2018, the Best Bits

I’m writing this highlights of 2018 on the verandah of Riverbend books in Balmoral, Brisbane, with a flaming red poinciana tree shading me from today’s 30 degree celsius scorcher. Summer is blasting Queensland with a vengeance. Thousands of hectares of forest burn as I sit here sipping green tea and hundreds of families face a homeless year-end holiday courtesy of climate change. Meanwhile the Australian Federal Parliament is imploding…..

Leaving the folly of national politics aside, 2018 for us has been an epic year, most memorable as the year our sons became fathers to two bonny, baby girls, one in Melbourne, Australia in March, the other in Edinburgh, Scotland in April. We’ve watched on as Cameron and Tristan fell in love with their daughters and created warm, loving families with their beautiful, strong partners.

The year kicked off with my hairiest personal challenge yet, a month-long sailing adventure (sans Stuart), pushed by Tradewinds from Cape Town, South Africa, via St Helena to Cabedelo, Brazil.

Skyelark delivered her crew of six (pictured above enjoying our first beer in Brazil) another exciting passage filled with personal challenges, beautiful sunrises, sunsets, countless flying fish, dolphins and hilarious afternoon radio quizzes with the rest of the World ARC fleet. Swimming in the seemingly bottomless azure Atlantic Ocean a thousand sea miles from land while hove to was a unique and unforgettable experience for me.

With my favourite watch buddy, Tim (above) and Skyelark at anchor at St Helena.

A bonus was the too short time I had in Cape Town before the voyage to climb Table Mountain and tour the Cape.

Life at 63 really doesn’t get better than this, hands free Tradewinds sailing!

Once on land I was blown away by wildlife experiences in the water world of the Pantanal with real life Brazilian cowboy, Paulo.

And perplexed by Rio’s completely crazy Carnaval.

Rio’s beach culture is a little different from Australia’s but cruising the bay on an SUP made me feel right at home.

Back in Spain I sampled an alternative Carnival, in Cadiz!

And revelled in some of the world’s best flamenco amongst dear friends in Jerez.

maestro Angel Muñoz

Siblings Pilar Ogalla and Juan Ogalla after his knockout show.

Sandra Carrasco and Company

Triumphant husband and wife Pilar Ogalla and Andres Peña take a rapturous curtain call.

Completely different from Skyelark, but almost as special, was our week on the grand old dame, Irene of Bridgewater, out of Oban to Scotland’s Western Isles. As well as sailing we sea kayaked, hiked to breathtaking viewpoints, celebrated Stuart’s 67th birthday, and I swam an obligatory lap of Irene in very chilly waters.

A return to Paris for Roland Garros, this time with great friends Jean Louis and Liz, followed by a seaside sojourn in Ile de Re, showed off France at its very best.

My tennis hero, Rafael Nadal.

Slightly tipsy post prandial cycle home.

Portugal treated us well too with many kilometres of walking in Sintra and along the northwest coast.

Since our Elliott family reunion in the Dordogne in June (photos below) to mark Stuart’s brother James’ 70th birthday, we’ve been working to make our newly built home on Gypsy Hill in Broken Head, New South Wales, a comfortable place for friends and family to visit.

I take my hat off to Stuart who shepherded the project through to completion despite daily trials. Reviews thus far have been positive. The first inaugural flamenco weekend nearly got blown away in a tempest, but we pushed on with an intimate indoor evening of song, dance, poetry and castenet performances. Very special. Book club friends also pronounced the cabin and house very comfortable and we plan for mire of the same in 2019.

My second Byron Writers’ Festival was enlivened by outstanding authors, principally Michelle de Kretser, who went on to win her second Miles Franklin literary award for favourite book of the year ‘The Life To Come’. I urge you to read her work. Next year’s festival is 2-4 August. Don’t miss it.

We’re also glad to have made it to Tenterfield in September for the very first Peter Allen Festival, made even more special by being hosted by friends Suzanne and Tim.

A swift trip to the UK in November for our niece, Sally’s 40th birthday weekend celebration in the seaside town of Swanage, capped off the year’s travel perfectly. The Elliotts were on fine form with many tiny people being passed from arms to arms or chased around the house.

We’ll spend year-end on The Hill with Cam and family working on our croquet and boules skills and keeping a baby Melburnian cool.

2019 trip planning is well in hand with a six-week combo of Kerala, India, and skiing in the Italian Dolomites starting early February. My clinical drug trial, testing a brand new Rheumatoid Arthritis immunotherapy, will have finished by then. Regardless of the outcome we’re all systems go for another thrilling year. Hope you can stick around for the ride!

Ashore in Cabedelo, Brazil: Leaving Skyelark Life on Land Becomes Hyper-real

Part four, the final instalment of my adventures with Skyelark and her crew.

I had thought to end this personal journal with our arrival into Cabedelo, Brazil, but found the experiences of the next day so fascinating I’m continuing. I promise this is the end.

None of us had visited north-east Brazil before so the novelty struck us all. Keen as mustard to go ashore, but first things first, a sparkling toast to a successful voyage! Sorry, no photo, I was too busy savouring the moment!

It also looked like we may have beaten Arabella to the Brazilian coast. Entirely unofficial of course, but satisfying nonetheless.

Jacare Yacht Village, a bijoux marina, run by French ex-pat Nicholas, offers all the usual visiting yacht services. Only about ten yachties were about and the atmosphere in the open air cafe-bar was uber relaxed. Unfortunately Nicolas was far from relaxed. A yacht had just rolled off the slipway whilst being hauled out – concrete had crumbled – and men were urgently trying to shore up the boat. The concrete would have to be repaired before they could continue. Poor boat owner…

We were flying the yellow quarantine flag on our mast. No problem, we were told, local authorities allowed sailors to come ashore before their entry was formally approved, as long as they slept on the boat. There was zero checking of the yacht, or its occupants, for health or contraband. But as we were to find out firsthand, a completely over the top immigration and customs documentation process is enforced in Cabedelo.

That first night we ate well ashore. Nicholas was barman and cook. Caiparinhas were drunk and we all kicked back. My big bowl of salad topped with avocado and baby roast potatoes was just what my stomach ordered. I was rocking gently on land but it wasn’t as disconcerting as in St Helena.

Dan had been warned by a fleet boat two weeks in advance of the rest us, because of their professional skipper’s employment arrangements, that our group visit to the Federal Police station in Cabedelo, plus the other paperwork Dan and Em would need to do at the Marine Captain’s, could take up to five hours. The complication – office hours for both were 9am-12md Monday to Friday. We were also instructed to wear long trousers and shoes to the station. Em put hers on over her shorts!

I was longing to start three days of R and R in the Joao Pessao beach hotel I’d booked online when I connected wifi for the first time since Cape Town the night before. My flight to Pantanal for jaguar spotting was on Saturday. Washing clothes, sleeping through the night, shaving legs, eating, cycling along the beach and swimming were my priorities.

We’d arrived on a Tuesday, so far so good. Nicholas apologised that he couldn’t take us to the station next day as he usually did, and arranged a local taxi driver, a chubby, avuncular sixtyish chap called Bernardo to transport the six of us promptly at 9:15am. My radar was already up. Nothing has ever happened ‘promptly’ for me in my business dealings is Brazil. Six into a regular car with driver also did not compute. “No problem it’s only five minutes away.” We are to go in two groups, sensibly with Dan and Em in the first lot, with passports and papers.

Half an hour later Bernardo returns for the last three, but en route there is the urgent matter of some fresh mango purchasing to be undertaken from a vendor pushing his barrow down the dirt road. Every mango that goes into the two large plastic bags has to be inspected and pinched. The minutes tick by. Breathing in…..breathing out…..

Finally Bernardo is satisfied and we continue to the police station car park where Bernardo circles until he finds the perfect park. It is now 10:15am.

Dan, Em and Sjaak are sitting in a row in the large waiting room reading, no apparent progress has been made. Bernardo strolls up and chats to the reception clerk. We are to wait until called. I try to read and can’t. I am all at sea on land. I discovered last night that when I try to walk normally heel-toe, my right hip pains, I have an involuntary hip swivel and roll like a salsa dancer. What the?!

Now when I try to read my novel I feel nauseated. The only thing that helps is standing and rocking rythmically side to side. Not surprising really as this is what I have been doing for 22 of the past 25 days.

A TV screen is showing a samba lesson in preparation for Carnaval. This diverts me for some minutes as I step through the sequence along with them. Pretty basic really. No one cares to join in. Spoil sports!

Fortunately there is also plenty of office politics to keep me interested. Two security police stand guarding an entrance to offices on our left. We speculate about what could possibly require that level of protection. They wear full body armour minus helmets and bristle with weapons. The woman is magnificent. Body like a pole dancer, the loose lustrous black hair waving down her back gently wafts in the air conditioning vent above her. Her skin is polished ebony, her make up carefully applied.

An older man in uniform, but minus the armour and weaponry, sidles up to stand close to the woman and shoot the breeze. Standing shoulder to shoulder he twice casually drapes his right arm around her waist as he chats. Her face tightens and the smile slips for a moment, but she continues to listen to him and does nothing. Eventually he wanders back into an office behind.

I remark to my compatriots that if this were Australia the older officer’s actions would constitute workplace sexual harrassment. I read him as her superior officer and his touching of her an abuse of his position. Of those who engage in the topic it seems I’m in a minority of one in surmising that. Could it be my gender and experience that sensitises me to such behaviour? Especially with the recent worldwide avalanche of revelations about the sexual exploitation and harrassment of even highly privileged women in the workplace, I’d argue it really is time for everyone to call this out and push back. I have two granddaughters coming into the world this year so I feel this issue even more keenly.

Dan, Em and Sjaak are called and our spirits lift. Half an hour later Em comes out to call us in with them. A miscommunication by Bernardo has confused matters. Officials understood we were two boat crews. We must now be processed together. Crammed around the desk of the assigned immigration officer in an over air conditioned open plan office next to the staff kitchen, the painful process continues.

It is 11am. For the next one and a half hours this man painstakingly works through his mental checklist of documentation, approvals and stamps requiring dates and signatures. One passport and application form at a time. We make quiet small talk and keep expressions neutral or pleasant. ‘Do not ruffle this individual’ is my mantra.

His colleagues have started to take their lunch break. Laughing, talking, they squeeze past us and start to microwave home made beans and rice and something that smells like empanadas.

At certain points our man appears frozen, looking at the same page for almost a minutes. Scans are made. Paper copies are made. Passports are stacked and restacked.

We are asked how long we plan to stay in Brazil. Not for the first time I silently scream, “Look at my fucking tourist visa for Brazil you moron!” The visa cost me half a day of my life and far too much money. As far as I’m concerned I already have the approval.

The only logical conclusion is that this officer has highly functioning Asperger’s Sydrome. Or he is somewhere way up there on the Autism Spectrum. This is confirmed to me later by Nicholas. We had the misfortune to be assigned the one of the two immigration officers who regularly make boaties’ lives a misery.

At 12:30pm our man has triple checked the last item. He stands. He hands all the passports and a precious copy of the yacht entry approval to Em. I warmly thank him and shake his hand.

Out in the corridor I can’t restrain myself. Raising my arms in a V above my head I shout quietly, “Free at last!” Em and Dad can use copies of our passports to jump the final hurdle and we do not need to be present.

Two more trips with Bernardo and we are back at the marina cafe for lunch. Dan outlined the tasks that need to be done to organise and clean the boat inside and out before our leisure can truly begin.

One important job is for Dan to rerig the halyard properly. I am trusted to assist with this on the second safety line.Yes, that’s Dan hanging around up top while Em does the tricky bit below.

Everyone sets to with vigour and by 4:30pm we kick back with a last beer together as a crew. Whew!

Off duty finally, I ask marina staff to book a taxi to my hotel and am told it has to be Bernardo, he is the only ‘safe’ option available. Stifle a groan.

Careful double kisses goodbye (my BO is nearly knocking me out. I am wearing what was my last set of clean clothes) and they head back to Skyelark to prepare for a night out in town. I am the only one exiting today.

The appointed departure time of 5:30pm comes and goes. At 6pm, fresh as a daisy, Bernardo strolls in.

Foolishly I sit in the front passenger seat. Brazil has appalling road traffic accident statistics.

Bernardo drives straight through the red light at the train level crossing and speeds onto the motorway in the direction of Joao Pessao, 12k east. He alternately sings along to the radio, talks at me in Portuguese, or makes calls on his mobile (I have yet to see a Brazilian driver use hands free devices). The speed limit sign is 50, Bernardo is doing 85 in fast traffic.

Then it starts to rain.

I’m thinking, “I have just sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and I am going to die in a car crash tonight. Does he not remember what happened to Ayrton Senna?!”

Traffic is congested the closer we get to my hotel which thankfully slows him down. A little.

I pay Bernardo the agreed amount on arrival. He surprises me by grabbing my bags out of the boot and carrying them into the hotel lobby. All becomes clear when he starts yabbering at the reception clerk and hands me his business card. He wants me to have the hotel call him to book him for my airport transfer. “Not bloody likely”, I’m thinking as he pumps my hand and waves goodbye. I hope like hell my crew mates don’t get stuck with him for their transport!

But look, I am alive and at liberty in beautiful Brazil looking at the Atlantic from landside!

Into the Deep Blue on Skyelark of London: Ship’s Journal Part Three – Saint Helena to Cabedelo, Brazil

This is part three of a Trans-Atlantic crossing aboard the 51 foot charter yacht, Skyelark of London with a merry crew of assorted international sailors.

The order comes down, report to Jamestown dockside at 3pm for a water taxi back to Skyelark to prepare for a 4pm departure from St Helena island. Skippers Dan and Em are already on board the tiny ferry waiting patiently. I pile on with backpack, clean laundry and a large bag of provisions, and shortly thereafter the rest of our mob arrive.

Once alongside Skyelark the crew climbs aboard. I pass up my bags. By the time it’s my turn to clamber up, the water taxi has moved past the step fender and I’m struggling try to climb out with nothing to step on to and little solid to grip. The blue gap widens and I’m about to fall between taxi and Skyelark into the drink, when Dan grabs me and hauls me aboard. In so doing he badly wrenches a shoulder. Not an auspicious start. I feel guilty about that for the rest of the trip.

We’re underway at 4:05pm and right on cue a pod of dolphins appears to see us off.

Skyelark is second of the fleet to depart, Arabella are eight hours ahead. All except Em and Dan are making for Salvador further south. The weather is fine and forecasts are good for our 1800 nautical mile north-westerly run line. The GPS is set for Joao Pessao, the most easterly point of the Brazilian coast. We’ll berth in Cabedelo Marina, up the Paraiba River, the final destination for Skyelark on this leg of the World ARC.

I hope Mum and Dad have spotted that I’m on the move again. I installed a yacht race data app on Dad’s ipad so they could track my progress and it seems like Mum has enjoyed following our little purple boat icon across the Atlantic. I did the same for my husband Stuart, but judging by my conversation with him on the phone from the Jamestown hotel, he hasn’t looked at it. I guess he’s too busy on our Broken Head house installation.

As the distinct shape of St Helena recedes into the distance I reflect soberly on all those who have passed this way before me, down through the hundreds of years sailors have been using this Tradewind route. There’s not much time to be philosophical though, our three hours on six hours off watch system is reinstituted almost immediately. This time I am paired with Sjaak and Hermann with Tim.

I have a different cabin companion too. The large, new spinnaker sail, fashioned in Cape Town, has been swapped for the small, old one and is now stored in its bright red bag on the top bunk. It’s a bother hauling it out, putting it up and stowing it away again. And it smells of off-gassing plastics.

On one occasion we go through the packing process twice back to back, as we’d changed the other sail set up. Stuffing it into its storage bag is quite a chore. Still, the boat’s motion is easier with a spinnaker up and we make better speeds, so I don’t completely dislike it. We shall just have to rub along.

The daily routine resumes the same pattern;  meal prep, watches, a daily brief cold shower, the 4pm fleet quiz, and sleep snatched whenever possible. A couple of days into this leg radio reception becomes too weak to continue the quiz as the rest of the fleet peels off to Salvador.

One day blurrs into the next and the distance to our destination ticks down until on night six we slip past 900 nautical miles, halfway to Cabedelo and three-quarters of the total trip is in our wake! This happens on the 6am watch so no one is in the mood for a celebratory tot of rum. It’s warm now, just one layer and a jacket at night and the sleeping bag is swapped for a top sheet.

No rum for the driver.

Nicest moments are clear nights when the stars look tantalisingly close. The crescent moon rises directly in our path, glinting between the two butterfly winged sails. It’s so bright it lights up the sea ahead and we glide over a trail of quick silver.

Last night I saw my first ever shooting star and made a wish. No prizes for guessing what it was, it wasn’t for myself. Next night one illuminated the starboard side of the boat, as though someone turned on a light switch. We found out later from another boat in the fleet that the white flare was actually the second stage of a rocket launched from French Guiana. What are the odds!?

Sunsets are hit and miss. There is usually a cloud bank on the horizon. Last night the sun disappeared into cloud and I was disapponted. Lo and behold over the next thirty minutes, the blue sky and snowy clouds slowly coloured the most wonderful shades of pink.

Other vessels are few, however some lurk about. One container ship could be seen by the naked eye. There is excitement when we spot a plane’s jet stream overhead. Sea life is confined again to flying fish. Happily fewer are leaping into the boat on my night watches. Dan’s fishing line stays empty. Twice a huge fish takes the lure. The second time it happens I’m brushing my teeth in the bow head. There’s a loud commotion and Dan shouts orders. Whatever is on the line is so big he calls for the jib to be furled. The fish breaks free with the lure. The score is fish two : Dan one.

Low points are the two further falls I’ve had, once again in the galley (damn slippery, timber floor) and once down the gangway, spraining my pinkie finger on my right hand as I tried to hang on. Next day I realise the pain in my left butt cheek is a haematoma. The boat’s motion is unpredictable, every so often it lurches suddenly to the left or right. Makes going to the loo interesting!

I am not the only casualty. On our second day out Hermann spent too long in the sun and became dehydrated. Dan diagnosed mild heatstroke. After 24 hours pushing fluids and resting between his watches Hermann recovered well.

The wind intensity is variable. In one watch it will go from light 10-11 up to gusts of 25. Sailing along with the smaller spinnaker up and Sjaak helming, a 26 knot gust came in. Like a rifle shot the sail ripped with a godalmighty tearing sound. All hands leapt to pull the sail in, but a torn piece escaped over the side and was dragging in the water. It was a fierce wrestle, but eventually we got all of it down below. Tim and I stuffed it back in its bag and that’s where it will stay until it gets recut.

When the wind drops below 14 knots, which happens frequently, there is a lot of sail flapping and mast crunching caused by wave action. The metal on fibreglass sounds make me flinch. It’s worse than nails on a blackboard. Time for ear plugs.

Yesterday I was in my bunk at 9pm when there was the most frightening, loud bang overhead. The main halyard (wire that runs up the mast) had snapped and the whole mainsail dropped from the top of the mast. If ever there was a demonstration of just how good Dan and Em are in a crisis it was then. Within 45 minutes a new halyard was rigged and the sail was back up, all with the boat pitching all points of the compass.

It’s often hard to keep to the rhumb line in these light, variable  winds so we do a lot of useless nautical miles on night watch just to keep the sails filled. Seas are less variable, with waves a mixture of big following rollers and messy white horses. There are no other vessels for days.Tim hard at work.

As we come into the tropics squalls and rain showers are frequent. It’s hardly worth putting a rain jacket on, the wind dries you off in half an hour.

The calm sea and windless state did deliver a bonus on day seven. Dan dropped the sails, put the ladder on the side of the boat and while Em kept the motor ticking over in case of a sudden change, the rest of us took turns jumping in and swimming beside the boat. The ocean is the most incredible cobalt blue when viewed from the water, the result of refraction from a thousand fathoms to the sea floor. A magical moment stored in the memory bank.

I marked Australia Day/Invasion Day by making a vegan cake with stewed apple, cinnamon and dates. Not sure where I went wrong remembering the recipe, but the result is much more damper or pudding than cake. My shipmates are very kind and eat it anyway.

For the final five days my watch partner is Tim. A diehard optimist Tim could put a positive spin on disaster. Unsurprisingly that’s been one of his jobs in PR. He’s much more chatty than Hermann and Sjaak, with a great stock of anecdotes from his years travelling for business and pleasure.

I have been in survival mode for the past two days. Again stupidly I thought that six days of Scopolomine skin patches would cover me until I adjusted to the rocking of the boat. Wrong…. Mal de Mer came back even worse and it took 48 hours to get it under control with Stugerone and a stronger oral medication as I was out of patches. Dry crackers were the only food I could keep down and even those made their way up at one point. Still, I kept to my watches and did my share of sail change work. The only concession I made was a request to not have to stuff the new spinnaker back into its bag in the cabin, a job I usually did with Tim. Dan knew my “..or I’ll throw up” was no idle threat. Since I can’t read or write and am poor company I spend an awful lot of time on deck staring at the horizon or flat out on my bunk. (Example of our log below)

The nadir was midnight watch on a particularly rainy, blustery night. I was wet, cold, sea sick and wishing myself on dry land. The longest three hours of my life, including childbirth. To regain perspective I reminded myself of just how puny was my complaint compared with cancer and chemotherapy patients who may suffer nausea for months on end. It worked.

Meanwhile the rest of the crew (sans Em) seem to have become obsessed with cooking, concocting elaborate dishes that create an awful lot of washing up. Sjaak and Dan compete to see who can produce the best desserts, conjuring up tiramisu (Sjaak), creme caramel, chocolate brownies and peach crumble (Dan). One night there was a choice of two puddings! Since I wouldn’t eat them anyway, even if I weren’t vegan, this is no loss to me. I do enjoy a slice of chilled rockmelon that has survived since Cape Town.

After rain look for a rainbow over your shoulder!

We’ve move higher into the tropics the temperature ratchets up every day. Day watches are dangerously hot as the shade of the Bimini shrinks to almost nothing. My temperature regulation relies on dousing my head and back with fresh water from the hose on the stern deck and wearing my big straw hat. Today I also wet a scarf and drape it around my neck and shoulders. Sunshine reflected off the water burns badly. I have to force the fluids down as my taste buds have changed and the boat’s tank water, a mixture of Capetown water and water made by the onboard desalinator, is unpalatable to me. An unnaturally red cordial helps somewhat. A lifesaver is the small fan above each bunk.

Our progress too has become maddeningly slow. Where once we could reliably predict 25-26 nautical miles per watch we now see it whittled down to 21 or even 19. And with wind shifts and stalls the true course is much less. A counter on the navigation program on the computer screen shows the distance to destination and approximates the time we will take. It seems an eternity for it to drop from 400 to 300 miles and where once it estimated three days suddenly it maddeningly stretched to four. At that point I nearly lost the will to live….

Today, hopefully with just 24 hours until we make landfall at Cabedelo, I’ve started to feel well enough to rejoin the human race. Tim made me crispy, vegan pizza for lunch (that man is a marvel) and I managed to read on deck. Sadly I finished Michelle De Kretser’s tour de force, ‘The Life To Come’. I love her surprising, inventive language, wit and empathy for her characters (‘Questions of Travel’ is brilliant too). So much so I’ve gone back to the beginning and started again. Never done that with a book before.

Birdlife has started to reappear and the pretty, translucent purple bubbles floating past every so often are revealed to be deadly Portuguese Man of War jellyfish. Two ships were picked up on night watch. Hyper vigilance returns.

Tonight will be the last meal I have to cook, hellelujah! Tim will fry the carnivores’ steaks and I’ll have the last of my falafel balls. It’s as hot as hades and the galley is a sauna, but there will be baked potato, roast squash, courgettes (Peter’s from St Helena) and carrots, followed by Tim’s signature bread and butter pudding. Tim cooks most of it. I would have opted for salad.

This trip has been the adventure I sought, albeit accompanied by considerable discomfort. Much of it could have been prevented had I brought sufficient Scopolomine skin patches. Lesson learned. Still, crossing the Atlantic Ocean without losing my $hit is something I can be proud of. And our wonderful three-day stopover in Saint Helena was a revelation, a picturesque, tiny island community with a wonderful historical tapestry.

My shipmates have been exemplary; relentlessly upbeat co-skipper Dan, and his endlessly patient wife Em, cheerful ‘Mr Wonderful’ Tim, quietly competent Sjaak, and our resident gentle giant, Hermann, with his sly, wry humour bringing a light touch to dark moments – thank you one and all.

Chef Sjaak making seeded rolls for the last lunch.

At 3pm boat time on January 31, 2018, in the final minute of our watch on the eleventh day, Tim calls “Land Ho!” from the helm. I have been sitting up the bow looking ahead and starboard for the low outline of the Paraiba coast. In fact I should have been spotting for clumps of high rise buildings portside!

‘Land Ho!’ beers for the men.

We’re prepping the boat for arrival when Dan hollers, “Dolphins, big dolphins”, from the bow. We rush up to the pointy end practically falling overboard with excitement. Bloody hell, these are monsters! Three times the size of anything we’ve ever seen, they’re the colour of concrete. Three of them samba in the bow wave and quick as a flash one does the ‘full body out of the water’ jump. I squeal laughing like a child. Another arcs out of a wave moments later. They dance around us for two minutes then disappear. Bem vindo ao Brasil!

Access to our parking place is tide dependent. Luckily we’ve hit the perfect moment and with Em helming and full main up we zig zag between channel markers. The deep blue Atlantic pales to aqua then the Paraiba River water is milky brown, but clean. I only see one aluminium can. So different to much of Asia.

It’s another 40 minutes motoring up river before we pull into Marina Village Jacare where locals help us tie skyelark up securely in the fast ebbing tide. The first party boat cruises by blaring out live samba music. We’ve arrived in Brazil!

Lyrics to “Moonlight Bay” As taught to me by Don Tickle

“We were sailing along, on Moonlight Bay,

You can hear the voices singing,

They seem to say…..

You have stolen my heart,

Now don’t go away….

As we sing love’s old sweet song on Moonlight Bay.

On Moonlight Bay…….”

Into the Deep Blue on Skyelark of London: Personal Journal Part One ‘Cape Town to St Helena, 1,700 nautical miles plus plus!’

(Sailors have their own idioms – my sailing reference is https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_nautical_terms)

A minimum of 3,500 nautical miles across the Atlantic Ocean from South Africa to Brazil is a lot of blue water to cover for any vessel, but at this moment I am up for a big, hairy, personal challenge. I’m fit, healthy, solvent, and most importantly, have a month free of commitments.

That said I would only undertake such a long passage if I had complete confidence in the boat and the skipper. My previous crossings across the English Channel twice on Provident and four days from Darwin to Ambon, Indonesia, too many years ago on my cousin’s yacht. I will be the least experienced person aboard.

Our week of fair weather day sailing with British co-skippers Em and Dan Bower on their yacht Skyelark travelling from St Lucia to Union Island and back in January 2016 was a far cry from an Atlantic crossing, but I got a good sense of their skills, temperament and the boat itself. Three big ticks! When I saw they had a spare berth from Cape Town that would get me to Brazil via St Helena in time for Carnaval In Rio plus some other exciting stuff I jumped at it. This would be adventure sailing with a capital A.

D-Day Minus Two/4 Jan 2018:

Skyelark and the rest of the World ARC fleet have been in Cape Town since before Xmas. Crews have been touring or flew home for family celebrations.

I joined the boat as arranged at 4pm at the V & A Marina, Cape Town. All but one of the four paying crew were already present. Number four returned from visiting Robben Island and we had the full complement. My shipmates were Tim, an Englishman from Wales, Hermann from Bavaria and Sjaak, a Dutchman from Utrecht. All experienced sailors, they were welcoming and supportive.

Left to right Tim, Em, Sjaak, Hermann and Dan

Given the makeup of the crew I was lucky to score the forward port cabin. My only company were the small spinnaker and sail cover stored on the top bunk. ‘Sleep Anywhere’ Tim took a galley bunk, Sjaak and Hermann kindly shared the forward starboard cabin and Em and Dan had the aft double. A rare treat for them as they usually take galley berths. Sjaak, Hermann and I shared the tiny head in the pointy end. It had a door entry from each cabin. The agreed signal that it was occupied was to be the turning on the light. Fine in theory, but the door vents were high enough to give direct line of sight to the loo from the berths… I always locked both doors but taking my first shower on a very bumpy sea I bounced off the bathroom wall, crashed into my door, the door gave and I fell into my cabin. And would you believe everyone was on deck! I was much more circumspect thereafter.

Part One of our briefing, ‘Life on Board’ and orientation to the boat, was covered in quick time, allowing us to have a shower (to wash off Table Mountain’s dust and sweat BLOG) before attending the World ARC welcome dinner held in appropriately in the Portuguese Mar e Sol restaurant on the marina.

Almost all boaties present had been part of the same fleet since leaving Grenada exactly a year ago. One family were sailing with their two young, very blonde kids. Mum was home schooling them. I could see how happy and independent the children were and how much affection they received from fellow sailors. I later learned this same family had wrecked on a reef in the Pacific, necessitating a hiatus of a year while the boat was lifted out and repaired. My admiration for them increased considerably.

D-Day Minus One: I started taking seasickness meds and nipped off for breakfast and wifi at Cape Grace Hotel, an exceptionally well run five star hotel on the waterfront. By 9am our crew were queueing to take the minibus to the immigration and customs office to obtain clearance out of South Africa. It was worth being early birds as our paperwork took the better part of an hour and the line was out the door when we left. The administrivia was conducted relatively efficiently and only Dan and Em were quizzed.

Grace Hotel vegan brekky.

The Queue

Part Two of the briefing, man overboard, marine disaster management, life jackets, life boats etc. followed. The remainder of the afternoon we were free to do as we pleased. My priorities were to obtain pounds sterling for St Helena, (our only sto mid-Atlantic and British Overseas Territory), lunching at a waterfront terrace restaurant to people watch, and stocking up on vegan food and snacks to supplement what had already been purchased for the boat. A final crew dinner onshore and then there was just one more sleep before being irrevocably committed to a month at sea.

Day One: Another breakfast at Cape Grace Hotel, a chat with my husband Stuart back in Australia, and last messages sent to friends and family. On the way back to the boat I watched a multiracial dragon boat team of all women dressed in hot pink preparing for training. I asked them why they dressed in pink. They told me they are all breast cancer survivors and race under the name Amabele Belles. They’re the reigning South African women’s champions and next compete overseas in Florence, Italy, in July. I could see their male coach was visibly proud of them. Go girls!

Our crew had been ordered to assemble on deck by 9am for the 10:30am opening of the swing bridge to exit the marina, so I hurried back to the boat. Nine of the eleven boats of the World ARC fleet started with us. We motored to the start line, set our sails and on the start blast at 11am were in a good position to take off, straight into a fog bank. We could hear two separate loud fog horns belonging to container ships in the channel but could only see them on the computer AIS. Felt very ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’. Once we’d passed through the fog spectacular Table Mountain receded into the distance. A pod of dolphins suddenly appeared at our stern to farewell us.

Dan and Em took pity on the new chums for the first 48hrs, cooking lunches and dinners while we got our sea legs and settled into the round the clock three hours on and six hours off watch system. My watch partner for this leg was Hermann, while Sjaak and Tim paired up and Em did her watch solo. Dan was always on call and supervised sail or course changes.

We spotted our first whale blowing in the distance, then every half hour or so we’d see another one. One breached perfectly for us. As for seals, there were too many to count. Young ones sometimes approached the boat and leaped out of the water to get a better look at us. Mostly they just floated lazily on their backs with all four flippers in the air, gently waving to warm themselves.

Container ships use the same run line we were on so watching for vessels was a critical task for the first 48 hrs. Thank god for AIS.

We have several of the other yachts in sight, they look lovely with jib and mainsail up and heeling over.

Day Two: We’ve had to motor sail a fair bit to keep to our course and when we do sail it’s usually by auto pilot. Weather is variable with some rain squalls, shifting winds and three metre waves. The dark night starry sky with a half moon was glorious. It’s cold at night, I wear three layers under my waterproof jacket, waterproof trousers over leggings and a beanie.

By Day three we settled into our watch routine. The wind moved round behind us so Dan poled out the jib with the mainsail set as a goosewing and we clipped along at a boat speed of 8-9 knots.

We won the fleet 4pm daily quizz over radio which meant we had to host next day.

Next night watch was pretty scary for me with rain, an oily high sea and strong gusty winds up to 24 knots. There was also the small matter of continued shipping traffic. At one point we had six ships to watch out for.

My view for 1.5 hours per night watch.

The corkscrew wave action is a real bugger, it put me on my back twice in the galley. I’ll have some interesting bruises by St Helena. My bunk has a lee cloth, a piece of canvas that clips onto the cupboard by my head to stop me rolling out of bed. Much needed. On my first 3am watch I woke to my alarm, sat up in bed and cracked the bridge of my nose on the bunk above. Eye wayering pain.

But chores continue. Hermann and I were on dinner duty and managed a passable sausage, mash and veg meal. My mini falafels were delicious. Every third night we cook dinner before a 6-9pm watch and when we come off a 3-6pm watch we clean up what the cooks have done to the galley. There is some good natured ribbing about how many pans and stuff the cooks mess up. Dinner is served in bowls on deck. Amazingly the rain holds off to allow this. It’s the one sure time in 24 hours when we are all together.

Day Four conditions were still gusting 25 knot winds SSW. Happily it eased off, the sun came back and it was pleasant sailing. We spent a lot of time preparing our 20 questions for the quizz as without internet we have to rely on our own group knowledge rather than google or wikipedia. It’s quite interesting (nod to Stephen Fry) to determine all those different facts our motley crew holds that are unassailable. Lexington won this round easily and was therefore proclaimed the next quizz master.

We lost visual contact with all the other boats some time ago. The twice daily fleet scheds at 10am and 7pm serve to plot everyone’s positions, request assistance and catch up on gossip. We can see the fleet are really spread out now.

Conditions in the night were the strongest winds and highest seas to date. Not comfortable at all whether at the helm or below deck. Surfing some big following waves was a little more excitement than I needed. During our night watch we had to reef the mainsail in further which meant Hermann and Dan standing at the mast and me at the helm. We still use auto pilot which I much prefer, Hermann likes to helm. Don’t care to repeat that night watch. On the upside we made 29 miles on our shift, the highest to date.

Day Five was a perfect day to fly the kite. The small spinnaker is ideal for these south, south east Tradewinds.

Dan’s trawling line finally hooked a fish, a small bluefin tuna. All the men ate tuna sashimi and ceviche. Quite a few sail changes were needed to keep us above seven knots. Tout l’Amour won the quizz convincingly so they host tomorrow. The northerners, Hermann, Tim and Sjaak, enjoyed the sun but it’s too strong for me without full clothing coverage. Ships are rare now as are birds. Only one or two frigate birds buzz us.

We were on dinner duty again. I cooked hot, wet rice, otherwise known as mushroom and pea risotto, in the pressure cooker according to Dan’s recipe. It was quite tasty. Hermann cooked the accompanying roast chicken thighs for the carnivores.

Day Six Our ‘halfway to halfway’ day started cloudy with light winds so down came the jib and up went the small spinnaker again. Hermann has conjunctivitis. Dan will ask one of the onboard doctors during the daily 10am fleet sched which topical antibiotic is best so Hermann can start taking something. At the moment he is stoic but most parts blind and in some discomfort.

We celebrated reaching the halfway to St Helena milestone with hot showers. The rest of the time it’s a quick, cold wash or when it’s really rough, a French shower (baby wipes). I was excited to be able to wash my hair which had attained the texture of matted straw.

We won the daily quizz which means we host again. Much time is spent devising quizz questions.

Nothing eventful on our night watch apart from a large flying fish landing in the cockpit. It was pitch black and all I could hear was a slapping sound. The fish was as long as two of my hands. Took me two attempts but I got it safely back over the side. They are the fishiest of fish, requires two hand washes to remove the smell

Day Seven I managed the longest sleep so far, five hours. Exhaustion is the best soporific. I heard nothing of another blue fin tuna being landed, or the new, colourful, larger spinnaker going up. The winds were fickle, as low as nine knots necessitating the bigger kite to keep us moving. At one stage we had to change from port to starboard tack, quite a task as the spinnaker had to come down, be stuffed back in its bag then flown once again.

Hermann’s eyes are clearing up well thanks to the topical antibiotic cream.

Today is Dan’s 36th birthday. We celebrated with South African bubbles, carrot cake baked and iced by Sjaak, a clever card drawn by Tim (who is also our resident blogger on the Skyelark site) and signed by us all, and a new sketch book that Tim happened to have spare. I contributed a yellow ribbon. Tim cooked Dan’s favourite dinner of roast lamb and roast potatoes and a party atmosphere prevailed.

Our quizz questions seemed a bit too hard for the contestants today, but Lexington was the clear winner. I suspect they somehow manage an internet connection as there’s almost always about a 45 second delay before they respond correctly to the harder questions. Hmmm….

Up until today I’ve been a bit apprehensive about how exposed to the ocean I am. Even lying on my bunk, which is well below deck, I hear an unnerving loud rush of water passing my ears just a few centimetres away. I’m acutely aware that I am one tiny person on a small boat on a vast expanse of blue nothingness. When those feelings hit me I talk sternly to myself, reminding myself that I chose this adventure precisely to stretch myself.

Night watches are still confronting, but today I started to relax into the emptiness a little. Hermann and I have established an easy routine which we conduct almost entirely in silence. We’re aware that Dan and Em’s cabin window is only centimetres away and they deserve their rest. Either Hermann or I sit behind the instruments lit up for ease of reading, monitoring the wind speed, direction and our course like a hawk. We have standing orders from Dan and if we hit those limits we are to wake him. The other one sits well in front of the instruments constantly scanning 360 degrees for lights of other vessels and approaching squalls.

Every half hour one of us goes below to the chart table to check the AIS for problematic vessels then we change posts. After three hours on duty we hand over to the next watch and take turns writing the ship’s log. And so on and so on. Time passes neither quickly nor slowly, it just passes.

Day Eight Another good night’s sleep, five and a half hours between midnight and 6am and a further two hours after coming off watch at 9am. More sea creatures leaped into the boat overnight, a tiny flying fish and a small squid with a huge blue eye. Both sadly expired by the time we realised they were there. Bright green fluorescent patches pass in our wake. Dan tells me these are clumps of tiny, luminous squid.

I don’t mean to jinx myself but I think I truly have my sea legs. I’ve dispensed with the acupressure bands and the Scopolomine skin patches will have worn off. I can sit below reading and writing this in the constant side to side rolling motion caused by the goosewing sail set up.I am hopeful this is the case as the medications cause dry mouth and make me a little dozey.

I heard a flurry of activity when I was showering. A shackle broke on a guy and had to be replaced. Conditions are good with a fairly steady Tradewind behind us. Dan later calculates there was a period of four days without a sail change!

The temperature is warming to shorts and tshirt by day now we are north of the Tropic of Capricorn, but we still need full kit for night watch.

Owl hosted the quizz today. Our crew won convincingly with everyone contributing winning answers. Nicely done team!

Day Nine: During midnight watch two more flying fish landed with thuds in the cockpit and when the sun came up we found another two expired on the deck. This only happens at night so I deduce it is a night vision problem. This little fellow lay unnoticed by all except Em who has an aversion to fish of all kinds.

It’s now less than 500 nautical miles to St Helena. Dan received an email from Stuart (this service is to be used for emergencies) with some good news about Tristan’s house and Stu’s request for my itunes password. Some things never change!

Our brains trust blitzed the 4pm fleet quizz hosted by Solo. We have a clear numbers and diversity advantage. When Em is on the radio mike she often guves the other boats a ten second advantage before she answers for us.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. I am not sure I will ever totally adjust to the severe sideways rolling motion. The wind is too strong to fly the spinnaker which would stabilise the boat considerably. Despite the rollicking motion Hermann and I cooked his favourite meal for the carnivores, steak with potato gratin. I had baked sweet potato, baked beans and peas.

Day Ten: Our 3am to 6am watch was especially gusty, with wind speeds up to 24 knots. We made 26 nautical miles. Em always takes over from us. Poor woman got smacked in the face by a flying fish as it leapt on board. Of all the people to hit it chose the one most likely to freak out!

It’s started dull and grey. Apart from our fleet zero vessels have been visible on AIS for days. As we’re only a day and night away from St Helena (Tradewinds willing) we’ve started reading up on the island and planning our activities ashore for the three days we hope to layover. We won the quizz prepared by Arabella, but several of the questions set by its Russian crew were too hard. Justifiable revenge for all our Anglo Saxon-oriented factoids. We’re currently in second place on this leg behind Arabella, however have yet to factor in the hours we motored early on.

My preferred sail config.

Day Eleven: Uneventful night watches except that this time it was Hermann who got smacked by a flying fish in the cockpit. He doesn’t like picking them up so I do the necessary. By midday we can make out the outline of St Helena island, one of Earth’s most remote places. Land ho!

As we got closer the sea became more unsettled and the wind picked up, especially when we came into the acceleration zone. Down comes the mainsail and we sail with only jib for the final two hours. The boat’s motion is all over the place and my seasickness returns with a vengeance. Too late to do anything about it so I nap off watch and nibble dry crackers.

With Dan and Em’s blessing I’ve decided to spend the three days we have at St Helena on shore in a Jamestown hotel. With the prospect of another ten or eleven days of ocean sailing to reach Brazil I am in dire need of a complete night’s sleep and a bit of pampering. Plus I can experience the island more fully staying ashore. The rest of the crew will need to take a water taxi from the anchorage every time they want to come on land and back.

We arrive in Jamestown Harbour at 1:45pm local time (we gain two hours with the time difference) and pick up a mooring line next to Arabella. On adjusted time we beat them! I quickly pack my overnight bag, we tidy the boat and have a celebratory tot of rum (except Em who only drinks Bubbly) before two smartly uniformed St Helena customs and quarantine officers arrive by water taxi. They introduce themselves as Dell-Marie and Jerome. They could not be more pleasant and the paperwork is done swiftly. Once they’ve dealt with another yacht that came in just after us (not on the World ARC) the officers return to give us a ride to the wharf.

Solid ground feels far from solid as I lurch about like a drunken sailor. I’m not sure which is worse, the tossing of the boat or this discombobulating sensation of the earth rising up with each step.

Our first stop is immigration where another kindly official checks our passports, landing cards and medical insurance documents. St Helena is the only territory where the latter is a condition of entry, understandable given that is one of the most remote places on the planet. I’m cleared for entry first and am thus free to take off on my own. I am off the clock after eleven days at sea!

Captivated: Cape Town and Cape Point, South Africa

Two full days touring in Cape Town was an ideal start to my Trans-Atlantic crossing from Cape Town to Brazil, on the 51-foot yacht, Skyelark of London.

I stayed at Victoria House in Kenilworth, a well to do suburb just south of Cape Town centre. Owner-Manager Corinne swapped her law practice in France for a chateau-style turreted mansion with extensive gardens and pool. Her equally French husband, Jean-Francois, has a hair salon in the city. My ensuite guest bedroom (one of five) was huge. The period enamel claw foot tub was tempting but Cape Town is in the grip of a dire drought, they’re predicted to run out of reservoir water some time in March this year.

I wish I’d had more time to chill in Kenilworth, I felt safe walking to the local restaurants at night and Corinne’s vegan breakfasts were epic. But I was on a mission.

Aldo, co-owner of Green Cape Tours was both driver and guide for my long-planned expeditions. Another of Skyelark’s crew for the crossing, Tim, a fit, easygoing chap from the UK, joined me.

On the first day Aldo drove us almost completely around the Cape and into the Nature Reserve. Aldo is of Italian heritage with deep roots in South Africa. First stop was Simon’s Town, 35k south of Cape Town on the eastern sweep of the Cape, with its palm trees, historic harbour and attractive period architecture. A group of kids were in the midst of a stand up paddle board lesson on the beach.

Then it was on to Cape Point via a windswept, white sand beach on the west where wild emus pecked through grasses.

Queues to enter the park can back up kilometres so Aldo was keen to get us there as early as possible. An orderly line had already formed to have photos taken behind the sign reading ‘Cape of Good Hope, the most south westerly point of the African Continent’.

We obediently waited our turn.

A fifteen minute climb up to the point brought us to Cape Lighthouse with panoramic coastal views. This is the spot so many sailors have strained their eyes to see. I imagined myself out there in the wild blue yonder under sail on the majestic Atlantic Ocean just two days hence. Felt surreal.

Leaving the Reserve we dropped down to Boulder Beach on the southern edge of Simon’s Town to see its healthy colony of African Penguins. I could have watched these little creatures all day. They have such big personalities for such tiny birds and no fear of humans. They are still on the endangered species list, but since trawler fishing was dramatically reduced in False Bay the penguins numbers have bounced back.

A quick lunch stop in Kalk Bay and it was on to Muizenberg, the surfing mecca, and thence to Hout Bay for gelati for the boys.

The M6 road on the western side of the Cape reminded me of the Amalfi Coast. A spectacular, narrow road with passing bays in places, built into the side of sheer cliff face, it is constantly crumbling. Signs at both ends warn that you are driving it at your own risk. I’m glad to have done it once but won’t be in a hurry to repeat it.

Llandudno looks like a pretty beachside enclave, much less built up than Camps Bay or Clifton where large, expensive, concrete houses with huge view windows sit in serried rows facing west. This is where the moneyed come to relax and play.

On the second day Aldo, Tim and I tackled a hike to the top of Table Mountain starting in Kirstenbosch (botanical gardens). The Gardens alone are well worth visiting (65 rand entry) but we couldn’t tarry, the longer we took to reach the top the hotter it would be.

The trail Aldo chose for us begins as Skeleton’s Gorge (Aldo didn’t know why it was called that but I can guess). The first hour and a half is under canopy, continuously climbing. The path is well maintained except for a section above a tiny waterfall where a large tree has come down and walkers are forced to clamber up rocks. A dousing in the waterfall cooled me off nicely!

Seven step ladders help hikers navigate another section above the waterfall.

The final hour and a half up along Smuts Track to the moonscape of the highest point, Maclear’s Beacon at 1808 metres, is mostly in full sun with masses of colourful wildflowers and panoramic views.

From here it’s an easy stroll along the top via some cliff edges to the upper cable car station and an extensive cafe-restaurant terrace. Time taken 4 hours, but that route can be done in three. We celebrated by rehydrating with fresh orange juice and water.

Tim in green shirt and Aldo in blue.

We’d hiked Table Mountain on January 4, one of the busiest days of the year. After the quiet and beauty of the trail, passing just a few people, the beer drinking, ice cream eating madding crowds around the cable car station were a shock to the senses.

By the time we joined the queue waiting to take the cable car down it was winding back down the path we’d just come. Despite the hour wait to catch the cable car the expedition was well worth it. Tim reminded me it is one of the world’s Seven Natural Wonders and justifiably so.

Cable car tickets are sold online and crowd control is pretty good considering we were tourists from all over the world. I don’t recommend walking both ways, your knees and quads will be very unhappy next day.

Aldo kindly drove Tim and me to collect our bags from our separate accommodation and deposited us at the V & A Marina where Skyelark, our home for the next month, was berthed.

Here she is with co-skipper Em on deck and next door Sandvita’s crew member mending their sail.

The V & A is a popular upmarket accommodation, food, shopping and entertainment complex on the waterfront. Every few metres I came across different buskers; a gospel choir, a male step group, musicians and inevitably a statue man. This one was in the middle of an embrace with a friend. His silver paint rubbed off on her face. They were both oblivious.

I had a final chilled beer in the food court with a super spicy Thai green curry. It would be my last alcohol until St Helena. Not a boat rule, one drink a day is the quota set by Dan, the skipper. I just figure this is a good opportunity to eat well and avoid alcohol. I will need all my wits about me!

When I strolled back to the boat a seal had taken possession of a finger pontoon next to ours. He’s fat and relaxed and looks right at home, like he’s channelling zen vibes. A good totem for me at exactly that moment.

Big thanks to Aldo and his son Vinnie for looking after us so well. Aldo and Vinnie run Green Cape Tours http://www.greencapetours.com