The Morven ship came sailing in
On Christmas Day
On Christmas Day
The Morven ship came sailing in
On Christmas Day in the morning...

... well it was evening actually, but who cares; we made it!

We had a little committee of new friends waving us off when we left Tazacorte. It felt slightly strange to be leaving a safe harbour with thoughts of Christmas and parties imminent, but we could dally no longer. We had a mission; to sail over 800 miles west of south, to the island of Sao Vicente in the Cape Verde archipelago; it seemed a very long way away.

We left expecting Force 4-5 wind from somewhere between north east and east, and initially met a light headwind (what's new?) and so had to motor, which means a slow plod with our very small engine. We continued unperturbed, assuming we'd pick up the promised 'easterlies' as soon as we'd escaped the wind shadow of the island. However we were still motoring 8 hours later, had finished dinner and were wondering if we'd misread the weather forecasts in our haste to depart. Oh no! The wind appeared with a wallop just as we'd tackled the washing up and darkness had set in - no gentle build up to acclimatise, just a good force 6-7, and within minutes it was regularly gusting to 36 knots (F8)! At least we were sailing, and very quickly, but with some rather big cross seas battering the boat from all sides. Ian was up to his ankles in water in the cockpit as a wave flew over. Good job we had the washboards on; a wet bed would not have been appreciated; and at least it proved the cockpit drains work properly, though the shoes take a bit longer to dry out!

With our small headsail set and the Hydrovane self-steering engaged we were soon sailing a decent course at well over 6 knots, with much surfing of the waves. Quite a thrill, but we didn't get much sleep that night, although it's always difficult anyway for the first couple of nights. It's extremely hard to see anything out in the ocean when the seas are rough, whether it's day or night, so when the AIS unit bleeped to tell us something was in range of us we were once again thankful that we'd installed it. A cargo ship was only 4 miles astern of us and heading straight for us; 4 miles is not very far when the thing is travelling at 16 knots so gaining fast! Ian was on the radio again. Fortunately this time the watchman answered immediately and said he'd seen us, then obligingly changed course to go around our stern - phew! A definite feeling of déja vu; it seems every time we set sail we see one (large) ship and it's always on a direct collision course with us!

Despite veering slightly off course due to the wind direction, we cleared the island of El Hierro overnight, and then there was nothing in our way except a lot of sea and a weather beacon which is directly on the route we were taking - not a good thing to hit, but still over 500 miles away, so no worry just yet. The wind finally settled around Force 5 on day two which was perfect, with a much more comfortable ride. Although the sun didn't show it's face all day the sky cleared by evening and the stars were even more amazing than we've seen before, brilliantly clear. We are also learning to identify some of the constellations, which is good. The further south we head the more rapidly the night sky changes between shifts. The stars appear to have changed position so quickly that on your second watch it's easy to become disorientated when Orion is not where he was 3 hours ago!

We crossed the Tropic of Cancer (23 degrees north of the equator) on 21st December, the winter solstice, which seemed very pertinent as this latitude marks the extent to which the earth tilts on its axis each year and therefore gives us the shortest and longest days in our calendar. Nice to know that the nights would be getting gradually shorter again from now on, in fact we were due to enjoy a whole 7 minutes of extra daylight tomorrow!

It seemed odd though that the further south we got the colder the nights seemed to get. We thought we'd be shedding layers of clothing as we headed to the tropics, but by the end of the second night we were adding layers, and wearing full foul weather gear (well after that first night of dowsing we were erring on the side of caution!) and looking more like Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee every watch. I was so frozen I even made porridge for breakfast after my late watch (and I never even eat breakfast!). I began to think our new compass was 180 degrees out and we were heading to the frozen north!

By day 3 we had settled into a routine and beginning to enjoy life on the ocean wave. The swell was beginning to die down and so making moving around the boat a bit easier, although it's still essential to hang on to something when going anywhere. One hand for yourself and one for the ship is the old adage (and very true it is too), although difficult to achieve when you require both hands for a particular task!

Being in the trade wind belt we are now generally sailing with the wind from behind which gives the boat a different motion; instead of heeling to one side whilst moving forward, the boat now rolls from side to side, so the galley work is now even more exciting! To open a cupboard you have to plan your attack so that everything is not going to come flying out if you're rolling the wrong way! (A classic case of 'don't open that cupboard, things fall out'). Yes it happened, so yet again we still have something to learn. Even though every cupboard was packed to capacity when we left, and seemingly nothing would budge a millimetre it did.

This rhythmic rolling also makes the boat flex much more as everything moves with the wind and waves, constantly rocking from one side to the other, creaking and groaning. The noises are far more noticeable when trying to sleep, and so days were spent identifying every little sound and trying to eliminate each in order that sleep deprivation was kept to a minimum. A bit of packing here, a bit of WD40 there to cure the least little irritating sound, but obviously not everything is curable when the wind and waves are lashing outside.

We'd spent a week polishing and cleaning the boat before we left La Palma and so she was gleaming, but after that first night at sea we really wondered why we'd bothered. It's good to feel the boat is bright and shiny and ready for anything, but seeing the layers of salt encrusted on everything in just a few hours you know that the sea is really in charge!

As we gradually moved further on the winds grew lighter but we were still making headway and actually getting more sleep. Cooking became a joy, and we actually found we had time on our hands to sit and enjoy the view, and begin our 'what can you spot' game again. Ian's first spot was a plastic fuel funnel and I saw whales! Well, what can you say? A pair of Sei whales appeared from behind, firstly looking like a big black oil slick, moving in time with the swell, until they broke the surface and spouted! This is one of the most incredible things we've seen. I held my breath as they ventured closer and whispered to Ian to come and look (he was below). It was difficult to breathe, we didn't know whether to shout or stay silent, but we were awestruck. They came right alongside the boat and were at least 12 metres long (our boat is less than 10 so we could gauge it reasonable well). The power of the whale became apparent. So huge (and these are comparatively small whales) and yet so incredibly graceful. It almost seemed like they were mocking us as we could only travel slowly, and they could glide and turn around in an instant with the swish of a tail. Smug and a tad sinister, but at the same time they were absolutely beautiful. We were definitely being checked out and obviously they didn't see us as much of a threat. Eventually the larger of the two fell into position directly behind us, just a boat length away, where he swam just breaking the surface for nearly an hour (according to our book he was probably feeding) but why he chose to do so right behind us we'll never know. Ian reckons he could detect the Serrano ham stored in our bilge and was considering giving up his plankton diet! Either that or our eroding antifoul must be very tasty. Whale watching took up the whole of the afternoon, and then in flash they were gone but had certainly given us some entertainment.

Once the whales had disappeared it seemed safe to put the fishing line out; we've never really had any luck with proper fishing, only mackerel, and this trip was to prove no exception. The lure trailed with us for days and attracted absolutely nothing, although it may have been down to our speed. The experts say that you really need to be travelling at 5-6 knots to attract 'ocean' fish, and by the time we'd set the line the wind had dropped and we were slowing down. Well, what other excuse can we have? Why wouldn't a fish be attracted to a lovely lurid orange rubber lure full of mean looking hooks on the end of a line? Sounds very appetising! Good job we weren't relying on fish for supper.

500 miles on we were out of range of the Canaries Navtex station and hoping to pick up something from the Cape Verdes. Unless you have a satellite phone (which we don't) it becomes more difficult to get up to date weather information once out of range of Navtex stations. The stations are supposed to overlap so you can move from one zone to another and still receive the latest shipping forecast which at least gives some idea of the next 24 hours of weather. The Cape Verde station has been reported as intermittent at best, but we were hopeful. Sadly nothing doing, and so we really were at the mercy of the elements, though the day looked sunny, the sea blue, and the swell very slight so we weren't unduly bothered; what could we do about it anyway so we decided to just enjoy the moment? Que serra serra!

Once the excitement of the whales had diminished, we got back to 'spotting'. More food for thought came in the form of an EPIRB (emergency position indicating radio beacon). We wondered where the yacht was it came from, and began looking out in earnest in case there was a liferaft anywhere in our sights. Nothing seen, and the EPIRB could have been floating around for a long time, but still a poignant reminder of the vastness of the ocean.

As the wind grew ever lighter, our daily run got less. After our lightning speed at the start we thought we might arrive before Christmas, but now our arrival was looking like it would be at least 2 days after. The wind then increased a little and moved to a slightly more favourable direction, a little to the east from north east, and so we began to move more quickly again. Suddenly we were within striking distance of Mindelo. If it went well, we would arrive in daylight on Christmas day; if not then it would be dark, or even the next day. The wind wasn't quite strong enough to give us the speed we needed to arrive in daylight, so we opted to use a combination of engine and sail and it worked surprisingly well. We sped up to 5 or 6 knots with a favourable current and eventually caught sight of 'land'. What began as a very leisurely Christmas day in the cockpit with the 'tranny' blasting out our favourite tunes became a hectic few hours of complete focus and concentration.

There was a moment when we again wondered if our navigation skills were up to the job as we didn't spot land until we were less than 12 miles away; we'd seen La Palma from 50 miles away, though it is substantially higher. At last we could see a vague outline of the island of Santo Antao, the northwestern most island of the Cape Verde group, but visibility was decidedly poor, caused by easterly winds blowing for days bringing dust from the African continent. As we headed into the channel between Santo Antao and Sao Vicente we had to locate the gap between Sao Vicente and a tiny island (or rock) Passaros. We saw it and then it disappeared along with everything else; somewhat reminiscent of sailing in the Scottish highlands with the 'Haar'. We were relying on our electronic instruments to guide us through and into the harbour. The air cleared as we approached Mindelo harbour and saw the welcome sight of yachts anchored in the bay.

After circling round the anchorage which was much busier than we expected there was room for a small one near the back. Down went the anchor, and here we were, 861 miles in less than 8 ½ days, and in daylight! That called for a celebratory (Christmas) drink. Neither of us was very hungry,(either that or we didn't want to have to wash up), and so we opted for a Christmas feast of cheese and crackers and a good bottle of wine - wonderful.

Immigration was closed so we could relax for the evening and look forward to a proper nights' sleep. We hoisted our Q flag (yellow for quarantine) just in case officialdom came calling before we awoke.

We went in search of the customs and immigration office the next morning. The marina office pointed us in the right direction and the gangs of youths hanging around the port were more than helpful in showing us where we needed to be. We were duly stamped in by customs, and Ian looked a bit smug handing over his 'crew list' when requested; he'd prepared a single sheet of paper containing all relevant immigration details including a colour copy of our passports for just this occasion before we left the UK. The official looked as suitably impressed as they are allowed to look, and he smiled and indicated the way to the Port Police. The same cordiality was proffered there though it was a little unnerving having to hand over the boat registration document! They keep it until you leave, which is a little disconcerting when you see the relaxed nature of their systems! What can we do but co-operate.

Now we were legally 'in' we welcomed ourselves with a beer in the Floating Pontoon Bar - and it really is floating. Every bit of it moves with the water flow - not a good place to over-imbibe, but a fab place to sit and reflect on our journey, and contemplate what comes next!