illegally!
That evening Bob prevented a catamaran from being dashed to pieces against
the sea wall of the small craft harbour. All the crew had gone ashore
and we suddenly noticed this yacht flying past Seerose with nobody on
board. Apparently it had dragged anchor. Bob jumped into our dinghy
and gave chase, then boarded and let out chain until the anchor dug
in and held. He managed to stop it just a couple of metres short of
the wall.
Ed arranged for one of his friends Jose d'Almeide to attend to our refrigeration
problems. Jose collected Bob from the harbour the following day and
together they scoured Maputo, but as anticipated, there were no compressors
available. Our only option was to airfreight one from Johannesburg.
We realised that we were going to be in Maputo for some time so we decided
to hire a car and were kept waiting at the Continental hotel for two
hours before it arrived. Bob decided to cash some travelers cheques
whilst we were waiting but changed his mind when they told him we'd
be required to pay 8% handling charges. Our miserable forex allowance
was starting to look really sick!
We needed some basic supplies including porridge, so we made our way
to a grocery store. The shelves were bare but the two sidewalls of the
shop were lined with 100 lb bags of maize meal, each of which was stamped:-
NOT FOR SALE
GIFT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
Hopefully we made our point by refusing to buy it.
Our next stop was the pharmacy where we gazed with shock at the rows
of empty shelves. They never even had aspirin in stock, but the shelves
were packed to capacity with bottled pureed baby food. It didn't take
a rocket scientist to figure that one out! Traditionally African women
breastfeed their children until they're weaned onto maize meal and they
certainly don't have the means to purchase bottled baby food! Obviously
this was another useless "gift to the nation" snaffled by the powers that be
and sold to the retailers.
Ten days later the compressor finally arrived and Jose came aboard first
thing next morning to install it. He found that the original problem
had developed because the technician who'd done the conversion to 220v
in Durban had connected the high and low pressure pipes the wrong way
around. Jose spent an entire day on the yacht, meticulously checking,
adjusting and repairing everything. He only charged $300 US for the
job and we never had any further problems with it.
As Ed had offered to organise our clearance we only needed to pay $14US
and we finally left Maputo on 7 May. We were given a right royal send
off by Jose and his grandson on their Hobie cat and three ski-boats filled
with his friends, who escorted us all the way out of the bay.
Three days later when we dropped anchor back at Linga Linga there wasn't
a living soul in sight. We went ashore and found Mike bedridden. He told
us that during our absence he'd been hospitalised with cerebral malaria
and that after his discharge he'd returned to the lodge to find that
Pamiera had cleared off with all his food and alcohol and as many of
his possessions as she could carry.
We took him supplies from the yacht, cooked him some nourishing meals
and stayed for another three days until he was back on his feet. He
was longing for a wee drop of "laughing gas" so we gave him some decent
wine and a bottle of the disgusting whiskey. Ern then collected our
meat from the camp site and finally, at midday on 13 May, we said goodbye
to Paradise and headed North.
It was a busy day on the SSB radio. We picked up Tony Britchford who
runs the Maritime Mobile Net at Kilifi Creek in Kenya. He issued a warning
to all yachties about "rip-offs" by corrupt officials at Nose Be', Madagascar.
According to his weather report it seemed that we were in for some excellent
sailing weather. Bob contacted our neighbours Roy & Verna Wood in
the marina in Durban and Ziggi on Dio Valente. It proved to be our best
sailing day since leaving Durban and we covered over 150 miles, with
winds which at times were up to 30 knots.
The following day we passed Margaruque, Benguera and Bazaruto Islands
and the crew, who were fishing off the stern, caught a Dorado and a
Barracuda. We barbequed on deck and served the fish with potatoes, salads
and rolls.
We really missed the lighthouses, as at night they were our only land
marks and we hadn't seen any since leaving South Africa. We had a raucous
chuckle speculating about whether the government simply lacked the
funds to purchase new globes, or whether someone had managed to steal
the lighthouses!
The crew had the time of their lives, surfing off the side of the yacht
and swimming off the stern. We spent most of our days sun-tanning and
relaxing on deck and encouraged by the clear skies, did a lot of star-gazing
at night. As we were in the shipping lane we experienced a fair amount
of traffic with always a trawler or ship somewhere in sight. It proved
to be an idyllic six day sail and we reached Mozambique Island (a
World Heritage site) at 19h30
on 19 May.
A bearing tower for going in behind Mozambique Island
We
went ashore and we were immediately commandeered by Abdullah who became
our self-appointed tour guide. He was obviously hungry because our first
stop was the former "Club Naval", now run by an enterprising refugee who
served meals on the patio. The food was disgusting and, to Abdullah's
delight, I was unable to eat it so he devoured his own - then mine.
Pitiful starving faces gathered around staring and watching each mouthful.
We were given directions to the toilets and as we rounded the side of
the building found ourselves on a beach with a row of toilet cubicles.
They all faced the public but none had doors!! Children were begging
in front of them and the entire area was littered with excrement.
From there Abullah took us on a guided tour of the old King of Portugal's
holiday Palace. Both the exterior and interior were filthy and neglected
but contained exquisite antique furnishings, magnificent paintings and
beautiful crystal chandeliers. As the entrance fee was only a few cents
and we were the only visitors it was obvious that the place was hardly
generating a decent income. We thought it would have been far more sensible
for them to auction these valuable antiques and generate funds to feed
and uplift their desperate community. After all, they hated the Portuguese
and had no appreciation of these objects d'art which were of no sentimental
or historical value to them.
We strolled through the old stone town to visit the Fort, constantly
followed by a crowd of shrieking, starving people. Throughout our stay
we were inundated with people paddling out to the yacht in their little
dugouts, selling half-rotten papayas and miserable little green bananas.
We yelled out to them "Lacosta, lacosta, bring lacosta!" (lobster).
Early next morning the dugouts started arriving and ultimately we had
three large and four smaller lobsters, between 12 and 24 inches in size
(excluding the feelers). The total cost a paltry $40 US.
That evening our crew went ashore for drinks at Club Naval and were
again joined by hoards of locals. Much the worse for wear, Ern discovered
a little hand rooting around in his wallet pocket and in the cold light
of dawn, realised that he'd been relieved of most of his money. Nevertheless
we all agreed that our visit had been an intriguing experience.
On 22 May at 09h30 we departed Mozambique Island and headed for Nacala,
our last Port of Call in Mozambique. Once again the conditions were
excellent but by now we'd begun to take them for granted. We dropped
anchor in Baia de Fernao Velaso at 23h00.
Nacala is a fantastic, natural, well-protected deep-water harbour ringed
by cliffs. We sat in the cockpit sipping coffee and admiring the bay,
which looked absolutely stunning in the moonlight.
Early next morning the Pilot contacted Bob by radio and offered him
a ride into town to effect harbour entry procedures. Bob and Ern set
off at 08h00 but were forced to wait around politely until after 14h00
before they were finally attended to. As we were the only vessel in
the harbour it was obvious that the duty officer had no intention of
assisting them until she'd received her "lobola" (bribe money). Bob
by now had had enough of this practice so he decided to wait her out.
She was a nasty, officious female of ginormous proportion who also doubled
as the immigration officer. She yelled and screamed at Bob when she
discovered that the officials in Maputo had already stamped us out of
Mozambique, with a date two months hence. Bob feigned ignorance, insisting
that he couldn't be held responsible for errors made by Mozambiquan
officials in Maputo.
That really got her going and she launched into a vicious tirade. Bob
never budged. She then suggested that the problem could be resolved
for a price! Bob remained firm. Finally she "saved face" by chasing
Bob off the premises and giving him 24 hours to get out of Mozambiquan
waters.
I begged Bob to leave immediately but he correctly pointed out that
we'd had little sleep the previous night and that he and Ern were exhausted
from having been forced to sit waiting in the sun all day. He insisted
we all needed a good night's sleep before taking off again.
Late that afternoon the crew bought two large shells from a guy in a
dug-out and, by drilling holes, fashioned them into conches. They were
making a dreadful racket trying to learn how to blow these things and afraid that
they'd waken Bob, I suggested they go ashore and blow them on the beach. In
no time they were surrounded by a crowd of clapping, laughing, shouting
children. Ern then took to the water in the dinghy and put on a water-show,
skimming around and around at great speed.
Undoubtedly avaricious eyes were watching that dinghy because the
following morning it was gone, together with the outboard motor, petrol
tank and anchor. The four pieces of equipment had been chained together
on the dinghy, which in turn was chained to the yacht with a 20mm chain,
which we assume the thieves had severed with bolt cutters. The biggest
shame was that they probably only wanted the motor but in their haste
were forced to take it all. Our beautiful brand-new inflatable dinghy,
which would be impossible to replace in this part of Africa, had probably
been slashed up and sunk!
We reported the matter to the police and offered a substantial reward
for its recovery, and they replied that in their opinion, no amount of money would tempt
the thieves to return it due to the unavailability of this type of equipment
in the area. It wasn't long before we realised that losing the dinghy was tantamount
to having our legs severed.
We departed Nacala at 13h00 on Wednesday 14 May. It had been our intention
to visit Tanzania but having had enough of "the thieves in the bush"
we decided to proceed directly to Kenya where we hoped to replace the
stolen equipment. Whilst sailing out of the Bay we gazed at the magnificent
"ghost" mansions lining the cliffs. We'd seen so many of these on the
Mozambique coastline and mused on the value of the abandoned real estate
in Africa, figuring that these homes would be worth millions in first
world countries. We passed Cabo Delgado at 14h00 on Friday 26 May and
"blessed" Mozambique goodbye.
Still enjoying perfect sailing conditions our days continued as before.
Ern, who was fishing for the pot, got a mighty hook up into a Marlin
and had the time of his life playing it. His elation was short lived
and we all heaved a sigh of relief when it got off and disappeared into
the deep blue.
At midmorning the following day the barometer started falling and it
was evident that squalls were on the way. We were in depths of over
1000m and I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the magnificent navy blue
seas.
By mid-afternoon Bob was exhausted and needed to rest so he asked me
to take the helm. I shall always remember this as the sail of my life
as the conditions forced me to proficiency. We were in the midst of
a 30 knot South Easter with wild seas and I'd overheard Bob telling
Ern to keep a close eye on my course. This was the challenge I needed
to stick to the course like glue and was more than a little chuffed
when my captain dubbed me "Mrs Schmidt" (Messerschmidt).
That evening Bob picked up a South African ex-pat Mark Chapman on VHF.
He was transmitting from Mafia, one of the Spice Islands off the coast
of Tanzania. They had a
long chat during which Bob gave him our heading and shared with him
our reasons for wanting to proceed directly to Kenya.
Mark urged us not to by-pass Dar Es Salaam as, in his opinion, the yacht
club was the finest on the East Coast of Africa. The fact that we'd
lost our tender wouldn't present a problem as they operated a free ferry
service to obviate congestion at the landing. He assured us that the
Port Officials were not corrupt and to crown it all, as a result of
the recent reformation in our country, South Africans were now the "flavour
of the month" in Tanzania. He then briefed us about the country and
her inhabitants and we decided it was definitely worth a visit.
We were experiencing stormy weather and just prior to the end of his
watch, Bob noticed an albatross struggling to settle atop the mast.
Shortly afterwards we heard birds calling to each other and subsequently
discovered that we had a "stowaway" on board. A small black and white
seabird had landed on the yacht, crawled into the cockpit and was calling
to it's mate to join it.
Within minutes about 50 birds were on the decks. Bob brought one
into the saloon and it appeared to be as tame as an old dog. With no
fear or aggression, it settled itself comfortably in Bob's hands and
fell asleep! It was golden/brown in colour and about 10 inches in length,
with webbed feet and a needle-shaped fishing bill.
There was also a black and white species, similar in size and shape
but with a broader beak. None of us were able to identify them nor could
we find them in our bird book. They were obviously exhausted as their
feathers had been soaked by the storm, and they'd taken refuge on the
yacht to rest and regain their strength.
Early the following morning the "stowaways" started leaving in dribs
and drabs and Bob finally evicted the last straggler by holding it in
his hands and "throwing" it upwards into the air. It probably sounds
soppy but I felt a deep inner peace after having had the privilege of
hosting these small, friendly creatures. Over the years we experienced
many delightful encounters with birds at sea but could never quite recapture
the joy of the first. The most astonishing thing of all was that there
wasn't a single bird dropping on the yacht.
By now we were 45 minutes from Dar Es Salaam harbour so Bob called the
Harbour Master on VHF for permission to enter. He offered to send a
pilot to bring us in but Bob assured him that we didn't require assistance.
We set about getting the yacht shipshape prior to entering and ultimately
dropped anchor in Dar Es Salaam harbour during the mid-afternoon of
Sunday 28 May.
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