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The Amazing Caine Story |
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The Sails Blew Out And We Stranded | ||||||||
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| X-FILES Under the name X-Files we write about the unexpected events that might change our lives. Feel free to comment and to send your own story to info@global-unlimited.com. |
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| Now about the crew. We had advertised for two strong, experienced
crew, preferably with a Skipper’s ticket. We found two delightful lads –
Guy, aged 22 and Tom, nearly 18, both from Kenya. They were strong, enthusiastic
and likeable, but did not have even a competent crew certificate between them.
But then neither did the skipper. It looked as if we would all have to be thrown into the deep end together. Hopefully, not too deep. I did a navigation course, but ran out of time and did not do the exam. Imagine the ignominy if I’d failed! The radio exam was easy. I came second in a class of two. Children’s schooling? Robyn accessed a schooling program. It was decided that even if she was too seasick to teach at sea, the lack of conventional education would be offset by the benefits of travel. Robert, aged 11, certainly received an education from the two crewmen, who were fairly explicit in their descriptions of the effects of the hot blood of youth. I learned a few things myself! The Kommetjie sea-side house was rented to a family for one year. Guy had just qualified as an engineer. He was head over heels in love with Tom’s sister, Marion. I met her – she was special. A lovely, intelligent lass. Guy became an essential part of the team, with an ingenious flare. He could mend anything, from complex electronic equipment, to humdrum fuses. He could not, however, mend broken hearts. This was underlined by the look on Marion’s face as we pulled away from the dock. Guy planned to attend Military College at Sandhurst after the voyage. Therein lay a minor irritation. He developed a habit or saying everything twice i.e. “Take that rope, take that rope”, “Hold on, hold on”, even greetings “Good morning, good morning”! It was explained that he had to practice this because Sandhurst officers have to repeat instructions to the enlisted men twice to be sure they were understood. I nearly threw him overboard once or twice, --ONCE OR TWICE. Just as the yacht was put in the water, Guy requested compassionate leave for 2 weeks promising to return in time for our departure date. He took with him the diesel manual and Marion. On his return the book looked untouched. I doubt if Marion was equally neglected. 
Tom, Marion’s 18 year old brother, had his 18th birthday two days before
we sailed. Dream On was dressed with coloured signal flags from bow to masthead
and back to stern, in his honour. He was a product of Hilton College. Tall and
fair and full of fun. He could cook a good line in rotis and the children loved
him. Occasional bouts of teenage blues were but a minor drawback. These were quickly
corrected with fatherly encouragement and a few lashes with a ropes end. Tom’s
yachting experience was limited, I suspect, to entertaining the daughter of chartering
families. Toms dad had a yacht chartering business. Say no more. One week before we left, we, as a family, decided to live on board. Dream On was moored in the Elliot Basin at Royal Cape Yacht Club. On the first night an electric short sped through the wiring from heads to saloon, accompanied by the smell of burned plastic. The following day a gas-leak in Robert’s cabin resulted in his being laid up in bed for the day with a headache. An urgent call to Andrew, who had spent the last 3 months putting the yacht into trans-Atlantic condition, failed to get a rapid response. Having paid his bill too early was a mistake. Other experts had to be called in. With only a week to go, it was now time for me to learn to sail. A Yacht Master took me out in his 32 foot Muira every day for 4 days. He was extremely patient, but, I suspect, questioned my competence – so did I. With 2 days to go, the yacht was provisioned with food for 6 weeks and with enough toilet paper to serve a cholera epidemic. Not having a skipper’s license meant stealing out of the harbour at first light, before the authorities could impose their bureaucratic displeasure. Family and friends came from far and wide. It was an emotional experience. We motored out. It was the 26th April 2002, two days before my 71st birthday. Twelve hours of motoring with a gentle swell and hardly a breath of wind, took us past Robben Island, the site of Mandela’s incarceration and past Dassen Island, the site of many crayfishing sorties, to our first landfall at Saldanha Bay. It was so peaceful that momentarily I recalled the book by Frank Whiteman entitled & The Wind is Free”. After years of sailing he finally found a good anchorage in Saldanha Lagoon at a quiet spot called Churchhaven. He never left and became a happy recluse. His biography was written by Lawrence Green in “A Giant in Hiding”. Perhaps he was trying to tell me something. You don’t have to cross the ocean to enjoy life at sea. A quiet anchorage might be an end in itself. |
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