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 12, 2010 - St. Helena

This afternoon we cleared out of St. Helena and departed for Ascension Island. We are expecting to have an easy run and hope to be there in five days.

St. Helena has been a good, if pricey, place for us to wait for some wind for the 700 mile run to Ascension. Last week, a friend of ours sailed into the anchorage, snapped a few pictures, and kept going. His budget is really tight and after hearing from us what things cost on the island, he decided not to stop despite having been on passage for 18 days from Cape Town.

After three months of living in South Africa, where the dollar goes a long, long, long way, and the good life can be had for short, short money, it was a shock to our system to switch to the pound. When we exchanged money last week the rate was $1.62 USD to the St. Helena Pound (not the pound sterling mind you, though the two are exchanged at par value).

It cost us 55 pounds (28 pounds to immigration for a 10 day visa for each of us and 27 pounds to the Harbor Master for the boat), or a total of $90 to clear in here. That's one of the more expensive clearances we've done. If we hadn't had some proof of health insurance (our boat insurance provides us with some limited coverage), it would have cost us an additional few pounds per day to stay here. In addition, because there is no place to land a dinghy, we spent 20 pounds on the harbor taxi during our stay here.

One of our big expenses was internet access. Cable and Wireless has a monopoly on communications to and from the island. They provide satellite based broadband internet, but at a steep price. In St. Helena internet access costs 6 pounds an hour, or almost $10 an hour. Having fast wifi in the anchorage was too big of a temptation for us to resist. We would log on, open up a few pages, then quickly log off to read them. Even so, I'm actually too embarrassed to publicize much money we spent on internet here. But we did get our taxes filed and enjoyed reading the NYTimes over our morning coffee each day.

Other than veggies, fish and meat, we haven't done any provisioning here. Actually, despite the relatively cheap food prices, we didn't do all that much provisioning in South Africa either (other than replenishing our Diet Coke, wine and junk food supplies). We are still eating off of our dry goods and canned goods from our pre-Chagos, Malaysian/Thai provisioning, Shady Lady's 10 gallon bucket of flour, and the cases of tinned veggies we inherited from Muneera in the Seychelles. Before we left Cape Town Sten kept asking me if I was sure we didn't need to buy "___________" (insert whatever here) and I kept insisting that we had enough on board. So I was pretty embarrassed to find that we were running low on dish soap on the run here. And then a few days ago I realized that we only had two tins of diced tomatoes left and that we are completely out of Thai curry paste. I have a feeling we're going to be eating some pretty creative dishes on the run from Ascension to Barbados. The prices for everything in St. Helena (except fresh, locally-caught seafood) are roughly a third higher than in South Africa, so we've only been topping up our fresh stores here. And, um, buying two bottles of dish soap.

Where did the rest of our St. Helena Pounds go? The island tour that we did with Kieth was 15 pounds a person. We sent out 20kilos of laundry to Annie's Laundry at a cost of 20pounds. And we managed to eat at most of the dining spots in Jamestown - The Consulate Hotel, Ann's Place, Sally's Sandwich Bar, The Orange Tree, and the Coffee Shop, but none of those meals cost more than a few pounds. It must have been all those milkshakes from Sally's DVD Shop.

We didn't have to refuel, but other yachts who did found it cheaper and easier to buy diesel from Kieth, one of the water taxi drivers, than at the pump. He is able to procure it at the commercial rate of 170 pounds for 200 liters. He charges a 5 pound delivery fee for delivering it to your yacht and pumping it directly into your tanks. The fuel is reported to be very clean.

Continuing our tradition of traveling around the world, one grocery store at a time, here is a wrap up of the provisioning available in Jamestown:

Star, which stocks Spar (a South African grocery chain) products, carries some local veggies, but also carries imported fruit and veg. There is also a branch of Star on Ascension Island and we can only assume that is why we found some US brands like Ocean Spray and Charleston Chew (the world's greatest candy bar; seriously, try them frozen) at the Star on St. Helena. Star has its own bakery and we found the sandwich bread loaves at Star to be better than those at the Tea Shop and Bakery next door to Star.

The Tea Shop and Bakery, which is just up the hill from Star, produces several different kinds of loaves, rolls, baked goods and pizza bases. We liked the baguettes and other free-form loaves, but the sandwich loaves were really tough - almost as though they had been kneaded too long and the gluttens had been over stimulated. Sten, who is not a dainty guy, actually cut the crusts off of his sandwiches made from this bread. So come here for rolls and such, but go to Star for sandwich loaves.

Thorpes Market, which stocks Tesco (an international grocery chain) products, is the place to be on Thursday mornings for the best selection of local veggies. Be there by 8:45 or risk missing out. Actually, second only to getting to pet Jonathan the Tortoise, the Thursday morning mele at Thorpes was my favorite St. Helena experience. Saints and yachties start lining up out front of the grocery. Once the doors open, people calmly file inside, pick up a market basket, and head through the aisles to the courtyard behind the store. Everyone gathers in a ring around the edge of the courtyard, and with typical British patience, waits for crates of local produce to be unloaded, weighed and lined up in the center of the courtyard. Nobody (except one clueless yachty who quickly got told what for by an older Saint; and no, it wasn't me) touches a thing in the crates until the last one has been unloaded from the van parked out front. Both times I was there for it I missed the signal to begin. But the Saints know. All at once they dive into the crates with abandon equal to the restraint they showed before (the only time I've ever seen anything like it was the Running of the Brides at Filene's Basement). Broccoli and cauliflower go first. I've never cooked with either, but figured if everyone else was taking some, I should too. The only time I saw things get contentious was when the potatoes arrived. The Saints surged forward to get their hands on a bag (afterwards I learned that none had arrived on the RMS and that the next shipment wasn't due until late April, so there is currently a shortage of potatoes on the island). I wouldn't have had a chance at a spud if one of the shop girls hadn't passed me a torn bag with little new potatoes falling out of it. My second Thursday at Thorpes, I just stood back to watch the show for a few minutes before diving in.

Across the street from Thorpes, is Tinkers, which stocks frozen foods, imported eggs, cheese and butter, and local sausage.

The Growers Market, which is housed in a prefabricated cast-iron building shipped out to the island in 1865, has local veggies available every day, though the selection was more limited than what was available at Thorpes on Thursdays. Local eggs can be pre-ordered from the Growers Market. Don't count on them having any available otherwise.

Also in the same building as the Growers Market is the local fish shop. We found the locally caught wahoo and yellowfin to be very affordable. The local butcher is also located in the Growers Market building. It is open on Thursday mornings and Friday mornings. Best to get there by 8 on Thursdays and 9 on Fridays to be sure to get a chance at any nice cuts. We wound up buying stew meat with the bone in, which we turned into an incredibly rich beef stew, chock full of local carrots and potatoes.

There is another grocery up the hill from Thorpes, tucked down the next alley, that carries a slightly different selection of goods than the other stores. At this unnamed store (we're sure it has one, but without any sign outside, we've no idea what it is) Sten stooped to buying outdated beer. At half the price of the "fresh" beer, he couldn't turn it down. We've taken the Old Food Movement to a whole new level here folks.

Coffee has been grown on St. Helena since the 1730's. It has always been grown in small quantities, but in recent years production has fallen off steeply. In the few years since the Saints were re-awarded full British passports in 2002, the population of the island has been in freefall. Nearly half the island's citizens have moved overseas where they believe they have better prospects for employment and promotion than on the island. As a result, many of the coffee plantations on the island can no longer find people to pick beans. The St. Helena Coffee Shop, which is located on the harborside of the archway leading into town, is the only place we found to purchase shade grown, organic coffee beans that are selected and roasted on St. Helena. A 125g bag is almost as expensive as an hour of internet, but then the rarest coffee in the world should demand a premium, especially when it is this good. The Coffee Shop also does tasty pressed sandwiches and wraps and a decadent coffee frappe.

March 11, 2010 - Jamestown, St. Helena

Sten demonstrating how to clean an oil stained dinghy without soiling the mothership

Today marked a huge milestone for us. After two years and many thousands of miles, we drank the very last bottle of the 11 cases of Hardys that we bought at the Warehouse in New Zealand. At the time, with the US Dollar in the crapper and the Kiwi Dollar at an all time high, I was trying to economize. But months of quaffing the same six varieties completely put me off of these drinkable, but entirely predictable wines. I was over them. I began to suspect that the different varietals were actually all the same base with artificial flavors added - like liquid smoke in fast food BBQ or "butter" in movie theater popcorn. But each time I reached for a libation, there they were.

Somewhere in Indo I realized that, unless I took drastic measures, I would never see the end of the Hardys. So after loading up with a variety of cheap, but different(!) wine in Langkawi, Malaysia, I traded the remaining (or so I thought) bottles of Hardy's for flour and butter last summer in Chagos. But earlier this week, while reorganizing our South African wine purchases, I came across one lonesome bottle of Hardy's Sparkling (note the lack of vintage, lack of varietal, and refreshing lack of pretense). And you know, absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

Sipping the last of the Hardys this evening over some Thai Green Curry, we remembered all (okay, that would be impossible . . . let's try many) of the other delicious meals that had been accompanied by similar bottles from this cheap and cheerful label. We downed the Cabernet with local beef in Vanuatu. We sipped the Sauvignon Blanc with many a freshly caught wahoo and mahi mahi in the Pacific. The Rieselings accompanied curries in Southeast Asia. And the Sparkling made a mean Champagne Cocktail in Chagos with the addition of a few dashes of bitters. Not a bad lot of memories for $3.40 a bottle.

March 9, 2010 - St. Helena

After a week in St. Helena it was past time for us to get beyond the arid volcanic valley of Jamestown and explore the interior of the island. With the crews from two other yachts we piled into a truck for a tour of the island. Unfortunately, Mother Nature, whose disposition has been pleasant and sunny for the duration of our stay here, saw fit to change her mood today.

Luckily, Sten and the two Scots in the back of the pickup truck found humor in the situation.

St. Helena's primary claim to historical fame is its role as Napoleon's jailer after his escape from Elba and defeat at Waterloo. St. Helena's main tourist attractions are his tomb and the homes he lived in during the six years he spent imprisoned on the island.


The first stop on our tour was Napoleon's tomb, which is nestled in a lush, green garden. Because the English (who referred to Napoleon as "General") and the French (who referred to him as "Emperor") could not agree on an inscription, the tomb is unmarked. Which is kind of poetic, as his bones have long since been relocated to France. Today the garden contains a grove of banana trees, a couple of majestic Australian pines and a fence surrounding a blank tablet marking an empty grave, over which the French flag hangs limply in the humid air.

As the rain began to fall, we arrived at Longwood House, the damp home in which Napoleon resided at the time of his death. During the long, boring years of his exile on the island, the diminutive emperor apparently spent much of his time laying on a chaise, reading, or soaking in a tub, reading. In his more active moments, he channeled his energies into designing and constructing classical gardens around Longwood House. Unfortunately, by the time we were finished with the house tour, the rain was coming down in earnest, and so nobody (else) was much interested in wandering around the gardens.

Napoleon's valet resorted to draping several of the rooms at Longwood with yards and yards of fabric to hide the mildew growing on the damp walls.

After we departed Longwood we drove out to check out the meteorological station and the site of the "paused" airport project, though we couldn't make out the latter in the heavy mist. Then we crossed the green, central highlands of the island to look down into Sandy Bay and have a squiz at the interesting geological formations known as Lot and Lot's Wife. The road down to the bay is so steep that we couldn't risk going down very far on a wet day, as we might not get back up again. And so we continued along to Plantation House, the home of the island's governor, and (much more interestingly) these guys:

Giant Tortoises apparently like to have their neck's scratched - this one actually came (slowly) when I called to get his rub down.

Stroking the chin of the island's oldest inhabitant, and one of the world's oldest living animals - Jonathan is believed to be between 175 and 200 years old - was such a cool experience. It made my day.

A replica of a birdcage that once stood in Napoleon's Gardens. The doors to the old cage were never closed. "One prisoner in this house is enough," said Napoleon.

March 7, 2010 - James Bay, St. Helena

We've spent much of this week working on projects on the boat, something we haven't done all that much of the past few months. I've been doing our taxes, laundry, and slowly plugging away at re-stitching the UV cover on the jib, which came loose on the run up to St. Helena from Cape Town. Meanwhile, Sten has done about a hundred other things. He's changed the oil in the generator, rebuilt the generator raw water pump, topped up the transmission fluid on the main engine, and topped up the fuel tanks from the jerry cans. He has also spent some time working on the dinghy outboard, to get it back in top form after 4 months of sitting on the back rail.

He also did a bit of sailwork on the mainsail, putting on some additional spreader patches and adjusting a batten. He's inspected our standing and running rigging to make sure there are no issues we should address before setting off on our next leg. As part of his inspection, I've hauled him up and down the mast twice (with the assistance of the windlass). The first time he was at the top of the mast he removed the anchor light, which had become very dim as one LED after another burned out. We didn't have the exact bulb we needed to replace it, so he jerry-rigged something that should get us back to the Caribbean.

Lastly, but certainly not least, he has spent quite a bit of time working on our grill - clearly an essential piece of equipment! He came up with a very creative, and somewhat horrifying, solution to a faulty regulator control. If we go up in a ball of flame cooking up a ribeye one night, this (and the two 20lb bottles of propane we carry) will likely be the culprit.

Pretty sure this violates the warranty.

We haven't been entirely boat-bound this week. We try to get ashore at least once a day to stretch our legs. With no protected place to leave the dinghy, we are dependent upon the local ferry service to run us in to the dock and back again. The service is only 1.20 Pounds per person round trip before 7pm. But after 7, the price jumps to 10 Pounds, which puts quite a damper on having dinner out or drinks ashore. While the RMS St. Helena was in port the crew boat ran until Midnight each night and they were happy to bring us back out to the yachts. So we took advantage of that and had a night on the town. After drinks at the hotel bar, which was a great place to meet people, we had dinner at Ann's Place, a casual restaurant that is the yachty hangout. It was fun flipping through her guest books and seeing what friends who have passed this way had to say. And the beef curry wasn't bad either!

Jamestown is a compact little town, studded with Georgian homes and businesses. The streets run up the volcanic valley at a gentle incline. The first time we walked up to the end of Main Street, every other person we passed called out "You alright?" I was thinking "Jesus, do we look that out of shape?" And then it dawned on me that "You alright?" is the local greeting. And unlike "How are you," which can be answered with a blunt "Fine," "You alright" invites conversation. It could only be the common greeting in a society where people still have time to stop and chat. And it perfectly suits an island where there are no ATMs, cellphones or airports.

A big bird in Castle Gardens, in front of Ann's Place

February 28, 2010 - Jamestown, St. Helena

Even the Dutch Baby was happy to be in St. Helena this morning

We couldn't have timed our arrival at this rock in the middle of the South Atlantic any better if we'd planned it. A few hours before we arrived the wind died. We had to motor for the last few hours, but that's a far sight better than the yachts that arrived last week who all had to run their engines for three of four days to get here. The latest weather reports show that there isn't going to be any wind until later this week. So unless we want to burn a lot of fuel to get to Ascension, we'll be here for a few days at least. Good thing we like it here.

This daunting pier is the only way to get on or off St. Helena

The welcome we have received here in St. Helena is the warmest we've experienced anywhere in the world. Within a few minutes of stepping ashore (off a ferry boat, onto a wet quay, grabbing onto a rope hanging from a bar overhead to steady ourselves), we met a South African family stationed on this remote outpost of the British Empire on a two year work contract. After talking for a few minutes, they invited us back to their home. Driving up into the hills we were amazed to watch the barren, arid landscape of the coast give way to a lush, green semi-tropical interior, aptly described as a bronze ring with a emerald center. Over a cup of locally grown coffee we learned a little bit about what it is like to live on a isolated island.

The RMS St. Helena, the local fishing fleet and a dozen yachts anchored in James Bay - the swell is often so fierce that huge rollers slam into the waterfront. That's why we are all anchored way, way out.

On our way back to town, I asked that we be dropped off at the top of Jacob's Ladder, which the local tourism board claims is the world's longest straight staircase. The steep flight of 699 steps is a silent challenge to anyone who finds themselves on this rock. I knew that Sten would insist on climbing the thing, and I figured that if we went down it together I'd be able to graciously opt out when he decides to ascend it. Looking down from the top was intimidating. Looking back up at the top from half way down was vertigo inducing. Three-quarters of the way down, my knees started to wobble. At the bottom, my legs were a little weak; but, it wasn't until about 10 minutes later when we climbed up a short flight of steps to a restaurant that I felt the full measure of their discontent. Mounting those steps took considerably more effort than it should have.

The view from the top

There is no ATM on the island. It being Sunday, the bank was closed. We had no local currency and no way of getting any (really, we should have exchanged some Rand for Pounds Sterling in Cape Town, hindsight being 20/20 and all that; not that Pounds Sterling are the local currency, to actually buy anything on the island you need the thinly traded St. Helena Pound). But after two weeks of cooking onboard Mata'irea, a lack of local currency was not going to keep us from eating food that someone else made, off of plates that someone else had cleaned, even if we had to invite ourselves into someone's home to do it.

Jamestown is nestled in an ancient volcanic valley

The first restaurant we tried (Ann's Place) didn't take credit cards or dollars. Neither did the second (the Consulate Hotel). We were about to look for another option when the cashier called over the manager. When we explained that we were off a yacht and would be here for a week or so, she didn't hesitate to instruct the cashier to let us purchase our lunch on credit - the old fashioned kind where they keep your signed receipt as an IOU until you show up and pay it off (you know, like Mrs Ingles did at the Olsen's general store when she wanted to buy a bolt of calico for some dresses for Laura and Mary, which is, I believe, the last time anyone was extended store credit in the US). How kind. And what an insight into how things work in a small community where everyone knows everyone else, and where even transient yachties are still trusted to pay their debts before hauling up anchor and sailing away.

10 hours after we arrived, the RMS St. Helena nosed into the anchorage. The RMS (Royal Mail Ship) is this isolated island's lifeline to the outside world. It arrives every three weeks, loaded down with all the goods the islanders need to survive. There is no airstrip here, and although Britain promised the funds to build one years ago, they have recently reneged on their promise, so the only way to get goods to the island is via the RMS.

There are passengers on board as well, a mix of tourists coming to spend a few days away from the distractions of the modern world (approximately 1,200 tourists, including yachties but excluding the 8hr stops made by the odd repositioning cruise ship, visit the island each year, making it one of the most lightly traveled places in the world) and Saints (as the islanders call themselves) returning from jobs oversees. Wages on the island are so depressed that many Saints find it more financially advantageous to work off island, typically in the UK, Ascension Island or the Falklands. This is beginning to have a serious effect on the island's population. It is said that each time the RMS leaves the island, a family goes with it. Talk about brain drain.


From a purely selfish point of view, we are excited that the ship is in. Not only has it been fascinating to see how they unload the containers (by ships crane onto a variety of self propelled barges and old landing craft and then from their heaving decks to terra ferma via a seriously hazardous looking operation involving a shore crane), but by Tuesday the shelves at the half dozen stores on the island should be fully stocked and the fridges full of fresh(ish) produce from Cape Town. And hopefully we can stock up on some more of those sweet South African cherry tomatoes that we love so much.

February 27, 2010 - Arrival at St. Helena Island

Jib sheets as frayed as our nerves

This evening, 10 days and 6hrs after departing from South Africa, we arrived at St. Helena. From a distance, in the twilight, the island looked like a forbidding fortress of sheer cliff faces. We're looking forward to getting ashore tomorrow to see how first impressions bear out.

Except for the last three days, we had primarily good, consistent winds of 13 to 18 knots the entire trip with a few lulls and stronger periods thrown in. The wind was dead behind us the entire trip making for lots of jibing and sailing off course to keep the sails full and to allow the off watch to sleep. However, the last three days the weather became less stable.

Each of the past few nights we have had to deal with squally weather and shifty wind. When the wind gusted up to 30 knots in the squalls the boat would make giant S curves under too much canvas and autopilot. When the squalls had passed by us we were left with very light breeze and a 2+ meter swell. As we rolled back and forth in the sloppy seas the whole boat would convulse. The sails popped and slammed as they filled and dumped air. All that motion did a number on our jib sheets. By the end of the trip they had nearly worn through at the point where they pass through the jaws of the pole. And the sound of equipment crashing around did a number on our nerves. It is very disheartening listening to expensive boat parts slowly destroying themselves. But the good news is that we didn't have to fire up the iron genny until the last four hours of the trip.

The highlight of the last few days of the trip was the reversal of our fishing fortunes. Early on in the run we passed through a school of something big. We hooked up both lines, but whatever was back there was too much for the 150lb test line Sten was using. We lost a bunch of gear and now there are some fish out there with some interesting lip piercings. Several days later, Sten landed a small Mahi Mahi. It was so little he tossed it back and we made pasta for dinner. But yesterday, things turned around. Sten landed a smallish Mahi, but still big enough for two meals. Since the boat was rolling too much to do anything fancy, we had deconstructed sushi rolls. The Japanese name for thin slices of fish layered upon sushi rice and garnished with toasted sesame seeds, nori strips, pickled ginger and wasabi is Chirashi-zushi. We just call it easy goodness. After lunch, he caught another Mahi, which as I write this is in the pan for our dinner tonight.

February 25, 2010 - Enroute to St. Helena

Crossing the Prime Meridian

There were no fireworks. There was no parade. And we didn't keelhaul anyone. But this morning, at 3:19:10 UTC (and local), we crossed the Prime Meridian, that line on the globe that divides the eastern and western hemispheres. It is just a line on a map, but being back in the Western Hemisphere makes us feel like we are that much closer to home. This afternoon, to celebrate, we put on our cowboy hats, cracked open a few Coors Lights and nuked some nachos. Or we would have if we'd had any of those things on board. Instead we popped a bottle of something sparkling and made a bowl of shrimp dip (Nando's Peri Peri is a fine substitute for Heinz Chili Sauce; canned shrimp, however, are a poor replacement for frozen).

The GRIBs call for the wind to die within the next few days. We're hoping to make it to St. Helena before the fans shut off. But we still have 300 miles to cover before we get there.

February 23, 2010 - Enroute to St. Helena

Big news on board today. Wait for it. Wait for it. Ready? Okay, we . . . jibed. After six days underway and five days of not touching the sails, other than to put in in and shake out a reef in the main, we finally had to make a sail change. We furled in the jib, set the pole up on the other side, took the preventer off the main sail, jibed the main across, set the preventer up on the new side, adjusted our heading, and unfurled the jib. With the two of us on deck, it took about half an hour. That's it, the big news from the South Atlantic.

For the past six days, the boat has basically been sailing herself. The weather has been extremely stable. Other than making minor adjustments to our heading on the autopilot, and checking the radar to see if we have any company (and other than one ship two nights ago, we haven't seen anything since the second day), watches have been very chill. After taking a few days to adjust to the motion of sailing downwind in a big swell, we've each been able to sleep for six or seven hours straight during our nightly off watch. We've been eating like kings (roast leg of lamb for dinner last night and shirred eggs with basil pesto and diced tomato this morning). So everything is good on board. Or, at least it should be.

We've both been struggling with the sheer vastness of the distances and time involved with getting the boat back to the Caribbean. Thanks to the consistent breeze we've been having on this leg, it will likely take us a total of 10 days to cover the 1665 miles from South Africa to St. Helena. From there, it may take us up to a week to sail to Ascension Island, 700 miles away, in light breezes. All of which is fine and expected. But what we didn't realize and what we are struggling to wrap our brains around, is the fact that Barbados, our planned landfall in the Caribbean, is a full 3,000 miles from Ascension. And since we expect to have very unstable weather on that leg as we pass through the doldrums around the equator, it could take us a better part of a month to cover those 3,000 miles. Oy. If we'd realized that the third leg of our run up the Atlantic was going to take so long, we might have planned to go to Brazil along with, oh, everyone else we know. But we decided not to go to Brazil because a month long detour there wouldn't leave us enough time to make it back to Newport before hurricane season sets into the Caribbean next summer.

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February 22, 2010 - Enroute to St. Helena

It is one of the great paradoxes of our peripatetic lives that when we have the time and inclination to cook we are usually no where near a grocery store. During the three months we spent in South Africa, we hardly cooked. We spent so much time on the road, traveling around the country, that we tended to stick to yogurt and muesli for breakfast. And dinner was usually cheese and olives or something tossed on the braai. The first few days of this passage we ate meals that I cooked up and froze before we left. But now that we have gotten into the groove of this passage we have started to cook as a way to pass the time.

Flipping through cookbooks we keep saying, oh, if only we had avocados or mint or plums or whatever. After months of being completely spoiled for choice in South Africa's excellent and affordable grocery stores, we are finally in a position where we have the time to do some serious cooking and we find ourselves 850 miles from the nearest market.

I spent the last of our Rand at the Saturday market in Simonstown, buying whatever looked good. It turns out that 120 rand buys an awful lot of fruit and veg. Unfortunately, a week on much of it is already starting to turn. So we have returned to true cruiser cuisine - cooking whatever looks set to go off next. These past few days we've re-embraced the Old Food Movement with gusto. Sten kicked it off with banana walnut pancakes (thanks to Jody for the Maple Syrup), followed by a veggie omelet.

Yesterday I woke up smelling peaches and knew it was time to use them or lose them. While I flipped through all the cookbooks onboard, reviewing peach recipes, Sten quietly sat at the computer reading an article he had downloaded. Eventually I announced that I was going to make Rick Bayless's pineapple upside down skillet cake, which I made while his mom was with us in Madagascar, but with peaches instead of pineapples. He sighed and said, "I was hoping you would say that." It was delicious. But next time I decide to use the last of my local currency at a market, I'm buying nectarines. Peeling peaches is a pain in the patookas.

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February 18, 2010 - Enroute to St. Helena

Yesterday afternoon we finally managed to coax ourselves into leaving the cozy confines of Saldanha Bay. With a big swell running outside of the protected harbor it was all too tempting to hang out for another day, and use up the last of our prepaid internet. After months of being connected, it was somewhat daunting to think of pulling the plug. But with our dinghy deflated for passage, we were effectively trapped on the boat. So, when Sten started to dig through his project drawer, looking for something to do to keep from going stir crazy, it was time to go.

If we were ambivalent about heading out sea before we left the harbor and encountered the swell and the cold waters of the Benguela Current, we were even less enthused after the sun set and it got cold. Now I'll be to the first to admit that after three years in the tropics, we are no longer the hardy New Englanders we once were. But 20 knots of wind across cold water would make anyone shiver. That first night out we both dove into the bags storing our hats and gloves, long underwear and fleece, gear we haven't touched since the run up from New Zealand nearly two years ago. Sten even broke out his sea boots to put up the pole earlier today.

We are settling into a passage routine, and getting used to operating on less sleep. Tonight seems a little warmer than last.

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