We all know how unlucky it is when a black cat crosses your path, but I didn't know how much worse it is when it's an idiot.
We had a tight maneuver to perform to get our of the Royal Cape Yacht Club berth. It was a choice of backing out at an angle, or going forward a boat length to a slightly wider spot, turning 180 degrees and motoring out forwards. There was a bit of wind and Wind Wanderer does not reverse with any degree of accuracy so we opted for a prop walk turn, also known as back and fill in some parts. Over the years we've got it down pat and we can turn to port in just about our own length. The trick is to know where to position the boat for the start of the maneuver so that bow and stern clear any obstacles. Sandy is my extra pair of eyes and early warning system!
We checked for other vessels, cast off our lines and inched forward. Right on target we started our turn and ended up on the starboard side of the channel, lining up for the narrow exit.
All of a sudden a voice bellowed from behind, "Don't you bloody look where you're going?!"
Well he wasn't exactly behind, he was overtaking, which means we were the stand on vessel (have right of way}.
I couldn't believe it. He obviously hadn't seen our perfect maneuver or he'd have shown a bit more respect!
I assume he had come out of one of the channels behind us. He was old and had a few mates on board he needed to impress I guess. You find them in 'posh' clubs, usually wearing a navy blazer. Frequently the only bar they ever cross is the one in the club!
We had to wait for a ship to enter Cape Town harbour before we could leave and used the time to get the sails up. Our track took us past Robin Isand where Nelson Mandela had spent a quarter of a century gaining his incredible wisdom and and statesmanship. What a remarkable man he turned out to be. South Africa desperately needs another like him. We were surprised at how many buildings there are on the island. Much more than just a prison.
As the sun set we quickly slipped into our usual routine. It was good to be at sea again even though there was a big rolling swell.
During the night the wind dropped off and we had to run the motor too. Other than that everything was going as normal and we motored the following day too.
It was early on day three that the chartplotter started taking long blinks. It's the sign we get when battery power is low. I checked and sure enough the batteries were needing a good charge. We had been running the engine constantly so if anything the batteries should have been nicely topped up. We do use lot of battery power underway because apart from the fridges and freezer, we have the auto pilot drawing a lot, plus the chartplotter, radar, AIS and at night the navigation lights. During the day we often run the watermaker too. Our solar panels cope during sunny days and at night we run the generator for an hour or two to see us through to the morning if we're sailing, but not if we're using the main engine.
It was obvious the alternator wasn't charging so we started the generator. We've been having an intermittent problem with the generator and nobody has been able to find the cause. At anchor it works just fine but when at sea it sometimes cuts out, usually with an error message saying the exhaust water to too hot. It uses the same water inlet as the main engine so we know there is no shortage of water. We don't run them together.
Well, genny chose this occasion to be temperamental. I changed oil and filters just in case there was an issue there, but nothing I did made any difference.
Suddenly I realized we were going to have to rely on the solar panels as our only source of charging. It didn't help that we'd removed the headliner in the aft cabin to trace and seal a water leak and had left it down to dry out properly. The process had meant disconnecting the solar panel on the davits, which is over half our solar capacity. I felt physically sick, and I don't get seasick.
We shut down all the refrigeration immediately and turned off the radar. We don't really need it during the day. Sandy had a whole lot of frozen stuff, including some meals for the trip, but her fight soon turned to cooperation when she realized just how serious the problem was. I spent an hour getting the davit solar panel back on line, then we turned off the auto pilot and hand steered.
Like all good nightmares, when just about everything has gone wrong, there is one last one that tips everything over the edge. For us it was fog! We never have fog, but Namibia's deserts meeting the cold Benguella current means fog. Our solar panel output dropped dramatically.
Wind Wanderer is a big heavy boat and we were wallowing in a big following sea. We were motoring with no wind to steady us. Sandy could only manage short stretches at the wheel but they sure helped. During the next night the chartplotter was taking long blinks again. I came up with a desperate idea, based on my total lack appreciation of things electronic.
We have two battery banks. One is the 'house' bank of 10 batteries that runs virtually everything from refrigeration to navigation, lights, plugs, pumps etc. The other bank is 2 powerful cranking batteries. They start the main engine, and the generator and drive the windlass to lift the anchor. You could say they're designed to have strength rather than endurance. Weightlifters as opposed to marathon runners.
Desperate circumstances call for desperate measures. I decided to pressgang the weightlifters to help run the marathon. What I didn't know was if I should run all the batteries together, or shut off the house batteries completely. I had a suspicion that the low house batteries may draw the power out of the cranking batteries. I decided to run the cranking batteries alone.
It was a huge relief to see the chartplotter and radar running sweetly again, although I continued to hand steer. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it sooner. I figured we were now under less pressure and could probably go another 36 hours, getting us to Luderitz with only another day and a night to go.
My relief was short lived. Within a matter of hours the cranking batteries were low and the chartplotter was taking long blinks again. I couldn't believe the nav lights which are all LEDs, the plotter and radar had taken such a toll. With the coastline fairly close and fog we had to run the radar.
I switched both battery banks back to their usual setting and was relieved to see the house batteries had recovered somewhat from their rest. Eventually dawn came and with the light the solar panels kicked in, even with the foggy skies.
By mid morning we were recalculating distances and speeds. There was no way our batteries were going to last another night. Sandy had called the miles from the chartplotter and I upped the revs. With luck we may get there before dark, just.
We usually motorsail at between 800 and 1200 revs depending on wind and current, but the rev counter works off the alternator so we had no idea what revs we were doing. I just knew it was a lot more than usual, and had to be.
By mid afternoon we knew we couldn't get to Luderitz before dark. We never enter an unknown port or anchorage in the dark. We've seen too many discrepancies between charts and what is actually there. I checked the fuel level and was horrified to see the two tanks we were using were registering empty. We'd left Cape Town with full tanks. I quickly opened the next 2 tanks. The last thing we needed was to run out and have to bleed the main engine, particularly having run the cranking batteries down. That was a lucky break.
The hours dragged but eventually we spotted beacon lights telling us we were only a couple of hours away. When we got to the outer bay area I throttled back and had a bad moment when the engine sounded like it was going to die. I kept them up a bit just in case.
I called port control on VHF 16 and although the response was garbled we could make out they were expecting us and to call when we got closer.
We don't normally expect port control to welcome us as long lost family, but David and Marcie on Nine of Cups had been checking in with them to see if we'd made contact yet.
The entry is tricky at night and they were ready and waiting to guide us into the harbour and to the right mooring.
We picked our way in slowly. We were exhausted having hand steered for 36 hours, coupled with the high anxiety levels. Eventually we had radio contact with David and Marcie and were so grateful to have them guide us in.
Once secure on the mooring I killed the engine and we invited them on board, but they took one look at us and said, "Go get some sleep. We'll see you tomorrow."
I had one more thing I had to try. I turned the key to start the engine. It was stone dead. If that engine had stalled at any time we'd have been in serious trouble. Lesson learned. Cranking engines will never be run down again!
And it all began when an idiot crossed our path.
Until next time...