Bluewater Walkabout: Into Africa: Finding Healing Through Travel by Tina Dreffin

Author:Tina Dreffin [Dreffin, Tina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tina Carlson-Dreffin
Published: 2016-09-12T22:00:00+00:00

One day, Dick appeared on the dock at dusk while we were having dinner aboard the boat at the dock. When we heard his knock on the hull, we alighted into the cockpit.

“Be ready tomorrow at first light. It’ll be a little rough the first day out because we’ll be riding on the tail end of a low pressure system. It’ll be lumpy, but only at first. Winds will be light and variable afterwards. We have a short window to Capetown, but we can make it,” he said.

A low pressure system?

We sat down to dinner with a sense of foreboding and excitement. Riding my nervous anticipation was the fisherman’s caveat of the Flying Dutchman. My stomach was tied up in knots. I didn’t believe in superstitious tales, but stories of shifting sands, contrary currents, and gales had me worried. I had no idea what I was doing. I felt as if I was riding on remote control mode, but loving it too. How crazy was that?

“Scud,” a woman shouted from the dock. I clambered outside to see a woman standing there with a fat loaf of bread.

“Hi, I’m Carol, a friend of Karen’s,” she said.

Carol had kind eyes and a smile that brightened her face. She was tanned all over, and announced herself as a sailor.

“I heard you were rounding the Cape of Storms with four kids. I wanted to give you this as a token of good luck and friendship from all the people here. I made it myself. We’re all rooting for you,” she said.

I jumped off the boat and stood beside her. The kind lady handed over a loaf, still warm from the oven. A bow of thatch wrapped its wide girth. I was overwhelmed with her touch of friendship and generosity.

“Oh my, thank you so much,” I said.

Dick, true to his word, appeared on the dock at first light with two baked chickens—his sole fare for the two-day voyage to Capetown. He would eat light to refrain from seasickness. My nerves were a wreck. I had slept poorly, eager with excited anticipation and rigid with fear.

Out in the Indian Ocean, we hit gusty winds right away, but the seas were moderate at six to eight feet. Scud shot forward, meeting the sea with ease and confidence. On the foredeck, Dick stood by as Peter grappled with the reefing system, taking turns to work with each one of the boys.

We rounded Cape St. Francis feeling the rhythm of the sea as an orange orb rose above a distant horizon. Our speed rushed us toward Seal Point, where the boys had spent longs hours surfing. I fell back as the Seal Point Lighthouse stood sentinel in swirling mist. It was under attack by a multitude of heavy seas that crashed at the base, looking like geysers. The wind whipped the ocean before us into a maelstrom.

“Stay at the two hundred meter soundings, three miles offshore,” Dick said. “We’ll have protection from the fierce headwinds from Cape Agulhas ahead.”

He

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