The Winds of the Red Sea

The Red Sea is infamous for its challenging sailing conditions. High pressure systems from Siberia and from the Atlantic push against each other often causing strong winds in the Red Sea (interpreted by some as the valley between the two coasts, Africa and Egypt and Saudi Arabia). There are often days, if not weeks, of strong winds of 20-30 knots or more out of the north to northwest, the direction we are traveling. If the head wind is not enough to stop our progress the seas will. They usually accompany the strong winds, building quickly to standing waves, often 3-6 feet high or more and steep enough to stop us in our tracks. From what I understand, the wind is also affected by the land; often as the heat of the day increases so too does the strength of the wind. In the night when the temperature drops the wind usually follows.

Leaving Marsa Fijab early in the morning on April 6th, we lit out for the Taila Islands, 45 miles to the north. Throughout the day the wind and seas increased and the last 15 miles before the Taila anchorage we motor-sailed close-hauled tacking back and forth across the increasing winds. As usual, they rose faster and higher than predicted. Eighteen to twenty-three knots out of the north, directly where we were headed. The swell continued to rise and slapped our hull. The decks were awash with green water. The only benefit was that the sea did one job for us, removing the red dust of Africa from the decks and carrying it out through the scuppers.

By the afternoon we were firmly anchored in 20 feet of clear deep blue water nestled in a protected lagoon in sand between coral bommies. The wind howled for days just as the weather files predicted. Dreamkeeper waltzed back and forth across the wind tirelessly. The wind piped up; blowing 25-30 plus for two days. Still, the sun still shined startlingly bright and illuminated the reef and shallow water in stunning shades of aqua.

For three days, we strolled along the thin ribbon of land that separates the north reef from the southern lagoon where we are anchored. On one end it is wider and has some bushes clinging to the sand, their roots exposed in places like soggy tendrils of something dead.

Resident ospreys perched on scrubs and twigs. Looking closer we realized the twigs were osprey nests. We found five empty nests, neatly arranged in huge disk shapes with layers of woven twigs, plastic ties and discarded pieces of rope of various colors and thicknesses. The ospreys allowed us to us approach surprisingly close before rising into the air, their white bellies painted a light shade of aqua from the reflection off of the water.

At the western tip of the small island, orange-billed terns took flight only when we had gotten too close. They circled around us agitated and squawking until they landed a short way down the island. We discovered 4 nests, each with two large beige and brown speckled eggs sitting in 5 inch round sand dishes on the only reliably dry sand on this 6 foot high island. Lying beside one of them was a skeleton of a small hawksbill turtle, her skin stretched taught over her face deepening her ancient frown. Sadly, the shell had been removed hinting that she likely was killed for its value; I could see the sand through her white ribs.

When not wandering on the island or staring at the wind we entertained ourselves by trying to cross items off the numerous "to do" list. Unfortunately, our watermaker is acting up for the first time. We've unsuccessfully tried to fix that, worked on the carburetor on the outboard engine some more, written some articles for submission to a couple of sailing magazines, cleaned dust from the walls, surveyed our provisions, processed photos, cooked soups and baked brownies, made popcorn and watched movies and read books. We've also just plotted a serendipitous visit with my folks in Egypt in a few weeks and outlined a plan to rendezvous with some friends in the Med in the early fall.

The last day at Taila, we visited with our new fisherman friends and said a final farewell. A couple of days ago we traded a hat and smokes for a fish. Yesterday we gave them some water. I now realize when people here are excited it sounds like they are yelling. Our friend with the skinny head and wide grin gave us an Arabic lesson from his boat in what sounded like angry tones until we realized that he was trying to teach us some words.

It is amazing how lovely the people are here. We were invited to tea on the beach or in their boat. They wanted to give us something for the water. Because we did not want another fish they tried to give us aspirin, anything they could think of in return. We ended up with a few cardamom pods which are tomam (good) in tea and also some fresh incense, along with deep grins and memories to last a while. We haven't tried burning the incense yet but we can smell its urgent pungent odor seeping through the tinfoil we wrapped it in.

The winds mellowed overnight. We returned early this morning (April 11) for one last walk on the beach. It feels like a different place without the wind. By 9am we retraced our track out of the entrance and headed north 25 miles up the inner channel around Dungunab Bay, to our new anchorage at Wreck Recovery.

Light winds came directly out of the north at 4-6 knots for most of the day; the last hour we had a nice 8 knots from the east. We could easily spot the reefs glittering beneath the deep sapphire blue water. We caught three fish today, a small trevally, a three foot long great barracuda, and a 30-35lb red snapper. A few terns flew overhead and gulls crisscrossed our stern. A turtle lazily poked her head out of the sea just feet from the boat. The highlight of the day was getting visited by a small pod of Bottlenose Dolphins; our first in the Red Sea.

The sun is finally sliding back below the horizon and taking the relentless heat with it. We are anchored in a basin, almost surrounded by shallow reefs. The winds are predicted to be mellow for another day. We hope the forecast is right and plan to leave early tomorrow morning for a quick 32 miles to Khor Shinab, heralded as one of the most beautiful anchorages in the Red Sea.

A Slice of Sudan

We slowly motored our way through electric koolaid blue milky water, followed by a small red sailing dhow, her white cotton sail, full in the light breeze. The water became lighter in color, even more surreal as buildings crumbled along the entrance of the port. We were entering what resembled a movie set, real life to those that made Port Suakin, Sudan, Africa their home.

The streets were paved in a fine brown dust, the same that licked our rigging, lines and mast, painting them a dirty shade of brown. Here the dirt lingered, scattered only by the hooves of excited goats and transport donkey carts. It clung to the old men's white robes, their hems brown from walking the streets and too little water to wash with.

Their weathered brown skin soaked up the fierce African sun, the color of roasted coffee beans and their dark eyes held stories we would never know. Plastic bags of every color clung to the few bushes that survived in this arid land like tattered flags, reminding us what would be left when we had all gone. A few women swirled by wrapped in colorful thin cloth from head to toe. They seemed unnaturally bright in a world of dust and a landscape of brown, black, and white.

We are still on a grand adventure and here I feel as if I am watching a movie. Strong men young and old walk through town armed with 3 foot long swords in their belts. They wear short vests over their white robes, full of pockets. Goats wander through town freely and donkeys bray in the background. Paint peels off large wooden doors while men sitting sidelong steer donkey carts through streets pulling water barrels, baby lambs, and other goods.

We are welcomed to town by a group of young and old men at the local tea shop. Beckoning us to join them we confer and slip into the corner bench, painted the same unnaturally vivid sky blue color as the plastic foot stools they bring us to place our drinks upon. We settle into our seats attempting to look comfortable, hoping to hide how utterly out of place we feel. The four young men sitting beside us have impossibly white teeth. After we have ordered a Turkish coffee for Gar and tea (shai) for me one of the young men is brave enough to practice his English. We smile and try to understand each other.

Within minutes an older man, lighter skinned with a thin black mustache shouts loudly to us, stopping the conversation were having, "Hey listen to me," he demands. "Baby finished?" He asks. "We're still practicing," Gar replies, with a smile, that does not get one returned. Here in Sudan, a woman's worth is determined by how many children she can have. Already in Islamic societies women have little value, now I really have none here. We "listen to him" a bit more and answer a few more questions hoping to return to the pleasant interaction we were having before he interrupted. He wants us to buy his "friend's fine sword with genuine silver."

An old man in a tattered, patched robe with a face that has seen ten thousand suns steps forward and removes his sword out of its patchwork leather scabbard. He hands it to Gar to appraise it. Heavy in his hands we see a symbol of the moon inscribed on one side at the base of the blade and a star on the other. The hilt is wrapped in intricate silver waves. If we ever wanted to buy a sword this is it. But who knows what blood it has spilled. We compliment the sword and return it to its disappointed owner. Our interrogator tires of us and thankfully walks out into the dusty street.

The guys next to us linger over their empty glasses. Sipping sweet mint tea and thick coffee, we explain we are from the United States and sing Obama's praises and our obvious dislike of Bush. It is only smart to reply in this manner but our words are genuine. I am mostly quiet as the guys just want to talk with Gar. After more attempts at conversation and many hand shakes and smiles I ask to take their photo with Gar. They are thrilled, some of the rare few who are willing to oblige a photo. I am surprised; they also would like one with me as well. The guys smile approvingly while peering at the screen on the camera, even the cook comes out for a view.

Everyone is smiling. When we ask to pay for our drinks, they wave us away. In this dusty poor place, we are again surprised and touched by the welcoming kindness of strangers.

We wander around a few booths of vegetables in the market. All of the produce coated in a thin layer of dust and try to pick the freshest ones: carrots, green peppers, chili peppers, limes, tomatoes, oranges, bananas, onions, potatoes. Leaving the vegetable booths we pass the meat market. Late in the day there is half a goat still on the rack and black flies buzz disturbed by our passing. A pudgy man speaks Arabic to us and beckons us to his barred window, offering a very red cut of the meat or possibly liver. It is hard to tell. We smile and shake our heads no.

Completing the circle, arriving again at the entrance of the market we meet a man standing beside a donkey-less cart. He has a curly bushy afro and a huge wide smile with spaces between all of his teeth. He is a brilliant salesman, grabbing bread while flashing his sparkling eyes and a winning smile. Of course we want 15 puff breads shaped like small frisbees.

Our three days in Port Suakin are spent on boat projects, returning to the market for freshies and my failed attempts at getting some brilliant photographs. There are very few times I wish I was a man but here I do. In many ways it would be much easier. Most of these people do not want their photo taken and when asked their smiles turn into a scowl. I am not good at sneaking photos and have stopped asking and put my camera away, choosing instead to keep my memories in my mind rather than on paper. It is a hard decision.

We spent a day in Port Sudan and visited a few specialty shops searching for cheese with little success. We ate lunch at the Palace Hotel an oasis for ex-pats and a source of cheap internet. There we saw voting observers from the EU. Sudan was suppose to be having their first free election to vote on the separation of north Sudan from south, making the south a new country. Sadly, it seems there is much corruption and the opposition party has pulled out claiming it will be an unfair vote. Hopefully this will not upset the peace agreement that has been in place for the last 5 years.

Our last day, we wander through the ruins of the crumbling buildings in the old city, stop for cups of shai at our favorite tea shop, and drink in the grit that is in this outpost in Sudan, Africa.

Three days after leaving Port Suakin, a thunderstorm sits upon us and the rains come, carrying the dust from our rigging onto the decks and bringing with them rough seas and strong winds. We are stuck in Sanganeb reef, staring at the water that tosses us uncomfortably at anchor.

It is amazing how quickly everything can change. Just two days ago, we were free diving off the point. Schools of hundreds of yellow-lipped sweetlips swarmed us. Twenty-three big eyed trevally swam directly at us in procession coming in for a closer look. With their toothy mouths agape, giant marbled grouper peered at us suspiciously from below reminding me of old men. Pink and orange anthias rise and fall around us like confetti. A ball of small jackfish surrounded Gar and moments later a huge school of hundreds of barracuda passed by. Blue fusiliers flickered in and out of the deep appearing and disappearing like an illusion.

We decided to abandon our hopes of scuba diving and visiting Jacques Cousteau's research station at nearby Shab Rumi, as the wind is fresh, blowing at 18-20 knots and the weather reports suggest it will be building within the next few days. We don't want to get caught out in the exposed reefs in 30 or so knots of wind. Here the dramatic change in weather greatly influences comfort level and fun factor and thus our choices, so we set off to Marsa Fijab for the night. Sadly, on the way our faithful resin-head squid lure got munched off by something big yesterday. The two hundred pound stainless lead did nothing against this creature's sharp teeth. We pulled the hand line in, the end looking like an exploded piece of wire, wildly unraveled.

It is 09:50 and we're motor sailing close-hauled, hoping to arrive at our next anchorage, Taila Island before the wind and swell threaten to stop us in our tracks. We are trailing two smaller squid lures and slightly bucking the swell. The water is a sparkling shade of dark blue and the sky is overcast and bright white. Thankfully the wind is clocking to the north east while it builds. We can see mainland Sudan; the hills roll by, beige with dust. We will likely settle into Taila if the winds blow strongly from the north as forecasted and hope to have some new adventures there.

Smiling Again

My electric toothbrush died today. I'm not smiling. Yeah, not a big deal and not that I need one anyway, right?? I only bought it because I have a poor history dealing with fighting cavities. The cavities usually win most of the battles and, hey, I thought, every other American has an electric toothbrush and they all say they really "do" help fight cavities, so I thought, ok, I'm not "that" old school, I'll get an electric toothbrush too and my teeth will be extra happy. And that's what I did before we left Sausalito 3 1/2 years ago and started this journey. And, to tell you the truth, I kind of grew to like it. Until today. Now it's dead and I'm back to old school tooth brushing. More my style anyway I think.

But the reason I bring the toothbrush up is because something much more important to us died the other day, our Yamaha dingy outboard. Yeah, not cool, old school or new...having a good reliable outboard for your dingy is just kind of paramount out here. Especially if you want to get off the boat when it's windy and you can't row safely anywhere. Or if you want to "do" something fun off the boat like hiking on shore, or snorkeling, diving, or kite-surfing. I mean don't get me wrong, Nicole and I can hang tough on DK like any good cruisers: reading, doing boat projects, watching a good TV series on the laptop, baking bread or cookies...we do it often, hunker down and live simply on our boat for sometimes days or weeks without touching our feet on land. But it's really really nice to have the choice, especially if we are in a sweet cruising area like the Red Sea; a place that beckons to the adventurous. And, must I remind you all, we are super remote and also in a very poor country. We are still days away from a town, any town, and even when we are there, do you think there will just be a reliable and competent Yamaha mechanic there? You never know, right, but I wouldn't count on it.

Hanging in Khor Nawarat bay (March 25), just across the border into Sudan from the country of Eritrea, we were off on another snorkeling adventure. Nic and I took along a couple of our Dutch friends from the boat, Halfskip, and we were off to visit "fish town" again. After an hour or so of exploring the reef full of schools of sweetlips, rainbow colored parrotfish, and the assorted cornucopia of tropical reef beauties, and me unsuccessfully poking around the coral heads in search of a lobster dinner, we loaded back into super dingy and started back across the outer reef channel towards the anchorage. "Weeeeyyyy," goes the reved up engine with no power as I try to accelerate. I look at the prop and search for the telltale tangle of an old fishing line or other foreign object stuck around the blades. Nothing. "Weeeeeeeyyyyyy," it goes again. Oh Shit. We look at each other knowing full well we have at least a mile to go and need to cross two reefs and a current-swept channel.

I put it in forward slowly and it moves us forward, but no more then 1-2 knots. Phew, at least we can move. 45 minutes later and we make it home. Nic and I raise the engine and I start on the process of diagnosing the new problem. Prop looks fine, so it must be a "gear" issue inside the engine itself. Lower unit, I think. Turning our cockpit into my workshop begins. Tools come out, old greasy work towels get spread out, and the dismantling begins. Attempting to remove a couple of seized on bolts from the water pump housing creates a whole new problem. Two of them snap inside their tapped holes. Nice. Now my project has doubled...welcome to the world of boat projects.

For the rest of the day and all the next one, this is my world. I have taken apart all of the lower unit of the outboard, drilled out old broken bolts, stripped the threads, and then attempted to use some JBWeld to fix my disaster. JBWeld doesn't work too well, part of it breaks off and I have to re-tap a hole with a size bigger bolt to make it work. Thankfully I have a bolt that will work. Lots of gasket-sealer, sweat, and cursing later and, hopefully, I get the water pump issue fixed. Remember, this is only the second problem, I still haven't figured out the main one yet.

We have both our Dutch boat friends from the yachts "Halfskip" and "Alexandra" onboard for sundowner drinks that night, and Hans on Alexandra tells me about his exact same past issue. It's the prop, he says. No way, I say, the prop looks fine. He shows me how the interior bushing will break apart from the prop itself when the prop hits something or too much force is generated. It makes sense, but I never would have been able to understand or see it without him explaining it to me. I am utterly relieved. Hans is my new best friend! I start to smile.

I email my dad. He has been on a mission for me in Washington State to talk to the outboard guru's in the shops close by he knows of. He comes back with the same prognosis and we are both relieved that at least we have hopefully figured out the issue. Thanks Dad!
Now I need to put it back together again.

We left Khor Nawarat yesterday morning at sunrise (March 27) heading north to our present anchorage, Long Island, at the beginning of the Shubuk Channel. The wind and seas were up and we left the protected group of islands in some big 2-3 short steep seas and around 15-20 knots of wind, thankfully still from the west. Motor-sailing out the pass with Halfskip in the lead we made our turn to the north and took off under full sails on our 45 mile day hop. The day cleared up nicely and blue skies and a warm African sun graced the sky. The winds kept clocking to the NNE by early afternoon and we ended up making good time, dropping the hook at the southern bight of Long Island before 3 p.m. Halfskip came in safely a couple of hours later.

Long Island looked pretty enticing from the deck of DK, but because it was windy and the outboard still not together, we stayed onboard for the evening and watched the sunset over the mainland of Sudan in the distance. Osprey's fished the bay close by and we could see egret's fishing the shallows on shore. Tuna jumped in the distance and we crossed our fingers that the next morning I could get the Yamaha back on its feet.

This morning (March 28) after a tasty cup of Bali coffee, it was back to work. I successfully reconfigured the lower unit of the outboard and the new spare prop and gave it a go. Success!! Oh man, can you believe our relief.

We celebrated by having a nice walk around Long Island exploring the place and enjoying the numerous osprey's fishing, yellow and pink sea crabs scuttling around the mud flats, and watching small brown-dotted sting rays swimming through the shallows. We were on a search for the flamingos that supposedly reside here when in season, but no luck there.

After our walk we went out on a snorkel adventure on the SE side of Long Island with our friend, Joost, on Halfskip. The water was murky and the coral and fish ok, but nothing special. Nic got cold and we dropped her off on DK and then Joost and I took our spear-guns out to a pass a couple of miles away. We dropped in to the much clearer water and poked around while drifting the pass a couple of times searching for big edible fish and lobster, but no luck. Turtles, small barracuda, and the usual reef fish were in abundance, but no bigger pelagics or schools of red snapper we were searching for, nor a single lobster to be seen.

On the dingy ride back surfing the wind-waves at full throttle I was once again super thankful that at least one current boat project has been successful. In the last month we have had our autopilot go out, our VHF stop working, our wind generator die, and, today, my toothbrush. But having the outboard up and running again is, by far, the most important of the lot.

A mile from the boat, Joost and I watch a flock of birds in V-formation coming towards us from the west. They look different. When they fly directly above our heads we can clearly see the pink color and the long curved necks. 9 flamingos are arriving to Long Island.
I am smiling again.

Welcome to Sudan

It was gray and damp out. We were mole-eyed and really didn't want to be up so early but we set off again. Our destination, Khor Nawarat, Sudan, Africa, 165 miles. Another overnighter. This time it was strange, very strange; it was unexpectedly relaxing, uneventful, and pleasant.

We started the day under gray skies and they sat overhead until late afternoon. Surprisingly, the wind piped up around noon and we sailed on a super comfortable beam to broad reach in one to two foot swells until about 9pm. It was really dark and we felt like we were ghosting along. We didn't see another boat for two days. We caught 6 fish, three fish each day, but sadly they were all barracuda. Barracuda often are known to have a toxic poisoning called "ciguatera" so even though we caught two small and one big one, three feet plus, each day, we returned them to the deep.

Small gray torpedo-shaped common dolphins jumped to join us numerous times through our one and a half day journey. They remind us of happy dogs, excited to see us, doing tricks and just as quickly happy to play somewhere else. They always put a smile on our faces.

And then we were here. Navigating the channel was straight forward. Our charts were still correct and the light was good. Wind was still pumping through from the E-SE so we dropped the hook off of a sandy, windswept scrubby island in this protected lagoon. It is calm here, wind but no swell, perfect for kiting if there is enough wind. Gar went out yesterday. Unfortunately, the wind was still a little light so he needed a rescue from the dinghy, but he had to give it a go. While we were waiting for the wind to pipe up we were visited by the military. All nice guys although a bit intimidating. They had a boat load of snapper and offered us one.

A good sign. So today we went spear fishing. We scouted a few reefs and finally found one close to the boat that had decent visibility and a lot of fish. We had found "fish town". Over 40 long-finned spadefish gracefully swam by. Surgeonfish bigger than your large fluffy housecat cruised in and out. We spotted two huge grouper, one as big as a fat sheep. Super cool and rare for us, 5 snubnose pompanos did three swimbys, their yellow tails and fins flashing at us. A huge lobster tap-danced under a rock while schools of snapper passed by. One was unlucky. Gar got his hunt on. Dinner tonight, barbecued snapper.

Just to remind you where we are, I will sign off with our most recent wildlife sighting, two camels on the beach. One of them belly deep in the sea.