On the 3 month crossing from Medana Marina in Indonesia to Richards Bay in South Africa, the Indian Ocean turned from tolerant into merciless, to wrap up with a sort of watchful indifference during the most dreaded piece of water sailing around the world.
Indonesia sent us off with a kick in the bum.
We set off on 10 September at 5am from Medana Marina in North West Lombok. We needed an early start in order to cross south between Lombok and Ball islands with the tide, and before the contrary South Easterlies set in.
All went well to strat with. The many sail powered dugouts sailing east at sunrise was a sight to behold, reserved for the ones who braved the early hour on deck.
Once we reached the ocean, we had an unexpected welcome back. Like we accidentally pressed a button the washing machine was on. Mehalah was sent up and down and right to left in anger. At times it felt like she had lost all contact with the water to be bashed down again. And again and again, incessantly.
Needless to say that I was in distress. Thankfully, it caught me lying on my back in the saloon, the best position to be in when such devilish sea state is reached. We were trapped on a tread mill that we could not escape. Brutal.
From my bunk I could see Sorin hanging onto the wheel for dear life.
The sun was blasting on his already red shoulders. I suggested he puts a T-shirt on. He cut me short. Next minute I was retching my guts out in the galley sink. I was oblivious that we were hove to and the Captain had taken the wheel to put Mehalah back on course.
It was incredibly hot. Once back on course, Sorin had to cover me with a wet towel to regulate my exploding body temperature.
As my sea sickness bouts are intense and, luckily, short lived I regained my composure as quickly as Mehalah regained her direction with the Captain’s help.
Thankfully, this malarkey of a sea state did not last for too long. It was caused by strong incoming wInds clashing with a strong outgoing current, rocketing us forward at up to 12 knots. Soon enough we were out in the more clement ocean, sailing south west towards Christmas Island, 690 nautical miles away.
We were going to experience a number of unprecedented challenging moments in our Indian Ocean crossing odyssey…However in that moment, like the prodigy son, we were happy to be reunited with father ocean.
We were content to leave Indonesia with its tricky sailing conditions behind. Not literally behind. Following the usual sailing route offshore we sailed more than 500 nm west along the South Coast of Java Island.
We were perplexed when on several occasions, we found ourselves in close quarters with tiny fishing boats more than 150 nm offshore. One of the ‘joys’ of sailing in clement weather conditions…
Before settling off on this passage, for a long time we thought we would not have enough wind to sail the 690 nautical miles to Christmas Island. We were dreading having to motor, but since our visa was due to expire, we had to check out of Indonesia.
As the departure day approached the forecast changed for the better. It looked like we were going to have just enough wind to sail. What a blessing!
When sailing in light conditions the ocean swell impacts negatively the sailing. For the first couple of days the Captain had to continually adjust the sails in an attempt to counteract the swell impact. Thereafter, the wind increased to up to 25 knots. It was just right.
The west going current was brilliant too, giving us a push throughout and averaging an hourly speed over ground of 6.4 knots.
Returning to offshore sailing was not easy. It took us sometime to set into a good healthy routine. Sails adjusting at the start and close of day and whenever else it was needed. Watch keeping. Personal hygiene. Eating. Keeping hydrated. Socialising. Entertaining. And the cycle repeats.
Each activity is a project in itself on a forever moving surface, where keeping a balance is most challenging. However, once we’ve got in the swing of things we just ran with it.
On passages, all going well, we download the weather forecast twice a day. Opportunity to see what’s coming and make the right decision timely. On approaching Christmas Island, seeing that there was no wind behind us, but good wind ahead of us, we decided to skip Christmas Island and continue another almost 600 nautical miles to Cocos Keeling. That saw us completing a passage of under 1100 nm in just over a week.
“If a storm has your name written on it …”
When Sorin quoted the well known sailor and lifetime cruiser, as we were setting off across the Indian Ocean, I shrugged, thinking to myself: ‘not sure that I agree with such fatalist take on life…’
Was I right or was I wrong? Perhaps, it was an unconscious attempt at chasing away the feeling of unease that was bothering me that morning.
After spending almost a week in Cocos Keeling, a picturesque atoll in the middle of nowhere, Australian dependency with an historically strategic defence position in the Indian Ocean, we were on the move again. We were ready for our second and longest leg across the Indian Ocean to Mauritius. 2346 nautical miles to be covered in under 3 weeks.
Before every passage, we choose what we believe to be the right weather window and we always sail in what is known to be the safe season. This time was no exception.
To start with, all looked good, gliding south west on the edge of a high pressure system south of us. Clear blue skies, wind and sea just right for smooth sailing. Sadly not for long!
Two days in what started as a idilic passage, a low popped its dirty nose into the forecast less than 1000 nautical miles north of us, significantly changing the scene. Dark skies. Intensifying shifting winds. Deteriorating sea state. Pouring rain. Stuffy hot.
We were caught in nature’s perpetual quest for balance between atmospheric highs and lows. At the mercy of the elements, until the low and high pressure systems equalise. How long will this take? How ugly will it get?
Intense turned into brutal. Constant winds of over 30 knots gusting to 38.
Historically, when we were having seawater in the cockpit it was a big deal. Now, the entire sea was breaking over Mehalah transforming her into a submarine. ‘The submarine ‘ emerging would become a waterfall. These violent encounters were always accompanied by a terrifying bang and shaking from all corners. Mehalah was like an ambushed boxer at the mercy of a much stronger opponent, the ocean.
All routine activities were reduced to an absolute minimum. Same with the canvas. With fully reefed main only, Mehalah was still moving with over 7 knots of speed.
From then on it was an endurance challenge. Physically and mentally. How long can we lay in bed for? How many punches under the belt can Mehalah take? How many days can we go without a shower? How long can we endure the terrifying wind howling in our ears and waves violently crashing over our cocoon?
The Indian Ocean is not only hardly predictable, but it is also messy. Oversized waves were chasing Mehalah from behind on a 180 degree angle. Some were breaking over Mehalah. Some were growing into a wall that would hurl dauntingly towards the stern, before disappearing under, taking Mehalah on a roller coaster ride to explode in a pyramid of water masses on the bow.
As the ocean swell was picking up to an unseen extent, it was creating havoc aboard. It felt like everything was in a continuous struggle to escape their locker. Some things did escape. Mehalah’s erratic movements sent a container full of shells, sand and feathers flying across the back cabin, landing intact on the starboard settee.
The accompanying dementing noise from every corner was exhausting. Like a dramatic opera act, every now and then, there would be a wave that would take the already intense atmosphere to yet another level. An emotional upheaval when shedding a tear would be unavoidable for the coldest hearted.
When I finally emerged in the cockpit after 3 days of mostly laying down, it felt like spring after a long and hard winter. The forecast was still flirting with the low, but there was the feeling that we were over the worst of it. Clearer skies, up to 20 knots of wind, significantly improved sea state gently caressing Mehalah’s aching hull. Time for the hibernating sails to get some action. It looked like we had some better days ahead.
We were so very wrong. The following day, the wind and the seas picked up again. Up to 32 knots of wind pushing forward waves averaging 4.1 metres. Screaming winds. Grey ocean. Grey sky.
Grey hearts and minds. Can’t have it easy for too long. Not on the Indian Ocean. More reefing in and reefing in followed, eventually culminating in running on a bare pole for the first time ever.
Not without reason. Coming to the end of one of these sleepless nights of struggle, we find ourselves shocked by a horrific noise. We dash out. Mehalah was heaving to. The autopilot had given in. No wonder. Playing cat and mouse with a tropical depression. The mouse got hurt.
What followed was struggle at yet another level. 8 days of short hand steering to Rodrigues, followed by another 3 days to Mauritius. With an irreparable broken steering cable, we did what we had to do.
As the steering cable had given in at the end of a white night, we took the main sail down and running bare pole, we hoped to get some rest before getting on the wheel. No chance. When all our attempts at falling asleep failed, we resolved to start steering. At least, we would be making progress in the right direction.
Almost 24 hours making more than 5 knots under bare pole. Braving the howling winds, the terrible waves chasing us from behind and the pouring rain. My strategy on the wheel was to keep my gaze forward at all times, ignoring the horrendous sound coming from astern and spreading all around.
Eventually, conditions gradually improved. Sails gradually climbed back up.
We were getting beyond exhausted. Fuelled by the survival instinct we marched on. The mind stayed strong throughout. However, the body would start lagging behind…Once the two hour break was over, the alarm would go off. We would pull the numerous layers on and we would drag our still dormant body to the wheel, remaining numb and pretty useless long after taking over. Only then, we understood how sleep deprivation, can be such an effective torturing method.
On this passage we broke all the records and made new ones. The biggest waves we ever had let the most water ever inside Mehalah. First time we sailed bare pole, and fast too…First time we dragged lines astern to slow us down and maintain direction. The most sail changes and pirouettes. The closest we’ve got to a knock down.
The last day before making landfall on Rodrigues Island, as we had changed the landfall to the closest piece of land, was the most horrendous. The angle to the strong winds was making it impossible for me to steer…I just did not have the physical strength to hold the boat on course. It was all down to the Captain’s capable hands to take us to safe heaven. He didn’t disappoint and here we are telling the story!
‘The old grumpy Indian’ is letting us off the leash.
Not fully though, as ‘the Indian’ wanted us to remember who is the boss. As if we would ever forget!
After spending some tormented weeks in Mauritius, prisoners aboard an upside down Mehalah waiting for traders who would never show up as agreed or at all, and about three weeks in limbo in La Réunion awaiting for the right weather for what is known to potentially be the most challenging passage sailing around the world, we were ready for the final act. 1,450 nautical miles to Richards Bay, South Africa. No feelings of unease this time. Just relief that we would be setting off, al last!
With the forecast perpetually changing it was the third planned attempt to leave La Reunion. ‘Third time lucky’ kept coming to my mind as a light motif, in a probable attempt to encourage myself. For a while I had given up looking at forecasts that would change each and every time. Sorin wasn’t doing anything else, but looking at forecasts.
To manage this uncertainty and boost our shaken confidence, we hired the services of Bob McDavitt, the Kiwi weather expert who brilliantly supported us through the challenging passages to and from NZ.
With Bob ‘onboard’, we knew that not only we would get the best weather window available to set off, but Bob would guide us should a low pop its nose into the forecast once we cleared the treacherous southern tip of Madagascar. Bob is someone that we trust with our lives. Literally.
‘Here we go again!’, was my thought with the head in the galley sink, when we set off from La Reunion. Mehalah was caught once more in the turbulent waters at the meeting point of swells wrapping around the island from north and south. Once we cleared that nasty patch, we were back in beautiful sea conditions.
We had no choice but to motor for the first almost 24 hours as we had to leave behind the no wind gap on the lee of La Reunion, before we could sail. With just under 1500 nautical miles of ever changing weather ahead of us, diesel consumption was of concern.
Once we cleared that no wind patch we advanced west beautifully in light following winds, on a sea that was flat as a pancake. A dream!
Until the third night at sea, when I woke to much commotion around Mehalah. The winds were howling. The sea state had transformed into a boiling broth. Rain was chucking down with fury. Sorin was buzzing around in the dark like a bee.
– 38 knots of wind in our face, he goes. Thanks God I put the sails down as soon as I downloaded the forecast. It backed from following winds to head winds in a matter of seconds.
It felt uncomfortable but not unsafe. It took about 6 hours to be in the Indian’s good books again, with following winds on a flat sea.
The dramatic wind direction change was expected as we were due to pass across a trough, but not as soon and not as sudden. ‘The nature of the beast’, as one of the local sailors would reckon.
Soon after clearing the troublesome trough east of Madagascar we picked up the ever governing force in the Indian Ocean, the current. We were flying and it felt good. We were in disbelief. We wanted the miracle to last.
When we started rounding the south cape of Madagascar giving it a wide berth, as expected, the sea state marginally deteriorated, the wind became fluky, the current contrary and we reached the first thunderstorm warning, from the three we were blessed to miss along the way, despite the sky remaining pretty menacing…
As we crossed the southernmost tip of Madagascar, we started picking up the current, skipping west from one anti-clockwise gyro to another. The wind stayed with us, even when absent from the forecast and the sea state was a dream!
With the wind eventually taking a break, the following day saw us motoring until we caught a lift with the wind and current again. We were having the option to drop further south to meet the southwesterlies backing, but then we thought of the old sailors’ motto:- ‘Keep it simple, stupid!’
A direct course to Richards Bay, not only would make the journey shorter, but we would not incur the risk of being caught in a nasty clockwise current gyro, that would spit us out south, when we needed to sail north.
During the first 9 days of the passage, life aboard was the closest to normality that we ever experienced on an ocean crossing. Our moving home was kept the cleanest she’s ever been offshore, and we were the happiest. We were eating well, sleeping well, laughing and dancing.
Only one of the last couple of days, with the winds and swell picking up, it felt more like an ocean crossing. Balance keeping challenges, slight nausea, food refusing to go down, and general discomfort. All culminated on jumping scared off my bunk in the middle of the night, as Mehalah was caught off guard. She was violently struck by some monster wave, everything aboard going astray with a terrible scream. That was, luckily, a one off.
What was expected to be the most dreaded passage in our around the world sailing, turned out to be a gentle breeze, thanks to our Kiwi weather wiz and a seamless execution. Phew!
With this major endeavour, extending over the last 3 months, we are sealing our crossing acrosss all world’s oceans. Immensely grateful and proud.