Naptime -- Indian Ocean Passage -- Part 5

Yesterday morning, as the sun lifted above the mountains of Mauritius, we pulled into a tiny marina in Port Louis, after a 17 day passage from Cocos Keeling. I would not have said I was tense or anxious upon arrival, but then our self-awareness sometimes loses ground to any emotion that builds slowly.  Once our lines were secure, and our boat nestled in the company of 25 other vessels, many of which we’ve come to know as we’ve made our west, I felt a wave of relief pass through my body, a shivering of muscles and an upwelling of emotion as I realized we and our boat were safe.  It’s a sensation I’ve felt before after long passages, but it always comes as a surprise, this release of tension, the acceptance of the reality of tranquility.  The poet James Dickey once wrote of the lure of adventure being not the adrenaline high of riding the edge, but the post-adventure recollection of reliving the adventure, or feeling the release.  I think there’s some truth to that; there was never a particular moment while on this passage that I felt a sense of exhilaration, but, yesterday morning, surrounded by kindred spirits, I felt completely at peace, awash in a glow of accomplishment.

Looking back at the prior four posts of this 5-part chronicle of a passage, I was first struck by their length.  On shorter passages I’ve tried to keep the posts to 1000 words or so, but these last four posts were 2000 words – perhaps a reflection of the need to reach out, to connect as we sailed some pretty desolate parts of the world’s oceans.  So, apologies to those with normal attention spans.  I’ll keep this closing post mercifully short.

Our last few days were characterized by gentler winds, gentler seas, and gentler sailing.  We had the winds directly from astern, so we went on just our foresail, and for 30 glorious hours we had the softest of swells and a steady 15 knot breeze, so we went gliding along, barely aware we were moving.  Those days came as a welcome respite from the earlier poundings, and we were able to recharge our personal batteries under sunny days and starry nights. 

The day of our arrival, as midnight passed, the weather and ocean took one final opportunity to remind us of its power.  We approached Mauritius from the north, the logical and safe choice in any weather, but as we turned, the wind picked up to 25-30 knots, and the seas, now crammed into the much shallower waters surrounding any volcanic island, built quickly.  Worse, we were forced to turn south, into the short, steep waves, and we took a terrific pounding as we hurried southward, seeking the lee of the island.  For 4 hours or so, the boat’s bow lifted well out of the water every few seconds only to slam down hard as the waves passed underneath us.  We had not seen these kinds of conditions since leaving the Chesapeake bay, and later, leaving Beaufort, when in each case, the shallow waters combined with stiff winds to batter our little vessel.  I was momentarily depressed when I realized our southward course paralleled the upcoming rhumb line to South Africa, but then realized that deeper waters would create longer swells, swells we could comfortably ride up and down with the slamming.

Out little marina in Mauritius is filled with boats, nearly all of whom have made the same crossing from Indonesia and Australia.  Usually, sailors prize their privacy, anchoring out, careful not to come too close to either land or neighbors.  Here, in a reversal of the natural order of things, we are huddled together, like sparrows in a storm, giving each other figurative comfort and warmth.  It feels good to be attached to land, where we can walk to shops, internet, and restaurants, and it feels even better to be near our cruising friends.  But most of all, it feels great to be here after a difficult but not especially dangerous passage.  Next stop, Richards Bay, South Africa, but before that, of course, another passage that is likely to be more challenging than this just-completed passage.  We’ll spend the next few weeks resting up, re-connecting with our family and friends back home, tending to our boat, and visiting this lovely polyglot island.  Meanwhile, I’m still basking in the post-passage endorphin high, and embracing the ability to sleep more than 3-4 hours at a stretch.  In fact, I think it’s time for a nap.