Officially Entering the Tropics

Crossing the Tropic of Capricorn

We are now officially in the “tropics”. We've just crossed the Tropic of Capricorn aka the Southern Tropic, the southernmost latitude at which the Sun can be directly overhead at the December (southern) solstice. Its northern equivalent is the Tropic of Cancer and we'll cross it in the future as we head north to the USA and out of the tropics. We crossed the Tropic of Capricorn on land when we visited Namibia in 2007 and again just recently … at least there was a sign!

There seems to be some confusion as to when these imaginary lines were named and first used. Some references say “2000 years ago”; some quote the first known usage in the mid 16th century. Sources agree, however that at the time they were named, the Sun was positioned in the Cancer constellation during the northern summer solstice in June and in the Capricorn constellation during the northern winter solstice in December. Due to the Earth's axis and orbit variation, the Sun is no longer in these constellations today during the solstices, but the names have remained. The word “tropic”, by the way, derives from the Greek “trope” and means turn or change of direction, referring to the change of the sun's path at the solstices.

Interestingly enough, the Tropic of Capricorn is a moving target. It's gradually moving northward at a rate of 0.47 arcseconds, i.e. 48.75' (15m) per year. According to Wiki, by definition, the positions of the tropics are “dependent on the tilt of Earth's axis relative to the plane of its orbit around the sun (the obliquity of the ecliptic)”. On our older paper charts, the Tropic of Capricorn is  fixed at around 23.5º south, but in actuality it's further north. This means that the area of the “tropics” is decreasing by ~425 mi²/year (1100 km²)  Find out exactly where the Tropic is today by clicking here. It updates the location daily.

So … another milestone for Nine of Cups on its trip across the Atlantic. One more reason to celebrate.

The Tropic of Capricorn is one of the five major imaginary circles of latitude that are used on maps and globes of the Earth. Can you name the other four?

Lüderitz to St. Helena - Days 1 & 2

st. helena 1325 nautical miles

Day 1

Miles to go: 1325

We got a late start because of check-out, but we were still off the mooring by 1130. The wind had lessened but it was cold. As we cast off our mooring lines, we saw our friend Andy waving goodbye. Liz sent a bon voyage SMS and Evaldine wished us a good passage on the VHF. Before we left the calm waters behind Diaz Point, we raised the main and gave Neptune his tot of rum. We were making 7 knots when we passed the last cardinal marker. The sky was clear and blue and the sun was shining.

Once outside the protection of the Point, the waves increased and so did the wind. We were on a broad reach, double-reefed with a little headsail; apparent winds were 30-35  knots. Despite the Stugeron, it didn't take long to get seasick. I heaved till there was nothing left, then heaved some more just in case a remnant of that last brotchen had hidden somewhere. My throat was raw and sore. David sent up paper towels and spearmint  gum. What else can you do?

We were dressed in layers ... t-necks, sweatshirts, fleeces, scarves, gloves, sweat pants, hats, foul weather bibs and jackets ...and we were still cold. It was the biting cold that gnaws at you, burrowing into your bones and penetrating the marrow. We were cold from the inside out. The cold ended up being more oppressive than the seasickness. During the day, it was uncomfortable, but during the wee hours of night watch, it was downright painful. On off-watch, we could snuggle into a warm bunk, but below deck was no place to be unless we were sleeping. Our only redeeming thought as we shivered? We're heading north and it'll get warmer by the day.

to st. helena map

Day 2 

Miles to go: 1206

I'm dressed like a Muslim woman in a burka...only my eyes are visible and exposed to the cold. The day has been grey, bleak and overcast. The wind has lessened and the seas have calmed. The big pot of passage soup I made has gone pretty much uneaten. It's tasty enough, but our stomachs aren't craving soup at all. The captain has been eating pre-passage prepared PB & J sandwiches with mint tea and munching on coffee cake.  As for me, a cup of lemon tea and a piece of coffee cake had my stomach in knots again. I plan to live off my fat for a day or two till I'm feeling better. Don't feel bad, this will do me good!

By evening, we've begun to feel a slight change in the temperature. The bite has gone. It's still cold, but it's a bit more tolerable...less wind chill. We took 2-hour watches last night because of the cold. Tonight we're reverting to our 3-hour sched, affording the crew a bit more rest. The night is coal black. It's still overcast...no moon, no stars. Even once my eyes become accustomed to the dark, I'm not able to discern the sky from the horizon. It's an eerie, discomfiting feeling.

It'll get better ... Check our Days 3 & 4 of this passage.

Moving Wind Wanderer

Our friends, Sandy & Vic on Wind Wanderer, were in a hurry. After a miserable trip from Cape Town to Luderitz during which lots of things broke (does this sound familiar?), they arrived late one night with only two days to spare before their flight back to Australia was due to leave. Talk about angst! They're good friends and it wasn't hard for us to offer some help. The biggest issue? Wind Wanderer (WW) was not on a permanent mooring and she'd need to be moved to one. Vic had everything sorted with Port Control before they left (or so he thought) and we just needed to move the boat to a new mooring as soon as possible.

Assured that all was handled, Sandy and Vic left for Windhoek and their flight back to Oz.

Hmmm … but TIA (This Is Africa) and rarely does anything go according to plan … or on time. Before WW's crew left, Port Control had identified a mooring not too far away, but prudence dictated it should be checked by a diver before moving WW and so a diver was scheduled … but not before they left. The mooring owner, however, changed his mind about WW using the mooring for an extended period. Port Control found another mooring and rescheduled the diver. When we checked with Port Control two days later, we found that the diver was actually checking the newly assigned mooring at that very moment. We dinghied out to the mooring in a hurry. There were three big problems with it: 1) It was located a long dink ride away from shore; 2) it was exposed to winds and fetch from all directions; and most importantly, 3) it was located much too close to a recently sunken boat. Yikes! This was not a good mooring.  The Port Control person with whom we had been dealing was out for a few days and  the current mooring owner needed WW to be moved soon to make room for his own boat. What to do?

We stopped to see our neighbor, Andy, on his trimaran and told him the tale of woe. He had a solution for us almost immediately. “Why don't you use Paul's mooring? It's designated for a yacht and it's not being used. It's only a year or so old and it's very sturdy.” We had just met Paul when we had dinner at Liz's house two nights before. We dinghied out to check the mooring first and it looked ideal. It was a short distance from WW's temporary mooring. We gave Paul a call. “No problem,” he said, “but you should have a diver check it out.” We contacted the divers again and got the new mooring scheduled for a check. They managed to get it done the same day and  David went out to the mooring to monitor the survey. All was good! Now to move the boat.

We enlisted Andy to help us … a third hand is always welcome. Since the new mooring was so close, about 70m (225') away, we attached one end of a long line (one of our Patagonia shorelines) to the new mooring and Andy and I handlined WW to the new mooring while David provided assistance with the dinghy. This 30-ton boat was easily maneuvered by two hands from one mooring to the other. Piece of cake!

We got her all double-tied to the new mooring which will be her home for the next couple of months. Her new neighbors, Nautilus II and Fukula, seem to be comfortable with her being there. All's well that ends well.