Goodbye, Indian Ocean! Hello, Atlantic!

Rounding Cape Agulhas

We've left Mosselbaai en route to Cape Town and we've rounded Cape Agulhas! Cape Agulhas is the southern-most geographic point of land at the tip of the African continent  and according to the International Hydrographic Organization, it is the official dividing line between the Indian and the Atlantic Oceans. We're back into the Atlantic.

Named Cabo das Agulhas (Cape of the Needles) by Portuguese navigators c. 1500, the name does not reflect the ragged headland of the cape, but rather the fact that they noticed that magnetic north and true north on the compass needle were the same. There was no magnetic deviation at the southern tip of Africa.

Last time we were here, we were land-touring the Western Cape, taking pictures of the rugged cape shore and the Cape Agulhas Light, the third lighthouse to be built in South Africa, and the second-oldest still in operation. Built in 1848, its light first shone in March 1849. The original building now serves as a restaurant and museum and a new automated aluminum structure has taken its place as sentry.

The nearby little fishing village of Arniston, with its whitewashed sandstone houses, was quaint and picturesque.

The sea off Cape Agulhas, like most major capes, is notorious for storms, big winds and big waves. There have been lots of shipwrecks off this coast and we paid attention to the cruising guide which recommended hugging the coast as we rounded the Cape. We stayed about 3-5 miles off and had no problems.

The figurehead of the French ship, Marie Elise, was on display at Agulhas National Park when we visited … salvaged parts from a shipwreck in 1877.

Unfortunately, the rounding of the cape was at 0400 in the morning and there wasn't much to see. We toasted Neptune with his tot of rum and asked for his continued guidance and protection as we left the Indian Ocean and sailed back into the Atlantic.

Though Cape Agulhas is the southern most point in Africa, it's not considered one of the Five Great Southern Capes and we're not sure why. Instead, the Cape of Good Hope, the most southwestern point of the continent at the tip of Cape Point claims the title, and so, we still have that cape to round before claiming our Five Great Capes badge. Always something to look forward to.

Midnight Arrival in Mosselbaai

(Mossel Bay) As usual, things seem to happen during the night. The wind finally backed to the east around 2200 … late, but better than never. We had rigged the whisker pole to starboard while it was still light in anticipation of the wind change and, for once, we called it right and put the pole to use as soon as the east winds began to blow.

The ship traffic was horrendous and all going in our direction. At one point, there were 10 ships closing in from behind and beside us. Keeping track of them all with AIS was sometimes nerve-wracking, but much better to know they're there and bearing down on you, than to be literally in the dark. We contacted several ships whose CPA appeared too close and they all accommodated us by altering their course. No close calls.

Around 0200 just before the turn of the watch, I heard a loud scraping sound and a dull thud. The whisker pole extension had retracted. I woke David and he manhandled the whisker pole to extend the pole once again only to have it retract almost immediately. He scrambled on deck once more and we finally settled with using a partial jib and a retracted whisker pole till he could figure out the problem once we were in port. The whole process lasted 45 minutes and was exhausting.

Dawn broke, not as colorful as yesterday, but sunny nonetheless. The birds were not as plentiful in this area. The gannets were still active, but now they mingled with sooty shear waters and white-chinned petrels instead of gulls.

By chance, we spotted a yellow-nosed albatross relaxing on the water and totally unperturbed by Cups.  We saw another whale, but as before, he didn't venture near enough for pix.

The day was long with constant wind changes in both direction and velocity. Out of nowhere fishing floats appeared and we had to pay close attention, so we didn't snag one. By afternoon, the sky was a cement-sidewalk gray and rain began just before dinnertime. It was cold and raw. We'd hoped to arrive in Mosselbaai before dark, but our fruitless excursion out to find the elusive current plus tacking and jibing exercises to accommodate the wind changes had us arriving very tired and closer to midnight than sunset.

The yacht club anchorage is outside the harbor breakwater, but tucked in and quite protected. The rain had stopped and visibility has improved as we neared the shore. We could see the small city of Mosselbaai spreading up the hillside, lights twinkling in the darkness. With the mainsail down, the boat rocked violently from gunwale to gunwale with the southwest swell. The dish locker below flung open and the dishes all come out with a crash. We'd handle the aftermath later. We were hoping the anchorage in the lee of the breakwater would be calmer.

We expected a bunch of little moored boats, but there were none.  Instead, we found a wide open bay. It was, however, much calmer. We selected a reasonable place to drop the hook outside the breakwater. All systems shut down quickly, including ours. As David tidied up the topsides and set the anchor alarm, I cleaned up the mess below. Nothing major … a couple of dinner plates that had thoroughly smashed in a million bits. The rest of the plates had scattered, but were intact. It was easily swept up and by 0130, we were happy to crawl into our bunk for a good night's sleep.

Entertainment En Route

Bird Island to Mosselbaai

We left the Bird Island anchorage well before dawn. We hauled anchor in the pitch black, starless night, and not even the silhouette of the lighthouse shone. Only the endless cycle of the brilliant beacon split the darkness. We could hear the surf pounding on the shore and the reefs beside us, but the birds were still quiet and asleep as we slipped away.

Variable winds had us motor-sailing on tranquil seas. What a change from the washing machine we'd experienced just yesterday. Within an hour, the sun peeked over the horizon and the morning sky was painted in bright hues of pinks and oranges and reds.

There was no lack of entertainment during this day. Sky and sea teemed with hungry gannets, gulls and terns. We watched as pods of dolphins herded fish and took turns feeding. The water roiled and thrashed in the frenzy. Fish jumped. The gannets hovered opportunistically overhead, waiting to benefit from the spoils of the dolphins' work.

Awhile later, David spotted a seal flipper poking out of the water. They always appear to waving hello. Soon two seals were swimming along side us, jumping gracefully out of the water, performing any number of aquatic acrobatics to our amusement. They swam along until they were obviously bored with us or thought of something better to do, and headed abruptly back towards shore.

During an afternoon cockpit chat, I spied a spout to port. Sure enough, a whale, presumably a southern right whale in this area, spouted twice and then breached. To our disappointment, he never came closer and we lost sight of him as he sounded and never re-surfaced in our view.

Then, of course, there are the endless line of ships that ply these waters. The AIS was kept busy with 4-6 ships on the radar screen at all times. Some were far off; some were a bit too close for comfort. It was a clear, bright day and there were no close-calls. Looking at the AIS, however, which does not represent ships to scale, it looked as if we were having a run-in with a the freighter, Densa Cobra, that was more than ½ mile to port.

Towards late afternoon, we were disappointed when the promised easterlies never materialized. We had  headed out to the 200m contour, now much further offshore, in hopes of catching some of the Agulhas Current as well as sailing a bit off the light west winds, but never saw more than ½ knot and the west winds continued. We tacked towards shore again, frustrated with our slow progress, but overall pleased with the day.

We settled into our watch schedule, taking two hour naps rather than the usual three. Once the sun went down, it was cold and raw with intermittent showers. Two hours was adequate chilling time and it felt good to snuggle into a warm bunk. Conversely, climbing into the cold cockpit was … exhilarating!