Though we have complete charts available for the Indian Ocean, a great deal of its winds and currents are still poorly understood. Pilot Charts still show huge gaps of blank space in several areas, leaving the predictions of winds and currents often more to hearsay or speculation than to historical data.
Add to this the realities of decreased availability of high-seas weather forecasts by weatherfax and the lightly traveled nature of the voyaging routes, and a sailor planning an Indian Ocean crossing is left with many more questions than answers.
The Indian Ocean cyclone season defines the safe sailing periods for most voyagers. In the Northern Hemisphere, the Bay of Bengal east of India experiences cyclones from late April through December, and the Arabian Sea west of India experiences them from May to June and again from October to December. In the Southern Hemisphere, the cyclone season is November through April, although the Mozambique Channel in the far west is generally safe until December.
Three routes are favored by voyagers:
Northern from the Malay Peninsula, touching at Sri Lanka, then through the Maldives, and generally out the Red Sea.
Southern from Australia, through the Mascarene Islands (Rodrigues, Mauritius and Réunion) and then to South Africa.
Of course, there is plenty of mixing of routes, with Chagos being a particularly popular crossroads of transequatorial sailors. In 2003, most boats in Chagos headed west to the Seychelles or Madagascar/Comoros. Some went east to return to Indonesia/Malaysia to await another season of voyaging. A few went north to the Maldives and India. And at least one sailed south to Mauritius. It is also possible to cruise the coast of East Africa to wait out a cyclone season before returning to the island cruising grounds.
Considering all the factors (see Climate and weather on page 33), we would take advantage of the lighter trade winds in June to get halfway across the ocean to Chagos, stopping shortly at the Australian islands en route — Christmas Island and the Cocos/Keeling Islands. In Chagos we would wait out the stronger winds of July and August in paradisical splendor. In September we would carry on, sailing to the Comoros Islands and then cruising the coast of Madagascar. With a watchful eye on the impending cyclone season, we would leave Madagascar in late November for South Africa. With the whole of the summer before us, we would work our way to Cape Town unhurried.
The weather gauge
Obtaining reliable daily weather information for this ocean area is a challenge. Far from continental landmasses, the southern Indian Ocean just does not attract the economic resources to produce detailed, publicly available, comprehensive weather forecasts. The U.S. naval base at Diego Garcia (Chagos) used to transmit weatherfaxes on HF radio, but this ceased a few years ago. Saint Denis Météo out of Réunion has also stopped broadcasting weatherfaxes.
The Australia Bureau of Meteorology broadcasts both voice and weatherfax analyses and forecasts for the Indian Ocean to 90° E. The twice-daily wind-stream analysis and the wind-wave and swell-wave forecasts are the most useful in the tropics. These weather products are applicable for the first 2,000 miles — roughly to Cocos/Keeling — but beyond that, they lose their value for a tropical-latitudes crossing. The Indian Ocean mean sea-level pressure analysis and forecast are useful for the southern route through the Mascarene Islands, as they cover the full breadth of the ocean, but these charts lose their significance north of about 15° S.
The French territory of Mayotte, just northwest of Madagascar, broadcasts the daily weather bulletin issued by Météo France in Réunion each morning on single-sideband. It is in French, of course, but quite often a bilingual cruiser will repeat the forecast in English on a voyagers’ net a short time later. This forecast covers the western Indian Ocean to 5° S and the Mozambique Channel, and we found it quite reliable in the western tropics.
Grib (grid in binary) files and buoy weather forecasts — both accessible by email — also provide coverage for all of the Indian Ocean. Both of these are based on NOAA’s Global Forecasting System model and have limited predictive quality with tropical systems. We found them relatively accurate for current wind conditions and short-term predictions (less than 24 hours) but less so for multiday predictions. In Chagos, for example, they did not reliably predict the occurrences or the effects of the Intertropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ) activity we experienced.
In midocean tropical latitudes — like in the Chagos Archipelago — the best weather gauges by far were live satellite images showing areas of significant cloud movement, and simply looking out the galley port.
Close to Australia
With consistent trade-wind forecasts of 15 to 20 knots from the ESE, we left Darwin, Australia, in early June. Crossing the Timor Sea toward Ashmore Reef, we were never more than 200 miles off the coast of Australia and indeed often closer to Indonesia. The great bulk of the Australian continent generally blocks southern swells from reaching these waters, and the sailing was easy, the winds even lighter than predicted. At night, the occasional brilliance of an offshore oil rig would punctuate the dark sky, and by day, we frequently saw traditional Indonesian fishing boats.
The leg from Ashmore Reef to Christmas Island is little more than 1,000 miles, but during that leg, the Australian continent drops off to the southwest, and one becomes well and truly entrenched in the Indian Ocean. The trade winds become more consistent, and the southern swell builds. We had six days of consistent winds — ESE to ENE and always between 12 and 20 knots — and under the wind waves, a 6-foot swell built from the south. With a course of 275° T, we were wing-and-wing the whole way. We averaged more than 7 knots on this leg and celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary underway.
Christmas Island is an Australian territory and a phosphate mining center. It is fascinating to visit on land, and the mechanics, supplies and air services from the mainland make this the last likely spot for repairs or minor reprovisioning before the ocean crossing.
On the 500 miles from Christmas to Cocos/Keeling, lighter winds again prevailed. ESE to east winds 11 to 18 knots kept us primarily on a broad reach on port tack for most of three and a half days. Squally, unsettled weather arrived at Cocos about the same time we did — a portent of things to come — and we anchored in the protected, shallow waters of the lagoon in failing light and a heavy downpour.
Into the maelstrom
The leg from Cocos/Keeling to the Chagos Archipelago was a challenging 1,500 miles. Unsettled weather dominated our two-week stay in Cocos with gusty, squally southeast winds one day and fine weather the next. The trend continued offshore, and we reached along for the first few days in 20- to 30-knot winds and large, often confused seas, with a contrary swell underneath. Meanwhile, 300 miles to the south was another voyaging boat that departed Cocos the same time we did, but they were bound for Mauritius and experienced heavy weather, having to tow drogues in 50-knot winds.
Four days out, we crossed the Ninety East Ridge — an underwater mountain chain that runs north-south at about 90° E. This bathymetric feature generates huge areas of upwelling water, patches of rough seas and strange currents. It was only one of many such features of the Indian Ocean that we encountered in the crossing; so often on long legs we would be sailing along in “normal” sea conditions only to suddenly find short, lumpy waves slapping Gryphon from both sides, tossing water on the decks (and us), and just generally making the going rough. An hour later, just as quickly, it would be gone.
At about 6° S on the eighth day, we started to see a large canopy of cloud encroaching from the north. It was our first taste of ITCZ activity as the trade winds faltered. Squalls with torrential rains appeared, and with each, the wind would veer unpredictably, anywhere from south through east to north and even to northwest, with speeds from zero to 30 knots. When the trades prevailed, we made good speed on a broad reach; when they died, we ghosted along or motored for short periods, fuel management being critical throughout the crossing.
In these latitudes, too, the contrary Equatorial Counter Current began to appear. Instead of the boost from the South Equatorial Current, we were seeing up to 1 knot of current against us. Our daily runs reflected all these changes: 165 miles per day in the beginning, then 140 to 150 miles for the middle of the passage, and finally sub-100-mile days for the last three days. Almost embarrassing for a J/40, thank you.
Squalls and thunderstorms
The ITCZ dominated the weather for the remainder of our passage to the Salomon Islands atoll in the Chagos Archipelago. Conditions would alternate between fair trade winds and squally, thundery, unsettled weather on a sometimes daily basis. And being in the same latitude, Chagos had the same conditions. At least the sea state was irrelevant to us once we were snugly anchored in the protected lagoon. If we were to plan this passage again under similar circumstances, we would choose a more southerly track and veer north toward the Salomons only in the last 300 miles or so. This would hold the trade-wind conditions longer, even though the last few days might be harder on the wind when the ITCZ does intrude.
With no indigenous population, the Salomon Islands are the temporary home to Indian Ocean voyagers only. But bring plenty of diesel fuel and pasta, because the nearest store of any note is hundreds of miles north in the Maldives. Don’t bring canned tuna, though; the fishing is awesome. With a lagoon about 5 miles in diameter and 13 motus to chose from, it can be an isolationist’s dream.
Still, this isolation is illusory — 100 miles south on the atoll of Diego Garcia, the Royal Navy and the U.S. Air Force share a massive air and naval facility. Tolerated in the Salomons, voyagers are forbidden from even approaching Diego Garcia. The Royal Navy is responsible for enforcing the rules, collecting the unburnable trash and the unavoidable fees.
Rough seas off Madagascar
The northern tip of Madagascar experiences significantly stronger winds and higher sea conditions than the surrounding area, as the isobars and trade winds are bent north along its western coast. Voyagers chose either to give this tip a wide berth — say 150 miles — or close it completely and round Cap d’Ambre with one leg on the shore. We chose the offshore route and enjoyed 15- to 20-knot southeast winds. The seas, however, were significantly higher, steeper and more confused than the wind conditions would normally produce. Clearly if the wind were up in the 25- to 30-knot range — which it is about 50 percent of the time — the sea state would have been miserable. Forty-eight hours later, these conditions prevailed, and boats near Cap d’Ambre had 40-knot gusts and 12-foot seas.
Once in the lee of the massive island of Madagascar, calmer conditions normally prevail. One is more likely to be becalmed than to be hammered here; the trades and southerly swell of the Indian Ocean are diverted or blocked. We motored most of the time around the Comoros Islands. At least here we could refuel the iron genoa.
Madagascar is large enough to generate diurnal winds; in many areas of the north, the daily cycle of onshore breeze/offshore breeze made daysailing fun in fresh winds and virtually no sea state. Farther south, the trade winds predominated. Small low-pressure areas build over the interior of the island as summer approaches, generating areas of strong convection and intense thunder and lightning storms — something we found ourselves in the middle of on one night passage.
The Mozambique Channel
The passage from Madagascar to Africa involves crossing the Mozambique Channel, and there are as many tactics for this body of water as there are boats crossing it. Some boats left directly from Mayotte (Comoros), aiming for the widest part of Africa and then coasting south. Others left from central or northern Madagascar, also aiming for the Mozambique coast and following it south. Still others, like us, coasted south along Madagascar until about 20° S and then crossed the Channel directly for Richards Bay in the Republic of South Africa.
The farther north the channel is crossed, generally the lighter the winds and the flukier the currents. Not until about 20° S does the Agulhas Current start to form a steady southward set. Boats along this route rely on diesel fuel to make much of their southing. The disadvantage is that once on the Mozambique coast, any strong trade-wind conditions will bring southeast winds and make for a lot of weather work along a coastline with few safe havens.
The more southerly crossings are generally made with the benefit of southeast trade winds behind you, but at the cost of enduring passing cold fronts. If your timing is fortunate, you may weather the southwesterly winds of a front while still above 25° S and then have enough time on the southeast trades to ride them into Richards Bay before the next front. Farther south, these fronts bring backing winds, gusty and sometimes thundery squalls with the front’s passage, and then blustery southwest winds before settling back into the “normal” southeast trades again. And in areas where the Agulhas Current sets strongly to the southwest, these same southwest winds can quickly set a large sea running.
Seasonal timing is important, too. The strength and northerly reach of each cold front is typically higher in the winter than in the summer, and although summer breeds cyclones in the southern Indian Ocean, the Mozambique Channel is generally safer in November than the ocean areas east of Madagascar. During our passage in mid-November, tropical cyclone Beni formed in midocean near 60° E and brought storm-force conditions to the tropics. The first named storm in the Mozambique Channel occurred more than a month later. The advantage of delaying the Channel crossing as late as possible is, of course, to mitigate the effects of the passing cold fronts while still avoiding absolutely any chance of a cyclonic storm in open water.
Of course, anything can look good on paper, and the reality is, as my wife, Raine, says, “The weather’s gonna do what the weather’s gonna do.” If someone had told me ahead of time that we would be setting off on a 1,000-mile beat, I think we’d still be sitting in Madagascar waiting for a weather window.
An unpredicted low-pressure area established itself over southern Madagascar and brought unusual wind patterns; the first three days of our passage saw only winds from NW to SSW. We made considerably more westing than planned, as the southerly winds dominated. And rather than close the coast of Africa hundreds of miles north of our intended destination, we hove to one night only to find that the combination of our fore-reaching and the strengthening Agulhas Current was moving us in exactly the right direction at more than 3 knots! And we could rest at the same time.
On day four the wind finally went the slightest bit east of south, and we reveled in the lessening seas. Then it went away altogether, and we motored, marveling all the while at the rapid changes that the ocean can produce. Day five, and the southwest winds came back. But the seas were flat and the sailing glorious until the wind again died altogether. Day six, another complete cycle — no wind, easterlies, backing to northeast, building to 30 knots and backing some more. At the end of six days, we blew into Richards Bay about six hours ahead of a 30-knot southwest cold front. Tied to the dock with a cold Castle lager in hand, we watched as yet another frontal passage harmlessly tore at our Q flag.
From Richards Bay we sailed to Durban, then East London, Port Elizabeth, Port St. Francis and then to Cape Agulhas. For us and for Gryphon, the leg around Cape Agulhas — Africa’s southernmost point and the demarcation between the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic Ocean — was one of the most memorable of the circumnavigation. For starters, Corrigan — our autopilot — went on vacation for the first time in five years and so, fittingly perhaps, we hand-steered around this famous cape. Our timing was excellent and the weather benign. Under a full moon, with 15 knots behind us and a slight following sea, we doubled Cape Agulhas. In one sublime moment we left the Indian Ocean behind, nudged Gryphon’s bows slightly northward, and felt Atlantic waters once again under the keel.
Three routes are favored by voyagers:
Northern from the Malay Peninsula, touching at Sri Lanka, then through the Maldives, and generally out the Red Sea.
Southern from Australia, through the Mascarene Islands (Rodrigues, Mauritius and Réunion) and then to South Africa.
Central from either starting point, through Chagos and perhaps the Seychelles, then either across the top of Madagascar and down the Mozambique Channel to South Africa or up to the Red Sea and out that way.
Of course, there is plenty of mixing of routes, with Chagos being a particularly popular crossroads of transequatorial sailors. In 2003, most boats in Chagos headed west to the Seychelles or Madagascar/Comoros. Some went east to return to Indonesia/Malaysia to await another season of voyaging. A few went north to the Maldives and India. And at least one sailed south to Mauritius. It is also possible to cruise the coast of East Africa to wait out a cyclone season before returning to the island cruising grounds.
Considering all the factors (see Climate and weather on page 33), we would take advantage of the lighter trade winds in June to get halfway across the ocean to Chagos, stopping shortly at the Australian islands en route &mdash Christmas Island and the Cocos/Keeling Islands. In Chagos we would wait out the stronger winds of July and August in paradisical splendor. In September we would carry on, sailing to the Comoros Islands and then cruising the coast of Madagascar. With a watchful eye on the impending cyclone season, we would leave Madagascar in late November for South Africa. With the whole of the summer before us, we would work our way to Cape Town unhurried.
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The weather gauge
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Obtaining reliable daily weather information for this ocean area is a challenge. Far from continental landmasses, the southern Indian Ocean just does not attract the economic resources to produce detailed, publicly available, comprehensive weather forecasts. The U.S. naval base at Diego Garcia (Chagos) used to transmit weatherfaxes on HF radio, but this ceased a few years ago. Saint Denis Météo out of Réunion has also stopped broadcasting weatherfaxes.
The Australia Bureau of Meteorology broadcasts both voice and weatherfax analyses and forecasts for the Indian Ocean to 90� E. The twice-daily wind-stream analysis and the wind-wave and swell-wave forecasts are the most useful in the tropics. These weather products are applicable for the first 2,000 miles &mdash roughly to Cocos/Keeling &mdash but beyond that, they lose their value for a tropical-latitudes crossing. The Indian Ocean mean sea-level pressure analysis and forecast are useful for the southern route through the Mascarene Islands, as they cover the full breadth of the ocean, but these charts lose their significance north of about 15� S.
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The South African Weather Service also produces forecasts for the Indian Ocean, although the weatherfax broadcasts cannot be received reliably until close to the continent. Text forecasts can be accessed via email, though these tend to be broad in scope and again of little use in the tropical ocean areas. However, once across the ocean, closing the African coast or cruising Madagascar, the South Africa weatherfax broadcasts provide analyses and a five-day outlook daily. Two nets &mdash one marine and one ham &mdash are operated out of the Durban area and also provide weather information for the Mozambique Channel, the eastern coast of southern Africa, and the ocean approaches.
The French territory of Mayotte, just northwest of Madagascar, broadcasts the daily weather bulletin issued by Météo France in Réunion each morning on single-sideband. It is in French, of course, but quite often a bilingual cruiser will repeat the forecast in English on a voyagers’ net a short time later. This forecast covers the western Indian Ocean to 5� S and the Mozambique Channel, and we found it quite reliable in the western tropics.
Grib (grid in binary) files and buoy weather forecasts &mdash both accessible by email &mdash also provide coverage for all of the Indian Ocean. Both of these are based on NOAA’s Global Forecasting System model and have limited predictive quality with tropical systems. We found them relatively accurate for current wind conditions and short-term predictions (less than 24 hours) but less so for multiday predictions. In Chagos, for example, they did not reliably predict the occurrences or the effects of the Intertropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ) activity we experienced.
In midocean tropical latitudes &mdash like in the Chagos Archipelago &mdash the best weather gauges by far were live satellite images showing areas of significant cloud movement, and simply looking out the galley port.
Close to Australia
With consistent trade-wind forecasts of 15 to 20 knots from the ESE, we left Darwin, Australia, in early June. Crossing the Timor Sea toward Ashmore Reef, we were never more than 200 miles off the coast of Australia and indeed often closer to Indonesia. The great bulk of the Australian continent generally blocks southern swells from reaching these waters, and the sailing was easy, the winds even lighter than predicted. At night, the occasional brilliance of an offshore oil rig would punctuate the dark sky, and by day, we frequently saw traditional Indonesian fishing boats.
The leg from Ashmore Reef to Christmas Island is little more than 1,000 miles, but during that leg, the Australian continent drops off to the southwest, and one becomes well and truly entrenched in the Indian Ocean. The trade winds become more consistent, and the southern swell builds. We had six days of consistent winds &mdash ESE to ENE and always between 12 and 20 knots &mdash and under the wind waves, a 6-foot swell built from the south. With a course of 275� T, we were wing-and-wing the whole way. We averaged more than 7 knots on this leg and celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary underway.
Christmas Island is an Australian territory and a phosphate mining center. It is fascinating to visit on land, and the mechanics, supplies and air services from the mainland make this the last likely spot for repairs or minor reprovisioning before the ocean crossing.
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On the 500 miles from Christmas to Cocos/Keeling, lighter winds again prevailed. ESE to east winds 11 to 18 knots kept us primarily on a broad reach on port tack for most of three and a half days. Squally, unsettled weather arrived at Cocos about the same time we did &mdash a portent of things to come &mdash and we anchored in the protected, shallow waters of the lagoon in failing light and a heavy downpour.
The anchorage in the Cocos atoll is behind Direction Island, just east of the main entrance pass. Generally protected from all but the strongest southeast winds, this idyllic sand and coconut islet is reminiscent of the fondly remembered motus of French Polynesia.
Into the maelstrom
The leg from Cocos/Keeling to the Chagos Archipelago was a challenging 1,500 miles. Unsettled weather dominated our two-week stay in Cocos with gusty, squally southeast winds one day and fine weather the next. The trend continued offshore, and we reached along for the first few days in 20- to 30-knot winds and large, often confused seas, with a contrary swell underneath. Meanwhile, 300 miles to the south was another voyaging boat that departed Cocos the same time we did, but they were bound for Mauritius and experienced heavy weather, having to tow drogues in 50-knot winds.
Four days out, we crossed the Ninety East Ridge &mdash an underwater mountain chain that runs north-south at about 90� E. This bathymetric feature generates huge areas of upwelling water, patches of rough seas and strange currents. It was only one of many such features of the Indian Ocean that we encountered in the crossing; so often on long legs we would be sailing along in “normal” sea conditions only to suddenly find short, lumpy waves slapping Gryphon from both sides, tossing water on the decks (and us), and just generally making the going rough. An hour later, just as quickly, it would be gone.
At about 6� S on the eighth day, we started to see a large canopy of cloud encroaching from the north. It was our first taste of ITCZ activity as the trade winds faltered. Squalls with torrential rains appeared, and with each, the wind would veer unpredictably, anywhere from south through east to north and even to northwest, with speeds from zero to 30 knots. When the trades prevailed, we made good speed on a broad reach; when they died, we ghosted along or motored for short periods, fuel management being critical throughout the crossing.
In these latitudes, too, the contrary Equatorial Counter Current began to appear. Instead of the boost from the South Equatorial Current, we were seeing up to 1 knot of current against us. Our daily runs reflected all these changes: 165 miles per day in the beginning, then 140 to 150 miles for the middle of the passage, and finally sub-100-mile days for the last three days. Almost embarrassing for a J/40, thank you.
Squalls and thunderstorms
The ITCZ dominated the weather for the remainder of our passage to the Salomon Islands atoll in the Chagos Archipelago. Conditions would alternate between fair trade winds and squally, thundery, unsettled weather on a sometimes daily basis. And being in the same latitude, Chagos had the same conditions. At least the sea state was irrelevant to us once we were snugly anchored in the protected lagoon. If we were to plan this passage again under similar circumstances, we would choose a more southerly track and veer north toward the Salomons only in the last 300 miles or so. This would hold the trade-wind conditions longer, even though the last few days might be harder on the wind when the ITCZ does intrude.
With no indigenous population, the Salomon Islands are the temporary home to Indian Ocean voyagers only. But bring plenty of diesel fuel and pasta, because the nearest store of any note is hundreds of miles north in the Maldives. Don’t bring canned tuna, though; the fishing is awesome. With a lagoon about 5 miles in diameter and 13 motus to chose from, it can be an isolationist’s dream.
Still, this isolation is illusory &mdash 100 miles south on the atoll of Diego Garcia, the Royal Navy and the U.S. Air Force share a massive air and naval facility. Tolerated in the Salomons, voyagers are forbidden from even approaching Diego Garcia. The Royal Navy is responsible for enforcing the rules, collecting the unburnable trash and the unavoidable fees.
After six weeks in Chagos, we started our longest leg of the Indian Ocean &mdash 1,726 miles to Mayotte in the Comoros Islands, northwest of Madagascar. Our route began with a southwest leg of about 700 miles to a slot through the Saya de Malha Banks, yet another shallow-water area in the middle of the ocean, with its attendant currents, rough waters and localized weather. Starting off with a lot of southing also meant getting out of the ITCZ influence and back into the trade winds. This scheme seemed to work well for us. We enjoyed 15- to 20-knot southeast winds for much of the trip, while the Seychelles &mdash 5� to the north &mdash were bothered again and again with strong, thundery squalls.
Rough seas off Madagascar
The northern tip of Madagascar experiences significantly stronger winds and higher sea conditions than the surrounding area, as the isobars and trade winds are bent north along its western coast. Voyagers chose either to give this tip a wide berth &mdash say 150 miles &mdash or close it completely and round Cap d’Ambre with one leg on the shore. We chose the offshore route and enjoyed 15- to 20-knot southeast winds. The seas, however, were significantly higher, steeper and more confused than the wind conditions would normally produce. Clearly if the wind were up in the 25- to 30-knot range &mdash which it is about 50 percent of the time &mdash the sea state would have been miserable. Forty-eight hours later, these conditions prevailed, and boats near Cap d’Ambre had 40-knot gusts and 12-foot seas.
Once in the lee of the massive island of Madagascar, calmer conditions normally prevail. One is more likely to be becalmed than to be hammered here; the trades and southerly swell of the Indian Ocean are diverted or blocked. We motored most of the time around the Comoros Islands. At least here we could refuel the iron genoa.
Madagascar is large enough to generate diurnal winds; in many areas of the north, the daily cycle of onshore breeze/offshore breeze made daysailing fun in fresh winds and virtually no sea state. Farther south, the trade winds predominated. Small low-pressure areas build over the interior of the island as summer approaches, generating areas of strong convection and intense thunder and lightning storms &mdash something we found ourselves in the middle of on one night passage.
In spite of this, cruising Madagascar had to be one of the major highlights of our five-year circumnavigation &mdash the people, scenery, flora and fauna, all brilliant and all so very lightly cruised. In terms of the Indian Ocean crossing, it provided us with a respite from 1,000-mile legs, gave us protected anchorages at night, and allowed us to daysail much of the 500-mile distance from 12� to 20� S before setting off to cross the Mozambique Channel to Africa.
The Mozambique Channel
The passage from Madagascar to Africa involves crossing the Mozambique Channel, and there are as many tactics for this body of water as there are boats crossing it. Some boats left directly from Mayotte (Comoros), aiming for the widest part of Africa and then coasting south. Others left from central or northern Madagascar, also aiming for the Mozambique coast and following it south. Still others, like us, coasted south along Madagascar until about 20� S and then crossed the Channel directly for Richards Bay in the Republic of South Africa.
The farther north the channel is crossed, generally the lighter the winds and the flukier the currents. Not until about 20� S does the Agulhas Current start to form a steady southward set. Boats along this route rely on diesel fuel to make much of their southing. The disadvantage is that once on the Mozambique coast, any strong trade-wind conditions will bring southeast winds and make for a lot of weather work along a coastline with few safe havens.
The more southerly crossings are generally made with the benefit of southeast trade winds behind you, but at the cost of enduring passing cold fronts. If your timing is fortunate, you may weather the southwesterly winds of a front while still above 25� S and then have enough time on the southeast trades to ride them into Richards Bay before the next front. Farther south, these fronts bring backing winds, gusty and sometimes thundery squalls with the front’s passage, and then blustery southwest winds before settling back into the “normal” southeast trades again. And in areas where the Agulhas Current sets strongly to the southwest, these same southwest winds can quickly set a large sea running.
Seasonal timing is important, too. The strength and northerly reach of each cold front is typically higher in the winter than in the summer, and although summer breeds cyclones in the southern Indian Ocean, the Mozambique Channel is generally safer in November than the ocean areas east of Madagascar. During our passage in mid-November, tropical cyclone Beni formed in midocean near 60� E and brought storm-force conditions to the tropics. The first named storm in the Mozambique Channel occurred more than a month later. The advantage of delaying the Channel crossing as late as possible is, of course, to mitigate the effects of the passing cold fronts while still avoiding absolutely any chance of a cyclonic storm in open water.
Of course, anything can look good on paper, and the reality is, as my wife, Raine, says, “The weather’s gonna do what the weather’s gonna do.” If someone had told me ahead of time that we would be setting off on a 1,000-mile beat, I think we’d still be sitting in Madagascar waiting for a weather window.
An unpredicted low-pressure area established itself over southern Madagascar and brought unusual wind patterns; the first three days of our passage saw only winds from NW to SSW. We made considerably more westing than planned, as the southerly winds dominated. And rather than close the coast of Africa hundreds of miles north of our intended destination, we hove to one night only to find that the combination of our fore-reaching and the strengthening Agulhas Current was moving us in exactly the right direction at more than 3 knots! And we could rest at the same time.
On day four the wind finally went the slightest bit east of south, and we reveled in the lessening seas. Then it went away altogether, and we motored, marveling all the while at the rapid changes that the ocean can produce. Day five, and the southwest winds came back. But the seas were flat and the sailing glorious until the wind again died altogether. Day six, another complete cycle &mdash no wind, easterlies, backing to northeast, building to 30 knots and backing some more. At the end of six days, we blew into Richards Bay about six hours ahead of a 30-knot southwest cold front. Tied to the dock with a cold Castle lager in hand, we watched as yet another frontal passage harmlessly tore at our Q flag.
From Richards Bay we sailed to Durban, then East London, Port Elizabeth, Port St. Francis and then to Cape Agulhas. For us and for Gryphon, the leg around Cape Agulhas &mdash Africa’s southernmost point and the demarcation between the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic Ocean &mdash was one of the most memorable of the circumnavigation. For starters, Corrigan &mdash our autopilot &mdash went on vacation for the first time in five years and so, fittingly perhaps, we hand-steered around this famous cape. Our timing was excellent and the weather benign. Under a full moon, with 15 knots behind us and a slight following sea, we doubled Cape Agulhas. In one sublime moment we left the Indian Ocean behind, nudged Gryphon’s bows slightly northward, and felt Atlantic waters once again under the keel.
