We were so happy and relieved once Ithaca got out of the Durban harbour and entered into the vast Indian Ocean. Watching the high-rises on the coastline fading astern and thinking back on the exhausting times we had had for the last few months, I felt that we had finally escaped. It was not just an escape from the unreliable Durban marina but also an onshore lifestyle.
At that moment in time, we had no house, no car, no job and no insurance. The inherent framework of "the so-called good life" had been completely broken, and we were no longer burdened by it. We had become truly free; we took our home, a floating one, heading to wherever we wanted to go. This kind of "Four Nos" life is either aspired by many people or feared by many others. We just felt that we had become the master of our own.
Before the departure, we purchased a satellite system, Iridium Go, a wireless Internet router on the boat. The most interesting feature is that we only need normal smartphones to download the GRIB files (weather data files), make phone calls, send text messages and emails -- no more restricted satellite phones.
Along the way, if the weather was not cloudy, then it was drizzling a bit. The wind was also not stable; sometimes it sped up to 20 knots, other times there was no wind at all, which caused our boat speed to climb up to 8-9 knots in a moment, then need the boat engine in the next. However, none of this had any effect on our good mood.
The new cockpit cover absolutely provided great protection. We zipped close the plastic door on both sides and rolled up the out-layer shady canvas. From inside the cockpit, Pierre and I could do a full-around lookout, tack the sails, roll-in or roll-out the genoa, and many other tasks; the only exception would be setting the mainsails and spinnaker.
From Durban along the South Africa's eastern coast down south, the first port to call is East London, which is about 260 nautical miles away. We could reach there in two days if we estimated using an average boat speed of 5 knots. Our departure sail plan was, if the weather was good, we would sail to Port Elizabeth, at 400 nautical miles away. But the next day's weather forecast showed 30-40 knots upwind coming in two days. We were unlikely to arrive at Port Elizabeth before the wind. It was a prudent decision to enter a port quickly to avoid the wind.
Before this, we didn't know much about East London except for its name. It was neither as famous as tourist cities such as Durban or Cape Town, nor as distinctive as other small coastal towns. Anyway, East London was not the first vacation choice for most South Africans. It is little known.
We had no idea what the harbour in East London looks like, where the yacht club is, or how to dock there. As soon as our phones got signals near the coast of East London, we checked the Google Map and had an overview of the harbour ahead of us. Sailboats can be moored in the waterway in the Buffalo River. We needed to enter the river mouth and sail up one mile; the Buffalo River Yacht Club is located before the railway bridge on the south bank.
We called East London on the radio on channel 16, but there was no response. As suggested by our friends, we changed to channel 12 to continue calling them; the result was the same. It seemed that we had to enter the harbour without permission. This sounds quite odd because we were used to the strict procedure of entering and exiting Durban Harbour. Then we tried to contact the office of the yacht club; there was no answer there either. Without any local advice, we had to dock our boat in this unfamiliar water without a clue.
From a distance after entering the waterway, we saw the tall bridge and masts of sailboats in front of it. Pierre took out the binoculars and compared the view with Google maps. There were several rows of sailboats docked longitudinally in the waterway. The club was on the left. As we were coming in closer, we could see that the sailboats were connected to buoys in the water, the bow and the stern. The distance between the rows of boats was merely more than 20 meters. We were certainly not able to turn our boat around within it.
There were two things we needed to figure out. First, which water path should we take? Because once we entered the narrow waterway lined by the sailboats, we could not turn around, we could only move backwards and forwards, and it was also not possible to go through the gap between two sailboats. Second, how could we pass the mooring line through the eye on top of the buoy in the water?
Pierre and I quickly weighed the situation and decided to take the water path in the middle. Our children held the fenders, one in front and one at the back, to look after the bow and stern. I held the mooring line in one hand and the boat hook in the other to see how to deal with the buoy. Slowly, we approached; the boat passed next to the buoy, but it was too heavy to be lifted by the boat hook. Even at the lowest part of the deck, I still couldn't reach the eye with my outstretched arms.
Our first try failed. Pierre quickly put the boat in reverse. Now we were in the "game"! It was not what we expected. The boat which was moving straight forwards started to turn around as the reverse gear was in. Immediately, the bow and the stern were about to touch other sailboats on both directions! Pierre was steering the boat alarmingly from left to right in the cockpit; kids and I were running madly with fenders back and forth on the deck. At that moment, I seriously wished that a few more crew would come out of thin air to help.
After a while, we finally exited the waterway without a bump. Now we had to reconsider our docking plan. Let's drop the anchor first! With Pierre's signal, in the hustle and bustle, I quickly stepped on the power button of the windlass on the deck to drop the anchor. A few moments later, some inaudible noise caught my attention among the sounds of our noisy engine. I turned and saw that Pierre was knocking hard on the front cockpit window and yelling. "How many meters have you dropped?!" What a distraction! I looked at the marking on the chain dipped in the water one second ago, but I could hardly tell whether the marking was 20 meters or maybe 30 meters. "You dropped the anchor too fast!" He shouted. "The anchor hasn't bitten into the mud at the bottom yet!" He continued. "Pick up the anchor, we have to do it again!"
It was almost five o'clock in the evening and luckily there was no wind around us, but the sky was already overcast and the rain was drizzling down on us. We had been tossing in the waterway for an hour now, and the boat had not been tied to the buoy yet. When the anchor was dropped for the second time, it was better and the boat settled, but where were still more than ten meters away from the buoy we wanted to tie on. We misjudged the distance! So, we had to use the dinghy to finish the job. As we were getting the dinghy ready, two men, from the direction of the yacht club, rowed a small wooden boat in the rain towards us. They came to help; our stern mooring line was tied to the buoy eventually. We couldn't ask for more! Although the rest of docking was a slow-going job, at least there was no more panic. Of course, it was our old method -- using brute strength to drag the boat closer to the buoy, then tie the bow to another buoy with our dinghy.
When everything was in order, it was dark already. It took us a lot of effort to dock the boat in a strange port for the first time. Nevertheless, all in all, we were safe and sound. At the moment we set our feet on the pontoon of the yacht club, we were excited to explore. Our first adventure had begun!