Ketoro travels: Passage Journal – Chagos to Rodrigues

This is the first time we are posting a “diary-style” account of a passage. It was a pretty regular passage really, nothing extreme, and with a good spread of the usual passage experiences. No, wait: it was exceptional in that there were NO MECHANICAL BREAKDOWNS! We tell the tale to put down what we see and feel and hear on a sea voyage, so friends on land can share and get a taste of it.

With only two on the boat, we become pretty tired: there is always one person on watch. Our watches go (from 7am) 6 hours on – 6 hours off - 4 on – 4 off – 4 on, etc. so we both have dawn and dusk and midnight turns. We try to be disciplined with sleeping during our off-watch periods, but there always appear to be enough chores of cooking, washing, fixing things, downloading weather gribs, helping the on-watch with sail changes, and other adventures to fritter away the time.

Imagine being confined to a small space which is endlessly bouncing about, but thankfully moving forward most of the time. This lively little space commands you according to the watch schedule and yours days are a tedium of endlessly being catapulted into (and around) the cockpit for watch duty, then tossed into the galley then the cockpit… galley... and at some precious times you miraculously find yourself briefly in the cabin. The cabin is like a cocoon: very insulated from the weather and the noise and the more violent movement, and you have little notion of what is happening outside – and you don’t even need to care too much because the other person is on watch! Sometimes you just want to stay…

There is not a lot of shared time on a passage with only two crew. You tend to wave to each other in passing; a quick smile and thanks (or grumble and groan) as watch duties are changed.

Here we go…

Day 1- 16 May 2013

Farewell to friends and Chagos

A magnificent day, sunny, the gribs (weather charts) showed there would be perfect winds for us, with a low pressure area moving away. At 10am the winds were 15knots, WSW; we set off from calm, beautiful Chagos, knowing that we could sail and make distance towards the east and south, and with swells of only 2m it was easy.

Rodrigues is approximately WSW from Chagos (about 215 deg.) and catamarans can find it difficult to hold that course when the prevailing SE trade winds move to SSE, so we must get as much east as possible whenever we get the opportunity.

Track of our passage

Day 2

We appeared to be within that low pressure area, which had rather inconveniently stopped moving, so experienced confused winds from all directions, many small squalls … and consequently the day was very busy with endless sail changes up/down, in/out, repeat… and motors on alternately with sails. This was an unsatisfactory day, and uncomfortable: swells were increasing in size as we moved further south, and the tops of the swells carried confused waves reflecting the varying winds. The crew was issued a ration of rum to maintain morale.

With worse weather predicted we decided in the afternoon to take the “opportunity” on this rolly sea to top up the fuel tank from spare jerry cans. A two-man operation on the foredeck involving a delicate dance of balance-and-siphon, balance-and-hold, balance-and-pour, clean up the spillage and mess.... During this absorbing process, the wind comes up and changes direction, the boat does an accidental gybe and the rain buckets down. Rolf: “oops!” So further fun had to wait, the fuel cans were tied down and sails sorted. The wind increased for a while and rain continued for hours.

Night plan: reefed mainsail, full headsail – this sail can be managed by one person.

Day 3

3am, Irene’s watch: winds changed direction and speed erratically, then a strong SE picked up which soon and suddenly became a SW, about 30knots. Very hard rain started. Headsail was changed and changed again during the watch; waves were over 4m; it was a miserably awful night – Rolf’s contribution when he came on watch was “What have you done to the weather?!”

The day had started.

This was the day: NOISE. Slam bang whoosh crash waves crashing over the bows, waves crashing over the sides, big splashes crashing over the cockpit, waves at the base of the sugar scoop piling back onto the steps. WET. Sodden inside and out; sodden towels, clothes, people, towels, clothes, sunglasses, seat. SALT. Everywhere and everything crunching with salt-grime to the touch. ACTION. Pitch forward into the hole, pitch back, rock roll sideways, wiggle, sweep, swoosh as a wave catches the quarter.

Rolf then discovered a broken D-shackle on the boom that was supposed to hold the mainsail-sheet; he climbed on the cockpit roof to replace it as the boom swung back and forth over him whilst Ketoro continued to bounce along the waves. You could tell we were on the same page as I endured visions of him sliding off the roof into the wild ocean and he declined to wear a harness and was annoyed because his clean start-the-day clothes ended up wet and covered with salt grime.

The rest of the day: winds 20knots, gusting 30: all reasonable for the place and the season, but we did wish that they had not offered up quite so much fresh water (mostly because we could not collect this as our rain-catching canvas was not up in these conditions) and had left smoother seas.

Swells grew to about 5m from the SE, on which were superimposed waves from the east and north, as generated by the squalls. Waves built on waves: you thought you were at the top of a swell but found to your dismay there was another phase, and coming from a different angle, so it was straight up the base wave, sideways up the next…. Did Ketoro have enough momentum to carry her over? Did we need seasick pills? Yes… and no respectively, happily!

Nose down 5m – up 5m. Up-down-roll-roll slither. We mastered the walk: the knees-out-and-bent and wait-and-think-before-you-move, drunken-duck-waddle-hop, look for handhold. It mostly worked. Forget any one of the details - it failed: Rolf carrying a computer downstairs, missed his footing and the hand holding the computer punched into the hinge of a locker. What resulted was a mild and useful injury: a small meat-chunk was removed from his knuckle, enough to get off washing dishes for several days. The computer is undamaged.

Meals were served in deep bowls.
Showers did not happen (you try washing or drying your feet whilst doing the knees-out-and-bent and wait-and-think-before-you-move, drunken-duck-waddle-hop, look for handhold.)
Rolf did not shave, lest he slit his throat in the process.

We were pleased to be holding direction about SSW, but it was really uncomfortable and tempting to capitulate and turn more west, which would have made it more comfortable… but may have put Rodrigues out of reach, meaning a wave goodbye and heading straight for Mauritius!

Day 4

The flying fish did not like it either; it’s tough when you fly out of the top of your wave and land up hitting a hard white plastic surface - to which you stick. They all looked surprised… which they most likely were when their adventure was abruptly ended.

But not as surprised as Irene was on early watch 2am on day 4: black night, wet, noisy, rollicking and boisterous; sitting on helm, concentrating fiercely on the instrument panel when her bare foot came under attack from a sharp, spiny wet and lively ‘thing’ which eventually flopped itself into submission on the cockpit floor. Inspection shows that flying fish have spiky wings.

Several poor tiny flying fish had probably not yet even learned to fly, but were tossed onto the deck with the waves coming over the top, and there they remained to be found on the morning sweep-and-clean. Another morning a squid had joined the daily quota of dead fish on board, having suffered the same fate. Its final revenge being the black ink stain it had shot over the white deck, which we hope will, in due course, come off.

After dawn on day 4 Irene woke to find the weather had cleared and Rolf had opened up, cleaned house using fresh rainwater, and all was spruced!

At 9am Rolf went to sleep with the sun shining in a blue sky leaving full sail and one reef in the main. (Rolf, before you sleep, what plan for sudden storm? Was never really answered and discussed)… then the sky blackened, the winds turned to NNE (25knots, some 30 gusts), the boat flew, Irene put a reef in the headsail (oh no, I should get another reef in the main, but don’t want to wake Rolf): then it was over, winds dropped to 18knots - sigh of relief. Bleary-eyed Rolf appeared – What’s going on!? Where is the sun? Have you screwed up the weather again? Irene said, inter alia, All is now well dear… Go back to sleep.

But then it came: a big squall – only 35 knots, but consistent, and the pressure had to be taken off the mainsail immediately, as an interim measure. Centre the traveler to depower the main – and then it all went awry! The autopilot took a while to adjust to the new sail configuration, the big seas from aft quarter pushed the boat askew, a big gust caught the main and we jibed, the headsail backed… we swiveled and before I knew it we were heading back to Chagos! Sails flogging to add to the crash bang up down rain pelting down… ROLF!!! HELP ME!!!

We were now bouncing and crashing through short-period waves of 5 to 6m with tops breaking at different angles, and generally not really having fun. We pulled in the headsail to be able to address the main, then the wind came from directly behind us… Exasperated, we decided there was nothing for it but to drop the mainsail entirely. We then discovered that under bare poles and no engine we were still making 5knots and the autopilot was holding the course!

Of course, it is not true that there was nothing for it or no alternative: if we were real sailors we would have tacked and thundered on. But we are not real sailors. We are cruisers who believe in comfort…. So the engines went on at low revs and we retired to the saloon for coffee. Wet. Wet. Wet. Cold. But the coffee was hot and good. It was only 11am and feeling like the end of a long day!

We dripped in the moist humid saloon and stared bleakly and balefully out at the day, and as time passed it slowly dawned on us that the storm had passed and perhaps it was safe to venture out. Fortified by coffee and other essential substances we found we now had a downwind sail so the headsail was unfurled (the sea too rough for the code zero / screecher), and the sea remained big but became slightly more regular.

That night: stars! Remarkable clarity, the clouds were gone … well, for a while anyway.

Day 5

Morning rainbow, clouds dissipating, sea state improving, the sun out… 10 towels and assorted clothes were dried in the cockpit, some top hatches were opened for air. On the port side the big indigo blue waves with white tops rolled endlessly forward, crashing over the bow and deck, splashing up the sides and cockpit.

Lovely15-20 knot E winds allowed full sails up, but a reef was required later as the wind strength increased and still later 2 reefs were put into both the main and headsail for the night, so as not to further goad the weather gods who were already marching some threatening skies towards us.

The conservative reefing was a good thing as consistent 35 knot winds came in, and the radar showed 3 storms heading for us, lining up 3 miles apart: but we had good sailing and the autopilot held its own with wind and wave from aft. The squalls brought torrential rains… but we had 10 newly dried towels available to sort out the wet, wet, wet.

Day 6

By morning the sea was slightly calmer but still big, and we had storms that brought less water than before.

The morning’s damaged-body count showed humans: zero, flying fish: 2.
One fish was found way forward in the cockpit (heroic effort but in the wrong direction?) and the other: on the floor in the SB heads. What! How…!?? In the SB heads there is a shower cubicle with portlight (side window) which we had not closed as the sea was pounding only port side. The flying fish took off from his wave, flew through the narrow portlight, evidently swerved left to exit the shower door, but then had his ambitions thwarted by slamming into the heads wall and crashing to the floor.

That day saw reasonable sailing with no major squalls… and the start of a regular pattern of big ship traffic. We had seen shipping for a few days on the AIS – it appears that this area sees traffic between South Africa and India or the east, the latter entering the Malacca Straits from the top of Sumatra. Our course at this stage was the same as (or reciprocal to) theirs, but essentially we were taking the same line.

Day 7

04:30 watch: Rolf (double-reefed mainsail, full headsail) saw a ships AIS information and the CPA given (closest point of approach) was uncomfortable; in addition he was unsure if they were able to see us or were receiving our AIS signal, plus we were aligned to pass SB to SB (sailing rules are to pass port to port, unless otherwise arranged). He called up the Maxan Gas Corolis (a gas carrier heading for the “Far East”) on VHF and confirmed a SB / SB pass. They both changed course to get a safer distance – this was more difficult for the yacht, as it brought us closer into the wind, and increased the boat speed and apparent wind speed.

And then the squall hit. To lessen the impact on the rigging Rolf would have chosen to bear away, but that put him on line to cross the bows of the ship and pass them to port: not the option as just agreed with them. He could not alter sail – and the yacht was flying and crashing forward, still accelerating under huge forces and not much control (of COURSE he should have woken Irene to assist with a sail change!). So – he put the engines on and engaged reverse to slow down and regain sanity. The port engine stalled under the initial load but then restarted and when both had kicked in it was extraordinary how effective the reversing propellers were to quickly calm the tense situation, the ship passed by, the squall ended and normal sailing resumed. Irene came up for watch – Quiet night?

The day brought slightly lessened winds but friends in a boat ahead of us told of winds from the south, so we had to keep making south / SE as long as we could. The waves were long, deep 3m swells from the south and short, sharp 1.5m waves superimposed from the SE, with a lot of wind-chop over all. At last the current was in our favour. We had started to doubt that the Equatorial Current ever flowed east to west! It was a wild ride: for some hours we averaged 7kn …. Slam bang crash splash… climbing the mountains under the pull of the sail, at the top to either go straight down again or swivel on meeting a sideways wave before descending.

The ‘Diamond Jasmine’ passed to port and in most civil and courteous fashion called on VHF to ask if all were well on board and wish us a good voyage. I think our sharp course changes to clear this juggernaut by at least 1.5miles must have looked odd to them!

Day 8

Sunrise day 8. SUNrise!
Rolly sea precludes getting the horizon straight… this is what we saw

Heaven. Winds were down to 15kn ESE (those from the S did not materialise for us); the sea was more calm and rollers from only one direction: we sailed on a broad reach under blue sunny skies; there was shipping but far away.

We ate lunch off plates. This is a significant statement and deserves its own paragraph.

We did the washing and hung all in the cockpit (still did not trust the weather). Celebrated dry clothes and towels.

Rolf still did not shave… the sea wasn’t THAT smooth (and so, therefore, nor was he!)

Sunset day 8. What a day for sun!

Days 9 and 10

Under a high pressure system, the seas calmed remarkably, winds lightened and weather was enjoyable. The winds remained from east, meaning that all of our fight to make S and E, expecting the SE and SSE trades to be our main experience, was probably unnecessary as we now had a downwind sail to Rodrigues. This meant it was slower than if we had had it on the beam or quarter, but hey… it was slow and calm and lovely and an absolutely pleasurable way to clean the boat up and get some rest before we came into Rodrigues.

The job was done, now it was time to enjoy our new “home”.