Sailing with Nine of Cups

We were geared for an early start, but at 0500 it was cold, dark and rainy, and we could hear the wind howling. We rolled over and snuggled back in till 0700, when it was still cold and dark, but we couldn't hear rain on the deck any longer and the wind had calmed. The wind was still from the north, but promised to go southerly by mid-morning. We did last minute chores, taking advantage of shore power and heat while we had it. We cast off our shore lines and slid from the berth at the civilized hour of 1030. With three layers of jeans, sweats, foul weather bibs, plus t-neck, fleeces, jacket, woolen socks, gloves hat and scarf, I looked and walked like the Michelin Man, but I was warm.

We tidied up, stowed lines and fenders, and set the mainsail while still inside the protection of Duncan Docks, then headed out the channel into Table Bay. The mountain was shrouded in dense fog, its billowing table cloth in place. No last minute, lingering views for us. A bittersweet goodbye to Cape Town, but goodbye it was �... at last.

The wind had calmed to 4 knots, still from the north. We were motoring, but the bus heater was doing a great job of keeping the cabin toasty and, lacking our sea legs, we were grateful for the calm start of the passage. David paid tribute to Neptune with a generous tot of rum as cormorants and African penguins looked on. Sea lions raised their flippers in farewell. The sun broke through for a quick moment as we passed Robben Island, then was quickly swallowed up by thick clouds. We sipped out hot cuppas and munched on rusks. Having slept poorly during the night coupled with a tab of Stugeron, our seasickness meds, we were happy to get into our nap routine right away.

A light southerly wind finally gave proof to the weather forecast by mid-afternoon, but not enough to fill the sails. We continued to motor-sail and nap. We managed to eat our passage soup together just before darkness fell and spotted two whales, their voluminous spouts breaking the calm waters in the near distance.

The night was clear and cold. The near-full moon was a welcome sight and two planets outshone millions of stars. The early morning hour watches are always the toughest. The cold this night was deep and penetrating despite the layers of clothing. The nighttime clarity was suddenly smothered by a pea soup fog which totally enveloped us. I get that claustrophobic feeling when the fog is so thick, like a sea monster is just waiting out there to gobble us up. As I glanced at the Navionics chart on my iPad and constantly checked the radar and AIS, I couldn't help but marvel at how far navigation tools have come, even in the last 15 years.