Just about 12 miles south of Cape Town and a much easier place to find a berth for my boat compared to the two crowded marinas in Cape Town, the marina at Hout Bay Yacht Club is a great alternative. Arriving here still represents a complete transit of the coast of South Africa from Richards Bay and puts me decidedly on the Atlantic Ocean side of Cape Agulhas, the southernmost point in Africa.

The entire coastal transit took three 2-days passages spread over 15 days with stops in East London(5 nights) and Knysna(4 nights). True to its reputation, the weather along the coast is volatile and violent. On each of the three passages I had to contend with gale force winds, fortunately at my stern, and large, very choppy and confused seas that made getting any sleep difficult. That’s partly due to sailing in the shallow coastal waters where the typical depths are only 50 – 150 meters. In the open ocean with water depths of thousands of meters, the swells and flow of the wind waves take on a much more regular and rhythmic characteristic.

Leaving Knysna through the narrow “heads” at high slack tide was a few minutes of challenging boat handling. The wind was blowing into the narrow passage creating 3 – 4 meter swells I had to drive through, some of them breaking. The boat would ride up on the face of a swell, the bow then crashing down on the backside, sometimes getting a bit buried in the face of the next swell. It took full concentration, increased engine power, and a solid grip on the wheel to keep the boat perpendicular to the swells as I powered through to cleared them. Getting caught sideways in a broach would have been a disaster in that narrow, rocky place. I was surprised the water was so busy. When I arrived a few days before, I had flat water passing through the heads into the Knysna estuary.

I’m damn glad to be in Hout Bay and in a pretty nice marina. In a week or so I’ll move Phywave 70 nm north to Saldanha Bay and skip going in to Cape Town. Just recently Saldanha was added as a port where you can clear out of South Africa. I’ll be one of the first boats taking advantage of that change. From there I’ll be looking at my homestretch passage across the Atlantic (for the third time) to North America via St. Helena and the Caribbean.

Ignore the K, pronounced nyz-na. Another quick trip along the South African coast where a suitable weather window for a passage consists of gale force winds blowing in the right direction. Rough but quick.  However, it was not quite quick enough to get me to Knysna before dark on Wednesday after leaving East London early Tuesday morning.  Knysna has a well-known tricky entrance through the heads to the estuary which shouldn’t be attempted at night or with the wrong tide, especially for someone like me who’s never done it

So I had to lay up at an anchorage in Plettenberg Bay, along the Robberg peninsula, about 20 nm east of Knysna.  I was initially indecisive about anchoring there, thinking I could lie ahull or heave-to and wait for daylight to enter Knysna. I sailed slow for some hours with that strategy in mind. But I finally decided the anchorage would be better, especially if the wind kicked up overnight (which it did). With that decision made, I motored through calm winds to the anchorage, arriving at 11 pm. It’s been a long time since I anchored in the dark of night in a strange place.  The e-charts on my chartplotter provided horizontal guidance and with the depth finder I was looking for a depth less than 8 meters.  Once found, I slowed the boat to zero knots, dropped the anchor, and put out about 40 meters of chain (5:1 slope).  With that done, I went to bed and actually got 5 hours solid sleep.

Leaving for Kynsna early the next day I knew I would be bashing into 15-20 kt headwinds and waves all the way. Nothing for it but to motor fast enough to hit the best time around 1200 to pass through the narrow entrance.  Mike Jacobs of the Knysna Yacht Club (KYC) is there via Whatsapp and radio to help newcomers get safely through.  It was straightforward, except for crabbing into the 20 kt westerly crosswind. It’s a little unnerving to steer the boat so the course-over-ground (COG) track is through the passage but the bow is pointed at the rocks.

KYC is a very welcoming place. They let me stay tied to the reception dock instead of putting me out on a swing mooring where I would need to unload the dinghy, attach the outboard motor, and use that to get to shore. KYC has a great restaurant and bar a few meters from where I’m tied up. From what I can tell, Kynsna is a sort of a resort, second home, tourist town.  50 meters from the yacht club there is a small shopping complex with many restaurants and few nearby hotels.  There are charter boats that take people out on the water for sailing excursions. It’s by far the most comfortable stop I’ve made since Darwin.

However, always onward. A good weather window is opening Sunday/Monday that will get me to Hout Bay, just 10 miles south of Cape Town. I plan to jump on that window to complete my passage along the coast of South Africa.

The visit to my home planet was a too-brief two weeks, barely enough time to get over jet lag before getting re-jet lagged on 32 hour en-route flight times from Richard Bays to Seattle and back.

The main reason for my return home was to participate as a pilot in the First World Flight Centennial, September 26-29. As the date got closer and I was still sitting around my boat, I volunteered for a few things that added to an already busy 2 weeks. The first was a dinner presentation at the Rainier Club in downtown Seattle, a venerable club in a classic brick building that’s existed for more than 100 years. The club hosted the first world flight pilots at dinner upon their return in 1924.  I usually talk to pilot groups about my flying where a lot of technical details are appropriate.  This was a much more diverse group of about 100 people at the Rainier Club so while I was still on the boat I started building a “highlight reel” of the most interested moments from my 4 major international flights, included some of the cool videos I’ve posted on YouTube (and linked on my website). It was a engaging group and dinner was great; I was delighted I accepted their speaking invitation.

I also hosted a BBQ dinner party for Earthrounder pilots and their guests at my house on Bainbridge Island, not just those pilots participating in the Centennial but also any Earthrounders who happened to be in town for the event. It was a lively group of 20 or so – the broiled steelhead, grilled steaks, and salads were perfect.

While home I discovered something that surprised me – I started to like flying again. After achieving the goals I had for international flying by 2019, I have to say I was a little burned out on flying.  Flying to local airports for lunch, just to fly somewhere, really had little appeal or imagination. By climbing into the plane for the Centennial, flying felt fresh again; maybe a 2+ year hiatus from flying is what I needed for a renewed perspective.  There is a simplicity and elegance to airplanes and flying, especially compared to sailing around in a cruising sailboat like mine.  My boat is filled with a myriad of systems to support living on it, the deck cluttered with standing and running rigging, the navigational systems more complex in some ways than those on my plane, the dinghy and outboard motor a whole separate “little boat”.  It’s a lot of stuff that needs maintenance, sometimes doesn’t work, and sometimes breaks. Not simple, not elegant.  I look forward to getting back in my plane when my voyage is completed.

Returning to my boat in Richards Bay, I was anxious to get moving again.  In a comfortable marina like the Zululand Yacht Club it’s easy to get stagnant and let the days drift by. I was determined to break that so while I was still at home I started looking for a suitable weather window to continue.  I arrived back in Richards Bay on October 4th and started sailing again on October 8th headed to East London, 350 nm southwest along South Africa’s “Wild Coast”, a name I now understand. For the first few hours the wind was sublime but rapidly built to 30-40 kts (gale force) with commensurate wave action.  To further complicate things there is the famous Agulhas Current that runs southwest along the coast at speeds that can reach nearly 5 kts, quite high for an ocean (not tidal) current.  As I’ve mentioned in an earlier blog post, it is a seriously bad idea to sail in such a current when the wind is blowing in the opposite direction. Standing waves are created by the conflicting forces. Rogue waves along this coast can reach 30 meters in height. Many ships have been sunk or seriously damaged over the years. So even if the wind is stronger than I would like, if it’s blowing in the right direction I’ll take it, and I did.  The weather window was 60 hours long before the wind would change direction and blow opposite the current so I had to hustle down to East London. It wasn’t difficult; with the strong wind aft I could set only a fraction of a headsail and still clip along at 6+ knots (plus the boost from the current which added another 2 to 3 kts). In the end I deliberately slowed down, as I have before, so I would arrive in the port during daylight hours. I am now tied to fore/aft mooring lines, aligned with the river, at the Buffalo River Yacht Club so I don’t swing on the changing tidal flow in the river.

The people at the yacht club are great. As I arrived they found a mooring spot for me and hitched Phywave to the muddy mooring lines which need to be pulled up out of the water. A few hours later a guy came by in a dinghy and asked whether I needed fuel. I had 4 empty jerry cans I hadn’t filled in Richards Bay so I said yes. He took the cans away, filled them, and brought them back to the boat with a young woman from the club who had a credit card machine so I could pay. I’ve been in a lot marinas and anchorages but I’ve never experienced this kind of concierge service. Truly brilliant.

The balance of my voyage around to Cape Town will proceed in a similar fashion – wait for a weather window to move on to the next place along the coast – Port Elizabeth, Knysna or Mossel Bay, Simonstown, maybe Hout Bay. I will clear out of South Africa at Cape Town and begin the homestretch of my voyage back across the Atlantic for the third time and North America, my 7^th continent.

While they were working on cleaning and putting new anti-fouling paint on my boat in Richards Bay, I took a break from boating things and drove up to St. Lucia for a couple of days. The primary thing I wanted to do was take a tour of the Imfolozi Game Reserve, apparently the oldest game reserve Africa. In an open vehicle with a few other people and a guide, we saw a good variety of wildlife, including 4 of Africa’s Big Five (Elephant, Water Buffalo, Leopard, Lion and Rhinoceros). We missed out on a leopard, but did see a cheetah. I toured the major game parks in Kenya and Tanzania when I first visited Africa in 1975. We hired a VW van ourselves – no guide. We actually saw more animals then, and much closer, maybe a little too close when a hippo climbed out of the mud and charged the van. Good times!

Just before leaving Darwin, with the boat still in the marina, I had a diver attempt to clean growth off the hull so I’d have a more efficient sail across the Indian Ocean. He was only partly successful. He said fresh water rains and hot temperatures in Darwin during the months it was there had stimulated a lot growth on hulls, especially small barnacles which he wasn’t able to remove.

Wanting to get the Indian Ocean crossing done when the winds were favorable, I didn’t have time, or a place, to get the boat hauled out of the water and the hull properly cleaned before arriving in Richards Bay. The facilities for doing this at Reunion Island were fully booked for months so I made arrangements ahead of time to get this done here.

September 5 was the day. I came to realize the facilities they have here, although very commonly utilized by cruisers sailing this route, are pretty primitive compared to others I’ve seen and used. First, the travel lift itself is pretty small with a low crossbar. The slope of the bottom of the takeout ramp is such that you have to go into the lift bow first. As a result of these two factors, the forestays on boats have to be loosened, disconnected at the deck end, and pulled to the side. Their tension holding the mast is replaced with running rigging; in my case, the spinnaker and genoa halyards. Getting enough slack on the forestay to disconnect it at the deck end required loosening the backstays and the shrouds. The backstays have been dropped entirely before when loading the boat on the transport ship which brought it to the US. I also dropped them to get the boat on the travel lift in Puerto Montt. I’ve never loosened the shrouds or taken off the forestay before. These are all fundamental things that hold the mast upright. For any sailor, loosening these supporting steel cables is an uncomfortable thing to do. In this case there was no choice if I wanted to get the boat hauled out of the water in Richards Bay.

After the boat is out of the water and positioned where it will sit while work on the hull is completed, it needs to be supported upright above the ground. Every other boatyard I know used heavy telescoping metal support posts designed for this purpose. At Richards Bay they cut lengths of wooden posts to support the boat. One end of the post is dug into the ground while the other end has a flat piece of wood propped against the hull. I’m fortunate with Phywave because it’s capable of sitting upright on it’s own when the centerboard is retracted. If fact, it’s possible to beach it. Fixed keel boats can’t do this and need to sit higher in the air. Of course, if Phywave sat flat on the ground there would be no room to clean the hull and renew the anti-fouling paint. That work will begin on Monday and hopefully be completed so I can get the boat back in the water on Friday.

Overall, the process to finally get the lift cleared to handle another boat takes several hours. Considering that there are 2 meter tides in Richards Bay, and they need high tide to haul or launch boats, realistically they can only handle one boat a day.

After a 12 day passage from Reunion Island through some rapidly changing weather conditions and unexpected counter-currents, I arrived in Richards Bay, South Africa, at 1300z on August 20. I was able to make use of easterly winds blowing west on the north side of a string of high pressure systems (counterclockwise rotation in the Southern Hemisphere). I’m very glad to have completed this passage without having to contend with any southwest gales which were, in effect, blocked for a while by the high pressure systems. That changes tonight when a southwest gale will blow in over Richards Bay.

As I left Reunion Island I was treated to a pretty amazing concentration of humpback whales actively playing off the point of land at St-Gilles-les-Bains.   As I approached heading southwest I saw clusters of boats out there and wondered what was going on. I soon found out.  A parting gift as I left Reunion.

I’m currently tied to the concrete wall of the jetty where you must go first for Immigration procedures. The Custom building is a few miles away so a taxi ride was required this morning. There were strong crosswinds yesterday when I approached the jetty and unfortunately a big gust slammed Phywave into the wall and nicked up the aluminum hull a bit. I’ll see if I can get that cosmetic damage repaired while I’m here. I should have had all my fenders on that side of the boat.

This afternoon I’ll move across to a berth in the Zululand Yacht Club where all the visiting foreign boats go. The club seems more like a local social club, not just for boaters.

From here, the procedure to get around the coast of South Africa to Capetown in the face of periodic SW gales is well-known.  Wait for a weather window 3 or more days long and incrementally move the boat to the next port along the coast. Typical stops are East London, Port Elizabeth, Mossel Bay, Kynsna, and others.  I’ll be thinking of that in more detail when I embark on this passage in October.

I’ve mentioned to the few people I’ve met so far that this is not my first time in South Africa. They’re a bit astonished when I tell them I hitchhiked from Nairobi to Capetown and back again in 1975. Apartheid was still in place and Rhodesia hadn’t yet become Zimbabwe though it was under enormous economic and political pressure with international monetary sanctions in place. I have many stories from those days that I expect will come up as I hang out in the yacht club bar.

The passage from Reunion Island to Richards Bay in South Africa around the southern tip of Madagascar (Mada for short) is renown for being difficult, mainly because there are strong gales spinning out of the South Atlantic Ocean and Antarctica that periodically cross the route.  The best time to make this passage is in October when the gales become less frequent during the Austral Spring and before tropical storm season begins later in November.

Which led to a dilemma for me. I was comfotable in the marina at Reunion Island.  When I arrived I told them I’d like to stay until October which they seemed OK with then.  Meanwhile, I’d been watching the weather forecasts daily, as I always do when flying or sailing. I spotted a weather window I thought could work leaving Reunion on August 8.  Considering that option against staying until October, I went to the marina office to confirm I could stay until October. To my surprise they told me I had to be out by September 30 because the marina was fully booked with sailing rallys that would start arriving October 1. 

Rallys are potentially large organized groups of boats sailing to the same destinations, like across the Atlantic or even around the world.  Boats pay to be part of the rally.  Depending on the rally, the organizers may arrange all logistical support for participating boats – fuel, marina berth space, clearing in and out formalities, weather forecasting,  tours of the places they stop, etc. Because of all that support, I call them nanny cruises.  Like other independent cruisers, I have to do all those things myself.

I have to be Seattle to participate in the First World Flight Centennial from September 26-29. There’s no way I could be back in Reunion to leave on September 30.  Moreover, I hate to be forced to leave into weather circustances that were not my choice and could be terrible. I planned to return to the US early in September. If I waited in Reunion longer, there’s no way to know if I’d find a better weather setup than the August 8 setup I had already identified.

So, as I write this August 9 I’m 24 hours and 130 nm into my passge to Richards Bay. You can never trust long range forecasts out 10 days to hold, especially in this part of the world. What’s important is that it holds at least until I can get passed (“weather” in sailor lingo) the southern tip of Mada. Once I’m passed that I can retreat north up the Mozambique (Moz) channel if necessary for bad weather, either by heaving-to or heading for two well-known weather anchorages at St. Augustine Bay on the west coast of Mada or the north side of Ilha Inhaca just outside Maputo in Mozambique. Generally, if a yacht is taking shelter from bad weather and nobody on board goes ashore, you can anchor in a country’s waters without going through the often arduous process of formally clearing-in to the country. 

That’s where things stand. I’ll see how it all works out.

Over the past few weeks I’ve made a number of excursions into the interior of Reunion Island where its spectacular volcanic history is found. I’ve included a map of Reunion which shows the three calderas(cirques) near the island center – Cirque de Mafate, Cirque de Cilaos and Cirque de Salazie, all dormant. At the conjunction of these cirques is Piton des Neiges, at 3071 meters the highest point in the Indian Ocean. In the lower right hand (SE) corner of the map is Piton de la Fournaise, the only active volcano on Reunion which last erupted in April, 2021.

To access these places, I had to drive up incredibly winding, narrow mountain roads, some with one-way tunnels blasted from solid rock (look for on-coming headlights before entering). The French certainly excel at building roads like this – there all over this island and France as well.

“Ah oui, les espions, on trouve partout”. It’s 2 am. I’m standing in the deep shadows in an alley off Rue Sadi Carnot, my hat pulled low across my face, a Gauloises hanging from my lips, staring at my phone. My contact is late, not like her. There’s a full moon somewhere above a solid overcast that threaten to rain all day. Walking here I could feel the cool breeze blowing in from the nearby harbor carrying the salty smell of the ocean. The intense green and red lights marking the harbor entrance reflected off the walls of the buildings lining the street at the water’s edge. As I walked I would sometimes quickly duck into a doorway alcove to check for a tail.   I saw nothing; if they were back there, they’re good.

We set the meeting at a spot behind a defunct Chinese restaurant with a broken down bamboo fence in front of its forlorn entrance. As I waited the scratching of a restless rat in an empty cardboard box was the only thing disturbing the quiet night. No kung pao chicken tonight, pal.

Everyone knows the next moment, when the world seems to holds its breath, the clock fails to tick forward, a beating heart pauses, and your brain involuntarily skids down a slope of anticipation. Far down the alley, the sound of a scuffle, a panicked shout, and the crack of a gunshot shattered the night. . .

Once an important stop for ships on trade routes to Asia until the Suez Canal opened in 1870, La Reunion is a spy novel of an island that collected more than its share of misfits, miscreants, foreign legion rejects, and con artists, a place Rick and Louis might have headed for instead of Brazzaville. Now it’s a popular French holiday home location (direct flights to Paris!). With my arrival by sailboat yesterday, I’m the latest miscreant to sully its shores.

My passage here from Cocos (Keeling) was pretty fast, total elapsed time about 18 days but it could have been faster.  I originally notified Reunion from Cocos I would arrive on July 12 but soon realized I would arrive earlier but not sure when.  I finally told them July 10.  I stooged around sailing slow the last couple of days so I would arrive at the harbor entrance during daylight on that day. I also slowed down during the passage when the winds were running 25-35 kts and 3.5 – 4 meter confused seas were hitting the boat broadside.  When a big wave slams into the side of the boat its like it was hit by a truck. Other waves would break over the deck, briefly inundating it, the seawater cascading down the opposite side.  The boat would roll into the deep wave troughs to the point where the edge of the deck was in the water. That roll would also turn the heading of the boat in the direction of the trough forcing the autopilot to throw the rudder hard over to correct the course.  This often resulted in an alarm when the rudder was all the way over against its limits.  I usually try to trim the sails so the boat is reasonably balanced, not inclined to turn one way or the other, with a bit a weather helm left in.  The autopilot doesn’t have to work so hard when the boat is balanced, saving electrical power. In these very rolling conditions such balancing efforts are futile.  The best I could do was to reduce sail to slow down so the ride isn’t so rough, like driving slow instead of fast over a rutted road is a bit more comfortable. Otherwise, I stayed below deck in the cabin getting rattled around like a marble in a jar.

The Clearing In process (Entry Formalities) at Reunion was incredibly efficient.  Angelique, the marina manager, had prepared all the entry documents and handed them to me as I arrived after helping with the mooring lines at my berth. Fifteen minutes later the Immigration and Customs people showed up.  They didn’t need to come aboard, no need to confiscate my eggs, meat, etc. like the morons in Australia.  They stood on the dock, I handed them my passport and prepared entry documents, they stamped everything, bid me a pleasant stay and left. It took minutes!  I’ve been stuck at red lights that took longer. This was amazing compared to other places I’ve been where I had to take a car to multiple offices all over town to clear in and clear out.

The entry stamp in my passport is important. Reunion, like France and other Schengen countries, limits a stay to 90 days in a 180 day window for non-residents of the Schengen Area. The 90 days started when I arrived on July 10.  I need to return home to the US in September to participate in the First World Flight Centennial. Initially I thought I would take the boat across to Richards Bay in South Africa in August and leave it there while I returned home. However, the best month weather-wise to make the tricky passage to Richards Bay is October. I also have security concerns about leaving the boat in Richards Bay where on-board thefts have been a problem in the past.  The marina in Reunion is very secure.  So I am now thinking I’ll leave the boat here while I return to the US in September, then back again to Reunion in October to make the passage to Richards Bay. From there I’ll make short hops around the South Africa coast to Cape Town where I’ll be positioned to make the homestretch run northwest across the Atlantic to the Caribbean and the US (North America, my 7^th and last continent).  The days I spend traveling back to the US in September do not count against the 90 day limit, so looking at the numbers, this plan should work out alright.

I’m renting a car on Friday for a week so I’ll have time to explore this amazing volcanic island.  

The wind finally calmed down enough so I could launch my drone.

This is probably the most remote place I’ve stopped so far on my solo voyage to 7 continents (6 now done), as least in terms of being far from other populated places. Deception Island in Antarctica is another candidate but there were cruise ships coming and going nearly every day during the week I was there so it didn’t feel so remote.

While anchored here I was reminded of what I wrote in the Epilogue of my 2015 book “Flying 7 Continents Solo”:

“There is always the appeal of a faraway place, the rarely-visited, remote, little-known mystery circumstance.  I was recently in Barrow, Alaska, where a small community college had been built catering to “outlying” villages.  Outlying? I thought Barrow was outlying. The lines of civilization, of human activity, get increasingly stretched, ultimately broken, moving beyond the last signpost, the end of the road, the hesitant smile, the final conversation. Further. Passed the last trail, the disappearing footprints, the lonely, windy mountaintop where recognition is a memory. Further still. Beyond process and reason, merging here and there, blurring yesterday and tomorrow, until finally arriving at a last thin space between the shadow and the silence.”

I probably shouldn’t be sitting under a tree with hanging coconuts.  Someone told me more people are killed each year by coconuts falling on their heads than by shark attacks. It would be really ironic to have sailed this far only to be clunked on the head by a coconut but, as Paul Gauguin once said, “Irony is only a coconut away”