I’m not privy to the details of what my sister said in her prayer to Thor with regards to the weather, nor what my brother asked in return for the sacrificial goat, however, good-natured as they both are I can only assume they had the safety and comfort of our crossing to Tanzania in mind. And should this assumption prove correct I can with great authority advise you all to save your breath and keep your goats, as their assumed ability to draw good favour from Thor, Neptune, or any other deity, is with all certainty A SHAM!
When not even 20 nautical miles from land the winds start escalating, and with great voracity and roaring sounds start whipping around the boat ripping at sails, sheets, and canvas. But the howling winds are not the worst. No, the worst is when a wave approaches you, and you have to look upwards a good 5 meters to find its top. Then it lifts one hull, so when looking out to port you see the sky, and when turning your gaze to starboard you’re staring straight into an abyss of ocean below. The same wave reaches the second hull and the scenery is reversed. Your stomach churns, and you get a mere second to recalibrate your vertigo before the next wave then reaches you. This one does not come gradually, like the seesawing wave before it. No, this one slowly grows underneath you and gently lifts you skywards. You’re grateful. Your stomach is grateful. Then, as the wave reaches its peak and your view of the horizon has increased fivefold, you utter a weak “shit” and your stomach moves from its usual midriff position to the top of your throat as the wave bids its sudden farewell and you PLUNGE down to the bottom of the aforementioned abyss. Your next utterance “faaa……” is not completed before the third wave (that bastard) kicks you when you’re down, breaks just ahead of you, and drops its content SPLASH! onto the entire boat!
Conditions not very conducive to taking great photos. That combined with the photographers’ lack of skill resulted in not being able to amply illustrate the actual conditions
Then it’s the seesaw’s turn again…
After three days and nights of this, the winds finally abated to somewhat more tolerable strength, and the waves to less lofty heights. But the waves… those damned waves. What they now lack in height they more than make up for in frequency. The effect of this is that we spend the remaining four days being tossed about like ice cubes in a cocktail shaker or a cowboy on a bucking bronco. I shamefully find myself having warm thoughts about an RV! There better be bloody giraffes at our arrival in Tanzania!
After exactly seven days, by when we have broken the aft canvas, the microwave plate (as it came flying out of the microwave), a bolt on our trampoline, and our own speed record (four times!) we sail into the Pemba Channel and on to Tanga Yacht Club. We wash down the inside and outside of the boat removing several layers of salt. Then we go through our check-in procedures and head to the yacht club’s bar where we catch up with old friends we have met cruising in Asia, and make new ones. With a Kilimanjaro Beer in hand, we are so glad to be here and so very tired. Thoughts about RV’s starts to cool and although we have not yet seen a giraffe, we’re happy.
Finally in calmer conditions in the Pemba channel, just outside Tanga, Tanzania
