Steal a yacht! No ways, you must be mad! I exclaimed. “Oh don’t be such an old fart”, laughed Meme. “We can’t let that bastard get away with it, and leave the deceased owners wife with nothing. Besides, we have ownership papers and permission to deliver it to Durban.”
We were asked to deliver a 37 foot ya to Dar es Salaam and bring a 60 foot steel yacht, in a clandestine operation, back to Durban.
The owner of the steel boat had died and his partner in a charter business in East Africa was attempting to wangle the yacht, through maintenance costs, into his possession. The maintenance costs were fabricated as we found out for sure when we boarded her one dark night.
My new life of yachting truly started in a rush the day we left Durban. Being new to yachting I was not sure about what was happening and why Meme insisted that we head for the marina in a hurry. Her brother Pieter drove us down to Durban and as we piled on board the 37 ft yacht , ”start the engine and let go forward and aft,” She shouted, with excitement in her voice and rushed down below to re-appear in seconds with her oil skins on.
There was no wind; it was dead calm, “what’s the panic I muttered.”
It was August and with Meme as skipper and I as the mate, a young lady Kate and a young man Robert as crew we set off in haste from moorings at the Durban Marina, heading for the exit from Durban harbour.
We had no sooner left the moorings and were heading across Durban Bay towards the entrance when Meme pointed to our starboard beam (right side) and exclaimed! “There it is, the South West Buster.”
It was a white wall of wind with dirty brown edges extending across the entire South Westerly horizon. It was coming towards us like an express train, made all the more scary in the dark of the night.
As we turned to head through the harbour entrance Meme called up the Port Control tower and requested permission to depart for Kenya. “You can’t go we already have 67 Knots of wind and it has not arrived yet.” said the man in the port control tower. “Bye”, she replied,” we can’t turn around if we tried.” We popped out of Durban with engine off and sails down. Bare polled we were averaging nine Knots in a North Easterly direction.
My eyes were like saucers and the adrenalin was a-pumping.
From then on I have kept a beady eye on Meme’s apparel and as soon as she puts on oil skins, I don mine and wait in anticipation for the fury of the sea.
At night we steered by the echo-sounder, by keeping on the 20 mtr depth line on the chart and by keeping Africa on the left and counting the light houses we made good speed.
The one morning whilst I was on the helm I noticed a small but menacing looking black cloud chasing us and it was gaining very fast. I asked Robert who was a very experienced yachtsman, if the cloud would cause a problem and he said that it looked harmless to him. Meme happened to look out on deck and I posed the question to her and she confirmed that it was nothing. Then bam we were ‘knocked down’ as the saying goes in sailing terms. That cloud was a monster with over forty knots of wind and with full sails up it put us on our side as it passed, flooding the cock-pit and giving us all a good scare.
Another interesting episode happened on our way up the African coast that trip. Meme smelt burning and asked me to investigate as fire on board a plastic boat is greatly feared.
Kate, the young lady with us had brought with her bundles of Rosemary sprigs and had hung them in various places in the boat as Rosemary is said to have therapeutic value. I was following the burning smell when my nose trail arrived at a Rosemary twig dead end. Suspecting that it was flora that Meme had smelt I went back on deck to enjoy the scenery. Not long after that smoke came poring out of the hatch. A terminal on the wind generator regulator was loose and had overheated starting a small fire which was easily put out by snipping the wire. So much for aroma therapy!
We arrived at Dar es Salaam anchorage in the dark after having sailed all the way and having had a quick voyage. The engine had decided to retire with no compression and so we had to sail into the anchorage in the dark just as the wind abated to zero.
The next day we cased the joint. We made discreet enquiries about the steel boat and about the bad guy, who called himself the Lion of Africa. This was an insult to the true Lion of Africa who, in a fascinating piece of First World War history was the brilliant German officer Von Lettow Vorbeck in command of the East African Forces and who would not surrendered until three days after peace was declared. He was given the title of Lion of Africa by the local tribesmen who helped him in the war.
That night with the help of our secret agent Rob, who had flown in from Durban representing the estate, to help us prepare the boat, we inspected the vessel.
It was very un-seaworthy. I still had Ship Surveyor mentality and carried out a safety check in disgust. Each time I expressed my concern, Meme would tell me to stop being and old fart surveyor.
To start the engine, I had to straddle the engine and chuck petrol down the inlet manifold with my right hand and press the open and sparking starting solenoid with my left hand. This action could have caused a blevi that could have made a Holy-wood movie look real.
The bilge pumping arrangement was criminal, as were all other systems, in fact I would have detained the ship on at least ten different items if it were doing charters out of Durban. It really went against the grain for me. Steal an un-seaworthy vessel and sail it back to South Africa! What am I doing? “Chuck your surveyors hat over-board Mike”, Meme said. “You’re a Grotty-yachty now.”
The main boom was ashore and had to be nicked one dark night from a shed and lashed onto the main mast because the gooseneck fittings were missing.
After hoisting the barnacle encrusted anchor chain and anchor on –board and flashing up the very dangerous petrol smelling diesel engine we set off with our booty.
Young Robert had assisted us getting away and had to swim back the 37 ft boat in the dark.
We headed south for Durban on this hulk. With the propeller being too small and wind and current against us we had a rough time trying.
We managed to sail South to Mafia island, an exercise that took us three days to cover 60 nm. Mafia sheltered us from the current that flows up the coast at that time of the year.
When we stuck our nose out to pass Mafia Meme soon determined that without going very far to the north east we would not be able to make a south westerly heading but that sounded ridiculous to me and so she handed the helm over to me and went to bed. I thought there was something wrong with the compass as I tried all kinds of things to get it to go in the direction I wanted to go. Heading 120 deg on the compass, the GPS gave us a course over ground of 005, on tacking I was doing 220 on the compass and 340 over the ground. “It sails like a pregnant camel trying to climb Mount Everest!” exclaimed Meme.
We decided to go with the flow and head north for Mombassa in Kenya.
It was an amazing adventure for me. We were going up the African coast towards Mombassa and decided to go into the harbour area and anchor opposite the yacht club.
We had heard that people try to rob the boats at night and I was first on watch. At about 11 pm I heard a slight noise from up forward and rushed on deck in time to see two dark figures jump into the water and go paddling furiously off into the night. An encounter with pirates I thought as I stood on the bow waving my machete and screaming at them like a Cornish nobleman. (being pirates ourselves).
There was no chance of us leaving the boat there unattended and it had to be hidden from club members. If the self appointed Lion of Africa found it, he would attempt to take it back.
We set out for a small waterway called Mtwapa Creak just north of where we were. As you go through a gap in the rocks and into a narrow bush lined river, it is like something out of a Tarzan movie.
We anchored at a convenient spot near to a hotel run by an Australian man. He welcomed us with open arms and was amazed to hear our story. Without hesitation he offered to actually take over the escapade of the steel boat. With mission accomplished we headed home for Durban and our own boat. We were continuously preparing to go cruising and the list of things to do on the boat never seemed to get smaller.
The Lion of Africa actually found the Steel boat and tried to use his local Interpol connection to get it back but the Kenyan police were tipped off and he was marched out of Kenya with his tail between his legs.
The Australian chap sold the boat, for the widow, from where it was in the African jungle at Mtwapa for more than was expected. Surely not all pirates are bad.