1st to 24th December 2023

Reluctantly I left La Gomera in early December. I don’t know why I left. Why exchange the comforts of living securely among friends in a beautiful place, why swap for the uncomfortable, sleepless realities and hazards of more ocean sailing? La Gomera has so much that I love: warm hearted people, familiar friendly places, fine beaches, pretty villages and of course those amazing mountain walks.The Atlantic Ocean fills me with awe and trepidation, and though I’ve now crossed it alone several times, I know it to be majestic and beautiful but also sometimes alarming, always exhausting.

No one ordered me to leave. Just some infernal demonic personal driver told me to move and make life more difficult than it need be! As John Masefield put it, “I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky….” I suppose.

Thought I should go to South America this time. I’d not sailed there before. Nothing beats the excitement and challenges of completely new destinations. All South American countries had been closed when I passed that way en route from South Africa to the Caribbean during pandemic restrictions in early 2021.

So, to get me on my way from the Canaries I sailed south a few hundred miles to the Cape Verde islands. Being far enough south to have pretty reliable Trade Winds, Cape Verde is well placed for deciding where to go next. I’d been here eight years earlier on my first sail to the Caribbean. I’d especially loved wonderful music and the youthful exuberance of the place.

Cape Verde is one of Africa’s friendliest and easiest countries; and its Portuguese colonial heritage is evident in language and bits of architecture. It seems still to have a foot in Europe. The archipelago was uninhabited till first visited by Portuguese explorer navigators in the fifteenth century. It subsequently became a hub in the slave trade routes from West Africa, and over three million slaves passed through on their horrendous journeys to Brazil, and later to the Caribbean.

Nowadays smiling friendly people help make it an increasingly popular tourist destination. It seems better off than it was when I first visited; more bars and restaurants and souvenir shops. Music is still central to life; high-quality, high-volume sound systems insist we tap our feet and roll our hips. The dogs are still mostly khaki-coloured mongrels though; they pant and scratch in the tropical dust, but they do seem better fed than in days gone by.

After brief visits to the Cape Verde islands of Sal and Boa Vista, and with some fresh cabbages, I sailed on southwards. I had my exit paperwork with next port of call given as Montevideo. (When completing exit paperwork it was the only place I could think of in Uruguay. Though even then I doubted if I’d get that far in one hop. I’d probably stop somewhere in Brazil for fresh food.)

In case you wondered ‘why Uruguay?’, the reason is that my outline plan suggested heading for the River Plate (a base for seeing Buenos Aires and Montevideo and more of Argentina & Uruguay). Once there I would have a choice: either turn left, South to Patagonia and Chile for the end of the summer when conditions are favourable, or turn right, North to Brazil, Guyanas, Surinam etc.. during the south’s early winter months when winds are supposed to be more helpful.

The first few days sailing south out of Cape Verde were not pleasant. Wind was fine, though too strong for comfort. Sea a bit confused. Progress was good, covering around 150 miles a day.

But visibility was awful. Fine sand from the Sahara filled the air and coated everything in fine light brown grit. All ropes, hatches, winches, cabin surfaces turned a reddish brown. The rigging was covered, and everything felt grubby and gritty. While I knew that many beautiful beaches in Canaries and Cape Verde owe their existence to thousands upon thousands of years of wind-blown Sahara sand, I had not expected it to be so dense for so long in the few days I was around. By now I was over 600 miles from the Sahara Desert, and still felt Henrietta was carrying a lot of desert to South America.

Sand and dust! I could see little more than a mile. It was like sailing in sea mist or big city smog; the horizon uncomfortably close. Heaven forbid if there were any little fishing vessel that I’d miss if I went below to cook or doze. Anxiety levels ran high. And the dust was so thick that it limited the sunlight reaching my all-important solar panels, so not enough battery power. 

But, enough of this, it was just another sailing experience that I’d not had before. I was really looking forward to rain to wash away the grime. There’re bound to be heavy rain squalls once I get nearer the equator and into the doldrums, I thought.

Sure enough, just north of the equator lightning filled the sky, wind howled and heavy rain gushed down, we roared through the night. Henrietta and I had a thorough wash! An hour later it was calm, super hot wallowing calm. Typical ITCZ (Doldrum) weather. And so it continued for another day or two, rain, wind, rolling calm, intense heat, lightning. It was pretty tiring.

Suddenly BANG! 

BIG TROUBLE arrived on 24th December, Christmas Eve.

I’ll tell you more next time…..