Richard W. Frank

Cyprus to Kenya (II)

Christmas went smoothly with Yemeni Secret Santa gifts and real American pancakes a la Zac. The danger had passed but the stress took it's toll on Boxing Day (12/26). Alex had been responsible for our lives and a quarter of a million dollar boat, and he thought we had been taking him for granted. The winds and waves had gotten bigger as we neared the tropical convergence zone near the equator, and my knuckles were white on the wheel as we reached 8.9kts with white caps rising above the horizon. I shouldn't have read or seen "the Perfect Storm." Alex broke out the rum at 10am without eating (not brilliant when you are a diabetic taking four insulin shots a day) saying we were heading into a tropical storm and ordering us to take out the storm jib and rope anchor-something we had never had to do before.

 

While I was at the helm two huge wahoo were caught on the big-game fishing lines we still had out. They were too large for the bucket so Troy tried to stab them in the brain, and the next time I looked back Alex was round-housing a fish by the tail bashing it's head repeatedly into the deck with blood flying into the lower decks, ceiling, bulkheads, everywhere. He then insisted that the others clean up the mess and then make a fish and chip fry-up before the storm. Zac was enlisted (as he always is when the rest of us refuse to do something), and you could hear the swearing from the galley as he was burned by flying oil as the gimbaled stove swung with the waves. As a rather unpleasant day ended, Alex had finally passed out in the cockpit.

 

As some kind of idiot gesture on awaking he let out the sheets to the #3 sail and ran down to his cabin as it started to whip around thinking we would secure it. He wanted the larger #2 up to get us to Mombasa sooner, but no one helped. We thought we were going bloody fast enough. He charged up to the pulpit at the bow bellowing drunken obscenities at the sunset as he tried to get the sheet untangled from around the port anchor. We all thought he would go over, but this man must have been in this situation before. He fell over repeatedly as he winched the #2 up screaming at Troy as he helmed-Troy being the only one of us he had hopes for as a "real" sailor. Brandishing the winch handle he charged back to the cockpit, getting into our faces as Zac hid the rifle. For a second or three we thought that we would have to lock him in his cabin for the remaining four days, but then the moment passed as he threw the handle into the saloon and then started to cry complaining about the pressure he had been under.

 

We had all been amazed at how well we had all gotten alone for the first six weeks being around each other 24/7. No real fights or disagreements before this point. It is a truism that life on a boat is different that on land. There is no room for BS. Everyone has a job to do, and he gets on and does it. Being at sea for twelve days, tempers are bound to flare. It happened, we put it behind us, and are looking forward to Mombasa for New Years. Can't believe that we've almost made it!!

 

Day 60- 05 Jan 01 Mombasa, Kenya 3,400nm

 

During the last 1-3am shift on the 31st I could see the chimeral lights of Mombasa off the starboard bow, but with a 2kt current against us and not much canvas flying we were killing time until dawn. Pulling in Mombasa seemed a tropical paradise, a riot of bougainvillea, palms, and tropical green lushness. Made it. Game over, turkey's cold, the dog's full, granny's snoring, time to move on. Finished the last bit of scrubbing and clean up yesterday and heading to Nairobi with Aaron, Jon, and Zac today.

 

As always the ambiguous feeling of fulfillment. A dream becoming a reality soon to be transformed by memory. Suitable celebration-awesome Lebanese dinner and an all-nighter at the place to be-Pirates Club....how apropos. Midnight rung in with "Who let the dogs out?"...not quite "Auld Lang Synge," but fitting for the dogs were us: white trash sailors on shore celebrating in a sea of wealthy Indians and white Kenyans. Mohammed the Salamandra's hired guard set off one of our unused pirate rockets and ate a packet of biscuits. Usual debauchery, celebration, and strange shoes in the cockpit at dawn. Can't believe I have packed my bag again.

 

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A slice of our cruise. I warned you to sit back! Now that I reread these few pages I see that they don't give a very good sense of the day to day on the boat. We all had a damn good time. Everything seems to flow in a constant narrative when you are in the thick of things. Hard to find time to put these experiences in the right perspective now that I am preoccupied with over-landing the rest of Africa. I just have to hope that Aaron gets around to writing his screenplay "The Three Minute Barrier."

 

     Alex, Troy, Aaron, Jon, Zac, and I have all gone our separate ways, but we will always have the memory of an experience shared, we worked together, looked after each other and slept soundly in the knowledge that others were awake and at the helm. I have to thank Alex for allowing us to sail with him for a bit....now if he would just put on some clothes!!

 

"...They are so used to sensation that it takes something outrageous to produce a lasting impression."

-Balzac, Old Goriot p27.

 

To Kenya

© Richard Frank 2007-2008. All rights reserved.

Back to World Trip #2

Back to Cyprus to Kenya (I)

Day 52- 27 Dec 00 off the Somali coast @2,900nm

 

Quiet day today as we all try to put yesterday's mutiny behind us. Am ready to get to Mombasa. The three days it took round the Horn of Africa were spent crashing against the waves and wind tacking a number of times. Missed several shifts because I was violently sick into a plastic bag while at the helm. I tried. The others were cool about covering for me, but I still felt guilty (when I was able to think at all). We stayed at least 50-70 miles off the coast and at night are careful to not let the slightest light shine out into the blackness.

 

Pirates haunt these waters, and we were regaled with horror stories by skippers headed north. There had been twenty incidents of boarding of private yachts in the last nine months. We had practiced loading clips and firing Alex's Ruger Mini40 .223 off the Sudanese coast blowing up water bottles and aiming flare rockets. We were all nervous but tried to project confidence. For the five days around the horn Alex slept with his rifle. Standing watch at night one kept awake looking for searchlights sweeping the sea. Once they spot you, their boats are on you in seconds. If you think you can kill them all, you fire. If not, you throw your guns overboard and hope for the best. Funny how when you're really in a dangerous situation all you want to do is get out of it.