Passage to Cabo Verde

The rhumbline from El Hierro to the island of Sal in Cabo Verde measures roughly 700nm. That makes for a six day-ish crossing should you achieve the miracle of sticking to the rhumbline, something that a sailing boat almost never manages. We had spent a day or so preparing the boat and ourselves, and now, having retrieved our paperwork from the Policia Portuaria, we were ready to go.

Departing El Hierro

A six days-ish schedule means that the exact timing of the departure isn’t that critical but the weather forecast suggested that mid-morning was probably a better choice, wind and wave-wise, than too much later. So it was that, shortly after 10.00, we slipped our lines and motored out of the Pto de la Estaca’s cosy little harbour and pointed Yuma SSW along El Hierro’s coast towards the island of Sal, Cabo Verde.

Sailing in company

It being the first good weather window for this crossing in the last week or so, a flotilla of four German boats had left shortly before us, all headed for Mindelo, while even further ahead an Australian catamaran, Vivere, had left from their anchorage on the southern side of the island. This meant that we would have company, at least for the first couple of days!

In the lee of the island the wind was a bit all over the place but as we pushed further south it filled in to 14-17kt with a 2-3m following swell and something similar coming, inexplicably, off the coast of Africa. It wasn’t comfortable but nor was it terrible, and we were happy enough making way with a single reef in both the main and the genoa. Ten miles south of El Hierro, a pod of Atlantic spotted dolphins joined us for 10 minutes or so before heading east and back to their day jobs.

Different sail combinations

Over the next day or so the wind stayed in the teens but with steep and confused 3+m seas it was often not enough to keep the sails from slapping in the troughs. So, we played around with our sail plan; more reefs, fewer reefs, poled out genoa, poled out and reefed genoa, and so on. Eventually we settled on what the Dutch call melkmeisje; a poled-out genoa and main with two reefs in each and simply put up with the occasional rustle and flap. Throughout it all our windvane kept us on resolutely on course, quietly dealing with whatever sail, wave and wind combination it got served up.

While the sea state wasn’t ideal and the wind could have been a bit more consistent, we certainly had no reason to complain about our surroundings. During the day we enjoyed beautiful views of a deep blue Atlantic pitching and bouncing under sunny skies, the wind blowing white streaming crests off the steepest waves while the occasional Cabo Verde storm petrel flew in a flitting and falling motion through the ever-restless watery valleys and passes.

Somewhere along the way, on day four, a pod of blackfish, big, dark and fast, crossed our path. They were not garden-variety dolphins for sure, with tall, thin and pointed dorsal fins and nearly all black above they gave us just a glimpse of a dark blunt head with pale scarring.

Possibly pygmy killer whales but it was difficult to be sure and we didn’t get to see a white lip line. You decide. One individual, turned briefly at our stern to check us out before it cut away off to the east after its companions.

Full moon and starry skies

Each night a full and then progressively waning moon rose and accompanied us through to the soft thin hints of dawn, its light turning the sea silver and black against a slate grey sky.

Across this expanse of not quite darkness, moon-lit clouds slid quietly southwards, stars glowed in a profusion that was reminiscent of the southern hemisphere and falling stars flared brightly and briefly. Magic stuff.

Late on the third day the wind began to drop until it settled on 6-8kt from the NE. While the seas moderated somewhat, the waves, without sufficient wind to keep the sails filled in the troughs, began to make for an uncomfortable time. We again tried various sail configurations before finally resorting to the iron genoa with just the minimum of sails necessary to steady the boat as much as possible against the waves.

Uncomfortable conditions

This situation lasted overnight until the NE winds again piped up into the high teens, this time bringing with them not just the 3m NW swell and the 2m E wind waves but also a totally uncalled for 1.5m tertiary swell from the W that would pitch hard into the side of poor Yuma with a slam or throw her up high off another wave. This was definitely washing machine conditions with the boat pitching, rolling and yawing in all kinds of unnecessary ways. At least it was all downwind and we were making good headway!

Somewhere, just north of Cabo Verde, a little French sloop came whipping along on a SE tack crossing our path just a few hundred metres behind us before zipping off towards the horizon. We were busy playing with sails at the time and waved but weren’t sure they had seen us (indeed they had, we just hadn’t seen them waving).

Arriving in Sal, Cabo Verde

Happily, in this instance at least, nothing lasts for ever and at the very end of our fifth day, just an hour short of a 6-day crossing, we dropped anchor in the wind washed bay of Palmeira on the island of Sal. Anchor down and tested, we set about tidying up the boat. Then, once happy with the state of things we settled down to our traditional crossing celebration of bacon and eggs and a lazy remainder of the day.