Boating

It was a slightly inauspicious start. A lovely but very 'feely' Welsh-German couple (Marcus and Alena), Lisa and I had decided that we couldn't really afford to wait and see if the Ilala ever showed up again, and so would try and leave the following day. Not knowing what time anything (if it ever did) was going to happen, we reluctantly decided that we had to leave early. So we were up at 4am to pack up and walk across the island with all our cr*p, so as to arrive t the 'port' in time for the earliest time somebody had guessed at: 6am. And it was whilst packing up that Marcus managed to get stung by a scorpion. Somehow he also managed to capture it in a plastic bottle. The night watchman was found (amazingly, the first night watchman I have come across in Africa who was not drunk or asleep or both), and the question asked of him 'Is it dangerous?'. 'YES' came the shrieked reply, which did not necessarily have the required calming affect on the happy couple. 'Is it poisonous?' Alena then asked after a short pause. 'Oh no', came the reply from the guard. Apparently, Marcus would live.

Starting the walk in darkness through snake and scorpion infested long grass on a steep hill was not ideal, but we managed to walk all the way across without further incident, arriving at the docking area to discover.... Nothing. The boat was gone. B*llox. I had got out of bed at 4am for this???

A much much smaller boat stood on the other-side, and it was soon ascertained that it was also heading to Nkhata Bay, and at 6 'o' clock. Perhaps our luck wasn't as bad as all that. And having agreed a fare, at the astonishing time of 6:03 (so punctual that by African standards it was at least 2hours early) the Emmanuel headed out with about 30 of us on board. Nobody seemed to have the faintest idea where the boat had come from, but that wasn't really any of our concern.

Leaving Likoma, blissfully unaware of what would happen next

After a leisurely trip around the southern end of Likoma, we did start to ponder certain other small questions: Was the boat seaworthy? Where the heck did those waves come from and is my head supposed to be getting continually drenched by them? And wasn't that bag now floating rapidly away on the Lake, on our boat a few seconds ago? That sort of thing. To be fair, it wasn't really all that rough by standards of some places I have been. However, when you are on a small boat, being listing by well over a metre and your feet are getting wet - and basically in the Lake - every few seconds, it felt pretty bad. I was sitting on the metal hatch in the centre on the boat, the only person not crammed around its edge or on the (singular) seat, which mean't that I had nothing to hold on to and was thus sliding around like a giraffe on a skidpan: I was petrified that I would accidentally slide into somebody and push them overboard, though at least that would mean more room for me...

An hour or so of increasingly worse bobbing about and some of the people were becoming antsy. Many of the locals were, erm, not that happy at the state of affairs, although the mzungu's – who were not used to boats of any size – were taking it much worse. I was by far the calmest of the 6 mzungu's on board but that is not really saying allot, and the though of traveling another 6-8-? hours across open lake in this wind and waves was not my idea of fun, especially on a small boat with no seats, nothing to hold on to and no safety equipment. Lake Malawi is large enough to get some very bad – and changeable weather – and small boats are lost with alarming regularity. Marcus seemed to be taking it worse, or at least the most vocally, and it was probably by seeing him (Marcus is a former Cardiff Blues rugby player, and thus not a small man), the biggest of the Mzungus so scared and constantly shouting at the captain, that helped them relax a bit. In general terms, providing there is somebody more scared than you, you will be OK and can calm down a bit. And Marcus was very definitely scared.

Much calmer by now, but stilll some unhappy Mzungu's....

Eventually, it was announced that we were going to go and moor on Chizi to await the wind and conditions hopefully calming down. Whether the captain was going to anyway, I really don't know, but i would say that the threat of physical harm and potential hijacking of the boat by Marcus may have possibly helped his decision making process... So 2.5hours and ll of 11km later, we were back on Chizumulu.

From there, it wasn't so bad. Though it sure as heck was not calm, when we resumed our voyage a couple of hours later (after some very scared mzungu's had almost abandoned and opted to stay on Chizi for as long a needed, and having gained another 15 or so locals to another vocal discussion on overloading involving the crew and certain Mzungu's), our heavily laden small boat made its way back across Mozambique territorial waters to the mainland fairly easily. A few sketchy moments and occasional refreshing wetness to be sure, but apart from being cramped into a horribly uncomfortable small corner for 6hours, not too bad.

Relaxed locals on the approach to Nkhata Bay

I doubt many people have been so pleased to arrive at Nkhata Bay a some of the passengers on our boat were.

The Malawian shipping company had published an advert in the national papers a few weeks earlier (I had not seen it), basically saying that the Ilala is not seaworthy and that everybody travels on her at their own risk: EG – Don't blame or sue us when it sinks. If and when she does go down (pretty much everybody agrees that it is inevitable, though everybody hopes it never comes to that) it will be a tragedy on a huge scale and there will be massive loss of life. And it will, due to a complete lack of alternatives around lead, doubtlessly, to any number of similar crossings on small boats. Lets just say that i'm happy that i've visited Lake Malawi now, and didn't drown to tell the tale.

The Emmanuel, our vessel, at Nkhata Bay and (bottom) the remains of that orange thing was the only thing vaguely resembling a life jacket on the entire boat

I've conjugated my last Saint verb (I is, you is, we is, he is, she is, it is, they is, us is). I've sadly eaten my last coconut finger and plate of pilau, and drunk my last shipwreck. I'm back aboard the RMS St. Helena, and the island slowly fades from view. It is bathed in glorious evening sun and the dolphins are playing around the ship.

Damned i'm going to miss this place.

I never really had any idea what to expect before I headed to the Island. Part of me was literally sh1t scared at the thought of being stuck on such a small remote lump of rock for so long (as a comparison, the 4mnths i spent on the island is the longest spell i have been in any one country for well over 10years, and even 3month spells have been very rare) and I had visions of hating it so badly that I would be attempting to leave within 3days by swimming and aiming for Brazil (for those that are unaware, my swimming technique is generally known a drowning and i am unable to even float unaided). But Iloved it.

So beautiful, so friendly, so rewarding, so fulfilling. I can't even give a specific high point a there have been so many. It truly is an amazing little island. And there is so much I haven't yet managed to do. And yes, i'm already plotting how and when i can go back. Hopefully for a longer stay.

As for now, It is time to leave. I have things do, people to meet and new places to explore. The next episode of the adventure starts here.

(((with apologies for the huge delay in entries. I've been lacking such luxuries as electricity and internet for teh last 6weeks or so. Hopefully more entries will follow in the next day or so)))

Every couple of years, the Governors Cup Yacht Race takes place. A number of hardy souls set out from Cape Town with the aim of sailing the 1700ishmiles to St. Helena as quickly as possible. Actually making it is a major achievement. Under 8 days is a great time, and 10 days very good. But to do that, of course, requires that you get a bit of wind....

Which they didn't get.

This years yachts headed out of Cape Town on January 29th, and many could still see Table mountain a few days later. Let's just say that it was not a great year for wind which, to be fair, is a reasonably important requirement for most yachts. All of which mean't that the first yacht to cross the line until almost 13days later: in a previous race, everybody had finished quicker than that.

But apart from that, it went quite well. A couple of boats broke stuff (one turned back, another ended up getting a tow) and a couple of skippers broke things (ribs, mostly), whilst of the two boats of particular relevance to Saint Helena – Diddakoi, wholly owned and crewed by Saints, and Patches, crewed by RMS St. Helena crew including Saints – also did pretty well: Diddakoi came second on handicap, whilst Patches more or less won everything going except being first to arrive in James Bay, includingg winning overall on Handicap.

For us on St. Helena, it was an interesting diversion: Race updates were frequently given on the radio, and the yacht club put on a number of events as well. Add that to the fact that two other races: A Cape Town - Bahia (Brazil) race and the Heineken World Arc race were both on at the same time, and all of sudden the sleepy little harbour (which normally might get 1 or 2 yachts a week) was suddenly overrun with yachts. It was great!

Yachts in James Bay, and the RMS ST. Helena leaving after taking a sweep past the yachts.

But the very best thing about the whole event, however, was that on the final day, most of the yachts headed out on a bay race and allowed locals etc to sign up and join the crews and go for a sail. I've spent a fair amount of time on boats – ferries of all sizes, cargo vessels, warships, fishing vessels, motor-yachts, dinghies, Chinese Junks and even submarines, but I have never actually been on a proper sailing yacht before. So, of course, i signed up.

And absolutely loved it. We had been out for maybe 20minutes by the time I had realised that this truly was the life and that I had to get myself either a crewing job or buy a yacht pronto. After 30minutes, I was pondering resorting to piracy: knock the 2 crew of Little Red Wing overboard, and then just continue sailing off into the distance (or, rather, as I had only the vaguest idea how things worked, attempt to continue sailing). Perhaps wisely, if regretfully, i decided against this course of action.

Little Red Wing, who took us out for a sail

Out on the water

This ferro-concrete replica of a Chinese Junk just happened to turn up at the same time, and made an interesting diversion to sail past

The prize giving ceremony

The Bridge radar scan when anchored in Georgetown Bay

It's a bit strange. Leaving Ascension, the mood aboard is very different. Though we only gained a few new passengers, the balance seems to suddenly be very different. The sky is mostly semi-overcast, and though still hot, we've seen very little sun for a couple of days now. The general feeling is now almost one of almost anger that we are so close yet so far, and people are becoming withdrawn. Everybody knows it's only just a couple of days more, but instead of anticipation, we seem to have more frustration that we aren't there yet. It's very odd.

Loading luggage onboard from the pontoons; Georgetown, Ascension Islands capital city; the pontoons departing having done the job, and the piranha-like blackfish. Not tasty for humans, but hungry and lots of the blighters

Ascension itself is an interesting if strange place. Effectively it is one big transit lounge, and added to the status and types of people that live there, it just doesn't seem quite right. It also fulfills a number of very special roles: It's a major hub in the transatlantic and South Africa to Europe communication cable networks, once of crucial significance. It's a major repeater station for the BBC world service, and is one of the base stations for the worlds GPS system, and has also been a NASA tracking station amongst much else. Having said that, even though i had barely an hour ashore in daylight, it looks varied and in places beautiful, and certainly some areas would be worthy of more time and exploration, particularly Green Mountain. I kind of doubt that I will ever go back, but it certainly wouldn't be the end of the world if i was to one day get stuck there for a couple of days.

Watching Ascension disappear into the background, some of the Geology and strata of the North east coast around Boatswain Bird Island, and this happy fellow who flew alongside us - with the Dolphins again coming out to play as we departed - for some time before getting bored

I am spending my last couple of days as I have most of the rest. Some reading, some talking, and a chunk of just milling around and watching the sea slide by. There were however, a couple of new diversions: First up, a tour of the engine rooms and ships belly - despite obviously being huge, I was surprised at how small the diesels actually are, whilst my abiding memory is one of amazement at just how many pipes and electrical cables there are down below. I also tried, unsuccessfully to solve some of the little mysteries that the ship had given me, such as 'What happened to the clock above the pool which suddenly disappeared?' (it's in pieces being fixed) and why does the lift show a maximum of 8psg and 600kgs on the top floor, but 8psg and 630kgs on the other 2 floors?? (gravity? stupidity? It remains entirely unknown - none of the ship's staff had ever noticed it before. At least I have the satisfaction that it will now annoy certain other people, and not just myself!)

Slightly bizarrely, we were also given a full rollcall and lifeboat drill. Now, call me picky, but why the heck you wait for the last 24hours of a 16day trip to hold such a drill was a little beyond me. Whilst i freely accept that we had been joined by some new passengers (15) at Ascension, that didn't really help the exiting 91 who had been on the ship the whole way and through both much busier sea lanes and choppy seas where there may have been more cause for concern. Oh well. Who am i to tell these people what to do?

The waters are choppier than they have been, and with Captain Young seemingly in a hurry to get home, we are still barreling along at a great rate of knots without any stabilisers (well, stabiliser, as the other one fell off during a recent dry dock overhaul, and hasn't been re-attached). By all accounts, we will even be a few hours early. As for me and my mood, it's also a bit strange. Some anticipation, some excitement, some relief, some sadness and some anxiety. But regardless of all that, i'm inching relentlessly closer to St. Helena, this almost mythical Island I have been hearing about for so damned long.

Roll on tomorrow.

Above: Nobody ever explained what this marker mean't (it used to mean plague...) when it suddenly appeared on a cabin door, and below, position plotted. We're finally almost home!

At 09:37 on Saturday 18th October, we crossed the equator. Toilets stopped in mid flush and started swirling in the opposite direction. In practical terms, it means absolutely nothing except we are marginally closer to our destination than an hour before. We are about as far from land as we will be on the run to St. Helena, and on the bridge the ship tracker shows not a single vessel within 250nautical miles.

In reality though, it make a huge difference. In nautical history, crossing the line is a major psychological boost, and for hundreds of years, the ceremony of crossing the line has been performed at sea. Historically, it is performed on anybody crossing for the first time (this includes navy vessels) and whilst there is no fixed routine, you will generally get tarred, feathered, and dunked at the very least. At the very least, you will get very, very messy.

For us, we didn't get the chance to decide, and 3names were chosen at random (plus the kids), and I admit to being amazed that I wasn't on there. Andy, Caroline and Protiea were good sports, and the officers led by Neptune Queen of the Sea, let loose. Perhaps pictures are more appropriate here...