We greatly enjoyed our two weeks in Chagos. Now our preparations were completed and all we needed was some decent wind before heading off for Madagascar, our last stop in the Indian Ocean before arriving in South Africa. For the last two days, the winds had been light and in the south. We always want at least a couple of days with good winds in order to get a good start. On the third day the winds filled in as forecast and we were off on Friday 29 September.
We left the anchorage off Takamaka Island and sailed quickly across the atoll for the pass. While I was standing on the bow as a look-out to check for coral, Henrietta put out the fishing-line. Before we got to the pass we hooked and landed a large trevally. About an hour later as we sailed south along the outer edge of the atoll, past the Saloman Islands, we caught a yellow-fin tuna. This gave us a great start on fishing and meant we could take in the line for a day or two. For simplicity's sake, our gear is basic, and not very "sporting", it invariably consists of a hand-line with 150kg nylon monofilament, a rubber-squid lure and a large double hook.
A good start to the fishing then, but the first evening proved not so good for the sailing. Rather than the anticipated 15-20kts from the SE, by the evening the wind dropped to 10kts from the SE and first night was full of squalls. While the wind never went over 20kts, the wind direction was continuously changing, there was lots of rain and additionally the "holes" behind the squalls were hard to avoid. Progress was slow, so that in the first 24 hours we ended-up motoring for 6 hours and only made good about 100nm.
Our slow start was in stark contrast to the friends we spoke to that first evening - they had left 5 days before us in their Swan 46 and had made good over 1000nm in that time, with a best day run of 220nm, a rate we could only dream of! They gave us some good advice on threading though the large system of banks known as Saya de Malha on the direct route from Chagos to Cap Ambre, the northern most point of Madagascar. They had taken the narrow northern pass and described a period of 6 hours where the seas were dangerous with the top 2m of the swell breaking heavily. This confirmed our intended strategy of heading for the southern pass through the banks at 12 S, which adds about 50nm to the 1600nm passage.
In the late morning of the second day, the wind filled-in from the SE, 15-20kts, and we were happy to be reaching in the trade-winds on a course of about 240T. For the next three days, we clocked up daily runs of over 165nm as the wind rose slightly to 20-25kts. Comfortable sailing, if a little wet as the swell was now breaking slightly and getting blown in to the cockpit. We looked forward to getting to 12S and turning west, after which we should be just as fast, drier and might even be able to get the twin headsails up. The twin headsails are our favourite set-up: they are comfortable, easy to manage and can usually be relied on to keep the speed up, if the trade winds are blowing.
On Day 6 we had run 850nm from Chagos. We had reached 12S which is approximately the latitude of Cap d'Ambre, now 675 to the West of us. The winds were too far in the south to set the twin-jibs, which can usually be set at 135 degrees to the wind angle. We now had the South Equatorial Current behind us giving us another knot, so we continued to make good progress. The weather was pleasant. We had enjoyed clear skies with no squalls since the first evening. The days passed quickly, as we occupied ourselves with the daily routines of a long passage: fishing, preparing meals, keeping in touch with friends via a radio net and with family via onboard email, and getting weather fax and "grib" files. The moon was almost full and we looked forward to a few enjoyable nights as we approached the Cape.
Cape d'Ambre, as described in the cruising guides and pilot, is a windy place with potentially heavy seas. A north flowing current runs on the western side of Madagascar and meets the South Equatorial Current in an area of over-falls to the north of the cape. The advice from East Africa Pilot is to stay a few hundred yards off the coast to miss the overfalls. In Chagos, we were been given similar directions from skippers who had previously done the crossing.
During days 7, 8 and 9 it looked increasing likely that we would approach the Cape during the night - not desirable as we wanted to pass close to the shore. Our policy of avoiding unnecessary risk by not approaching land or entering harbours at night meant that on three of our four passages since New Zealand we have had to slow down to make daylight arrivals. We have found this surprisingly hard to do, sailing with reduced canvas is rolly in the ocean swell and heaving-too is equally rolly unless there is quite a lot of wind. On the evening of day 10 we were less than 70nm from the cape having continued our average daily runs of 150nm. In order to round at first light, we decided to keep our speed below 5kts and heave-too as we got closer to the shore. We anticipated a slightly uncomfortable night, but as we were only 50nm from the cape, we should be able to round at first light.
Henrietta went down for her off-watch at 8pm. I kept the boat going at 4-5kts, reducing sail as the wind rose. During the next three hours, the wind clocked to the SSE and began to rise rapidly from 20kts to 40kts as we got within 40 nm of the cape. Initially I put the wind rise down to an acceleration effect around the headland, but when the next weather fax came through, the gradient wind was showing 40kts which was not shown on earlier forecasts. We knew then that we were in for a rough night.
At the same time, wind and current became more parallel to the coast as we approached land. I altered course to the SW to try and offset the effects of these, bringing us onto a close reach. By the end of my watch at 11pm, we were getting 40kts of wind over the deck, but the seas were neither steep nor breaking. I did not want to heaving-too as we would rapidly find ourselves north of the cape in the region of the overfalls. We discussed what we should do for Henrietta's watch, and decided to hold our SW course for as long as we could, then tack to the east and return westwards in the morning to round the headland close to shore in daylight.
I took half a Stugeron and went to sleep. One hour into her watch, Henrietta called me up. The wind now was now well over 40kts and occasionally reaching 50kts - some of the strongest winds we had experienced so far on our circumnavigation. We could barely hear each other as we shouted across the cockpit - only feet apart. The sea-state had deteriorated considerably during the last hour. Close to the coast, the shore shelves steeply: there is only about 5 miles between the 200m contour and the 1000nm contour. We were just within the 1000m contour and approaching the 200m contour. It was clear that we had to get back into deeper water in order to avoid the worst seas. We tacked back to the east and within an hour, the sea state improved.
By my next watch at 3am, the winds came back to below 40kts. We had been sailing all night with heavily reefed main (an in-mast furling system) and roller-reefed jib. The main works well when heavily reefed as it acts almost like a tri-sail. The jib, however, is not so efficient when reefed down as even with the genoa car all the way forward, the leech is too loose. In order to improve on our sail configuration, we decided to set the storm-jib. To set the storm-jiib, we would first need to rig the inner forestay and reposition the dinghy which is strapped down on the foredeck during passage. Given the conditions, we decided to delay this work on deck until after day break.
Once the sun rose, we repositioned the dinghy, rigged the stay and hanked on the storm-jib. This went smoothly, until a wave broke over the front of the boat and sent me sliding down the deck. As I lost my footing, I let go of the sheet I was holding and the bitter end shot overboard. When I tried to pull the sheet back, I found it was stuck. The sheet had wrapped on the freewheeling prop. I called out to Henrietta who was still on deck, struggling with her lifejacket which had inflated in the same wave. This was not what we needed! I quickly got a line rolling hitched onto the sheet and brought it back to a winch and tried to see if it would unwind. No luck, but at least it couldn't get any tighter. We've never fouled on our lines before, but ropes have got caught on our propeller twice before, while motoring in the Mediterranean. On those occasions in calm seas I went over the side with a knife. This time I left Henrietta (who had struggled free of the inflated life jacket and was wearing a spare) on the winch and went below to try and twist back the shaft by gripping it between the gearbox and the stern gland. As we couldn't communicate any longer, Henrietta would keep the line hitched to the sheet under tension and take up slack if any was made. It felt like a long shot, as I leaned into the locker and tried to get a grip on the shaft. We were fortunate, it needed three or four complete turns and the sheet was free. We could hardly believe our luck. Now we could concentrate on getting the storm sail set and getting around the cape.
The storm sail improved the speed, trim and heel of the boat. Even though Pamina was launched in 1990 and we have sailed over 20,000nm since 2003, this was the first time the sail was used. Since the sail is rigged on an inner stay, the sheeting angle is much improved. The shape of the sail is far better than the roller sail. In addition the weight of the cloth is much heavier and of course the sail is pristine. We would have put it up earlier, but were reluctant to set the stay during the night.
We had tacked and were now heading westwards at over 6kts close hauled, making good speed towards the cape. I decided to stay outside the 1000nm contour and run the risk of hitting the overfalls, since we knew the sea-state in shallower water was likely to be dangerous by now. We eventually rounded with an offing of about 10nm, instead of the recommended 100 yards and saw no deterioration in the sea state. The wind backed as we cleared the cape and we were able to get more south into our course. It is possible to double a headland and see no noticeable effects on either side, not with Cap D'Ambre! Soon after rounding we were getting a lee from the headland and we were occasionally hitting 8kts in calm seas - under storm jib only. Some 10nm south of the headland the wind eased and we were happy to slow down as it was now dark. We were only 30 or so miles from our intended anchorage at Nosy Mitsio.
The next morning (10 October) we sailed into Maribe Bay on the western side of Nosy Mitsio, and anchored in 6 meters depth opposite a beautiful golden beach. The calm anchorage, clear green waters and the near deserted beach provided a good spot for us to rest after the activity of the last 24 hrs. We were joined later that afternoon by Chris and Julie on the Swan who sailed from Nosy Be to meet us and looked after us very well by providing fresh produce, delicious dinners, great company over the next few days.
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