We cleared customs and immigration easily enough, topped up our fresh provisions, lugged on another jerry canful of fresh water, spent our last handful of Namibian dollars at tourist the tat stand and slipped the mooring at 11:05. We followed the tourist boat track the five miles out to Pelican Point to see the large seal herd, and there are a lot of of them. From a 100ft off the beach they were easy to see lolling, frolicking, fighting and, from that close, stinking.
The route out through the anchorage was filled with oil service ships and a handful of rigs all waiting for the Saudis to finish their price war of attrition so they can go back to work off Angola and turn a buck.
Twenty miles out we cleared the costal fog belt into clear sunshine. When I came up on watch at 3:00am we were 100 miles gone under a cloudy moonlit sky. Only 1,100 n.miles to go as the crow flies, somewhat more to sail since the autopilot is set to keep a fixed angle to the wind, and the wind is anything but fixed.
Tuesday brought decent winds and a consistent 10 knot boat speed.
Wednesday we managed a 200 mile day, depending on how you measure it. We travelled 200 miles in 24 hours through the water, somewhat less in a straight line point to point. Somewhat less again if you measure how much closer we are to St Helena. We could phave padded the numbers by measuring local noon to local noon and still keep a straight face. We have left the cold water of the Benguela current; life is much more comfortable in 64°F water than in 54°F. A 20 knot wind on the beam makes for decent speed and easy course keeping without futzing with sails.
Thursday, dreams of 200 mile days die as the wind fades and wanders. Looking at our track you might wonder what we'd been smoking. These light winds aren't good for much except dozing, if you can ignore the fussing spinnaker arguing with the boat about just who is the tail and who is the dog.
We are 500 miles out, and the birds have left us. When there is little else going on, the birds are a mesmerising diversion. There have usually been a handful in sight, around four to five feet wingspan, endlessly swooping deep into the wave troughs and soaring off the crests into effortless high sweeping arcs in their search for their next morsel. They are as sleek and spare as you can imagine.
Friday? Meh!
Saturday the spinnakers' halyard jammed. We hauled Zeke-of-the-iron-constitution up the mast to have a look and he found it iritrieveably jammed down the side of the sheave. He detached the spinnaker to drop it onto the deck and we had to be quick to stop the whole thing going over the side. Zeke was a bit green by the time he got down. The spinnakers make big difference to our speed, particularly in lighter winds.
The closer we got to St Helena the less wind wind we had and the slower we went. It seemed that we would never actually arrive; stuck somewhere between Zeno and Sysiphus.
We did manage to cross the prime meridian, zero degrees longitude, Zeke chucked himself over the side to celebrate and felt much better for it. Towards the end of the day the sun came out and we passed a pod (a gam?) of six or so whales, a nice end to a slow day.
Sunday, another slow day. Warm and humid to start, hot and sunny afternoon with windy rarely above 8 knots, running the engine until the drone is too much then under sail.
Monday was another fine and sunny day, light winds and five knots under the spinnaker now raised on the screecher halyard, the furled screecher itself now wrapped around the length of the deck like some captive anaconda
Tuesday at dawn St Helena finally emerged from the low grey cloud. Steep sided and unwelcoming like some lost world in a Victorian penny dreadful, its tops lost in the murk. All it needed was a few pterodactyls.
Arrival brought a clear cool sunny day, easy entry formalities, and 1990's internet. The pictures are again going to have to wait.
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