Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Five years of sailing the potentially harsh and dangerous waters off the southerly tip of
Cape Point had enriched me with the experience that I would draw from in my ensuing
journey.
Now, even as the southeaster had blown a constant thirty knots for the past twelve days, my
crew and I bid family and friends a tearful farewell on the old, wooden dock of the Roy-
al Cape Yacht Club. I promised the young German boy's worried looking mother I would
take good care of her son, Herman. The English girl's friends were wishing Paula a bon
voyage. Lines were cast off, and the waving hands and handkerchiefs grew smaller as Déjà
vu, freshly painted and looking every square inch a lady of the high seas, motored out of
the choppy bay and into the swells at the breakwater. Eager hands helped raise the reefed
main and jib sails, and soon the little boat was scudding downwind, bound for her first is-
land some twelve hundred miles northwest of South Africa.
I went below and took out the chart of the ocean that we would track between ports. I stared
at the little names and characters on the thick paper and held on firmly as the boat rolled
about on her downwind dance. I glanced at my navigational equipment briefly: the pointy
dividers in their leather holder, the black, brass-studded, parallel ruler, the hand-bearing
compass, and the radio direction finder used to pinpoint radio beacons on land. I opened
the locker where I kept my ancient, bronze sextant, snugly secured in its wooden box and
wondered just how I would manage to operate all these instruments on the bucking boat as
she danced her way across the waves.
The young German boy, Herman, was calling and needed help adjusting the self-steering
vane, a mechanical device set at the stern of the boat that would operate in the wind to guide
us in a preset direction. Herman had sailed on Déjà vu before during a couple of shake
down cruises around False Bay, and he had been immediately interested in everything on
the boat.
He had a sweet, smiling, and innocent face, seldom seen without a boyish grin. He was
constantly flicking his blonde fringe out of his pale, blue eyes. He had a large frame with
big, strong legs, though his boyish chest left much to be desired when it came to manly
looks or, more importantly, manly strength. He smoked constantly and talked often about
giving up. However, “at sea” is not a good place to give up the craving for nicotine.
I noticed quietly that both Herman and Paula were showing signs of mal de mer. Herman's
pallor had turned from his normal, German white to a distinct shade of green whilst Paula
had lost her brilliant smile and seemed preoccupied. They had both volunteered their crew-
ing services in lieu of paying for passage. Neither of them had ever sailed before, and I had
weighed up the odds against this decision, concluding that provided they kept watch while
I slept, I would be able to sail the boat alone. I suggested they go below and rest, for night-
