Bazaruto - 1989.

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Having done a deckhand course with Ocean Sailing Academy, run by Chris and Libby Bonnet, and a Day Skippers Course at the same academy, my thirst for salt water had reached a point of madness. Sue was pregnant with our first child and I signed up for a two week trip to Bazaruto, also arranged by Ocean Sailing.

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The Friday night prior to departure we had supper at a nearby Italian Restaurant complete with a gallon or two of cheap red wine. The red wine, it was said, was an essential pre departure indulgence  and we would be needing it the next day. A great south-westerly had been blowing for the past five days and a deep swell was running. Despite this not being a Black Ball Line we were leaving because we were scheduled to.

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The following morning, through bleary eyes, Orca a 36 foot Lavranos, was rigged for departure and we were on our way. We had checked out through customs and immigration the day before. The other boat a Moody 40,5 was already under way as we eased off the dock of the Durban Marina, back out of the berth and headed down the channel.

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Peter, our Skipper, had recently graduated in law but was still apprehensive as he did not have the results yet. I don’t remember the names of the other crew members very well but remember their faces quite clearly.  I think they were Mark, Greg, John, Jim and Richard.

As we left the Port of Durban we headed into deep water where the swell running against the current was smooth and long, lifting Orca into a slide along their faces soon running out from under us as we could not keep up. To stay out of the swell we headed inshore, staying just inside the continental shelf. The night sky was filled with stars. We found them in the crosstrees and steered by them because staring at the compass was tiring. As time goes by the stars move on with the Earth rotating under them at a rate of fifteen degrees per hour.    Our reveries were broken by streams of blue light of disturbed phosfor in the broken surface of the sea as porpoises cajoled and torpedoed us from abeam fiving within meters of the hull. This displayed continued for fifteen minutes to half an hour, setting our hearts racing with excitement.

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Noting that we would clear St Lucia where strong head currents would have made it difficult to pass we headed back towards the coast, crossing the current as square as we could manage. The crossing was easy and we intercepted the coast just south of Sodwana by which time the Easterly had arrived. Peter left the main up as this  helps to work against roll and eased the load on the motor which was running at the usual 1800 rpm. We were motor sailing.

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The next day, Sunday, was sunny. Not all Sundays are sunny. We motored on along the 20m contour, by-passing the reefs where there would be divers down. For the most part we were just behind the breaking waves along a sometimes rocky shoreline. For the high dunes were covered by coastal bush. It was warm and although the easterly peaked at 35 knots it averaged 25 which means that it was fairly comfortable on board. Lunch was cheese and crackers with a tin of mussels and some ham. If i remember correctly we washed that down with tea. Some of us had brought our own food and enjoyed that while it lasted. I am not fussy what I eat to the point of a fault as I sometimes go hungry. I guess this is the result of being looked after, something I often neglect to do for myself.

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With seven of us on board, two double bunks and four single bunks I found myself on the top bunk inside the starboard beam. It was a little shorter than me, a short bunk, which suited me. Although there was a lee cloth I only used it to prove that it worked. Setting it up and getting in to it involved some fidgeting around which was complicated by a heavy sea. I found that due to the shortness of the bunk, I could jamb myself into it and get some sleep even when I was hovering over the port side as I found out later.

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When we reached Ponta da Ouro Richard explained that his father had had a house further along which he had abandoned during the war. Conflict had come in a number of steps, eventually overwhelming the homes along the coast. Richard said that they hoped to reclaim their home as the war died down, although the Frelimo Government had laid claim to many.

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Another cold front had been forecast and it came on us slowly at first. As evening fell we headed offshore towards Ponta Zavora on the way to Ponta da Barra. This way we would avoid the dangerous eddys along the coast and the Limpopo

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The night was a wild one. As we left the coast the waves started topping off and building. The initial ripple found itself on top of a more substantial swell. The more substantial swell was soon lifted onto the back of a 5m swell. Peter had us changing foresails from one to three and back again as the wind rose and fell in an attempt to maintain way. The motor was inadequate as subsurface currents twisted an turned us in the water. Along with the foresails we were reefing the main, in and out as the wind rose and fell. At one stage the white horses, as they are so fondly known, were so big that the helmsman had to hold his breath as it washed over him. My turn on the wheel was not as dramatic but my armpits got soaked.

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The white water subsided as the swell kept on growing. We ploughed into the back of a wave which was standing at least six meters above the deck. I was starting to think that we were doomed but as Orca drove into the wave the wave parted. Standing on the bow looking down all I saw was darkness. Looking into the abyss I felt Orca drop down the face  until the trough between the swells rose above the stemhead fitting, up my ankles to my knees. She shuddered and started to lift. We rode over quite a few of these swells. One was so hollow at the face that it was breaking in a barrel any surfer would be proud of.  At this stage the wind was blowing again. The anemometer stuck at sixty five knots. As we dropped into the trough again the anemometer slowed, then stopped. There was no wind at the top of the fourteen meter mast. The waves were high enough to cut off all wind there. From this we estimated that the waves had to be at least sixteen metres in height. Earlier we had seen a large cargo ship heading south, silhouetted on the horizon punch into green water taking at least six meters over the bow, running down to the bridge aft. Momentarily she stood still before surging forward again.

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By the morning the wind had dropped and so did the swells. We could see Limpopo ahead of us, the sea streaked with swirls of white in a grey ocean, in places deep blue. Time for a damage report. One of the locker doors had been smashed  by a reeling body and the latch broken.  Peter attended to it and it held. There was some water in the bilge. A wave had broken through the main hatch while John was coming out on watch. John got soaked before he even got into the cockpit. The bilge was pumped. At that stage Peter smelled gas and was immediately concerned as the danger of a gas leak could mean an explosion and fire. There was also a risk that we would run out of gas prematurely and be stuck without a cooking facility.  Orca was equipped with a gas powered water heater. Peter eventually decided to cut it off. This solved the problem.

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The sea was still rough with waves coming from all angles but the sun was out and drying us out. We had the main up and motor sailing along. As the wind backed Peter tried the foresail. We had it up and down a few times in the first two hours because the wind was not strong enough to fill it. The wind gradually provided enough pull to keep us going without the motor. This did not last as the wind came round on the nose and we were motor sailing again. We reached Ponta Zavora, behind which lay Inhambane, Maxixe and a favourite anchorage, Linga Linga. We weren’t going there but discussed the intricacies of entering the estuary. There used to be markers at the Northern end of what is a very wide, about 5 miles, mouth most of which is too shallow even for cats. The waves break here when there is swell. When the swell is big enough even the Northern end breaks and care should be taken when entering, keel boats should definitely wait until the swell subsides or they will hit the bottom on entry. Once in one would look out for the ancient markers left by the Moslems who were trading there before the Portuguese invaded the territory. The tall white columns demarcate the channels to Inhambane. There are two main sets, two pairs  guiding the skipper down the estuary, the other showing the way to Inhambane which is on the southern bank. Maxixe is on the Northern shore and accessible by ferry from Inhambane. Linga Linga lies behind a headland in the estuary The headland hides a canal which passes North East from the estuary.

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Sailing along the coast at that point was pleasant, bar that the locker door which Pete had fixed had come loose again. After a number of tries Pete gave up, the door came off and went overboard. We did not need it ! The South Easterly trade blew a balmy 20-25 kts for the next three days, during which time we passed Punta Barra da Falsa, demarcating Pomene, and experienced balmy nights being speared by porpoises cutting phosphorescent lines through the now warmer tropical water. Sleeping was more comfortable. The South Easterly trade winds did mean that Orca was healed to port which meant I was caught in limbo suspended over the port side interior far below. It didn’t worry me as much as it did Jim and Jeb one of whom was on the bunk below me and seemed to be having a problem staying put.

At this point I am having trouble remembering a lot of the detail, but I remember Richard getting a line in the water. It took some time getting a strike and the first strike was from a Marlin which took the number 1 hook straight down before Peter could get it out of the water. Peter held on valiantly until the line went slack. Thinking that it had broken or been chewed off by the fish, we were surprised to see that it had been straightened ad was now nothing more than a spear with a barb!

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When the risk of being struck by a Marlin or Sailfish had dissipated the lines went in again. This time Peter and Richard brought us in three nice Barracuda or Wahoo, depending on your point of view. These were filleted, cut into steaks and, bar one, stored in the freezer under Marc’s bunk in the port quarter cabin. The remaining fish was fried in butter with a mixture of spices and enjoyed as an early supper.

On the topic of meals, lunches were generally Provitas with cheese wedges and other condiments like Marmite while they lasted. Once we reached the islands we had available crayfish, young coconuts and crabs fished out of the sea by locals at the places where we stopped along the way.

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We rounded Bazaruto, the northern most island in the archipelago, just after sunrise  Peter had us anchor a few meters off the short sand spit which extended the short northern shore. Peter and Richard swam ashore to reconnoitre the area and find out what where we should anchor to pass through customs. As it was we were welcomed by the Bazaruto Lodge. Peter had our passports and we were told to wait for the arrival of the official who would stamp them when he arrived. After pumping up the rubber duck and fitting the fifteen horsepower outboard we all went ashore, picking up the crew of (the moody) along the way. Some of us stayed on the squeaky white sands and enjoyed a swim in the cool blue water. It still fascinates me how loud the sand squeaks. At one point I thought that one of my hinges had come loose !

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Before nightfall we took the boats around into more protected water south of the northern spit and anchored about a mile off the Lodge because it was too shallow to get in closer. We would have to time our excursions if we were to avoid dragging the duck over the sharp sea bed at low tides.  Two catamarans were on the shore enjoying the relative stability of a place on the shore. One left soon after we arrived while the other was waiting for a charter party of divers who would be arriving later on that week. Resting on the sand is not without it’s risks. The changing tide results in wavelets occasionally causing a bumping action on its bottom. I saw this particular catamaran in Durban the following year. The hulls had to be stripped and rebuilt as the fibreglass had given in to the constant banging during tidal changes.

The next morning we ferried ourselves to shore in anticipation of meeting t elocal official to have our passports stamped. While making arrangements for our lunch I suddenly felt quite tired. That didn’t stop me digging in to the crab which was served with the  beer. I felt guilty snacking on the juicy flesh served much in the same way as fresh oysters.

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Stamping our passports was a relatively painless process. The official wasn’t there long. Getting away wasn’t all that easy as we had to wait for some of our party who were indulging in some shore leave and a decent meal. By the time we got away the sun was setting. As there were fifteen of us the duck was a little overload to reduce the number of trips to the boats. The result was that the automatic bailers were submerged and leaked. By the time we reached the yachts we were standing ankle deep in water holding our belongings in the air as if we were refugees.

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The next morning we headed further south to the crocodile farm near the airfield because we were in need of fuel. Peter and Richard took a few jerry cans with to be filled in Vilanculos. On the beach they waited for a landrover to take them to the airfield.  We heard the Landrover which was on the other side of the island, start up because the exhaust, having rusted off, had not been replaced. When it arrived we realised that it must have been used to carry fish and not been cleaned so we climbed aboard the dried blood and infestation of flies. Once we got going it wasn’t so bad as the flies couldn’t keep up.

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Whiling the time away as we waited for our skipper to return with the diesel we were introduced to the locals who harvested oysters off the rocks. Some of them had quite a collection of small odd shaped natural pearls which they traded for caps and T shirts. We wandered around the crocodile farm where we discovered that these were bred in large numbers for the skins which were used for a number of articles such as hand bags and shoes which were particularly popular in Israel. (1989) There were also a number of chalets being built. At this stage the white walls were devoid of windows and doors. As someone said, “Who needs windows and doors in this balmy weather?” The roofing was made of the local palm fronds attached to a system of heavy perlins directly supported by the walls.

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When the guys got back with the diesel they were out of breath. They had to go by vehicle to the nearest refuelling point amid the hustle and bustle of a war. Looking over to the mainland we could see clouds of grey smoke billowing into the air as Frelimo lambasted their enemies with explosives. These guys had really gone out of their way to get diesel!

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Peter refuelled and we were ready to head over to Santa Carolina, or Paradise Island as it is popularly known. After an early supper the guys got some well deserved rest. The next morning we headed out over the calm blue water of the bay. Initially we motored across as there wasn’t much wind but got the sails up in a gentle breeze later on.