Sonrisa, sailing across a Tanzanian Sunset. Photo taken by @sailingsteelsapphire Pete
A swarm of nervous Captains and Crew descend upon the peaceful and jolly atmosphere of the Mikandani “Yatch” Club. Each has his and her own phone out, loaded with Windy.com’s weather forecasting application playing on repeat through the Mozambique Channel. Various suggestions for departure dates, fuel acquisition strategies, bail out anchorages, grocery strategies, and other pre-departure considerations float above the group to be plucked down and held like the string of helium balloons. None of us are ready to grasp onto anything tangible, so our suggestions collect against the grass thatch roof while our server Amina toddles around the table unloading a handwoven basket of its collection of ice cold beers and frosty mugs.
“We are late in the season to be sailing South."
“No we aren't! We are early!"
“Only if you are looking at the Northwest Monsoon, it only really helps us in the Northern half of the trip."
“Several sailors are in Bazaruto now, waiting out a Southerly low.”
“Forty knots in the anchorage!”
“I think we should Leave Thursday."
“No... that puts us motoring for at least the first 24 hours. I don't want to expend that much fuel in the early part of the passage."
“Is anyone here actually worried about the old ‘can’t leave port on a Friday’ superstition?”
"No...
“no...
“no....
“no...
“no...
“Absolutely, yes! And what do you mean, no!? You never leave port on a Friday, either!” I say to Andrew.
"Well maybe we can lift anchor on Thursday, move to the other side of the bay, re-anchor and then leave for real on Friday.” Andrew suggests.
“This is not the kind of passage to play coy with Neptune.” I fold my arms across my chest while Pete rolls his eyes.
“Just give him more rum!” Andrew says.
Rum: the cause of and answer to all of life’s problems.
We had spent the previous week anchored before Mafia Island, taking small local boats out to areas known for their resident Whaleshark population. A successful swim with an actual whale shark was, until now, an experience that eluded all of us (except Susan) for years. Even in places they are known to frequent, Whalesharks can be hard to find. Their unique skin pattern camouflages in water, and they swim so smoothly they make not even a ripple on the surface.
Whalesharks are not actually whales, but sharks and they are considered the world’s largest fish species. They can grow up to 39 feet long (that is as big as Sonrisa!), and they can live to be 150 years old, and they are the ocean world’s distance runner. They migrate and can swim thousands of miles at a constant, steady pace of three miles per hour.
The whale sharks we met at Mafia island were small in comparison to the largest they could be, but still dwarfed all us humans. The largest one we met was 18 feet long. Not to worry! Though these creatures are sharks, they are also vegetarians! They eat plankton, not humans. In fact, we watched one cough up a live fish after accidentally scooping him into the whaleshark’s mouth.
On our first day, the Whalesharks were enjoying a leisurely lunch around a bouy marker with a running current. This was an incredible viewing opportunity, as they mostly stayed swimming around in circles in this one place. Andrew spent most of his time hanging on to the bouy marker, waiting for the whalesharks to come to him.
The second day, though, felt more like whaleshark chasing. We found the whalesharks swimming through open water. Our guides would zip their boats well ahead of the shark and when the time was right would tell us to dive in. We jumped from the edge of the little dinghy and if we timed it just right, the whaleshark would still be swimming our way. I developed a strategy in which I dive in head first and get down a few feet before the whaleshark arrived near me. Then, all you could do was turn and swim at a dead sprint to even HOPE to keep up with them for a few seconds. Their enormous tails would swish and swing back and forth like the metranome of a giant grandfather clock. The pace for them seemed relaxed, easy, and like they could keep it up as long as it takes to cross whole oceans. But for us, in just moments the whaleshark would glide by and disappear into the haze of clear, but endless ocean water.
It was so much fun, we did this round again….and again….and again…. Being in the presence of these creatures fills you with awe. You feel immediately miniscule compared to their size and the vastness of the space they inhabit. As a person who enjoys swimming, I marvel at the ease and peacefulness with which they glide through the water. Unlike dolphins - who seem like the ocean’s joyful acrobats - whalesharks seem to enjoy that peace-trance distance runners find at mile 87 of their cross mountain-range trail run.
Between swimming with whalesharks, we spent a fair amount of time on the beach, at the little beach resort, waiting for lunch. Mafia Island stripped Vava'u, Tonga of its prior 1st place position in the competition for who might provision a sailor with lunch at the most relaxed pace. One day, we ordered lunch at 11:30, to finally receive our dishes (piping hot!) at 4:52 p.m. We spent the time chatting with our new local friend, Mohammed, and enjoying a nice view.
We thought we might have to motor or motor sail directly upwind and up current overnight to travel from Mafia to Mtwara, the Southern most point of Tanzania, but as luck would have it the East winds predicted came true, and we were able to sail from about noon through our arrival the next day. The skies were clear and dry, a ¾ moon lit our route, and the African sun dropped beautifully in the Western sky, treating Steel Sapphire to a beautiful view of Sonrisa sliding across their starboard horizon.
Early the next morning, we reached the mouth of Mikandani Bay to slip carefully between a narrow channel in the reef, to be coddled by land lined with Boabab trees. Small canoe sailors and octopus fisherman greeted us with the nods and salutes of fellow sea-people as we arrived. First thing first, new anchorage beer! We spy on shore what has been reported to be quite a nice yacht club.
An enormous boabab tree!
Define what you think of when you think of a yacht club?
Super yachts? Champagne? Scotchedy-Scotchy-Scotch?
This Yacht Club was far more “relaxed.” Wooden slat boards hovering over a pinkish red, but silky soft sand. Grass thatch roof shading us from the afternoon sun, a small dock offering a diving platform for local kids to use at high tide, a friendly welcome, fresh squeezed tropical juice, ice cold beers. Seashells strung on strings for decoration, the eye-catching turquoise of tropical waters, an open air window frame through which we watch our boats at anchor. Absolute perfection.
"Cheers!" We clink our glasses and congratulate ourselves on arriving in this anchorage right on schedule. On schedule for what? The best timing for a relatively small safe(r) weather season to sail through the potentially challenging waters of the Mozambique Channel.
Mikandani Bay and its cute little Yacht Club becomes ground zero for arranging everything we need to be ready for our 1,150 mile sail Southward to Richards Bay, South Africa. The Yacht Club owner, Emmanuael gives us the full assessment of services he and his team can offer, including a driver to assist with fuel top-up scheduled for the next day, but I'm not sure he was banking on such tightly wound sailors on his doorstep.
"What time can we schedule him?”
“You just come in tomorrow morning, and we will call him."
“Yeah, but what time?”
“Anytime?”
“Noooo....we need to schedule a time.”
Nervous Captains grumble over the unescapable limitation of Pole-Pole (”slowly-slowly”) Swahili Life. Our weather window might open on Thursday, only three days away from where we sat. So much to be done! So many systems to check! So much fuel to acquire! So many groceries still waiting for us at the markets! We need a solid schedule!
We eventually all accept the inevitable and agree to pop in the next morning.
At three, we order dinners all around and settle into wait the unpredictable number of hours it might take for this food to arrive. It’s a busy night, we might get our food “lapso kesho” or “maybe tomorrow”.
Though it is dark before we each receive our orders, they all turn out to be delicious. Traditional goat, grilled whole chicken, grilled octopus, and octopus curry, each served with fries and delicious chili and tomato based dipping sauces in giant polished seashells.
A solid sleep with full bellies prepares us for the next few busy days ahead. The anchorage is a hive of activity aboard the three sailboats anchored here. The Steel Sapphire Crew is up the mast checking the rig, Erie Spirit is inspecting halyards for chafe , and Andrew is fiddling with Sonrisa's engine, and I am re-tying the jerry jugs for the 1,000 time since arriving in Taznania. “We need to get the light wind sails out of the lazarette and ready them on Sonrisa's forepeak bed." I say, knowing the Mozambique channel is either crazy windy, or not windy at all. We might use every sail we have, including Sonrisa's storm jib, a sail that she has never used in at least two sets of owners (us and the previous set) and maybe even three! I hope we don't have to use it. That sail can lay fallow for every mile we sail, and I wouldn't feel one bit of regret.
The tricky thing about this passage is all the currents, combined with various directions of wind. When wind blows strongly in the opposite direction of a strong current, massive sharp waves develop. The kind you crane your neck to the sky to see curling over the top of your miniscule ship in this giant ocean. The ware-waves that can toss little sailing ships like ours end over end - nose to tail - or roll us over upside down and hopefully back up again. The Alhugas current runs at six knots Southward sometimes, and its surrounded by swirls and whorls that develop with very little rhyme or reason. We've never sailed waters like these in the entire course of our sailing trip. And yet, this passage can also be flat calm and windless! Take your pick.
To make matters worse, during October Southern Ocean storms develop and drive Northward every 5-10 days or so, like clockwork. What this means is, on a ten day passage Southward, you are very likely to encounter one of these storms moving North against you. The solution to this is to run and hide from the storm behind islands on the coast of Mozambique - which offers varying levels of hospitality to guests depending on where on the coast you pull in. Too far North, and your hosts might be members of ISIS, terrorizing the islands there and pestering Mozambique’s military for the last year or two.
This route is fraught with challenges in the weather and political geography.
The alternative? Go past Somolia, through the red sea, and through the Suze canal with its fees, required bribery, potential piracy, and rough weather of a different sort. And so, for better or for worse, we've picked the Southward route.
We know it can be safe, we've watched fleets of other sailors undertake the journey at good times and bad over the last few years. Like all who were successful, we just must pick the proper weather window....and be prepared to divert course, time our arrival at various spots in the course, or ride out a terrible mess otherwise.
It's tempting to never leave Mikandani Bay.
“This has to be the most calm, most peaceful bay we've stayed in for ages!”
But, “While a ship might be safe in port, that is not what it built for." Onward mileage calls us back out to sea.
“The window opens Thursday."
“No...the window opens Friday."
"Friday it is."
“Saturday works, too.” Someone says, I hold my breath.
“But, Friday will allow us to get further South that we might be able to get a better angle through this storm and sail all the way to Bazaruto."
"But, that requires so much motoring in the first few days."
“Friday.”
“Yes, Friday."
“Okay, Friday."
Thursday night, everyone had settled on our Friday departure when a few hours later Steel Sapphire pinged the group: “Our iridiumGo is not working."
We definitely could not leave on Friday.
