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| The anchorage at Palmeira |
By lunchtime we were awake enough to sort out our sails
properly and to try a new approach to downwind sailing inspired in part by an
idea in Don Street´s Cape Verde pilot.
The 150% roller-reefing genoa is fully extended, and sheeted through a
large snatch block on the end of the boom.
On the inner forestay we hoisted our “get us home” jib, a relatively
small jib that I had made a few years ago as a backup sail in the event of
dismasting – slightly heavier sailcloth, flattish cut, hank on luff. The jib is poled out slightly forward of the
beam using our shorter spinnaker pole.
Both sails were sheeted quite flat and led back to the blocks near the
stern we use for gennaker sheets.
The smaller jib seems to materially reduce induced roll, as
well as giving us an extra half knot or so.
The idea with this set up is also that we can reduce sail quite easily
if the wind pipes up – just roller-reef the genoa to reduce sail area. The jib would be fine in a lot of wind … I
think 45kts, maybe more … so if we were caught in a nasty squall by rolling the
genoa all the way in we have a manageable amount of sail area.
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| Fresh garoupa |
Our speed on the passage averaged 6.7kts, a very respectable
performance for Otra Vida, with classic trade winds of 16-28 kts true at our
backs. We felt that we were speeding
towards a small new beginning: when landfall came we would no longer be in
Europe. When will Otra Vida next see Europe?
I have no idea. Perhaps 5 years,
perhaps 20 years. There is, literally, a
whole world in front of us. After the
Cape Verdes group we’ll cross to northern Brazil – a new continent, new
countries, new cultures, new people to meet, new food to eat. So much to learn, so much to revel in.
3 ½ days into our passage we passed 20N, for me the mental delimiter
of the tropics. At 4.30am it didn´t feel
tropical, with an air temperature of about 20C, although the humidity in the
cabin notched up from 72% to 80% and cushions felt slightly wet to the touch. The old sailing directions for crossing the
Atlantic to the Caribbean are to sail south until the butter melts, then turn
right. The butter is still solid, and
shorts-and-t-shirt night watches haven´t arrived yet, but they are not far
away.
It felt like our first proper ocean passage since returning
from the Caribbean. The difference is
the remoteness. From Rabat to the
Canaries we sailed about 500nm, but the route parallels the coast of Morocco
some 20-30nm offshore for the first third, and on that portion you can see
lighthouses and city lights at night.
This passage, on the other hand, was 200nm+ offshore for the whole of
its 760nm – definitely an ocean passage between islands.
We saw almost no traffic.
Just one freighter and one large passenger liner, and nothing else showed
up on AIS at 48nm range the whole time.
We became a bit lazier in our watchkeeping, setting the radar on a 20
minute schedule scanning an 8nm radius from us.
We still kept our 100% live watch regime (of course) but the quick scan
of radar every time it beeps to life was the norm, with occasional visual
lookouts. There was just nothing out
there. Quite different from the last
time I was in this approximate area, crossing the Atlantic as part of the ARC,
when I knew there were another 250 or so pleasure boats reasonably close by.
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| Late night music in the salt pans |
The trade wind sailing was easy and lovely. With the new
downwind sail approach it was even more comfortable, and maybe half the time
the main cabin was so calm it felt like being at anchor, even though we were
speeding along at close to 7 knots. The
other half of the time we had some rolling, and it seemed to be caused by
apparently random changes in the wave patterns.
I say apparently random because I suspect it might have been related to
tidal flow, or perhaps a slight difference in wind angle, or wind
intensity. Even still, the rolling was
not so bad – we´ve been in worse anchorages.
Talking of anchorages, a big step forwards in comfort in the
Canaries was the use of flopper stoppers.
These are devices that reduce rolling at anchor considerably by
providing resistance in one direction only.
We started experimenting with the standard minimum, a bucket filled with
water suspended from the boom just at sea level. When the boat heels away from the bucket, the
bucket and water are lifted out, providing say 10kg of weight, whereas when the
boat heels towards the bucket, the bucket is submerged and is almost neutral in
weight. Even this has a good effect on
rolling. There are a few designs of
flopper stoppers that build on this concept, including a triangle weighted at
the tip that dives down, an ingenious proprietary metal folding device, a milk
crate with a plastic flap on the bottom, and a metal grid with a plastic flap
on top. After building and testing several
options we settled on getting two quite large metal grids fabricated, and
covered them with mesh and plastic fabric with two slits. The result is remarkable. Untenably swelly anchorages suddenly become
acceptable – not just tolerable, but acceptable. I don’t know how we survived for so long
without them.
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| The view of the fish dock from our favourite bar |
We arrived in Palmeira, Sal at 10am local time, a passage of
just 4 days 18h for 762nm. The port is
wonderfully sheltered from the swell and waves generated by the trade winds,
but the wind itself blows over the low island and across the beach to where
Otra Vida is gently swinging to her anchor.
The water is green, the sky blue, a rusty freighter is being unloaded at
the dock by stevedores, the watermaker is happily chirping away, our dinghy
bobs around behind the boat, nothing much is going on and that is just how it
should be. We went ashore to sort out
formalities: finding the port policeman, who was apparently cycling around the
town, and then to the airport for immigration and visa stamps. Coming back we stopped at a bar on the
waterfront – a wonderful melange of yachties, travellers, fishermen and local
people. The French guy living on a boat
here with his Cape Verdian girlfriend and young kids, who came here a few years
ago on another sailboat, didn’t get on with the captain, and decided to
stay. A Cape Verdian women born in
Rotterdam, very sociable and somewhat drunk by noon, talking with everyone and
anyone. A Catalan delivery skipper,
Rafa, taking a Janneau to northern Columbia for a season. A local Rasta fisherman speaking good
Spanish, giving us advice on where to catch fish. Two French twenty-somethings, Tif and
Clement, who drove down to Dakar and came here on a sailboat, now looking for a
ride to the Caribbean. A Dutch guy
living on his boat here when he has money, and returning to Zeeland to work
when the money runs out. And a Brit and
an Estonian sipping landfall drinks and soaking it all in.
There’s a feeling of welcome here. The sea and sky welcome us, the stars shine
more brightly in the nighttime tropical sky.
It’s good to be in the tropics again!
Steamed Garoupa
- Clean the fish, cut incisions into the
flesh diagonally, rub with salt.
Place ginger and salt in the stomach cavity.
- Lay the fish on top of spring onions and
coriander stalks. Steam to a core
temperature of 45C.
- Remove the fish and glaze with hot
vegetable oil.
- Make a sauce of rice wine vinegar, soy
sauce, sesame oil, sugar and white pepper. Heat to just boiling then pour
over the fish.
- Garnish with julienne ginger, coriander
leaves, finely sliced spring onion, julienne chilli.
Serve with steamed rice.
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