South Atlantic: Sailing Cape Town to Saint Helena
- Tom
- Apr 4
- 8 min read
My round-the-world adventure includes five ocean crossings. The South Atlantic, east-to-west, from Cape Town to Brazil, is regarded as the easiest. After the Indian Ocean, widely regarded as the hardest and most dangerous, I was looking forward to an easy sail. If only!
I should have seen the omens. Two boats we know left on Tuesday, February 18th. They returned within a few hours having sustained damage during a 50-60 knot squall! We left two days later, on Thursday 20th February.
Starting a day late, we missed the opportunity of good wind to take us north into the southern trade winds. Instead, for three days we were beating upwind in 6-8 knots of breeze. Fortunately, Skyfall sails relatively well in these conditions and we still made over 100nm each day.
Fur seals had been everywhere around the southern and western Cape. We encountered hundreds as we slowly moved north. They sleep on the surface, flippers together, as if praying for fish!
After three days, the wind started to fill in, first from the beam, but moving further behind us as the day progressed. By the fifth day, we had reached the southern trades. We were ready to take down the mainsail and switch to twin headsails. This is my favourite set up for downwind sailing, not least because the hydrovane (wind based steering) can take over from the autopilot.
At this stage, I should explain the 'we'. Paul, my crew for South Africa, had left and I had been waiting for Martin, my new crew, who I had found on crewseekers.net. Unfortunately, his wife was taken sick and admitted to hospital. Obviously, he had to cancel.
So I was without a crew. Fortunately, I found Kiara, who after finishing her superyacht crew training in Cape Town, was looking for an opportunity to add sea miles to her CV.
Sailing in the trade winds, using hydro-vane and twin headsails, there was little to do. Filling time becomes a challenge. Catching up on sleep is important, especially for the skipper who is off watch for only 4 hours every night. But I also wanted to read.
Every Christmas I prepare my wish list, hopeful of useful presents. Instead, my family insist on buying me books. Usually 'high brow', intellectual stuff which they believe I will enjoy. This year, I had got stuck with a book on marine archaeology where the author tries to explain how important information is gleaned from the treasures found under the sea, using twelve shipwrecks as examples. This would be my third attempt to get through it. Unfortunately, I did not make it past the third wreck. On the other hand, it worked wonders at helping me catch up on sleep!
Kiara had a different strategy. She is a budding artist as well as superyacht crew. She does not go anywhere without either a sketchbook or an i-pad. She would doodle away quite happily as the miles rolled by.
The twin headsails pushed us along nicely and, after a few days, we passed a special milestone. We were now further west than Nieuwpoort, Belgium, the place where the RTW adventure began. In principle, I had already circumnavigated the globe.
There were many reasons I enjoyed Kiara's company on this passage. One of them was her unbridled fascination with sunsets and sunrises. She would sit and watch uninterrupted, as the sun started to dip, then sank below the horizon and as the red 'afterglow' developed. Her enthusiasm reminded me of my 'wonder' four years ago during my first Atlantic crossing. I am ashamed to admit that these events have become commonplace and I just take them for granted. Her fascination and enthusiasm reminded me how lucky I am to be able to enjoy them day in, day out and that it is wrong not to treasure them however 'normal' they become. Something to remember for things other than sunsets and sunrises.
Another reason was how she accepted, without a murmur, the limitations of boat life. Skyfall does not have a water maker. Such a temperamental piece of equipment is not necessary provided you accept that your daily shower takes place on the aft deck and consists of cold seawater being tipped over your head!
I was also intrigued by her eating habits. She could do to a pot of peanut butter what my children do to a pot of Nutella. Her favourite snack was to sit down with an apple and the pot, spread peanut butter on one side, take a bite,then repeat until either the pot or the apple were finished!
Our passage was steady and uneventful but, after several days with the twin headsails, the trade winds were forecast to drop significantly. This called for more sail area and a switch to main and genoa. No problem.
Except, that night, at around 03.30, disaster struck. (there are technical terms in the next bit and so I added a diagram at the end to explain them - see below). Kiara was on watch but I was awoken by a bang and strange noises. I rushed on deck to see that the lower spreader (and D1 rigging wire attached to it) had come away from the mast and, with every wave, the mast was moving horrendously and bending from straight to banana form. I was sure that we would lose the mast. Sailing Cape Town to Saint Helena was supposed to be easy!
As quickly as possible, we rounded up onto starboard tack, close hauled to apply pressure to the side with intact rigging. Then we dropped the mainsail, or rather as far as it would go without climbing up and pulling the sail down. Then we bore off onto a broad reach to head roughly back on course, but trying to keep pressure on the mast (from the genoa).
What to do next? I was acutely aware of the statistics and the risks. Losing the mast (plus rigging and sails) would be extremely expensive, a disaster which might end the RTW adventure, but the boat would be afloat and we would be able to motor to St Helena (provided we got help from other yachts with diesel supply).
Even if the mast put a hole in the hull, and Skyfall sank, our lives were not really in danger. In the four years of my adventure I know of around 15 yachts that sank or were abandoned. All without loss of life. The only sailor I know who lost his life in a storm was killed when his mast was broken and the top piece fell on him. So I was acutely aware of the dangers from falling masts.
To try to save the mast I needed to work by it. My first action was to use the line which holds the spinnaker pole up, take it off the pole and attach it to the D1 chain plate (asa replacement D1). It helped a bit but did not even stop the top of the mast moving. (Without the spreader the shrouds were no longer tight). Next was to use the spinnaker halyard and attach it to the port shroud chain plate. Tensioning both with the winch, the mast was a bit more stable. The top was fixed, but it was still bending too much to survive.
I needed a line from where the D1 was attached to the mast and to be able to tension it properly. But there was no way I was going to climb the mast to fix it. Instead, I focused on managing the situation. Firstly, we got out all the tools we would need to cut the mast loose if it came down. (Having a heavy metal object tied to the boat, constantly banging the side is a good way to put a hole in the boat). Then I explained to Kiara what might happen and we divided the jobs needed to cut the mast and sails free. By this time an hour had passed. We were around 700nm from St Helena and I had diesel to motor around 600nm. The lifeboat would have a range of circa 30nm. I would need help from other boats. Time to call for help.
Even non-sailors are aware of the "Mayday, Mayday" call from disaster movies. This means you need immediate help in a life-threatening situation. This was not our case. There is a lesser "Pan Pan" call which indicates you may need help, and please monitor the situation. So I put out a PAN PAN call via satellite to the authorities, to my emergency contact monitoring us on land and through the social media group for yachts sailing in South Africa and the South Atlantic.
Then I sat in the cockpit and racked my brain for the next step. We had done the simple things to try to secure the mast. But not enough. We were prepared for the mast coming down. PAN PAN call was made. Should I go up the mast? Was it worth it?
Then the penny dropped. I was such an idiot. I did not need to go up the mast to get a rope around the starboard spreader. I could simply throw a rope over. I raced to the lazarette (locker) to search through my spare ropes. In true cowboy fashion, I prepared the line and hurled it skyward. The second attempt succeeded. I took the two ends back to the D1 chain plate and tied them together as tight as I could.
Of course, it is not possible to get them tight enough to make a difference like that. But my boy scout days had taught me all about tourniquets. Using a piece of wood inserted between the two lines, I started to twist. With enough twists the mast suddenly came under control. As waves rocked the boat, the windward D1 remained more or less tight. Kiara brought whipping twine and I fixed the stick so it could not fall out.
Much relieved, we returned to the cockpit to view our handiwork. I was worried about chafing and not wanting the line to break where it went over the spreader. My solution required redundancy. This time I took my spare halyard and threw it up and over three times so I had a 6:1 purchase. Having tied that off, I used a second stick to tighten the backup "D1".
It was now breakfast time. A full five hours of drama. I had only slept about two hours before it all kicked off. Now it was time to turn in. I surfaced a couple of hours later and went to check messages. I was overwhelmed by the response from the sailing community. Both St Helena and South African lifeboat services had acknowledged our situation having been informed from three separate sources. I had around forty messages of support, advice and general good information, both from friends and boats we had not even met.
Importantly, there were two boats around 100nm (less than a day) behind us so that, should we need diesel, they would be able to give us some. In addition I was recommended a rigger from Cape Town, Marcello, who would be able to help. I sent a message and within half an hour we had a video call, he assessed the situation, offered further advice to improve mast stability. In addition, he started the conversation with Selden, manufacturers of my mast, about what parts would be necessary to fix it and to get them on order even before we arrived in St Helena.
It was a nervous four days as we limped towards St Helena under reefed genoa, hoping to get there with the mast intact. But the rope lashings did the trick and we arrived just before sunset on March 5th. Time for a celebration with wine, cheese and biscuits
As we ate and watched the sun set behind the tall ship, "Stad Amsterdam", we had the music up loud. To clebrate the intact mast there was only one song we played on repeat: Elton John, "I'm still standing"!
Diagram to explain relevant bits of standing rigging:
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