March 28, 2010 - Clarence Bay, Ascension Island

We were planning to leave Ascension today (Sunday), so on Friday we cleared out with Immigration and the Shipping Office. But last night we had a few folks over for drinks, which turned into a real party. We woke up too exhausted to go anywhere today. So the revised plan is to leave tomorrow. The gribs are predicting a good start for the 3000 mile run to Barbados. Hope they are right!

Blackjack with a bloody nose.

Friday afternoon we hitchhiked out to the Volcano Club at the US Base. We planned to have dinner at the snack bar, which advertises "McDonald's style food," but we got sidetracked by the foosball table and ice cold bottles of Corona (with lime!) for the rock bottom price of $2. Before we knew it, the snack bar had closed and we were making a dinner out of the chicken nuggets that the bar put out during happy hour. Between us and Mike and Doreen on St. Ledger, we made a pretty good dent in that warming tray. We wouldn't be surprised if the sign out in front of the club that says "public welcome" is revised to exclude yachties. While stuffing our faces with chicken tenders, we made plans with some guys we met at the bar for them to come out to the boat the next day.

We caught a lift back to Georgetown and headed back to Long Beach to check out the turtle nesting again. On our third try we finally got to see the girls dropping their eggs into the deep holes they had dug. We were also thrilled to have an opportunity to see half a dozen hatchlings making a frenzied dash for the water.

Around 10pm we wandered back to the pierhead, where the crew of Invubu had just discovered that their dinghy was missing. Two dinghies had already come loose in the past week, one ended up on the beach filled with sand and the other was rescued while attempting an escape from the mooring field. There is too much swell here to land a dinghy on the beach. The pierhead is too small to tie off to (it would make it hard for others to get ashore; besides, rubbing up and down against the concrete for any period of time wouldn't do a dinghy any favors). So the accepted practice is to tie dinghies among the line of boats strung out between two large moorings and then use an old aluminum skiff to pull yourself to shore. However, the surge seems to cause painters (the ropes used to tie dinghies to things) to work themselves loose. We always tie off with two painters, and twice now we've come back to find that one has worked loose, regardless of which knots we use. One of the cruisers who had their dinghy come untied last week has been cruising for 30 years and this is the first time his dinghy has ever come untied. It is just a bad situation. If the mooring rope had more loops in it to tie off to, that would help matters a lot. But it doesn't. One of the boats here came up with the idea of using the cable and lock they usually reserve for locking up in dodgy harbors to secure their dinghy to the mooring cable. That seems the safest approach.

Back at the pier, we quickly distributed Invubu's crew among our and St. Ledger's dinghies to take them out to their boat. Then Sten and I borrowed a spotlight from Invubu and headed out downwind, way out beyond the outer reef marker, to look for the runaway dinghy. We maintained radio contact with Jenny on Invubu. We had her try to pick up a radar return from our dinghy, figuring if she could see us, maybe she could pick up on their larger (and brand new) dinghy, but no luck. Meanwhile, Rolf from Invubu and Mike from St. Ledger checked the shore. The moon was nearly full, and the sea was pretty calm, so the conditions were near perfect for a nighttime foray. But both search parties came up short.

Mahi caught on the fly rod.

The next morning, while wandering through the museum and old fort, we ran into David and Candy off of Endeavor. They told us that shortly after Invubu raised anchor and headed for Brazil, they found their dinghy. What a lucky break! It was only four and a half miles from the pierhead, dead downwind. After ten hours of drifting, it had traveled a surprisingly short distance.

Later that afternoon, David and Candy came over to do a media swap, which is just like a bookswap but any form of entertainment is fair trade. We were thrilled to exchange the books, magazines and DVD's that we'd already read, perused, and watched. With a long passage ahead, fresh entertainment material is a hot commodity. Candy and David are also headed towards Barbados and eventually on up to New England. We're looking forward to getting together with them again up north.

Amberjack (we think) - delicious eating

Gordon and Michael, our guests from the base, arrived at 4pm bearing gifts. We were completely overwhelmed by their gifts of frozen veggies (fresh aren't available in the stores here), fresh fruit (from the dining hall), a giant cooler of ice, ice cream and girl scout cookies (thin mints!). We knew our freezer would not be able to keep the ice cream frozen, so we called up Endeavor and St. Ledger and invited them over for some blender drinks. It turned into one hell of a party. As Gordon said, "I never knew I could make so many friends with a quart of ice cream."

Everybody contributed something to keeping the blender going. First there were the mudslides, which always remind me of Block Island. When the coffee liquor ran out, ice cream and Mandarine Napoleon made a pretty convincing round of creamsicles. When the ice cream ran out, Mike hustled back to St. Ledger and grabbed a bottle of their homemade spiced rum from Madagascar and some cans of rambutans and coconut milk, which all went into the blender and came out as a fine concoction that reminded me of the wonderful homemade ice cream at the Galle Fort Hotel in Sri Lanka. And then David scooted over to Endeavor and picked up some peach puree and Argentinian rum, to which I added some orgeat from Tahiti, a pile of ice and let it rip. Delicious. We ended the night with a round of some blended rum punch with a healthy grating of nutmeg on top.

It is inevitable that over the course of such an evening a few things will fall overboard. As long as they aren't my guests, I don't worry too much. This morning David came over with his scuba gear to rescue one of our plastic cups from Target (rhymes with orgeat) from the bottom. In the search he found some old crockery and a brass (or maybe copper) drinking vessel. It would be very cool to know what ship that came off of. Portuguese? Dutch? The whole scavenger hunt aspect of diving really appeals to my inner flea-marketer. Apart from that, we were glad to hear that our anchor was clear of the myriad of old ships anchors and chain that have been left on the bottom here over the years. Afterall, we have a long way to go and need to get a move on.

March 25, 2010 - Long Beach, Ascension Island

Ascension Island is the second largest green turtle nesting site in the Atlantic. Every year, from November through May, some 4,000 green turtles arrive at Ascension's bays and beaches to mate and nest.


Every three or four years a mature female Atlantic green turtle makes the 2000km journey to Ascension. She swims at a rate of up to 50km a day for 5-6 weeks to get here, a small spec of an island in the middle of the vast ocean that offers her no foraging opportunities. But these massive creatures, which can weigh up to 300kg and measure 1.5m long, store up enough fat to make the long ocean voyage out and back to the coasts of Brazil and West Africa.


Shortly after she arrives at Ascension, a female green turtle is "covered" (what a terrific euphemism) by 4 or 5 different males. These "coverings" can last for several hours and are very splashy affairs. Then she finds a ledge, about 20 meters deep, to wedge herself. For a month she hangs out at that ledge, only surfacing once an hour to breathe.

After a month she is ready to begin laying eggs. At nightfall she swims ashore at the beach where she was hatched, over 25 years ago. As graceful as turtles are in the water, they are equally ungainly on land. It takes her a while to get up the steep beach and high above the tideline. Once she finds a spot she likes, she begins digging, using her front and rear flippers to fling sand out of her way. This is exhausting work for her. She pauses regularly to take a deep breath, the difficulty of her task clearly apparent. In the dark of night, the only sounds on the beach are the sounds of turtles dragging themselves up the beach, flinging sand, and the loud "pshhh" of their breathing.


Then she digs a big hole, up to a meter deep, in which to deposit her eggs. Once she has laid 100 to 120 eggs, she pats the sand down firmly, then begins flinging tons of sand around to disguise her nesting site. Once she has finished, as the sun is rising she ponderously makes her way back to the ocean. As she does, another turtle, which had been digging a nest next to hers, begins to disguise its nest, and in the process dislodges many of the eggs she painstakingly laid and buried. But no matter, in two weeks she'll be back again to lay another clutch of eggs.


As the dawn breaks, the beach is revealed to be a continuous field of craters where turtles have nested and attempted to disguise their nests. Long lines of turtle tracks, like tank tracks, lead to and from the surf. In amongst the deeper tracks, small indents, so shallow they might have been made by raindrops, depict where hatchlings have made a dash to the sea.


Baby turtles dig their way out of their nests in the cool of night. Once clear, they make a mad dash for the water. As the sky lightens, frigatebirds circle overhead, hoping to spot any stragglers. This morning there is one, a tiny little guy scurrying across the sand towards the water as fast as his flippers will carry him.


The birds swoop and dive, but a group of people surrounds him, protecting him until he can reach the water. Once he is in the sea he will face many more predators, but somehow he knows to make for deeper water where there are fewer creatures hunting him. If he survives, in about 25 years he will make the return journey to Ascension to participate in this ancient cycle of life.

March 24, 2010 - English Bay, Ascension Island

The wind has gone light and so we decided to take the opportunity to do some long range exploring in the dinghy. On our way to English Bay the outboard suddenly went to high revs and we dropped off a plane. After three plus years of cruising and heavy dinghy usage, we had spun the rubber splines out of the propeller.


We were able to idle back to the boat as the wind was light and the sea smooth, under different circumstances, things may have been more interesting. We carry two outboards for exactly such an occasion but the standby outboard is currently out of commission due to a lower unit oil leak. However the two propellers are identical except for pitch. So after forty five minutes Sten had swapped out the propellers and we were once again on our way, this time going a little slower due to the effectively smaller propeller and the need not to over-speed our primary outboard.

On the way to English Bay we explored some lava tunnels and checked out some nesting yellow footed boobies and sooty terns. Once there, we had a picnic lunch and did some snorkeling. Sten wandered off to dive on a wreck, while I hung close to shore to watch an octopus harass some grouper - or was it the other way around?

March 19, 2010 - Ascension Island

After 5 days and 4 hours of very pleasant downwind sailing we arrived at Ascension Island on Wednesday afternoon. Rounding Southeast Head and passing Boatswain Bird Island, a major breeding site for seabirds in the Atlantic, we were struck by the stark landscape of Ascension. Our eyes swept up brown, black and gray craggy cliffs, devoid of vegetation, to the lush green mountain perched above. It looked like a different island had been plunked on top of the first.

Our attention was diverted from the stunning landscape by the dozens of Ascension Frigatebirds that were diving on the array of fishing lures we were trailing. After one of the frigates managed to pluck a pink squid lure out of the water we decided to pull them all in to keep from injuring the birds and to avoid losing any more lures.

Rounding North East Point we saw our first of the many antennas, wind farms, domes and military installations that dot the island. Ascension belongs to the British and was first garrisoned in 1815, during the time of Napoleon's exile on St. Helena. 100 years later, the first radio was installed on the island, commencing its role as a communication's hub. The United States built an airstrip here during World War II. At one point during the conflict there were 4,000 service personnel on the island. After the war the population dropped back to 170 who supported the Cable & Wireless installation. During the Cold War the US Air Force returned, followed shortly thereafter by the British Broadcasting Company and NASA. During the Falklands War the British armed services were a bit miffed (not to mention embarrassed) when the Americans told them they couldn't use the airstrip at the US base to refuel (Thatcher eventually convinced Reagan to authorize the joint use of the airstrip at the US base). Ever since, the Royal Air Force has maintained a military presence on the island, just to make sure the Americans didn't get any further ideas about keeping the Brits from utilizing this outpost in the South Atlantic in defense of the Empire (Wideawake Field is now run as a joint facility of the USAF and the RAF). In 1990 NASA closed down its tracking station but the European Space Agency opened one on the other side of the island. Now there are approximately 800 people, a mix of Americans, Europeans and Saints, stationed on the island, which now seems to bristle with antennas.


From North East Point to Porpoise Point we were accompanied by a small pod of the biggest dolphins we've ever seen. We weren't moving all that fast, so there wasn't much of a bow wake for them to ride. Instead, they kept rubbing their backs and bellies on our bow.


Rounding North Point we passed English Bay, a golden beach framed by black volcanic rock and one of the only two safe swimming beaches on the island. From English Bay to Pyramid Point, the coastline was pockmarked with deep lava tunnels. Inland we could see volcanic craters, red mountains, and fields of black ash, sporadically dotted with round green patches, outlined in yellow, which we would find out were trees surrounded by their fallen leaves. We could only imagine how otherworldly this place must look from the vantage point of an airplane. From sea level it looked like we'd arrived at another planet.


Arriving in Clarence Bay, the only anchorage on the island, just before sunset, we carefully made our way around the floating pipeline in the middle of the bay and anchored in 30 feet of water. We were relieved to have arrived during daylight as the pipeline is not lit at night. Just after we dropped anchor, Sten caught a rock cod for our dinner off of the back of the boat. Actually, he had to catch two. The first managed to fling itself off of the fish table while Sten was in the midst of gutting it. So he put out his line and picked up another one.

Clarence Bay from Cross Hill. The floating pipeline is just visible to the right of the three sailboats.

Clarence Bay is so alive with sea life. Every time we throw kitchen scraps in the water a shoal of black trigger-fish dashes out from under the boat to scoop them up. They churn up the water so much as they fight over the scraps that they look like piranhas. It makes me almost afraid to put my toes in.


Ascension Island is a major breeding ground for green turtles. Each year thousands of turtles make the long swim from Brazil to mate and lay their eggs. The long golden beach that rims Clarence Bay is one of their prime nesting sites. At all hours of the day and night we can hear them surfacing around the boat to breathe. They pop their heads out of the water and make a loud pshhh sound as they inhale. The morning after we arrived we sat on deck with our morning coffee watching a pair of turtles mate. We then ate breakfast and started on our morning chores, all the while checking to see if they were still at it. They were.


When we arrived Wednesday evening we contacted Ascension Radio on VHF 16. It turns out that the shore station here is uplinked to St. Helena. So we were entertained to find ourselves reporting our arrival at Ascension to a radio operator in St. Helena, 701 miles away. The radio operator in St. Helena advised us to stay aboard until the Ascension Harbor Master came out to see us. Sometime after lunch on Thursday (hey, we were busy watching the turtles) we called back to ask if it was okay if we went ashore to find someone to check-in with. Shortly after that, the shipping office contacted us on VHF 08 and told us to come see them. After paying 15 pounds for "light fees" at the shipping office and 11 pounds per person and filling out a visa application at the immigration desk at the police station we were legal.

The pierhead on a calm day. To get ashore, we tied off our dinghy among the other small boats attached to the big mooring, then climbed onto small skiff, which is tied to the ladder, and pulled ourselves to the pier. When the swell is running, climbing on and off is a real challenge.

After we finished the formalities we wandered around town for 12 minutes. It isn't a big town. And Thursdays happen to be the day everything shuts down early, making this sparsely populated community feel like it has been abandoned.


It is hot here. We haven't been back in the tropics for very long and 90F and 60% humidity still feels oppressive. There are very few trees in Georgetown and very little shade to be had. By mid-day the black lava stone surfacing the streets and dark red-brown gravel covering the square had absorbed the full brunt of the day's heat and was busy radiating it back at us. So we found our way to the Saint's Club for a cold drink.

There is so little shade on this volcanic island that boat hulls were erected to provide some.

In the old stone building, which used to be a barrack, we found two seats at the bar and ordered some sodas. Sten just about swooned with pleasure when the bartender offered him ice for his glass. Most of the people who work on the island are originally from St. Helena. Before the Saints were granted full British passports a few years ago, Ascension was one of the few places they could come to make a living. Many Saints come to Ascension to work for 30 years to earn enough to buy some land and build a house back on St. Helena. The bartender at the club was almost done with her house and was getting ready to move back home.

On Friday morning we picked up a rental car from the only hotel on the island (we've since learned that the only filling station on the island has better rental rates) and set off to tour the island. We didn't have any plans, but we had a map, a picnic lunch, a cooler full of water and 11 liters of gas in the tank, which as it turns out, is all one needs to drive down every single road on this small island.

The Devil's Riding Circle with a USAF windfarm in the background

Shortly after passing the US Air Force Base, we pulled off at a sign marking the trailhead for the hike to the Devil's Riding Circle. Climbing the lip of the volcano we were walking on a surface surface of broken light-colored volcanic rock called "trachyte." The broken shards of rock under our feet clacked against each other, making it sound like we were walking on broken pottery. There were no trees or shade to be found in this hot, arid region. The only vegetation were prickly pear cactus (the magenta fruit of which, I couldn't help but sample, a stupid move for which I'm still paying in the form of several spines stuck in my fingers) and small, incongruous pink flowers.

As we climbed we passed many piles of bleached out bones and one sheep carcass buzzing with flies. It reminded me of one of the books I read in junior high, which I believe was called Deathwatch. Standing on the rim of the volcano, we could look down into the Devil's Riding Circle, so named because the outer ring of the crater is a lighter color than the inner areas, as though horses had been running around it, kicking up dust. We scrambled down into the crater and walked around a bit, but felt really uncomfortable in such an inhospitable climate, so we returned the way we had come.


In search of cooler climes, we continued up the road that runs along the backside of Green Mountain, which terminates at the now defunct NASA Tracking Station at Devil's Ashpit. We checked out the ashpit itself, then drove on back down the mountain. We made a run out to the ESA tracking station on the east coast before the heat got to be too much and we decided to head back up the mountain to find a cooler place to have lunch.


At the top of the mountain we found some picnic tables tucked among a garden. Above us hung a bunch of green bananas. As it has been a month since we left South Africa, our fresh food stores are running rather low. I topped up with whatever I could find on St. Helena, but supplies are more limited here. It will be at least a month before we reach the Caribbean. At this point, I'm not above stealing a bunch of bananas, but alas, our machete was back at the boat. Next time.


After lunch we walked Elliot's Pass, a flat trail that winds around Green Mountain and through several tunnels (a few of which are long, dark and creepy). The pass was built in 1840 to provide a series of lookout points for the British marines responsible for patrolling the South Atlantic for slave trading ships and pirates. Several small lookout caves still line the path, but much of the view has been obscured by misty clouds and lush vegetation as the island's climate has changed. Along the edge of the path groves of flowering ginger, wild raspberries and something wonderful smelling that looks like hydrangea, with large dark green leaves and clusters of fragrant blossoms (which I've since learned is called "glory bower," aka Lady Nugent's Rose).


While up the mountain we met three US Air Force pilots, Chip, Mike and Kaitlin who had flown out to the island from Westover Field in Massachusetts. Between Sten and Mike there was an awful lot of Red Socks paraphernalia loitering on the side of a mountain in the South Atlantic. Chip invited us to join them and the rest of their 12 person crew for a bbq that evening at the US Base. We immediately accepted. We got a bit muddy on our second hike, so had to find a beach to clean up at before we felt presentable enough to join anyone for a meal. So we headed over to English Bay where we cleaned off the worst of the dirt. The beach was gorgeous. We made plans to return in the dinghy to do some snorkeling.


On the way back to the US Base, we swung back over to the RAF facility on Traveler's Hill to pick up some beer and wine to contribute to the festivities. The NAAFI shop at Traveler's Hill is open to the general public, but the PX at the US Base is not. So we showed up with Castle and Guinness to a party flowing with Busch and Miller Lite.


We had such a lot of fun with the crew. Sten immediately pitched in with Chip in the kitchen, steaking two big tuna loins. Meanwhile, I did my best to encourage everyone to quit their jobs and go sailing. After dinner half a dozen of us headed down to the beach to watch the sea turtles lay eggs. Even though we were trying to avoid disturbing them, we were. So we decided to leave them in peace.

I'd love to know what the cancer rate is here.

March 16, 2010 - Mid-Atlantic Ridge

These past four days of sailing north from St. Helena towards Ascension have been some of the most pleasant of our entire trip. The weather is fine. The sun is shining. White puffy clouds skit across a bright blue sky. The sea is gentle. And most of the time we have enough wind to keep us moving comfortably along. If we start rolling too much, we just head Mata'irea up enough to bring the wind forward and keep the sails full. The days are beautiful. And the nights serene.

It is easy to become complacent in conditions like these. The other night Sten came on watch at 2:30am and found me napping in the salon. Which would have been fine, except I'd been asleep for three hours. The following afternoon I woke up after a nap to discover Sten snoring away on the couch. Which would have been fine, except he was supposed to be on watch, and those were not the sounds of a man in the midst of a catnap.

There was so little shipping traffic on the run from South Africa to St. Helena that we stopped worrying about it. And with the boat sailing herself under stable weather conditions, there isn't a lot that needs watching. But these past few days we've seen a few blips on the radar and last night we spotted the glow a ship's lights on the horizon, so we're trying to do a better job of keeping our eyes open.

The only downside of this passage is that we have not been able to catch any fish. Actually, we caught two, but at 6 and 8 inches respectively Sten let these Mahi-Mahi live to fight another day. And our first day out, about 12 miles off of St. Helena, we watched as a marlin batted at our lure four times, its long body a clearly visible dark mass darting back and forth across our sparkling white wake.

This morning we sailed over a portion of the Mid Atlantic Ridge that rises up from the depths of the ocean to within 100ft of the water's surface. It should have been a fish playground, but we didn't even get a strike. Then this afternoon a huge fish hooked up on the marlin lure, which is rigged on our heaviest rod and reel. This exact same set up stopped a large marlin way back in Vanuatu, a fish Sten eventually released after fighting it for ages. After that marathon event we went to much smaller hooks to hopefully allow oversized fish to straighten out the hooks rather than lose the lure to a monster. Until today, that strategy had worked for us.

Sten heard the reel go off when the fish hooked up. He grabbed the rod and cranked the drag of the big reel to max to either turn the fish or to get the hooks to straighten but the line just kept ripping off the reel at an alarming rate. He turned to me as I came up the companionway with the camera and said, "a little help please." I looked up at the mainsail prevented out to leeward, the jib poled out to windward, and the staysail rigged to leeward, and with an eyebrow arched at the back of his head, I responded that there wasn't a whole lot I could do to slow this freight train down. And then the line parted. We lost the fish and the marlin lure just before the bottom of the spool became visible. We'll miss that lure. It has caught us a lot of big fish.

----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com