Port Massawa to Aden in Yemen


“Ultimately, our voyage south from Port Massawa in Eritrea proved to be a truly defining part of our lives. Our way of thinking changed, we never really realised that we were slowly morphing into intrepid sailors… vagabond type adventurers who just keep going for some unfathomable reason. We were ‘turning native’ as our friends Peter & Dagmar later told us. The way of the sea got into our blood and the horrible kicks we’d both suffered in our previous lives started to fade, to be replaced by something else we couldn’t at first understand, something neither of us could explain in any words that make sense… even today we both find it difficult to talk about what it is that sailing the ocean does to you. Only those of you who are yourselves long-distance sailors know what it is I’m trying to say…” Dave

Women of Port AssabWe left Port Massawa not really knowing what was going to happen. We departed the harbour under sail with a nice fresh wind across our stern to preserve the diesel we had in our tanks. As soon as we cleared the harbour breakwater the wind straightaway turned on to our nose and we cautiously turned south by southeast.

Mike told us there would be diesel in Port Assab but we didn’t turn on our engine to motor into the wind just yet, instead we tacked our way southwards along the Eritrean shoreline. It was slow progress. At first we enjoyed the continual tacking, the gentle wind cooled the intensively hot desert air and we had more than enough cooling freshwater from our watermaker. But the prevailing current driving through the Bab Al Mandab Straits two hundred miles to the south began to turn against us and our overall progress slowed. We tacked the sea miles back and forth but when we measured our actual miles made good towards Port Assab it was depressingly small; the current and our leeway were slowly working against us. Then the wind began to gain strength, soon averaging around twenty five knots and our gently sublime sailing began to take on a different note. Nevertheless, we slowly made our way south. But two days later we’d only made seventy miles from Port Massawa and were tiring from the relentless tacking, changing direction every five miles or so across our intended course to make good. The sea by this time was short and steep although there was no ocean swell, this type of sea is a depressing feature of the Red Sea that sailors who’ve sailed it know well. During the night, tired from a lack of sleep from the constant need to be on deck to tack our sails through the wind we finally turned on our engine in frustration, then hugged the coastline to get what shelter we could from the by now driving sea. We pointed Sänna’s nose towards Port Assab, covering the remaining one hundred and twenty miles in a little over twenty four hours. Frustratingly, there was no diesel for us in Port Assab.

imageNow we were in trouble. The prevailing wind from the south, straight through the Bab Al Mandab Straits, was by now a constant gale blowing thirty knots and more. If we had enough diesel we could somehow power our way through the heavy sea into the more benign Gulf of Aden beyond the Straits and make for French Djibouti or Aden in Yemen, both major ports which without question would be able to supply us with fuel. And if the wind had been from a different direction than full on our bows then we could easily have sailed without the need to worry about fuel. Luckily we did not need to rely on our diesel generator or our engine to charge our batteries because our solar panels provided enough power from the relentless desert sun; our wind generator too supplied enough power from the hot winds so we had no worries about powering our instruments and autopilot. More concerning though was our eventual need to run our generator to power our watermaker… but for now we had ample supplies of fresh water.

We sheltered for two full days behind a remote breakwater just beyond the rather desolate harbour of Port Assab, we rested and thought about what to do. We were now even further south than we intended… we knew we could easily run with the winds to return north but when those winds died out, which they invariably would in the no-wind zone that existed between the differing prevailing winds regions of the northern and southern Red Sea known as the Inter Tropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ), we would by then be in among the intensive reef systems with potentially no engine-power or any wind-power either. Now we realised why there were huge numbers of wrecked ships scattered along the many reefs. Our only other option available before us was to tack our way through the gale force winds and big seas of the Straits which often endured for many days on end. We could sit and hope for slack winds but we only had around three or four days of fresh water if we couldn’t run our watermaker. We could maybe double that with strict rationing but there was little fresh water in Port Assab either – this was truly a desolate desert wilderness. Our food supplies were OK though although our limited fresh food stocks from Port Massawa were already low or turning foul. Fortunately we always carried around six weeks of dried or canned food supplies No western supermarket quality to be had here eh?

red-sea-stormWe decided we had no real option but to bite the bullet and tack our way out of the Red Sea. It was going to be hard but we had little choice. So we raised our anchor and slipped our stern lines tied to the breakwater. We didn’t bother to unfurl our headsail, we wouldn’t need that and instead hanked on our storm staysail to the inner forestay and readied it for use. We set two reefs in our mainsail and headed out towards the Straits which were by now a little over seventy miles southeast. It could be done. Straightaway we could make out the relentless line of cargo ships heading both north and south through the designated Traffic Separation Zone more or less in the centre of the seaway; at least if we got into trouble there would be ample maritime help available. Our only other major concern was that the opposite Yemen shoreline and the forlorn Perim Island that guarded the entrance to the straits were restricted Yemen military zones with strictly no access allowed to any vessels whatsoever which, we’d been told in Port Massawa, was rigorously enforced.

Storm Sailing

port-massawa-girlThe Red Sea narrows significantly towards its southern entrance. At first we tacked Sänna back and forth between the Eritrean shoreline and the Traffic Separation Zone but we seemed to be in the worst of the strong winds and the adverse two knot current that flowed in the same direction as the winds. Although we were sailing quite well Sänna was heavily heeled over with breaking seas pounding our bows and windward topsides. We were unfortunately tiring quickly and we’d previously worked out that we had at least two to three continual days of this ahead of us, nothing would change much. So, on about our fifth or sixth starboard tack towards the relentless line of cargo ships we decided to head straight through the traffic zone, first between the line of ships heading south and then through the ships on a northern heading, to see what conditions were like on the far side towards the Yemen shoreline. We powered our way through by now fiercely steep seas breaking on our bows and found conditions just a little easier on the other side of the separation zone. But the distances between the Yemen military zone and the traffic separation zone were much shorter, so we were changing our tacking course through the wind much more frequently. We decided our best course of action would be to make longer tacks between the Eritrean shoreline and the Yemen military zone, which meant continually passing through the relentless line of cargo ships but would reduce the number of times we tacked our sales, meaning we could each rest a little longer below deck. I believe those of you who are sailors out there know full well what we were going through and just how tired we were.

Darkness on our first day descended and we worked out from our charts and GPS plotter that we’d knocked off around twenty five miles of course-made-good of the seventy odd miles we need to cover. Not much considering the tremendous effort the two of us were expending. Although I’d sailed in lots of high winds and steep seas before Marie had only experienced relatively brief periods of full-on gale conditions back in the Mediterranean. She was learning fast though and I have to say she was magnificent. Darkness came quickly and we then had to rely upon our radar to time our transits between cargo ships; trying to work out distances and times to closest-point-of-bab-al-mandabapproach became a nightmare as the calculations from our plotter varied wildly as we were tossed around in by now huge seas. The winds were by this time touching forty knots and seemed to be increasing. Sänna was handling things well though and she clearly relished our storm staysail; usually we made around seven or eight knots into wind before a breaking wave across our bows slowed us down. However, we were fiercely heeled over, harnessed on to our life-lines and decidedly scared for most of the time… especially as we sailed our way through the traffic zone which strictly we weren’t supposed to do. occasionally we received a ship-to-ship call over our VHF radio warning us of our approaching dangerously too close, usually in some unfathomable language but sometimes in a cool, calm and collected English voice that invariably asked if we were all right. We also received a call in Arabic which we didn’t understand at all, which we assumed was the Yemen army threatening us when we seemed to have sailed too far towards their restricted military zone.

storm-dawnBy now we were having to ignore our radar and visually sight in the dark the ships we needed to sail between. We easily knew their course and the direction they were heading but working out the distances just from their navigation lights was hard going. Twice we crash-tacked to reverse our course, to narrowly avoid a fatal collision in the horrible dark. Marie did a sterling job though, rustling up some hot food and refreshing tea because by now we’d not slept for nearly twenty-four hours; we again figured out that we’d need at least forty-eight more hours of this before we sailed through the straits. We then still had a hundred and fifty miles or so to make to the safety of Aden in Yemen which was now our favoured destination rather than Djibouti because Aden was closer. There also seemed to be, according to our charts, an anchorage of some sorts on the Yemen coastline, around fifty miles beyond the straits and perhaps there we could lay-up and rest… but it was at least three days away by our reckoning.

Dawn came magnificent and we continued in somewhat exhausted fashion all through the next day; although the wind and seas eased a little and we began to make more reasonable progress. We were by now relying upon our autopilot more and more because we were just too tired to keep taking the helm; the autopilot seemed to work fine though and I was really quite proud of our stupidly large sailing boat that I’d purchased back in Dubrovnik four years ago. At this point we both genuinely began to think the worst of the storm had passed but as darkness again descended on our second day the wind and seas increased considerably. This was, I tell you now, the night that nearly killed us.

First, our staysail began to give us cause for concern. The hanked luff had a small tear and it was beginning to grow larger. So we made our way onto the foredeck, through the cool breaking seas that washed across our bows to drop the sail down, then we temporarily unfurled our main headsail which would need three heavy reefs so that we could use it instead whilst we inspected the staysail to see what we could do. The smaller storm staysail was undeniably our best prospect which controlled our sailing performance so admirably that I was loath to lose it. Disaster struck; whilst reefing our now unfurled headsail I inadvertently let out too much sail, a wind gust of around fifty knots caught it viciously and the sail instantly blew out, tearing along the clew. I was simply too exhausted and had now made a bad mistake. We immediately tried to heave-too but without the head or staysail to steady our bows we simply turned one hundred and eighty degrees with the wind. We straightaway dropped the wildly out of control headsail, making it fast as best we could whilst we headed back northwards, losing around five miles of hard-earned distance-made-good whilst Marie hurriedly made a make-shift repair in our staysail. To avoid losing too much of the hard-earned distance we’d toiled so tirelessly for, I quickly turned on our engine to turn and hold our proper course… and it promptly died as we ran out of fuel. Marie, who’d never signed up for this type of shitty survival, I have to tell you was an absolute star. Her incredible grit and determination, her ability to take charge when things got bad made me realise she was a natural leader. We got the patched-up staysail up once more whilst we were both harnessed onto Sänna’s foredeck which was again being constantly battered by breaking waves. We then turned back into wind to resume our course towards the Yemen shoreline. It was pitch-black dark and the seas by this time seemed mountainous in their terrible extreme. Back in the relative safety of Sänna’s cockpit I saw our wind instrument measuring nearly sixty knots. We were clearly in deep trouble. Then things got much worse.

We were having big problems holding our course and were by now making many mistakes in rapid succession; I nearly lost my hand when the headsail sheet slipped from the winch whilst stupidly trying to furl the sail away; Marie spotted the danger and pulled by hand free before it became entangled in the rapidly tightening noose of rope. We were not reacting quickly enough to instantly changing events because we were both by this time utterly exhausted. Then, terribly off course once again we caught a huge breaking wave directly on our beam and it straightaway knocked us down and rolled us flat; Sänna’s mast shockingly hit the sea and our sails floundered uselessly in the wild boiling black foam. Although both securely harnessed on to our lifelines we flew across the cockpit, landing on top of each other in a tangled heap. We heard everything crashing and flying below decks and we were completely helpless, just lying there in forlorn abandonment to our fate. There was simply nothing we could do, both of us instantly demoralised and aware that we were in now in incredible danger. We couldn’t possibly survive a capsize in these conditions and in the darkness I could see Marie sobbing her eyes out in absolute desperate frustration. I really didn’t know what would happen next, I calmly thought that Sänna would continue to roll over and that would be it, we would die together in each other’s arms. I held Marie ever-so-tightly because I’d long suspected that Sänna was too heavily loaded to come upright again once she was rolled upside down. This fiercesome sea would rapidly pound her into submission with her upturned hull the only mark of what had happened.

But it wasn’t to be. Instead of rolling over Sänna came upright under her own endeavours and we straightaway scrambled to get control of what we could. Sänna, still recovering from her nearly enveloping capsize, somehow turned herself to run with the wind, which on hindsight was a thankfully natural manoeuvre and everything became suddenly much calmer as we suddenly ran with the sea rather that fighting our way through battering waves. Even though we were once again heading northwards, quickly losing even more of the distance we’d made through the previous day and this stormy night; we were too frightened and bruised to do anything about it. We didn’t give a shit, we were both on the verge of giving up because neither of us had anything more to give. We simply sat around for a while relishing our survival, realising how lucky we were to be alive, knowing that we loved each other more than anything. Then we saw the fabulous dawn begin to show its head over the Yemeni shoreline.

The Yemen Army

Dawn after the stormOnce we got ourselves calmed down and sorted out the sun was fully up. Running with the wind was all well and good but we soon lost all the distance we’d made since leaving Port Assab – but what else could we do? What we’d attempted since leaving Port Assab was simply too much for a short-handed crew of two and, on hindsight, all of our intrepid plan to sail south from Egypt was perhaps misguided. Now we needed a miracle, or fate to at least work its way somehow in our favour because we were in dire trouble. Our headsail was torn, everything onboard was a disorganised shambles since our knock-down and we had nowhere to go. What the hell were we going to do?

Something strange happened, something I know you’ll say is freaky and wild beyond belief, something you won’t accept because it will turn your mind inside out. On Sänna’s bows I saw the image of my daughter standing defiantly against the raging sea. She stood like an angel in such a way that I could only stare in disbelief. She smiled and pointed towards the Yemen shore, with her angelic white blond her blowing uncontrollably in the wild wind. Of course, I was shocked in a way that’s difficult for me to describe, I shouted in panic to Marie who was still trying to clear things below; my little girl, she stood there with the outrageously grey sea towering all about, trying to say something to me which I could not hear in the raging wind.

It’s wrong that I tell you what happened next, it’s between myself and my sometimes unstable mind which I’ve long suspected plays me cruel and horrible tricks. There’s no logic to what I’ve told you and neither do I have an obligation to explain. Neither do I owe anyone an apology for what occurred or offer any comprehensible reasoning for what I saw, suffice to say that a short while later we turned Sänna back into wind and pointed her towards the Yemen shore. Soon, very quickly in fact, we found ourselves a long way within the restricted army zone and, do you know, by this time we didn’t much care. We were at the end of our tether and our ability to survive. Our vessel was battered and torn, we simply had to get ourselves together so that we could deal with our immediate survival. Something infinitely unexplainable had occurred that seemed to give us a way out, something uniquely strange that we didn’t need to try and reason or figure out. Once closer in to the Yemen shore the seas suddenly receded and we found much less wind… Marie pointed to a location on our charts that seemed to show shallower depths and a possible anchorage, just off a small village located on the desolate desert shore…

Read more…. Guests of the Yemen Army….>

Vancouver Island