A few years ago, when asked whether I enjoyed night sailing passages, I would have answered in the negative but now my answer would be quite different. I enjoy the one-night short passages more than the three night ones, purely because the latter is not long enough to get into a good routine and for the former, you don’t need a routine. If I don’t sleep for one night, it’s ok and I can recover quickly. A three-day passage on the other hand, is too long not to sleep and too short to get into a good sleeping rhythm of three hours on, three off. Our trip leaving Gambia for Cape Verde was a 420 mile journey and, as the winds were forecast to be light, would take 3-4 days, so fell into the “not so enjoyable” ranking, but I was still looking forward to it as we were both keen to start our long journey West and this was the start of our Atlantic crossing.
We pulled out of Banjul as soon as it was light, navigated around the many wrecks in the bay and followed Ruffian out of the shallow channel into the Atlantic Ocean. The Cape Verde Islands lie NW of Gambia and we had plotted a course which took us 50 miles off-shore before heading north in an attempt to avoid the many small unlit fishing boats we encountered on the passage from Dakar. Other yachts had told us horror stories of hitting small fishing boats in the night and running over unseen fishing nets, so we wanted to get as far away from the coastline as possible before it got dark. By nightfall we were 50 miles from land and starting to head more north but there were still small wooden pirogues with about six men on board in the open, low level boats cooking over a small charcoal burner which you could often smell before seeing the fishermen bobbing around in the sea. At about 10pm I was on watch when a large boat suddenly appeared out of the darkness very close to us on our port side. I only saw it when it lit up like a Christmas tree with powerful red and white spotlights pointed at us, blinding me in the darkness. I turned on the engine and hoofed it but the boat then started following us. I jumped into action, doing everything we had talked about in preparation for an uninvited boarding. I then called Ruffian on the radio and gave them our position and letting them know what was happening and then, lastly, woke up Steve with a “This is not a drill” comment! The bright lights continued to blind us before the boat turned to starboard and powered off into the night. I was relieved to say the least and stood everyone down, sending Steve back to bed. My heart still pumping with adrenalin, I continued with my watch when the same thing happened again – another boat suddenly appeared on our port side shining green laser lights directly at me. It was really hard to tell how close the boat was to us but it looked very close, so I once again turned on the engine and tried to speed away by turning to starboard. With the lights blinding me, I looked to starboard and saw another green light and realised I was about to run over their fishing net. I put the engine in neutral to try to prevent the net getting caught in the propeller and felt the boat slow as the strong ropes caught on our rudder. Fortunately we had enough momentum to carry us over the top of the net and I turned to see another boat appear from nowhere, coming towards me, so I threw the engine in gear and once again accelerated out of there. Due to my loud cursing, Steve was now also wide awake so joined me on deck as I gathered my composure and tried to get the boat sailing again.
Fortunately that was last of the fishing boats we encountered, slipping through the shipping lane with no drama and at daybreak the seas were flat and we had perfect sailing conditions all day. Dolphins joined us for a while, playing in our bow wave, we hooked a fish but it broke our line and took our precious lure with it, I made delicious fresh bread and we enjoyed the hot day at sea. As evenings fell it started to get damp and cooler than we had experienced in Africa which was a welcome relief and made sleeping easier.
The unfortunate flying fish must be the unluckiest fish in the World as several of them found our boat in the middle of an empty ocean and met their demise flopping around on our deck. We were able to rescue some of them before they died, but only the ones that virtually jumped into our lap as we were doing our nightwatch. The result was a mixture of elation for saving the life of a beautiful blue fish that look like they are in the evolution process of turning from fish to bird, quickly followed by regret as the fish scales left on your hands leaves a lingering pungent smell long after the fish has thanklessly flown away! We had moonless skies for most of our night watches with an orange slither moon rising at about 4am each morning providing little light for us to sail by. The nights were long but beautiful with clear star filled skies for us to sail under.
On our third morning we saw land as the sun rose and the island of Sal came into view. After exactly 36hours at sea, we were arriving at a new country following one of the best passages yet experienced, shared with Ruffian who had once again matched us for speed the whole way.
We had been told we needed to have a Covid test on arrival and this took place at 1300hrs each day. We wanted to see if we could arrive in time as it was New Years Eve and if we missed the deadline we would need to quarantine on the boat for at least two days until the testing centre re-opened. We also had to complete check-in procedures before the 4pm cut-off and as it was a Friday, one of the offices would be closed over the weekend. Our tracking device told us we were due to arrive at the port of Palmeira at 12 noon providing we maintained our average speed, so we knew it would be tight. Then Fi radioed to remind us that Cape Verde was on a different time zone, so we gained an hour but it was still going to be a race to get there, anchor and get ashore in time. Challenge accepted!
In fact, we arrived in Palmeira at 11:20am after an incredible passage feeling tired but elated. That soon turned to frustration when we anchored three times and were told to move after each occasion due to being too close to the channel. With limited space and lots of yachts already anchored we could not see where there was space until a man in a dinghy approached us and gestured for us to follow him. He rowed his small inflatable dinghy through a narrow gap between two large boats and expected us to follow. I refused as the wind had set in and was not confident that either we, or the two boats we were squeezing through, would not suddenly swing and close the narrow gap. Eventually we made it through to where the man was waiting close to a small mooring buoy. He indicated that we could use the buoy but I was not overly happy as we were extremely close to a neglected looking boat behind which was on a mooring with a half submerged buoy and as we swung, we went over the top of it. With few alternative places to park up, we changed the lines on the mooring buoy to shorter, stronger ones and kept a watch on how close we were getting to the boat behind while the man in the dinghy insisted we were fine and not to worry about the boat behind. I took some solace in thinking he was the local harbour attendant so he should know what he’s talking about…… Although uncomfortably close, we were not going to hit the boat behind, so felt confident we would be ok to leave Cerulean for an hour or so to get tested and check in.
The Covid test was done quickly and with our negative results in hand, went to the police station to start checking in. The police insisted that they hold onto the originals of our boat papers until we check out – something we were not happy to do but, again, had little choice. We were then asked to return the next morning to have our passports stamped and complete immigration procedures.
Back on the water, we celebrated New Years with team Ruffian, all of us struggling, and failing, to keep awake to midnight after four days of non-stop sailing so when we crashed into bed, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow and heard nothing of the loud celebrations from the French boat close to us that we were told about next day! On 1 January we went ashore, along the way we collected the man who had guided us to our mooring as he was asking for a lift from a boat near to us. We told him we were intending to leave today so needed to pay giving him half of what he was saying we owed, but he disappeared without thanking us for the ride and looking a little disgruntled. Later, after deciding to stay for one more night and as the sun was going down, we discussed how we were going to a) pay for the additional day on the mooring as we had not seen the man we had given a lift to earlier, return to the boat and b) how we were going to manoeuvre in such a tight space when we left in the morning, when two men in a large wooden launch came alongside. One of them explained that we were on his mooring and asked who had said we can stay there. It transpired that the guy we had paid, was a con artist and we had been sucked right in! We had to pay for the mooring again, hoping this would be the last time!
Sal is a low, flat barren island with a growing population which seems very young. Boys aged from about 8yrs old rushed to be the first to “help” when dinghies appeared close to the beach or dock, on one occasion racing to be at our dinghy before we were in shallow water and having to swim beside us to make sure he was the first to communicate with us. They wanted money for “taking care” of the dinghy while we were away from it and we gave them a few escudos worth about 20Cents, which they seemed happy with.
We were anchored in Palmeira, a sleepy, dusty town with lots of partially built houses, stray dogs and a very sleepy feel to the whole place. The quality of the new builds had alot to be desired, even from this untrained eye, and I would not have been happy spending one night under their roof, let alone live in them unfinished, as many people do. We caught an aluguer, which is a minibus that has no schedule but drives around, beeping at people until the driver is happy he has enough passengers to make the journey worthwhile! We headed for the capital, Vila do Espargos in the centre of the small island. As it was New Years Day, the town was very quiet and few shops were open so, armed with a sim card and cash from the ATM, we returned to Palmeira.
Next morning we left very early, before the wind picked up and at slack tide. We had checked out the day before as we need to check in and out of each island we visit in the Cape Verdes. Getting off the mooring buoy was less painful and easier than we had imagined so we both heaved a huge sigh of relief when we were back in the channel and once more heading out to sea. This time it was just a very short distance around the headland to Baia da Mordeira – a wide bay with beautiful sandy beach where loggerhead turtles come in August-November to lay their eggs in the sand. The surf was thundering onto the white sand and strong winds were funnelling through the bay. While waiting for Ruffian to join us, we decided we would only stay for the day, and leave for Sao Nicolau in the late afternoon for an overnight passage to cover the 90NM. Sao Nicolau is a small fertile and mountainous island in the north of the archipelago and was our next stepping stone to reach our jumping off point for when we cross the Atlantic.
We were keen to keep moving and were very focused on what needed to be done before we left for the Caribbean in less than two weeks. Iain and Fi on Ruffian had decided to spend time exploring the Cape Verdes and were not in such a hurry to move on, so it was time to say goodbye. After four fabulous months cruising, exploring, laughing and playing together we were now heading in different directions for a while. The promise of sailing together again in the near future made the farewell a little easier, but not much. Fi and Iain have been our rocks, guiding lights, mentors and friends. They have enriched our cruising experience and have brought laughter, wisdom and experience into each day we spent together – which has been almost every day in the last 16 weeks.
As we pulled up the anchor we sailed passed Ruffian as Iain and Fi stood on the deck waving us off. None of us know what lies ahead but I strongly believe that if you want something enough, it will happen so I’m confident we will be cruising together again in the foreseeable future.