Port Elizabeth was the demarcation point in our cruising route. From here on, the coastal water would be new to us.
Thinking of leaving Port Elizabeth, Pierre and I felt a bit excited, and yet uneasy. Although we had navigation charts with details and we were able to download four weather models any time at sea, I was a little nervous about the upcoming voyage, because we were going to pass one of the great capes, Cape Agulhas. Cape Agulhas is located at the southernmost point which separates the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic, also known for wrecks in sailing history. When a violent storm struck, no matter how big and strong the boat was, the boat could capsize in those rogue waves.
In sailing, there are three great capes located at the confluence of the three oceans in the southern hemisphere, Cape of Good Hope in Africa, Cape Leeuwin in Australia, and Cape Horn in South America. They are all in the roaring forties. In fact, except Cape Horn, the other two capes are not at the southernmost tip of the continents. To sailors, whenever one crossed one ocean into the other, he or she has passed a great cape, the exact location is not important.
There is a famous classic sailing joke about the great capes. If you sail past one great cape, in a formal dinner among captains, you are eligible to have one elbow on the table; if you sail past two great capes, you are eligible to have both elbows on the table. If you haven't sailed past any of the great capes, you then must only sit in your seat quietly and listen to the orders! From this joke, one can imagine the danger of sailing around the great capes.
On the fourth day that we arrived in Port Elizabeth, Pierre was feeling much better. The captain from the fishing boat we docked next to told us that they would go fishing that afternoon, thus, we had to move our boat to give way. We downloaded the latest weather forecast; the distance to Gansbaai was about 370 nautical miles. The fearful southwesterly wind has eased, but not stopped yet. The good news was that the tailwind would soon stop and change to northeasterly that evening. We decided to depart with the fishing boat in the early afternoon.
After getting out of the bay, because of the headwind, we had to carry on running the engine. When we increased the horsepower, I felt that I heard some faint and strange sounds from the back cabin. I was unsure and did not pay much attention to it. Even if I want to find it out, I wasn't sure where to start.
The sea was still rough, the boat was bumpy, and with the diesel smell from the exhaust, my daughter and I soon became seasick despite having taken seasick pills before the trip. The best way to get over the seasickness is to sleep.
Slowly, the northeasterly wind was approaching after sunset. We raised the sails and turned off the engine. Without the noise of the engine, I could hear the beautiful sound of waves pushing on the side of the boat. The water was getting colder and colder. It was a moonless night and outside the sea was pitch black, which brought out the brightness of white sea bioluminescence when the waves splashed around the boat. It seemed that the boat was moving quietly in a magical world.
The peace lasted until eleven o'clock the second night. The wind had eased and we had to use the engine again. I was on watch. A flickering light in a distance, but not far behind us on the port side, caught my eyes. The light flickered for a while, then disappeared. Perhaps a boat! I scanned it in radar, but there was nothing to find.
As I was wondering about the light, I noticed that our boat speed had slowed down to only 1 -2 knots. How strange! The engine was running as usual, but the boat was moving as if drifting with the waves. "Are we in the counter flow of a strong current?" Quickly, I called Pierre up, who was sleeping.
We checked around but we couldn't find the reason. Finally, I opened the engine compartment. My blood ran cold immediately when the torch shone on the shaft. We had a problem! The shaft was detached from the engine! So the engine was running idle and did not drive the propeller to move the boat at all. Quickly, I called Pierre to come down to see this. His face turned pale too. This -- is a problem!
The day was 16th December, a public holiday in South Africa. From this day, most South Africans would take their annual leaves and start their holiday season until the new year, just as we would customarily do before. And now, on the first day of the holiday season at sea, we were welcomed by this bad news -- We were drifting at sea, and alone; we had no shore assistance, only the boat and us. We were on our own.
What should we do?
First, we woke up our two children who were sleeping and asked Ruwan (our son) to take the watch for us in the cockpit. The "ghost" light I saw earlier – well, he needed to look out for it. We would be fine as long as the light was not getting closer and hit us.
Second, while there was no wind and the sea was still calm, Pierre and I had to think about a way to fix the shaft. How to? And is it possible? We do not know. We have to try it first!
Above the shaft was the new portable diesel tank we had installed not long ago. In order to work on the shaft, we must remove the diesel tank from the bracket holding it, and before that, we needed to empty the diesel tank. Sorting out the job order and procedure, Pierre and I started the work. We asked Rulin (our daughter) to help pass us the tools we needed.
An hour later, the cockpit floor, which was also the engine compartment top cover, was wide open; the portable diesel tank, a half meter high and over a meter long, was lifted out of the engine room. We placed the tank on a seat in the cockpit and secured it with a few ropes. The diesel pipes had been disconnected and tied temporarily on the side. Nevertheless, this could not prevent the diesel in the pipes from splashing out when the boat moved in the waves. Soon, Pierre and I were splashed with diesel, not just on our body, but on our hair and face too. We were full of diesel smell, but this was not our concern.
Pierre lifted the floorboard in the back cabin where the shaft was located below in the bilge. I stayed on this side in the engine compartment, and he grabbed the shaft on the other side in the back cabin, we tried together to put the shaft back into its position. The shaft metal was smooth and slippery, which made it difficult to hold tight. Finally, we pushed the metal in the engine coupling with all our strength.
A new problem came up. Even if we could put the shaft back to the original location, how could we fasten it?
Nine months ago, we had serviced the shaft when Ithaca was out of the water. On the return trip to the marina, the shaft detached. We had someone with experience fix it for us. Pierre couldn't work with the engineer at the time and he only got a rough idea about the fix. It is a job requiring strength. Who would have thought that the shaft was not tightened and could cause us the same trouble again?
Pierre and I examined the problem for a moment. Hammers, wrenches, and screwdrivers were all out of our toolbox; we knocked it and we hit it, but we didn't find a way to tighten it.
Gradually, the wind started to blow, but the boat was still drifting at sea. The tools in our hands began to drop and fly around; soon someone would be hurt if we continued. We had to accept the situation and give up. This was not a job that could be repaired at sea, nor was it a job that could be done by a husband, a wife, and two young children -- and besides, it was night.
Knowing this and accepting the result, although not a desired one, but a failed one, we were still at ease; at least we could think about a new plan.
By the time the diesel tank was back in its place, we had been busy for more than three hours. The "ghost'" light was gone. What was it? Maybe I had mistaken the light, or perhaps it was an overboard life-saving device. I would never know.
Without an engine at sea, we could be safe as long as we steered the boat well and the wind was not pushing us to the shore. However, we couldn't enter the port without it. We checked our position on the chart. The nearest port was Mossel Bay, forty nautical miles away. We did not know anyone there, not one friend; we also did not know if the harbour could accommodate sailboats. Meanwhile, our planned destination, Gansbaai, was still 150 nautical miles away from us. Our friend, who invited us for a visit, is a boat engineer working on fishing boats in town. Repairing an engine is what he is good at. Asking him to help us couldn't be more convenient.
With no sleeping that night, we dragged our tired bodies and raised the sails again the next morning. To sail away from the coast, we had to change our course southward and sail on the beam, rather than the southwest direction we sailed previously.
According to the weather forecast, if we could survive the light wind of the day, the downwind breeze of a southeasterly on the following day would take Ithaca all the way to Gansbaai.
This time, would everything go as smooth as we thought?