One Girl One Dream

by Dekker, Laura

  Durban–Port Elizabeth: 420 nautical miles

  DAY 1: 17 November

  At first light I steer Guppy out of the harbour. It’s beautiful weather for a change, and once I’m in the strong Agulhas Current Guppy is running at a constant 10 knots. Thanks to the 5-knot current, she immediately breaks all previous speed records. As the coastline flies past, a whale thinks it’s funny to take a huge dive just 10 metres in front of Guppy’s bow. I almost jump out of my skin when this enormous beast, which is bigger than Guppy, showers us with half the sea! I immediately switch off the autopilot and dive inside, but by the time I manage to find the camera I see only a dark mass disappearing under Guppy’s keel. For hours afterwards, I think I spot a whale between every wave, but fortunately that’s not the case. At night I see the lights along the coastline passing by and occasionally need to adjust Guppy’s course to pass a fishing vessel.

  DAY 2: 18 November

  Towards morning, the favourable northerly wind suddenly drops away and a little later there’s a 20-knot wind from the south. With the 5-knot current from the north, these are not ideal conditions. The current causes the waves to build up fast. Guppy rises on a wave and then crashes into the next trough; time after time and wave after wave. Guppy is close-hauled and is only making 2 knots forward through the water, but with the current she’s running at 6 knots. I had checked the weather forecasts carefully and there had been no mention of a southerly wind. It’s impossible for a yacht to make any headway with a strong southerly wind, and, thanks to the Agulhas Current, south-westerly storms are able to stir up 20-metre waves and have taken quite a number of ships to the bottom of the ocean. Lost in thought I gaze at the sea, which is getting rougher by the minute. The violence continues all day, but the wind begins to drop by evening and the big waves are disappearing as quickly as they appeared. All that remains is a long, southerly ocean swell.

  I hope to reach Port Elizabeth tomorrow morning. I don’t really enjoy sailing along the coast single-handedly and there is little chance to sleep when you have to be on the lookout for ships, rocks and other hazards while holding your course. This is the second night and I’m beginning to long for more than 10 minutes’ sleep. It makes me appreciate how easy it was to sail on the big, wide, empty ocean.

  During the night I begin to feel more and more nauseous. I try to sleep a little with the radar alarms on full alert, but feel that I’m becoming more and more ill. I must have eaten something bad. I spend the whole night vomiting and feeling sick.

  DAY 3: 19 November

  After a long and tiring night, Port Elizabeth comes into sight as day breaks. Although I’m still tired, I’m slowly beginning to feel a little better, and a few hours later I’m steering Guppy safely into the harbour. It’s an old harbour and looks as though it’s been seriously damaged by a storm. After looking around a bit, I find an old fishing boat that I think Guppy can come alongside and tie up to.

  Port Elizabeth

  I fall asleep immediately and feel a lot better when I wake up a few hours later. In the afternoon I’m allocated a spot at the yacht club, which they are busy rebuilding after the last heavy storm. The last few bollards are being fixed onto the jetty when I arrive. The rest of the harbour looks dilapidated. The narrow, rusty jetties are half-submerged and everything is moving up and down due to the constant swell in the harbour. It’s all creaking and squeaking, but Guppy is lying safe and I fall asleep immediately.

  After a long, good night’s rest, there’s an early knock on the hull. It’s John from Iris, the neighbouring boat that came in a few hours after me yesterday. They ask if I’d like to go to the Addo Elephant Park, a 50-kilometre drive from here. Yes, of course! Guppy is well guarded here, and we walk into the city to hire a car to take us to this enormous park. The number of animals that are walking around in the wild is incredible. All of a sudden, we’re in front of a herd of elephants, followed by all the animals from The Lion King — warthogs, rhinos, ostriches, antelopes, kudus, buffalos, zebras and many more species. I’m enchanted! But the highlight really is the elephants. They come really close to the car and are incredibly big. Towards the afternoon we see a herd of at least a hundred elephants at a waterhole. Very impressive, and I’m thrilled that I went along.

  When we get back, there’s a strong wind from the south and people are very busy trying to keep the rickety jetties afloat in the harbour. There’s a strong swell, too, and the boats are straining at their lines. The wind velocity increases steadily and it’s impossible to walk straight across the jetties. Everything is creaking, squeaking and pitching, and Guppy is tugging hard at her moorings. A glance at the wind gauge shows that the average velocity over the past half-hour has been 47 knots; and this in the harbour. It continues throughout the night and I’m attaching extra lines and fenders, just like all the other yachties.

  For the moment, the wind doesn’t look like dropping or changing to a favourable direction, so it seems that Guppy and I will be kept here for a few more days. In the meantime, I’m amusing myself well with the other yachties, who are also waiting for better weather.

  The next morning I meet someone of my own age who wants me to go sailing with him in his boat. Although the wind has dropped to 30 knots in the meantime, there’s still way too much wind to manage a small boat on your own, and we therefore decide to try it together. It’s a very fast open boat, and I really feel like exerting myself. The boy is a fairly fanatical sailor and, despite the strong wind, we put up the spinnaker while running with the wind, which gives me a huge kick. It’s awesome to be constantly planing! At one stage we’re unable to hold the boat any longer and do a complete somersault.

  Without noticing, we’ve spent half the day sailing up and down the harbour while no one dared to leave. We’ve lost track of time, and it’s 18.30 by the time we put the boat away. Oops — I was expected at an early Thanksgiving dinner at the yacht club at 18.00 with some other yachties. My hair is still dripping when I hastily join the gathering 40 minutes late; perfect timing, as everyone is just placing their orders and the party is livening up.

  Port Elizabeth–Cape Town: 470 nautical miles

  DAY 1: 24 November

  At last an easterly wind has been forecast, after all the stormy westerly winds which had made it impossible to sail. So I cast off the mooring lines, and Guppy leaves Port Elizabeth to head west. Four other yachts follow my example. Once out of the bay, the sea is very rough and there’s a 25-knot headwind and big waves. Guppy is eager and scampers out, heeling through the waves, pretending to be a submarine. I’m accompanied by a big pod of dolphins that jump high above the waves with all kinds of acts and then plunge back into the sea. It’s really super to watch. Guppy soon increases her lead on the other yachts that are all either the same size or bigger than Gup. Once out at sea, it all goes really well and the wind drops a little. I have to make a course adjustment to round the Cape, and now have a beam wind. Once I’ve adjusted the course on the windvane, I feel like a nice mug of steaming hot chocolate. I get to the bottom of the steps and see — water. Because the deck has been constantly awash, water has found its way in to wet my books, cupboards, bed and sleeping bag. To find the cause, I unscrew a panel in the ceiling. The centre bollard on deck has taken such a beating from the storm in the harbour that it has pulled the bolts halfway through the deck, and because the deck is constantly underwater a good bit has now seeped in. The few hours of rough sailing have exacted their toll and, in order to save what I can, I throw most of my stuff to the other side of the cabin where everything is now one big, wet, salty mess. Hmm . . . In the meantime, Guppy is still sailing nice and fast, and the other yachts are mere dots on the horizon. It feels great to be out at sea again and to have rounding the Cape of Good Hope as my goal.

  The wind drops considerably during the night and, despite the busy shipping traffic, I’m able to sleep fairly well. In the middle of the night I spend hours at the back of the boat gazing at the phosphorescent wake. There’s an enormou
s quantity of phosphoresence in the water and not only is the wake alight with it, but the wave crests also give off a bright green glow. I’ve rarely seen it this beautiful!

  DAY 2: 25 November

  Towards morning, the wind drops and Guppy now glides on slowly at a mere 3 knots. But this does give me the opportunity to bring some order to the inside and to apply some sealant to the bollard now that the deck is no longer underwater. Hopefully this will temporarily solve Guppy’s leakage problem, as there are 30-knot winds forecast for the day after tomorrow.

  We are nearing Cape Agulhas, the most southerly point of South Africa. The better-known cape, the Cape of Good Hope, lies further north. Towards the afternoon I pass Cape Agulhas in the distance, and for the first time since my departure from the Netherlands I’m on a northerly course. Guppy is bearing down on the Cape of Good Hope in a strong 25-knot wind; it’s very cloudy and the visibility is poor, but this is actually how I’ve always envisaged it. It feels great to be rounding the Cape. It’s a stage of the voyage that I was dreading for some time, but at the same time have been looking forward to, and especially strived to reach. I suddenly see a helicopter appear through the clouds and circle over Guppy. Hmm . . . There’s a huge camera hanging from the helicopter, but fortunately the film seems to run out after about 15 minutes and the helicopter disappears into the clouds.

  When I access the weather charts, I see no reason for rejoicing: I’m heading for a rough night with a 35-knot wind and 5-metre waves. Good thing that I managed to get a lot of sleep today, so Guppy and I can simply go for it!

  DAY 3: 26 November

  It’s slowly getting darker and the wind speed is increasing by the hour. Guppy is sailing with only the storm jib and a double-reefed mainsail. It really needs a third reef, and I’m waiting for a good moment to go on deck. Yes, now! I throw open the hatch, jump out and quickly slam it closed behind me before the next wave can slip in. It’s pitch dark, and I can hear the raging waves breaking and see the phosphorescent, churning mass of water. There’s no way of seeing how high the waves are or when they are coming in my direction. Apart from the light of an approaching cargo ship, it’s really very dark. The overhead waves and the biting cold make it a real battle to get the third reef in place. I’m back below half an hour later, dripping water and frozen to the bone. The wind velocity continues to rise, and I’m thinking that this is not the promised 35 knots. Guppy starts surfing more frequently. She is going way too fast and I don’t want to wait for her to broach and be thrown totally flat, so I decide to take down what’s left of the mainsail. I’m wet, my hands are frozen and stiff, but I have to take down the sail whatever it takes! It’s unbelievable: Guppy is now sailing with only the storm jib and she’s still flying towards the Cape of Good Hope at a speed of 8 knots. I stay on deck in the dark for a while to listen to the force of the sea and to bolster Guppy’s and my own morale, until an unexpected wave breaks over the aft deck and the cockpit . . . I wait for the right moment before diving into the shelter of the cabin again, leaving puddles in my wake. I make a warm mug of two-minute noodles and slowly get back to normal body temperature. It looks like this could be a long night . . .

  While I’m sitting in the cabin with all the hatches battened down, the raging forces around me sound like 10 Boeings all taking off at the same time. The wind is howling through the rigging, the sea is roaring and the wind gauge now shows wind velocities of over 55 knots. Guppy is still sailing with only the storm jib, but she’s increasingly surfing off the waves and it’s getting dangerous. It will be light in a few hours and I should be past the Cape of Good Hope by then. There’s still a lot of shipping traffic, and I’m glad I managed to get the bollard sealed. Then I feel Guppy being carried up high by a big wave. No, NO! She’s surfing faster and faster; water is rushing past the portholes and the whole of Guppy is beginning to vibrate — 10 knots, 11 knots, 12! The crash sends me smashing into the chart table while she broaches and falls flat in the trough. WHAM! The oncoming breaker submerges Guppy under an enormous swirling mass of foaming water and everything flies through the cabin. Shit! Was a few square metres of sail really too much? While Guppy slowly rights herself and the windvane incredibly brings her back on course, I put my sailing gear on over my clothes for some protection against the ice-cold wind. Clicking on my harness, I climb into the cockpit. While doing this, a waves flashes past me and slips inside. Damn! I furl up the storm jib until it’s the size of handkerchief. Gup is now sailing at 5 knots on this little patch. And so I wait for daylight as the wind continues to accelerate. By the time it should have been light already, it just stays dark.

  Towards morning the gusts of wind are up to 65 knots and the tops of the waves are flying horizontally across Guppy’s deck. The average apparent wind velocity is 54 knots, while Guppy is almost running with the wind! The sea has changed into a raging mass of white foam. It looks like the contours of the huge Table Mountain are coming into sight. The wind and clouds come off this mountain and form whirlwinds close to the coast. I’m sailing around the mountain and the winds are increasingly coming off shore, which means that the waves are slowly diminishing in size. I suddenly hear a weak ‘Guppy, Guppy’ on the VHF.

  ‘Yes, this is Guppy,’ I reply. ‘Dad?’

  ‘Hey, Muis, how are you? I’m so glad to hear your voice. I’m standing on top of a mountain and we think we can see you from time to time.’

  ‘You could be right, Dad. Gup is spending more time underwater than above it. You know, Dad, she really is fantastic and I—’ Bang! Rinkle, tinkle, boink, toink . . .

  Shocked, Dad asks what’s happening when he hears the clamour in the background.

  ‘Oh, nothing, Guppy almost got flattened by a wave and the cupboard with the pots and pans has just opened and the contents have now spread throughout the cabin . . . You know how it goes on a boat.’

  And so the conversation continues for a while, and I get to hear that my friend Jillian the documentary-maker is also there. It’s wonderful to hear Dad’s voice and great to know that I’ll be able to hug him in a few hours’ time.

  Guppy is heeling at an angle of 60 degrees and sailing on the tiny bit of furled storm jib. I try to furl in the last bit, but can’t manage to get it done. Shit! Hmm . . . There’s nothing else I can do but scramble up to the foredeck through the mass of water that’s streaming over the deck, holding on to anything I can. The drum is broken and there’s no way I can furl it in any further. Several options shoot through my head, but there’s only one that might work, and that is to drop the sail.

  ‘Damn, I hate you, wind!’ I shout over the water while I’m undoing the halyard.

  Shit. The sail can, of course, only be brought down if it’s entirely unfurled! There’s nothing else I can do, so I go aft, let go the reef line and the sail opens with an ear-splitting roar. Guppy is almost flattened by the wildly flapping storm jib. I’m standing on the deck, which is awash with water, with my feet against the railing and I am pulling with all my might to get the unruly sail in. Within minutes, the wild bit of sail is reduced to a wet bundle of canvas that I bind securely to the deck. I’m totally soaked and stiff with cold. The water is a mere 7 degrees here, and the strong, cold wind makes me feel as though I’m close to hypothermia. I keep on thinking ‘only a few more miles’, while my frozen, red hands clutch the helm. I push the throttle of the powerful Volvo engine to full speed and head, straight-angled to the wind, towards the harbour breakwaters. Guppy lies over on her bare masts, the gunnel is almost underwater, and we are only doing 1.5 knots despite the roaring Volvo. The wind is making a deafening howling sound in the rigging, and the water, which is bucketing over me, is making it very difficult to see. Suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds; shining exactly on the spot where the harbour entrance should be.

  My eyes are smarting from the saltwater and I can’t see a thing anymore. I use the plotter and radar to guide Guppy towards the breakwaters and safely through the harbour entrance. Only then does it calm
down and I can see where I’ve landed: in the middle of the Volvo Ocean Race boats. I’m allowed to moor at their dock, and slowly I get some feeling back in my hands and toes by warming them in the sun.

  Cape Town

  Dad and Jillian jump on board and we hug each other. They get a shock when they enter the cabin. Water is dripping from the ceiling, everything is salty, and nothing is where it should be. There are some books in puddles of water, and an upside-down pot lies on my bed. The floor is covered in stuff that was once put away in cupboards. The cushions are sodden, and the ceiling has been removed so that I could keep an eye on the bollard. They shake their heads, come on deck, and then take me off to the boulevard. I’m still very cold, and we find a place on a terrace where we can sit in the sun and be out of the wind. After eating something warm, I’m starting to feel human again. I look around me, and only then do I fully realise that I’m in Cape Town! Guppy and I have rounded the Cape, arriving in one of the heaviest storms that Cape Town has seen in a long time. It looks great here. I’m berthed near the city with a view of Table Mountain. In the afternoon Camper arrives with the New Zealand Volvo Race team, and we immediately make contact. I get to see the inside of two boats and listen attentively to all the stories, while they seem to have a lot more interest in my voyage. It’s very busy on the wharf and many people seem to be more interested in Guppy than the Volvo Race boats . . .

  I need a quiet spot to recover from my journey, and decide to move Guppy to the Royal Cape Yacht Club the next day. Here she can be guarded 24 hours a day, and Guppy gets a special place in front of the harbour office, where she is privileged to lie between her fellow boats. I visit the Volvo boats daily and often speak to the land crews. I spend hours watching how the land crews are getting these racing monsters shipshape. I’m allowed to help on Camper when they take down the mast for inspection, and I get to know the whole team. We set off to meet the French team on Groupama on Alan’s speedboat. Alan is a helpful Capetonian whom Jillian and Dad met a few days before I arrived, and he has taken them under his wing. Groupama is becalmed, and it will take at least another three hours before she arrives.