Rounding Cape of Good Hope
It was late 1999 and I was one of two crew members on Bob’s 46-foot ketch, Hornblower II, on a circumnavigation celebrating the Millennium Odyssey. We were in Richards Bay for several boring days waiting for a weather window to head south on the 1,000-mile passage to the Cape of Good Hope. This was anxiously anticipated as the biggest sailing hurdle of the circumnavigation. Cape of Good Hope is one of five major league capes jutting into the ferocious Southern Ocean. This stretch of ocean circles endlessly around Antarctica like a monster chasing its tail. The other notable capes on the Southern Ocean are Cape Horn in South America, 2 capes on the south coast of Australia, and one in New Zealand. Rounding any of these is a cherished sailing trophy in almost every cruiser’s daydreams.
The three most important topics of conversation among cruising yachties on the southeast coast of Africa are weather, weather, and weather. We waited, whiling time away watching the weather vane, noting the ups and downs of the barometer, coiling and recoiling lines to tidy up the deck, cleaning the head, sewing buttons that had fallen off … and thinking about Bartholomeus Dias, the first European to round the Cape for Portugal 1487. He named it appropriately, the Cape of Storms. However, Prince Henry the Navigator had more ambitious ideas. He was eager to encourage his sailors to continue their explorations on to India and the Spice Islands, and therefore renamed it Cape of Good Hope. Finally, Vasco da Gama in 1498 realized the dream for Portugal and ushered in the profitable seagoing trade route around Africa to the riches of the orient.
The weather in this part of the world is governed by a string of deep lows that start in Argentina, round Cape of Good Hope, and then smash into the Agulhas Current flowing down the east coast of Africa. Opposing winds and currents set up enormous irregular seas within a few miles of shore. The time to sail south is in the short weather windows between lows that last from a few hours to a few days. Fortunately, there are many safe harbors in which to seek refuge from gale-force southerlies that sweep through several times a week.
The local marine guide isn’t encouraging: “The Agulhas Current is a major ocean current. Its speed can be up to six knots at its strongest. This is on, or near, the 200-meter [depth] contour line. The recorded giant waves and attended appalling conditions in winds of just gale-force strength are a great deterrent to many who would sail this coast.”
We headed south approaching Durban in good weather and decided to continue rather than take shelter. That night a strong thunderstorm hit propelling the boat southward at twelve knots! At one point in the night ─ naturally, all bad things happen at night ─ a brief squall hit with fifty-knot winds causing a screaming raucous on board. Bob and I had all we could do tying down unruly sails that kept flapping in the wind and sounding like gunshots.
The next day we headed for East London for a rest, a few walks around this blue-collar industrial town, and again waited for a weather window. By now we were super sensitive to sea conditions, probably freaked-out would be more correct, and sought “guaranties” of good weather from several forecasters before agreeing to leave the safety of the harbor. I was imagining life aboard the early Portuguese ships with no charts, no weather forecasts, and knowing nothing about what lay ahead. We definitely lost that sense of adventure into the unknown. Now we want to know everything that lies ahead with iron-clad assurances.
For three-quarters of our circumnavigation the winds rarely got up to thirty knots, and then only for a few minutes. On this passage, however, the reputations of the cape and the currents were weighing heavily on our minds. It seemed as though every forecast hinted at southwest gales and abnormal waves, code words etched deeply into our synapses and signaling danger ahead. Imaginations blurred reality as the mythic proportions of the Agulhas terror gripped us and kept us safely in port. The enforced idleness made us think too much about a subject we knew so little about.
Boat crews became instant meteorologists. They divined meaning from every weather rumor. One resident pointed out a lone tree on a nearby hill and said, “When it moves, you stay.” That too was added to the decision-making process. Everyone relished painting horrifying scenes of gigantic waves, screaming wind, and deadly currents that lay lurking outside the harbor, even on sunny, windless days. Contrary opinions were pushed aside in favor of doom and gloom prophecies.
Finally, we got the go ahead from the official forecasters. There were large swells outside the harbor but within a few hours, the sea became oily smooth with no wind. We motored peacefully toward the cape, about five hundred miles to the southwest.
I was glad to leave; having seen all there was to see in East London. I split my time between the all-black downtown, where the whites never go, and the white man’s mall in the suburbs. It was unsettling to want to be a part of the vibrant downtown markets yet feeling more welcomed in the sterile seen-one-seen-them-all shopping centers.
Although the Agulhas Current never came up with rogue waves, it did provide a wonderful display of wildlife feeding off nutrients in the upwelling current, countless diving and skimming birds, playful seals, hundreds of dolphin, and small diving penguins, as we alternately motored and sailed safely around the Cape of Good Hope. We were officially back in the Atlantic Ocean.
The city of Cape Town with towering Table Mountain in the background was bathed in a late afternoon sun for a picture-perfect entrance. Unfortunately, at the last minute a dense fog rolled in and we were saved by a follow-me-boat, sent by the Royal Cape Yacht Club with a bottle of Champagne, to lead us to a slip.
