A New Sea

It was already noon as we sat in our sunny cockpit tied up to the Ismalia Yacht Club in Egypt. Three other pilots had already come to take the other cruising boats up part 2 of the Suez Canal, but no one had come for us. The yacht club manager was not on our side. He said we were supposed to check in with him the night before if we wanted to leave. Of course, we were never told this, but this being Egypt and all, we figured it was just another ploy for him to make another days profit from us sitting and waiting at his dock. Whatever...after waiting patiently all morning we were fine sitting another day. We were tired and it was nice to have an excuse to rest.

We started putting the boat back to bed and geared up for a walk around town, when, behold, a pilot shows up on the dock with our agency. He looked to be kind and happy and was definitely ready to go. Isn't it too late, we asked? Won't we be in Port Said after dark?? No no no, they all said, you will be fine. Nic and I did a quick check-in and decided we should just go for it because who knows if anyone will even show up tomorrow. So in a matter of minutes our new pilot jumped in DK, we cast off the med mooring lines, revved up DreamKeeper's engine and we were off.

Once again we had scored. Our pilot was truly a warm and friendly pious Egyptian man, competent and easy to be around. He took the helm and hand-steered up and out of Ismalia bound for the Mediterranean. I wish I could say it was an uneventful trip, but knowing us lately, it just wouldn't be so.

Within an hour while checking the engine, I noticed our charging regulator was off, meaning no battery charging. I checked the wires. All ok. So I figured we have a new regulator problem, one of many we have had recently, so I decided to switch it out underway. Out comes my electrical tool box and all my tools. With the Yanmar cranking and intensely hot already, I started taking it apart and reinstalling a new one, one I was hoping actually worked. After a while it was ready. I tested it. Nothing. Then I started testing wires all the way from the batteries to the cockpit engine key. I tested circuits, looked for loose wires, and poked and prodded everywhere I could. Meanwhile, our pilot hand-steered and Nic tried to give me positive encouragement the best that she could.

For at least 3 hours I tried to fix the problem. I was totally stressed out, tired, soaked in sweat and also worried that we might have a big problem and need to stay in Port Said to sort it all out. Not what we wanted at all considering the baksheesh we would have to pay and the hassle of dealing with another pilot when we wanted to leave again.

I finally took a break and sat in our cockpit next to the pilot, both of us shaking our heads. Then, I glanced over to the instrument panel and noticed the key. It was turned to the "off" position and not the "on" position like it should be. No f-ing way, I thought. I flicked the key over, opened the engine compartment and glanced at the charging regulator. It was on. Classic. I couldn't believe it. Nothing was broken, it was just a stupid mistake on my part to not think through the problem well enough. In my defense it's so easy to forget on a marine diesel engine that the key doesn't turn the engine off but will turn the electricity off to the regulator if not in the correct position. It had only been bumped. Unbelievable. I think this little episode pretty much summed up where I was at in dealing with all DreamKeeper's problems and mentally just being exhausted with all of it. Thankfully this one had a happy ending and we were still 'good to go' to head out into the Med.

After another long day through the man-made canal at sunset we had made it to Port Said, our last Egyptian port. After giving our pilot the mandatory baksheesh and some extra cigarettes to his greedy little pilot boat friends, we waved farewell and took over DK's helm as we motored out through the city and into our first glimpse of the Mediterranean Sea at dusk. We raised the mainsail, unfurled the jib, and fell off on a starboard close reach towards Israel zigging and zagging through the fishing buoys and busy shipping lanes.

Even though we were really tired, we were also so so relieved to put closure on the Red Sea, Egypt, and the Suez Canal. It was pretty surreal. One of those times when you can't actually believe where you really are.

Nic and I settled into our night watch routine as we plodded along through confused seas and light winds navigating through the oil platforms and fishing boats. We managed to rig the Monitor windvane to actually auto-steer for us most of the night, even though we had only a little wind and had the motor on. Relieved to not be glued to the helm for hours at a time, we could actually lay back and relax a bit and take a leak when we needed to.

At dawn the Israeli Navy was already calling us on the VHF. Over and over we repeated answers to their many questions. We knew security there would be tight and we expected a thorough questioning, but it seemed to never end.

We were told to stay 20 miles from land and 5 miles from the gas platform offshore so we changed our course and plowed into the swell and wind to make amends. By mid-afternoon we were finally ready to turn towards shore right when the wind piped up in the high twenties and the seas increased. Good timing. If it would have happened earlier we would have been spending another tiring night out hove-to, awaiting a morning arrival. But the Mediterranean sea gods were on our side and we fell off onto a broad reach flying along at 7-8 knots towards the port of Ashkelon.

A little while later we were met by the Israeli Navy in a gun boat performing tight circles around DK while hailing us on the VHF. I answered all the same questions once again while Nic hand-steered down the seas and the Navy fixed it's massive guns on us at close range. After 20 minutes or so, we were cleared in and they motored away. Little did we know at the time but the first "Aid Flotilla" from Turkey was almost to Israel, the one with the violent ending that most of you probably read about in the news. Security in Israel is always tight, but even more so when there is the possibility of conflict. Thankfully, we managed to slip right into the harbor before all the news happened, tied up to the customs dock, dealt with more security officials and then melted into our beds in a new land, in a new sea.

God Willing

At last, the Red Sea gave us a window to escape. For three days we watched the wind push storm clouds of dust running across the desert, swirling over the nearby mountains and out over the sea. We kept our eyes on the small fishing boats at anchor and laughed with the locals, shrugging our shoulders and shaking our heads about the sand storm and wild seas. Peering out our portholes, we were grateful we were on DK and not on one of the many fishing boats tossing at anchor with their shade-cloths billowing up and down like unwieldy circus tents.


On May 20, at 06:00 we upped anchor from Ras Abu Zenima. The wind still howled at us us but the seas were manageable. By nine am, the wind continued to build and the seas reared up and threatened to stop us in our tracks again. We had learned our lesson and tucked into Ras Malab at 29.12.1998N, 32.55.814E after a surprisingly blustery but gentle 12 miles north. We gratefully celebrated our wise choice when the wind picked up at noon to 30 knots and we were bouncing around again at anchor. Mentally exhausted, we declared the rest of the day a holiday and lounged around, baked cookies, and watched a matinee. All day the wind picked up, surging past our hull and licking us with salt spray. By 19:00 we were humbled by its strength, blowing constantly at 32 knots, often gusting to 37, the strongest we’d yet seen in the Red Sea.

For those of you who don’t know boats, when it’s this windy it’s really loud. Secured lines bounce, rattle, and buzz. The anchor snubber moans in protest against the wind, and the boat, even when protected from the seas by a shallow reef, continues to roll like we are on passage in moderate but sloppy seas. Here conditions were too raucous to get any sleep in the V-berth in the front of DK (our normal bed), even with one of us wedged horizontally across it. For the first time ever, we made two sea berths in the salon that night. Well into the wee hours the seas slapped us and tossed us around, our hopes dwindling that conditions would allow us to leave by morning.

On May 21st we awoke with our alarms at 05:00 to blustery conditions. Resigned to be stuck another day, we tucked ourselves back into our cozy berths for a couple more hours. But by 07:00 the wind seemed manageable and we again headed up the coast, hopeful we could make the 15 miles to Ras Sudur before the wind barred our passage again. Successfully, we made it by 13:00 in strong winds but decent time. We tucked in at 29.35.135N, 32.41.231E in 16 feet of water next to a pod of resting dolphins. The wind predictably kicked up again within a couple of hours and we were glad we were learning to be patient.


We had twenty five miles to go to Pt Suez Yacht Club, our entrance to the Suez Canal. At 05:30 on May 22, we greeted the chilly morning bundled again in our foul weather pants and jackets. The captain even wore a wool hat. It was dead calm, eerily so. A few fish broke the surface and terns dove overhead. By 10:00, the sun was merciless again. Spinner dolphins escorted us the last 10 miles through swarms of purple jellyfish and into the Suez Harbor.

By noon we were ecstatic and relieved to have made it to Pt Suez, the mouth or the tail of the Suez Canal depending on how you look at it. Our journey up the Red Sea was at last behind us. Kar Kar, the marina man and, Sayed, our agent from Felix Maritime tied us to our mooring. Within minutes Sayed had our paperwork completed and said that “Insha'Allah, (God willing) we could head up the canal the next day if it wasn’t too late for the measurer to come and there were no warships transiting in the morning.” Then we would be lucky and we could proceed north. “Maybe yes, maybe no” he said. “Insha'Allah.”

God was willing. By 16:00 we had been measured, and after some back and forth, Gar and the measurer agreed upon the calculations for our tonnage and canal transit price. The next morning, we rose to crisp clear skies, calm winds and the promising possibility we would be heading north up the Suez Canal. After calling our agent numerous times to no avail he showed up at 9:30 with our bill. Of course it was higher than we had agreed upon with the measurer. This is Egypt after all. After some stern talks and haggling over the difference, we reduced the fees to what they should have been. In the end, we were charged $288 dollars for our canal transit, port and agent fees, $21 dollars for our night on the mooring balls and an extra $5 dollars here and there for baksheesh (bribes, greasing the wheels, Egyptian custom, whatever you want to call it) along with a couple of boxes of cigarettes (on board specifically for this purpose) and our broken VHF.

I had the bonus of having a very sweet old man do my shopping for me at only a moderately inflated price. Freshies abound again on DK and our pilot will hopefully be happy with a feast for lunch including green beans, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, melons, eggplant and fresh Egyptian bread among other things. The best part about my grocery resupply was that it came from an adorable old man with a stunning smile and a winning sales act. I received many kisses, a promise of him as my second husband, and a belly full of laughter before we agreed on a shopping list and a price. If only dealing with all Egyptians were as delightful as this.

At 10:25 our canal pilot took the helm. DreamKeeper’s rpms were revved to a fast but easy 2500 and our pilot steered us on up to Ismalia, adding another run to his 15 years of canal piloting. He is serious and scholarly looking with round frameless glasses, a long face, and tightly cropped hair and beard. The dark callouses in the middle of his forehead mark his dedication to prayer and Allah.

It is wild to think of our journey up the Red Sea coming to a close with the final miles through the man-made canal that is Egypt’s lifeline to the rest of the world. The work to create the first canal that separated Africa from Asia and connected her to the Mediterranean was first recorded in 610-595 BC. For a few hundred years numerous Egyptian rulers and conquerors worked to build and maintain the original canal running through a different and more complicated route that was later abandoned. In 1859, the excavation of the current Suez Canal was begun and in 1956 Egypt fought and won control over the rights and ownership of it.

The Suez Canal is now the one of the most heavily used shipping lanes in the world with over 20,000 ships a year transiting its waters. It runs 167 km in length from Port Suez to Port Said, running through a few large lakes and a waiting basin and yacht club in Ismalia. In some places it is wide enough for a large ship and a small one like ours to squeeze closely passed one another but not wide enough for two large ships to pass each other at once. So there are specific transit times for northbound and south bound boats. The cut off time to head north from Port Suez is 11:00. At 10:30 we were one of the last small northbound boats transiting the canal. Our pilot Mohammed Ebrahim Ali was excellent. He was competent and courteous and hand steered our boat with constant attention to the conditions. He skillfully navigated the canal and passed 28 gigantic ships heading south on our way north to our mooring for the night in Ismalia.

By 17:30 we were med-moored stern to in Ismalia to the entertainment of a large family of Egyptians watching just feet away from our cockpit. We’ll likely spend a day or so here. The weather looks like it will be favorable in the Med in a couple of days and we’ve got diesel runs to do and a re-provision before we leave. Hopefully, the last leg of the canal transit will be smooth and we’ll kiss Egypt goodbye in a couple of days.

Schooled by the Suez

We're rubbing grit out of our eyes and sand out of our teeth. The Red Sea is still spitting at us these last 180 miles as we claw our way north. The powers of the Red Sea have pushed us into Ras Abu Zenima anchorage at 29.02.5N 33.06.8E. We're rolling among oil platforms and fishing boats of all sizes. The desert licks the shore and showers us with sand even though our feet haven't touched the earth in 5 days.

It's wild what happens on a journey like ours. Some days just suck. Like life anywhere. We cannot be bound by deadlines and dates, our hopes and even our own sheer will has little power in a place as raw and relentless as here. Everything is unpredictable and changes all the time. Right now it is all up to fate and what the world dishes out to us. Lately it seems we've been in a shitstorm of sand.

Let me start from the beginning. We left Hurgada Marina (May 15th) with full water tanks and a cornucopia of fruit and vegetables. The wind was light and we hoped it would stay that way. We knew the last 180 miles of the Red Sea up the Gulf of Suez might not be so easy.

Lately our adventure seems to start with a challenge and linger with it like some kind of ominous warning. Casting off our lines, I felt the familiar nervousness and excitement that comes with leaving the safety of the marina and heading out to the unknown world; one we knew would likely not be easy. It quickly turned to dread as Gar put the boat into reverse and we heard a strange thumping sound. Out of the slip and not wanting to be stuck engineless trying to maneuver back in between the two boats, we headed out to the bay to assess the problem. Lifting the engine hatch on the cockpit floor and peering into the engine room we both groaned. I think I could hear our spirits sinking. Seriously, this could not be happening.

Our shaft seal looked to be cracked and sea water was gushing into the boat. Hovering in neutral facing into the wind and looking out for hazards, I held my breath and prayed for some divine intervention. After all, we had been visiting the gods of Egypt and paying respect to their temples.

The problem: the dripless shaft seal that goes around our propeller shaft and keeps sea water from flooding into our boat shifted somehow and the seal venting line hose was wrapped around the shaft. The sea was pouring into our boat fast and we couldn't use the engine. Gar grabbed tools, scrunched himself into the small engine compartment, and straddled the revolving shaft. "Don't put the boat into gear," he warned. I knew all too well his toes and fingers could be sacrificed if I gave him no warning. Swiftly he unwound the venting line, re-attached the rubber seal and tightened the hose clamps and then re-inspected the seal. Thankfully there was no damage and it stopped leaking. The flood was over and as our pulses returned to normal we thanked the boat and our guardians for allowing us to leave Egypt. We could have had to have hauled the boat out of the water, waited for parts, and been stuck on the hard here for a year. Not something we had on our "To Do" list.

DK always keeps us on our toes. The rest of the day was a good one. The desert winds were lighter than anticipated and the seas stayed small. We felt lucky and grateful and had a long an uneventful motor sail 42 miles north. Honestly it felt good to be home. We dropped the hook at Marsa Zeitiya, 27.49.7N 33.35.0E, in 32 feet of water and hard packed sand just before the sun slipped beneath the sea.

Waking as the sky turned from black to violet we motored out of the anchorage by 5:30. It was a sweet day. We crossed the shipping lanes quickly on a fast beam reach without trouble and pushed the boat 20 miles past our proposed anchorage at El Tur to Shab El Hasa 28.35.4N 33.11.5E in 16 feet of sand. Sailing up the Red Sea is still a game. We are playing chicken with the winds and seas and take all we can when we can get it.

The next morning threatened to scorch us with temperatures predicted in the hundreds and the winds likely building. Again we were off early, sipping tea in the inky darkness and freshening wind. Within an hour the desert sands shifted along with our luck.

The seas grew mountainous and the winds pummeled us. Perhaps pushing on was foolish on our part but we were still making 4-5 knots headway. Motor-sailing with a 30-40 degree angle to the 25-32 knots of wind and the standing and sometimes breaking steep 8-10 feet waves, we pushed on. The autopilot quit as usual and we hand steered, punching through waves and wind constantly soaked by the sea cascading over the dodger. The deck was awash in green water and the drain scuppers were working overtime. Again and again we were soaked in sea water and swiftly licked dry and coated with sand by the building winds. The boat rebelled and our angels grew weary.

We lost a scupper screen and the alternator regulator was starting to go out which means our charging system was again at risk from overheating or not getting enough power. Water splashed through our sealed dorade vents onto the salon cushions and we found leaks in places we didn't know existed. Thankfully, at least, our new hatch and window seals are working flawlessly.

By 1300 hours we were within a few miles of an anchorage and debated pushing 12 miles on. The boat was still making good time but we were tired, salty, and concerned about pushing DK too hard. Gratefully, we dropped the hook in 54 feet of water behind a fleet of fishing boats and in front of an oil tanker. The sun seared through our decks while sand danced over the sea. Our cabin temperature was a debilitating 87 degrees. We hunkered down and welcomed the relief of the departure of the sun.

By 0200 the winds had laid down and we woke out of a deep sleep to a "SLAM" on our port side. We bolted out of bed and ripped the sleep from our eyes. A wooden fishing boat at anchor and tied to another had swung into us, hitting us broadside. Frantically, we rushed to put the boat in gear and grab a fender to place in between the boats before we hit again. Twice we hit hulls before we could move away from the boats. We yelled and yelled; surprisingly, no one was on board. Then our depth sounder went out. With patience, attention to the light winds, and swinging of the other boats, we were able to maneuver around both fishing boats and eventually lift our anchor. Steering cautiously and paying our rode in and out in a delicate dance, we avoided crossing anchors and further impact.

With light winds and adrenaline pumping through our veins we could have left in the dark stillness of early morning to move north but our depth sounder was out and we wanted it working. So we collapsed into bed again after a swift re-anchoring, well beyond any fishing boats.

The next morning (May 18th) we woke to light winds and we hoped we could escape this anchorage. Immediately, Gar went to work on the depth sounder. Then the entire Sea Talk system went out; we lost all of our instruments. We can't wait until we can replace our autopilot control head. Thankfully we had internet and while he was working on the unit I sleuthed around and got some good insight. It took all morning to get most of it working again. Then, at 10:30 we foolishly tried to leave.

Pounding into building waves and wind was a stupid decision. Making only 2-4 knots in what appeared to be rapidly building seas we weighed our options. Then our bow-sprit teak plank broke from too much sun and heat and half of it came floating towards us like a depressing souvenir. After 20 minutes of bashing into the steep massive breaking waves we acknowledged our defeat and turned around in the towering seas and hoped we wouldn't get pooped. Once again, back in our anchorage we dropped the hook in deeper water in effort to avoid another collision with a fishing boat.

The anchor windless jammed. I couldn't control it and cursed as chain rattled out of the locker reeling, dumping all 280 feet of chain. Only when the shackle that connects the bitter end jammed in the plate did the chain stop. I raced to put a backup on the chain. Thin strands of rope that we pulled up that morning wrapped around the drum of the windless and jammed the clutch plate. It was blowing 25-30. Thankfully we could get a snubber on it to take the pressure off while Gar cut away the thin tangled strands of rope that wrapped around our anchor drum and clutch plate.

It probably seems like I'm spinning a good yarn for your entertainment but all of this is true. We felt like crying.

Before lunch yesterday, Gar dove back into the boat again, trying to diagnose the charging regulator. It is broken, the second to have gone out in a few months. Thankfully we have one last working spare and it was easily replaced. By noon the sun climbed to his full power and scorched us from the inside out. We napped in a restless stupor.

Sand swirls around us, coating the deck and collecting in small piles in the corners of the boat. A thin layer sticks to Gar's foul weather coat. In attempts to keep it from invading every crevice of our beings we shut most of the port holes and hatches. But the heat is relentless even in these strong winds. The cabin temperature soars and we are listless and grumpy. Every counter and floor is covered in a thin layer of sand.

It is easy to understand why the desert people wear long robes and cover their heads and faces with large scarves. We feel like we are breathing fire and eating dirt even in the comfort of the boat. Desert people in Africa are tough and resourceful.

Today (May 19th) we slept in until 07:00. Since there is nothing left to fix today we cleaned the dust from the counters and floors and relish is the cooler temperatures. The wind is relentless and howls through the rigging. Gusting to 35 in the anchorage, we are happy to be securely anchored and out of the brunt of the seas. We will patiently await the abating winds and settling seas before departing again. Until then, the desert will make her mark. Our skin is weathered and wrinkling and the desert sands are again beginning to settle in our home.

Website Updated

Nicole and I are back on DK and prepping to leave for our last part of the Red Sea, the Gulf of Suez.
We just returned yesterday back to Hurghada Marina after an amazing trip up the Nile River and to Cairo with Nic's folks, Bob and Michelle, and we are both feeling reenergized to be back on the boat. Thanks to Bob and Michelle we will now have a working VHF and watermaker again. Our mainsail is also repaired and we hope will last a bit longer until we can get it professionally stitched. The autopilot is still broken and the wind generator is still dead in the quarter berth, but overall we are happy with what is currently working. Wish us luck nothing new breaks on this final leg.

We've been trying to catch up on the website and are pretty close to it finally, with the exception of all the recent Egypt adventures.

So, take a peek when you feel like it: www.svdreamkeeper.com

Much love to you all

Welcome to Egypt

The morning rays cut through the surface of the lagoon illuminating the dancing fins that broadcast their arrival. We both smiled.

We loaded up super dinghy with all the essentials: snorkel gear, weight belts, wetsuit tops, cameras, dingy anchor, an emergency VHF, and a dry-bag full of tools for those constant outboard repairs we have been making on the ill carburetor. And then we were off...jogging around the shallow coral bommie heads and making our way to say hello again to our special friends at the other end of the lagoon.

We plunged into the refreshingly chilly tropical northern Red Sea and swam slowly towards the pod. We stopped when we could make out their dark silhouettes in the distance and waited. The pod consisted of over 50 individuals, made up of males, females, and 7 mommas with their babies, many of them clicking and chirping away to each other as they swam in effortless graceful patterns towards us, around us, and under us. We were mesmerized. Once again it felt like we were dreaming. We were swimming with the dolphins.


Sataya Reef in Southern Egypt, also called Dolphin Reef, named aptly for the pods of spinner dolphins who often come to rest here during the daytime is special. The dolphins are definitely used to people with all the live-aboard dive boats that come here to scuba dive and to also hopefully catch a glimpse of these special creatures. But this isn’t a theme park and nothing is a given. The dolphins may not want you around and will swim away or keep their distance if they choose to. But today we were extra lucky. We were the only ones here and the pod was, how should I say, extremely active.

As we swam, dove and spun with the pod, we were in awe that we were witnessing the mating rituals. Small groups of males would swim and chase the females, and then right in front of us, sometimes only arm-lengths away, male and female would join as one and rhythmically dance the oldest of dances together. The mommas and the babies were kept together in the big pod made up of the majority of dolphins, while these mating groups of 3-5 dolphins splintered out on the edges chirping, clicking, and vying for position. We were shocked. We truly couldn’t believe what we were seeing and actually allowed to see. We knew how rare it was to witness this at such close proximity. As the mating went on, sometimes one or two individuals from the main pod would swim next to us as well and we would dive and spin circles together looking into each other’s eyes only inches away. Surreal.



Nicole and I have seen dolphins in the water many times, but always at a distance and never never this close up, nor allowed whatsoever to witness something this special. At times we felt like such intruders, but knew that if they didn’t want us there, it was so easy for them just to thrust their tales a few times and they would be away from us in only seconds.

As the minutes turned into almost an hour, our bodies were becoming stiff with cold and we knew it was time to head back. Sadly, we said thank you’ and goodbyes to our friends, and swam back to the anchored dinghy. We couldn’t even speak to each other for a long time. Our perma-grins said it all.

But now I need to back up as I realize we have been blog slackers...
A week earlier, on April 11th, when the 20-30 knot northerly winds finally subsided, we pulled out of the Taila Islands and threaded our way north through the shallow inside channel butting Dunganub Bay. We uneventfully motor-sailed in hot sunshine until getting visited by a small pod of Bottlenose dolphins, our first in the Red Sea. Not long after our dolphin visit, one of our fishing hand-lines went taught and we had another fish on. I hand-over-handed the 200 lb. line in on our port side and, once again, we had caught a 2 1/2 foot great barracuda, our 13th barracuda in the Red Sea. We have heard mixed reviews of barracuda in the Red Sea possibly having the fish disease, ciguatera, so have chosen to play it safe and not try our luck by eating them and with the possibility of getting extremely sick. This fish was hooked really well, unfortunately, and I needed to use our big long adjustable pliers to reach down into the water and free the double-barbed hook without getting my fingers sliced by the barracuda’s razor sharp teeth. Free again, the worn out barracuda slipped slowly down into the blue deep to live another day.

Another hour went by and I noticed our other hand-line limp and acting strangely. I pulled it in to check it to be met only with a frayed 200 lb. stainless steel lead with no lure on the end. The last of our favorite Hawaiian lures, a big resin-head squid jig that we have caught so many big fish on and have had to change skirts for at least 8 times, is finally gone. For something to bite through this stainless lead itself could only mean one thing, a really big shark. Probably better that it took the lure rather then try to deal with releasing a creature like that, but still a sad day nonetheless.

We anchored in the Wreck Recovery Anchorage that night tucked in between a tight circle of coral reef and slept well. The next morning we were off again rounding the point of Ras Abu Shagrab in calm conditions and headed into the swell protected anchorage of Khor Shinab. A Khor is a bay indented into the mainland that is reached by a narrow reef-lined channel coming from the Sea. Khor Shinab is one of the largest in Sudan with over a 2 mile winding channel approach opening up into a couple mile diameter bay ringed by coral, muddy flats, and barren hills. The Red Sea Pilot, the sailor’s bible in these waters, says this anchorage is many “yachties” favorite in the Red Sea, and even though we weren’t that impressed, it was still a good spot to be.

With no wind that day, the sun was so hot we had almost melted to the deck of DK. We managed to pry ourselves off the boat and putted the ailing super dinghy over to a nearby beach where we laid in the cooling water next to the many blue-spotted stingrays that called this place home.

The wind picked up overnight and by the next morning was blowing close to 30 knots. We hunkered down and I hemmed-and-hawed over trying to get the kite up. With winds at around 30 and gusts 30+ and a flailing dinghy outboard, I decided against it. Bummer. I just can’t seem to find the right kiting conditions and I am getting frustrated. The reliability of our outboard is a major factor, considering if I get in trouble, Nicole will have to rescue me with the dinghy, and right now it is very unreliable. Once again we are so remote and truly “on our own” that we are our only help if something happens. Even though we are playing it safe, it still sucks.

The next morning the wind is lighter then expected and we decide to try to head north to one of the next marsa or khor anchorages. After a couple of hours of motoring in calm conditions, the wind all of a sudden pipes up from the north and before we know it, we have 25 knots and building 3-5 foot seas that stop us in our tracks. We beat into the weather for another hour and then realize it is not worth it only traveling at 2 knots and getting hammered. We swing DK to port and head into the closest anchorage, Marsa Hamsiat. Another tight little reef-lined channel opens up into a little muddy bay where we drop our hook in 30+ knots of northerly winds and huddle downstairs again. Too windy to even get our dinghy in the water safely, we are once again boat-bound. I think by this time we have each read 6 books in the last week and watched plenty of “Lost” , “The O.C.”, and “Battlestar Galactica” TV series episodes.

Thursday, April 15th, and the weather has let up. We motor out into the Sea again and head north another 20 miles to Elba Reef. We pilot DK through the narrow reef entrance into the big lagoon to join two other boats we know, a Dutch boat ‘Alexandra’, and a Kiwi boat named ‘Quo Vadis’, who are also here. The reef is big and pretty clear water and we drop our hook amidst a sand and coral bottom in 40 feet of depth. A great barracuda decides to take up permanent residence underneath our keel.

We are both itching for a swim and head over to the pass where we immerse ourselves into the undersea world and bond with the schools of snapper, sweetlips, and curious trevally that inhabit this little section of Elba. The snorkeling is nice for exercise and always good for our spirits, but we are spoiled and have yet to be extremely impressed by the underwater world of the Red Sea so far. Granted, we have not been able to see some of the best dive and snorkel sites that this region offers because of weather conditions and the reality of traveling on our own sailboat with no support, so we only judge what we have been able to see. As much as we have tried to find another sailboat with motivated scuba divers onboard that wanted some real diving adventures with us, we have not been able to do so. It’s been one of the big bummers for me these past few weeks, but I guess we just can’t have it all.

We finish the afternoon with a thorough cleaning of DK’s underwater hull and some wine and pu-pu’s on Alexandra with the 6 of us cruisers at sunset.

Another weather window and we were off on an overnight passage (April 16) hopping around Foul Bay to Dolphin Reef, about 150 miles to the north and crossing the border into Egypt. We had a fantastic southerly wind of 20-25 knots all day that lasted until midnight and also an added bonus of a 1-2 knot current with us, pushing us along sweetly at 7-8 knots boat speed with only a full-main sheeted out....our best day sailing in a long time! Like all good sailing days in the Red Sea, ours came to a halt at midnight with the reversal of the southerly winds backing to the north and bringing 20+ knots against us. The motor came on and we sheeted the main in tight, motor-sailing close-hauled and beating into the relentless short and steep seas until 9:00 a.m. until our arrival the the reef entrance of Dolphin Reef. Phew, another overnight passage over and success at arriving at our intended destination, one we have been looking forward to.

We spent 3 days at Dolphin Reef enjoying the beauty of the lagoon, resting, baking, writing, and snorkeling. Our two swims with our spinner dolphin friends were definitely one of the highlights of our whole Red Sea adventure so far. We wish we could have been in the water more with them, but they aren’t always around and we are just thankful for the time we did share.

Everyday we watch the weather closely in the Red Sea. We get morning buoyweather and GRIB file reports and usually listen in to the I/O SSB radio net to hear how other boats are doing to the north of us. It’s extremely important out here to be on your game and make good decisions regarding the weather, otherwise you will pay severely for your inadequate planning. Weather files looked good for a 2 day window beginning on April 20th. We decided to go for it and left a bit earlier at 5 p.m. on April 19th, hoping to gain a little extra time to make it the 210 miles to Hurghada without getting our butts kicked or having to turn around.

We were choosing to do this longer passage because we now have a deadline with Nicole’s folks coming to see us at the end of the month. One of our stresses has been the very real possibility of getting stuck somewhere with strong northerlies lasting a week or two and no chance of us making it to the marina where we need to tie up and safely leave DK. Most sailboats choose to stop at Port Ghalib, which is only about 110 miles from Dolphin Reef and an easy place to check-in to Egypt, but we were worried that we might not make it to Hurghada if we did that. So off we went, crossing our fingers that the weather forecast would hold....

For the first part of the trip we mostly motored in light variable conditions, but wouldn’t you know it, at midnight of April 20th, only 30 miles out, our window closed. Along once again came the strong northerlies rising quickly to 20-25 knots and gusts over 30. The seas kept building until we were once again bashing relentlessly into the boat-stopping walls of water. To top it off, our ill autopilot wouldn’t hold the course and kept turning off, so we were having to take turns hand-steering throughout the night and morning, attempting to hold our course and slowly make 1-3 knots through the water and getting coated in cold saltwater in the process. All morning we were anxious watching the building winds and seas and realizing that we may not make it, even though only less then 20 miles out of port. We plowed onward as the day wore on.

A late morning sail and rig check and I notice our mainsail is torn. Very torn at the top of the sail from luff to leach. Total bummer, a really bad place as we can’t even reef the main to use it at all. Down comes the main and out goes the staysail, while the Yanmar rumbles at 3000 rpms sucking diesel like an old crusty sailor guzzles cheap rum. We are bummed. Add fixing the mainsail to the huge list of boat repairs needed before heading north. We say silent prayers to the marine diesel motor god that our Yanmar will hold up, otherwise we are really screwed.

Thankfully, by mid-afternoon we crawl into the greater bays of the sprawling resort world of Hurghada, a major winter tourist destination for mostly Russians. Diveboats and day-trip boats everywhere, and we duck and jive between the shallow reefs, sandbars, and boat traffic to get to the entry port. ‘Said’, one of the friendly marina helpers, comes out in a skiff and ties us up to a small fishing boat mooring outside the entrance and in front of a huge mosque being built with only it’s skeleton intact. We hope the mooring holds, In’sha’allah. We will be here until our entry paperwork is completed, and then allowed into the marina proper.

The wind howls, DK rolls back and forth in the rolly swell, and the new smells and sounds of the busy city overwhelm us. We made it. Now it’s time to transition back into the other world again...a story in itself.