RYA Ocean Course 25’. The South Atlantic crossing
All of us are out on deck as we leave Carcass Island behind us, it’s 11 am, April 7th. The fog wraps itself around us, damp and dense, while the winches groan into action. Lines tighten and sails rise as our energy soars. We are finally casting off – from the land and the busy life shoreside.
On board are six RYA Yachtmaster Ocean students, all with their own unique reason for doing this celestial navigation delivery from the Falkland Islands to Cape Town. One dreams of owning a sailing boat, another already has one and wants to hone their bluewater sailing skills. Some are mesmerized by the ancient art of celestial navigation – tracing positions not by satellites but by celestial bodies, while another just wants the thrill of an Atlantic crossing.
Two days and 430 miles later, we can finally take our first sun sights as the fog quietly loosens its grip. There is satisfaction of saying ‘mark’ when you bring down the sun to the horizon, trying to keep well balanced while beam reaching along in the Southern Ocean. Between sail changes and sun sights, we trace our course toward Tristan da Cunha, a remote volcanic speck in the heart of the South Atlantic.
Our skipper Chris is a true sailor, the kind who’d rather go at 4 knots rather than motor. When the wind eases, we fly full canvas: asymmetric spinnaker, fore mainsail, staysail and mizzen mainsail. With four sails flying Vinson is cruising at 6-7 knots of boat speed in only 8-9 knots of apparent wind. It’s exhilarating! We also enjoy the calm before a storm, as we have a low approaching. When the sea is still we sharpen our minds with celestial quizzes and Yachtmaster theory. Sometimes we turn up the music and do a deck workout, moving to stay present, balanced, alive. Life on a long passage is never idle. There’s bread to bake, meals to share, watches to stand, sails to reef, lines to whip and splice. Everyone is hands on during this voyage.
The radar shows what’s coming — a low-pressure system, creeping closer. Well reefed, we are all ready to take action. But the low has squeezed the high, resulting in a complete drop of wind. Still reluctant to fire up the engine, we wait. And then - a shift. The engine barely warms up before we switch it off. We’re now beam-reaching at 8 knots, the sea flatter, the crew relaxed, yet alert. More lows are forming behind us as the students are steering us by the sun and stars towards Tristan da Cunha. We try to stay on course in these light winds, but need to bear away constantly in strong squally gusts.
At last - land ho! Though 60 nautical miles west of their estimate, they’ve made it. Fourteen days without GPS, and they’ve brought us to a pinpoint in the vast South Atlantic.
After a night at anchor off the village of Edinburgh, we were lucky enough to be able to visit Tristan da Cunha and hike up the volcanic hills with a warm welcome from the islanders. But the weather waits for no one — northerlies are coming. With 1,500 miles to go, we ‘up anchor’ and settle back into the rhythm of our ocean life. Watches blur into conversations and laughter. Everyone has shared dreams of their future boats. The bonds grow. And then, one early morning on April 29th — Cape Town rises on the horizon. We’ve made it.
The crew of Amundsen, Skip and friends and family welcome us. The champagne pops as we toast this 3500 mile voyage we shared. I feel lucky to have been part of this crew, an unforgettable experience with extremely nice and adventurous students. And of course, a big thanks to my skipper Chris and first mate Tor
Lies Vercaemere
Vinson crew
