Home!

My dad is home!  After almost two years.  We are all very proud of him for doing it.   Travis

Update as at June 9th

Folks -- My dad should arrive Boothbay today or tomorrow (Thursday, June 9th or Friday, June 10th).

Our friend, Paul Lagassey has been providing map updates on the way up the East coast.  You can see them here.  http://svbrowneyedgirl.com/charts/viewHistory.asp

Just to make the last leg more meaningful, the Gods (God?) decided that it should be done solely under wind power, as they have had no transmission since somewhere off Cape Hatteras.  They have therefore alternated over the last week between being a sailboat and a cork.

Here in Boston we have had some amazing thunderstorms overnight, which I presume were a last test for them somewhere between Cape Cod and the Gulf of Maine.  I think his current plan is to get to the mouth of the Sheepscot and sort it out from there ...

Travis

Jared's last blog ...

In less than 24 hours my father, the Skip, will arrive back in Boothbay Harbor, Maine after sailing around the world for close to two years now completing a dream that has spanned across four decades and a well-lived life of hard work and dedication to family.  As I sit here in Costa Rica writing this (life is tough ;) I wish I could be part of that moment, stepping off the boat and truly arriving home.  It has been almost two months since our circumnavigation triumphantly ended in Saint Lucia after starting there 15 months before. It was an intrepid, enlightening, sometimes scary, and always rewarding journey around the world.  What an amazing feeling as all the boats formed a single-file line adorned with brilliant code flags and made the arrival back to Rodney Bay.  I imagine, in the days after he arrives to Boothbay, that the Skip will realize that there will always be a part of him that is still out there riding the Agulhas current, chasing a wild boar with the spear he made through the jungles of Tanaa, or saying good-bye to a village chief by blowing on a conch shell.  I can only say this because in the past two months, I have realized the same and find myself lost in memories on distant shores. I am forever shaped by this epic journey.  There will always be that part of me that is still walking beside my Dad along the black volcanic beaches of Tanaa, the two us covered in jungle mud and drenched in sweat and smiling at the prospect of a well-earned pig roast.

I am, no doubt, my father’s son:  The good, the bad… mostly good.  Our dedication to completing our shared dream of circumnavigating the world wasn’t a fairy-book cruise, by any means.  At times boredom, frustration with constant breakages, sadness, terrifying weather, missing my beloved Mercedes (the fiancé, not the car), and even disease; tested our relationship.  We did not falter.   It was hard emotionally and physically.  We never slept well.  I remember when I saw a bed for the first time in months in Australia.  I took a picture of it, shortly before falling into a deep sleep.  We constantly were bruised and battered by the never-ending motion of life on the sea.  I should have known the physical toll it would take on me when I broke my toe the first night on the boat after arriving in Tortola on November 28, 2009.  Mother Ocean has left our bodies bruised and chaffed from the reality of perpetual motion.  All these realities considered, I realize that I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.   We were tested and of the 29 boats that started with the World ARC, we were among the half that persevered to the end.  I will be forever in debt to my Dad for that and I am not bashful to say that I will be forever proud of myself for the “keep on keeping on”(Bob Dylan) attitude that dictated my success and loyalty to the boat, and ultimately to the dream.  Thank you, Skip, for sharing your dream with me.

Now, believe me, it was far from hell (99% of the time-that 1% can seem eternal, though).  We managed to catch so many fish that we can honestly say that we could have fed ourselves around the world (at least the protein aspect, and what more does a Metz need?) with the tuna, dorado, wahoo, and the marlin that we caught.  It was nice to have won the first race in our class, the leg from Saint Lucia to the San Blas Islands of Panama, but I think the Skip and I would agree, it was even nicer to win the best fishermen award at the end of the journey.  Sailors are a self-reliant lot, and to be able to provide your own dinner is, I believe, to add a component of life on the big blue that the sailing community has moved away from in modern times with refrigeration and canned goods.  

To see a new shore is like looking at the world through the eyes of a child.  Remember the sense of amazement you felt the first time you felt love for something or someone or saw a shooting star?  That´s the feeling you feel when after weeks of seeing nothing but blue and then seeing a tropical island approaching you, with welcoming plumes of smoke belching from a volcano.  We always moved the fastest after the anchor had been firmly set and we could finally get the dinghy ready to launch, retrieve the diving gear to explore a virgin coral reef, or simply go to knees and kiss our beloved terra firma.

Travelling around the world also makes one remember the greatest thing about getting away:  going home, wherever that may be.  We have been blessed to see much beauty in this world, but we have also witnessed great depths of sadness in the eyes of humanity.  We saw the uglier side of the human experience in the poverty, racism, violence, and corruption that we experienced in certain regions.  No matter how much I loved the regions I have been fortunate enough to visit, there will always be that side of me that has always existed.  The part of me that screams, “I am proud to be an American.”  You will never truly appreciate freedom until you have seen those who have never known it.  That being said, we saw and experienced far more friendship and love than hate.  People are generally good at heart wherever you may roam and tend to desire the same things from their fellow beings.  We are more alike, than we often allow ourselves to acknowledge.

Skip, I want to dedicate this final blog to you.  You literally gave me the world that few will have the opportunity to experience.  I give you eternal gratitude with the knowledge gained in my enduring memories and the peace I now know in this kindred spirit and wandering soul.  Thank you.  As for the readers of my blog, let me leave you with this.  I don’t know how much of the world the great singer, Louis Armstrong, saw.  Perhaps the notion occurred to him by simply looking outside his door. But he definitely got it right.  What a wonderful world.


Postscript:

In reading what was to be my last blog, it has become very apparent to me that I have been remiss in acknowledging the individuals that were paramount in the success of this journey. 

First and foremost, I want to thank the original “B.E.G.” for keeping the ship afloat.  Mom played the part of mule all too often for us and often at a moment’s notice before she had to fly to a certain locale.  By hunting down essential l mechanical components, medications to cure our ailments, or a special book or DVD we were craving; she kept us in the game.  The logistical nightmare of finding a specific fuse, arranging a flight to an obscure port, while staying within the confines of our itinerary was no small task.  She never failed.  Thank you, Mom.

I want to thank my brother, Travis, for setting up this blog in the first place and encouraging me to post these ideas instead of just writing them in a private journal.   The feedback I have received from you guys has been truly rewarding and has inspired me to rekindle the fires for this old love of writing.  Besides, after 17 days of seeing nothing but blue, forcing myself to write burned up some time between ports and probably kept me from going loco.   That being said, boredom at times was so tangible that even with the blog I came close to resembling Jack Nicholson in “The Shining.”  All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.  All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.  All work and no play make Jack a dull boy…You get the point.  Imagine if I hadn´t had this as an outlet. I shudder.

I want to thank my brother, Justin, for constantly being there to drive Mom to and from the airport on a moment´s notice for those special missions to bring us supplies.  I also want to thank him for keeping me up on the latest episodes of the greatest show on TV: “Dexter.”   Knowing how our favorite sociopath was spending his Miami nights, reminded me of very happy times in Florida watching the show with my bro, Puddah.  Thanks, bro!   I also want to give him a preemptive congratulation for selling my truck at an exorbitant price as I am not in country.  That hasn´t happened yet, but knowing him, it will.

Last, but certainly not least, I want to thank Mercedes who has put up with my crazy dreams and gave me the freedom to accomplish this feat.   She loved me around the world and still does. Te amo, Merce. 

Jared in Yachting World ...

http://www.yachtingworld.com/blogs/elaine-bunting/523198/giant-lobster-catch

Caribbean Update

Travis here.  My 12 year old son, Gifford, and I just got back from spending a week with my parents in the Caribbean.  We met them on Saturday in St. Lucia, shortly after they arrived back to Rodney Bay, the notional start/finish line for them.  We then sailed to Martinique, Dominica and Antigua before Gifford and I flew back.  Wonderful trip.  Sadly, Jared flew out a day after we got there but it was great to see him for a day.  

We loved Dominica, particularly the midnight entrance to Portsmouth Bay, where a long curving protected beach hosts a good anchorage and very loud reggae music that goes until three in the morning on Wednesdays, which happened to be when we arrived.  Good snorkeling there as well.

We sailed overnight to Antigua.  My overnight shift caused me to seriously wonder how anyone sails around the world while maintaining sanity.  Not for the faint of heart.

We also happened to arrive in Antigua the day before Race Weeks began.  English Harbour is quite the place, especially filled to the brim with hundreds of impressive sailboats.  Great museum focused on Lord Nelson there as well.

My parents are now working their way North, expecting to be back in Maine by end of May (or so).  

Some pictures....

Gifford on beach in Dominica

Gifford and Papa in waterfall on Dominica

Sunset

Sunrise over Falmouth Harbor in Antigua

Small Harbor in Dominica

I showed papa how to catch a fish from a sailboat.  We ate about two hours later, fresh

Sunset on way to Dominica

Lobster Jared caught skin diving ....

Pictures from Grenada ...

Some more pictures ...

Marlin pictures (story below)

Marlin!

A week of rain has subsided and turned into azure skies and wonderful sunny days.  Winds have been out of the North East at 15-20 knots pushing as nicely along our rum line to Grenada at 7.5 knots.  A few days back, we were making 8.5-9.5 knots for several consecutive days.  It's been glorious sailing and we've even been taking fish, which is a good thing as our supplies our getting low (that might be a little bit of an exaggeration-the chococalte bars ran out making late night watches very difficult).  The moon has been a steady friend in the wee-hours and lights the sea up almost as if it were day.  Dolphins come by to inspect our boat and ride the surfline and vanish in to the great blue. Right now we....(was about to finish the sentence with "are fishing for blue marlin." when a reel begins to scream and my two favorite fishing words: Fish On! resonate down to my writing table.  The next hour is pandemonium as a blue marlin makes one screaning run that nearly spools a reel of 180 pound monofilament set at 25 lbs.  We get other lines out of the water and drop sails and kick on the engine, while keeping an eye on the line teariong off the reel.  Fishing from a sailboat is tough, landing a marlin almost unheard of.  As soon as I could, I got to the rod and began playing the fish back.  It didn't jump or tail-walk on the initial run, so the verdict was still out what type of fish it was, however, I suspected that our dream fish, the fish we had targetted  was at the other end of the line.  Then she jumped and her tell-tale stripes, glistening bill, a stream-lined body shown in the midday sun that we were hooked up to a blue Marlin.  It wasn't the biggets marlin out there but sizeable for our first.

When Metzes fish, we aim to do battle, win, and probably eat our competition.  Yeah, we do some catch and release, but when we have a few meals in the bench freezer, we put the rods and handlines to bed.  But when the day calls for the lines to be put out and we do hook up, things get exciting very quickly on the boat.  People whose feelings tend to get hurt if yelled at, best avoid the "Brown-eyed Girl" when it's a fishing day (and most are).  We yell commands to keep everyone in tune with anyone else.  After all, we are there to catch, not do the old quick-release.

The fish, I could tell, was tired and after its first run I wasn't surprised.  It was still taking out line periodically but I could tell this fish had given his best with the first run to break off or spool us.  I reeled and kept a bend in the rod.  The excitement of having it near the boat was mounting.  None of us could know what would happen then.  People are often spiked by the bills as they handle the fish near the boat.  To put it mildly, it can become a bad fishing trip in an instant.  I saw a captain in Costa Rica who had been hit just below his left eye by the bill of a sailfish.  His glasses helped to deflect the bill or he would have become a one-eyed Captain.

Soon the fish was up to the boat and Dad launched a gaff into the fish which promptly broke.  I yelled for the spear gun and Captain "I-Don't Miss" placed a nice shot behind the pectoral fin.  At the moment the spear hit, the lure popped out of its mouth, thus the only thing securing the fish was the nylon line of the spear gun.  We needed to secure a tail-rope or two before we could call it a done deal.  I climbed down the steps of the transom as the skip handed me a gaff and tail rope and the fish was secured.  We added another to be safe.  There she was, her beautiful blue-eyes looking up at us and stream-lined body of electric blues showed off in the wake of the boat.  We estimated her weight at two-hundred pounds and decided it was a good fish to keep, not yet reproductive, and large enough to provide a lot of meals.

The Skip, Oisin, and I had done our jobs well and now it was time for laughs, photographs, and pats on the back.  Dad had completed a 40 year dream in the bottom of the ninth as far as this trip is concerned.  I'm glad we didn't give up on getting the marlin after losing the one near Niue. The shared experienced between father and son after many fruitless days, after such a long (often arduous, always surreal and sublime) journey made this win a little sweeter.   We ate the fresh sashimi and it was really nice, not like I had heard.  We will see how it cooks.  The Lord was kind to us today, it's just that he was a little kinder to those aboard the s/v "Brown-Eyed Girl" (see or read "A River Runs Through It").  As always, love and miss you all.  Te amo, Merce.

"Brown-eyed Girl" out

On the way to Grenada....

As we are 1,000 miles (with memories of the lunacy of Carnaval still in our heads) into a 2,000 mile run from Recife, Brazil to Grenada and then a quick run to Saint Lucia to complete our 15 month circumnavigation, we find ourselves talking about the next adventures in our lives and recalling highlights of this venture around this blue and green marble.  In less than a month, this trip around the world will be a mostly fond memory filled with happy stories of goals accomplished and adventures experienced.  Yes, there have been low times I would never want to relive that have made me stronger for enduring but the good has far outweighed the bad so much that I constantly find myself smiling remembering a certain incident from a now distant locale shared with people I may never see again, but will certainly fondly remember.  Will I ever go back to these places?  Time will tell.  My sailing days are almost over (for a while anyway).  I embrace the next chapter of being with my one true love and finding gainful employment in my beloved Costa Rica.  But this early dawn reminded us very severely that it is too early and too dangerous to take our minds off the task at hand, getting safely to Saint Lucia.  Details are still being ascertained, but in the early morning hours, World Arc sailing vessel Basia was struck by a cargo ship and was taking on water from two holes punched through her hull, one by the boat and the other by Basia's rigging as she was dismasted.  Fortunately, no one was injured minus a broken toe.  World Arc Boats in the vicinity, in a great show of camaraderie I have witnessed time and time again on this voyage, scrambled to intercept her and help patch the holes and render any assistance as situation was assessed and plans were made to head to French Guyana.

Our watches are serious business.  I recall traveling up Australia's eastern coast between the Great Barrier reef and the mainland in small shipping lanes and having boats pass by so closely that I could see the faces of the shrimpers at work.  That's a head's up ball game.  Just a few nights back, I found myself checking the radar and the sea in front of me as a monstrous tanker was bearing down on me, not diverting nor answering my radio calls.  A boat like that hits you and its game over for you while the Captain of the tanker wonders in the dark why that slightly larger wave had to hit just then, spilling coffee on his new wool sweater.  It's possible that Basia's offender was not aware of the strike to her.  However, there was a response to the mayday call from outside the fleet.  With all the technology being used by sailors and commercial operations alike, a boat will be found via time and location and researching company records.  Some insurance inspector, in the days to come, will be gearing for battle to find the ship that hit Basia and in all probability he will succeed.  An investigation will ensue as to whether there was any fault on either side and the insurance companies will battle it out.  We are happy in the fact that no one was killed.  That's the reality of sailing around the world.  The seas may be big but the traffic at times almost seems bigger.  Let your guard down, miss spotting a ship, have conditions of low visibility, or merely have one on an intersecting course as yours bearing at 20 knots and that makes for little time to react. That's when tragedy occurs.  We limit any time not scanning our radar and doing a scan of the waters to no more than twenty minutes.  It has worked thus far.  Tonight, though, we will all be a lit more on edge I imagine.  Our heartfelt regards to the crew of Basia.  As I write this, I am listening to our nightly radio check-in, I hear that with the patch work done on the boat, Basia will continue on to Grenada.  Tough sailors!

Looking back at Brazil, I found a vast difference in the two cities visited: Salvador and Recife.  Salvador, our first stop, a place of squalor and street urchins (one actually stole a lit cigarette out of the hand of one of the sailors) was not much to see.  The children beg you to buy them beer.  We went on two tours of the city and the only thing remotely interesting was a cathedral adorned in gold leaf.  Our marina stay was free and the small old-town was nice for as brief visit. Recife, though, had a charm to it.  Though, it has 2.5 million residents and no sewage treatment and water was deplorable in the marina, fun nights were spent going to various restaurants including "Spettas", a swank Brazilian meat house where the waiters bring hot skewers of all cuts of beef and the sushi and sashimi bar was kept full even with me going after the escolar and salmon.  At night, we would take a taxi to this restaurant (yes we went back).  Other nights, we would walk 500 meters to another restaurant across a bridge from the marina.  I never liked walking this area (even with my switchblade in pocket).  It seemed a perfect ambush site for a robbery.  My feelings were right.  It proved to be a bad situation one night for Rosemary on "Crazy Horse" as a guy who had been following her and her group tore the bag off Rosemary's arm leaving bruises in the struggle and took off down the street.  The guys gave pursuit but gave up quickly as he was a Brazilian version of Carl Lewis (and he wasn't even wearing any shoes).  The great consolation was that the bag only contained a sweater and tube of lipstick.  Good luck with those, thief.

Fishing report:  slaying dorado 53''-56'' on handlines and fixing Jared's special carrot coconut curry sauce drizzled over sea-salt, pepper, and garlic fried dorado.  Yum!

As far as Carnaval goes, the biggest party in the world, it was absolutely insane.  2 million whacked-out Brazilians fuelled on Schol beer were dressed in all sorts of garb dancing in streets so congested in 90 degree heat with music so loud I could shout in the ear of the person next to me and he/she wouldn't hear.  At one point we were trapped in a throng of people that a wave of pushing began and we couldn't make way and started to get crushed.  I started flinging elbows to make way, as well as Dad, who looked funny in his happy green party hair and a code-red "get-the-hell-out-of-my-way" face got busy busting through.  Mom was crying as the next wave of people created a crushing sensation and a man began to fumble through her purse.  I'm glad I survived it as it was an interesting happening but after Mom had her camera stolen, we were ready to go back to the marina and hang pool-side.  Been there, done that, not going back again.  Looking forward to some peaceful diving in the Grenandines.  This fish has been out of the water too long.  I need a nice spiny lobster dinner.  As always love and miss you all.  Te amo, Merce.

"Brown-Eyed Girl" out...

Delayed blog from the crossing of the South Atlantic....

It was a hard good-bye to Cape Town and what followed was an uneventful (minus Dad's monster catch and subsequent injuries) and pleasant, but slow, 12 day, 1700 mile sail tacking downwind to Saint Helena, the last place of exile for Napoleon Bonaparte. Having toured the island and the premise in which he stayed, I can only pray to be exiled in my waning years, after my personal Waterloo in such a place of intrigue, beauty, and genuine kindness of the people we met. Though we only had a seventy-two hour window to stay on the island, we made the most of it with a day-tour of the island, diesel fuel-up, provision run, as well as good banter with the locals. We even met up some local DJ's at a one of the local restaurant who played and dedicated over the local radio Van Morrison's "Brown-Eyed Girl" for us later that night and told the tale of a wahoo that did some serious damage to Dad's leg. Listening to that song, I thought of a girl I'm madly in love with, good changes in my life, the good and bad of a venture like this, and a longing to see family, old friends and a dog who's getting very white in the face. Jake, I miss you (Mom, give Jake a hug for me). It's been a long ride and the end is in sight, the goal nearly met. But first we are going to party like it's 1999 when we hit Carnival in Rio or Salvador, Brazil.

It's not uncommon for a thrashing fish to inflict some sort of injury upon its captor, so when the Skip was bitten on the leg by a monster 60 inch, 55lb. wahoo he caught as we were making landfall to Saint Helena, we weren't surprised. In fact, had he not been injured by the fish, our eyebrows would have been raised. But as Dad proudly raised the delectable, hard-fighting, leviathan, and very much dead fish with tackle on a raised mizzen boom, we were surprised to hear a resounding howl and hear our Skip cursing the line as it dropped an open-mouthed, very toothy, down the length of his shin and calf. Apparently we still haven't learned, "It's the dead one's that get ya' (famous Peter Capstick quote about hunting lions)." Multiple dressings later and another wound to his finger while steaking the fish and we were ready for the Arc get-together that night. People loved the fish grilled by the cooks of the local yacht club. I suspect they enjoyed the story more.

If one were to judge Saint Helena by approach from sea, one might be very easily disappointed to see a barren, harsh environment with volcanic rock winding down to the sea and not too inviting. The interior of the island is quite the opposite. Boasting a verdant, lush, hilly oasis that can been viewed in one good day with a tour-guide by the name of Robert, one will walk away with the answers as to why it was worth it to travel so far to this obscure isle. From visiting Napoleon's last residence and his wordless first tomb, petting the giant tortoises at the Governor's mansion, and winding down the road near the famous 1,000 step "Jacob's Ladder" (treacherous stairwell to nice vista that I was happy to view via car). The people are the real resource of the island. As we made our way down the steep incline of the roads through fields of flax, dairy farms, primary growth forest, and lush green pastures; we encountered a small-town atmosphere. People still wave at each other as they drive by (like Niue). What a neat place. How many places can you actually catch yellow fin tuna in the mooring field? Fishermen thanked us for tying our dead wahoo off the transom of the boat as it created a bit of fishing action for the locals. They talk about an airport being constructed. I will look back on it all and be happy to have visited Saint Helena when the only way to get there was by logging the hours and sloshing through the deep blue.

It is January 30th and we are now less than 1,000 miles away from our destination on a 1900 mile run from Saint Helena to Salvador, Brazil with only 6 knots of wind and burning diesel. This is the big push homeward. When we do have wind, it's off our stern and we fly the asymmetrical and take it down and then fly it and take it down and then fly it again. The Skip prided himself today on setting it all by his lonesome. Impressive. The Skip says its good practice. The Skip also has a habit of receiving severe flesh wounds by dead fish. Hope the wind picks up (not like Hout's Bay) and as always love and miss you all. Te amo, Merce. Besos y brazos, Dani y Nacho.

"Brown-Eyed Girl"...out

It is February 4th and we still have no signal to send blog out. We are less than two days (hopefully) from landfall. Fishing has been grand as we have taken two more wahoo, one weighing 33 lbs and measuring 49 inches and another weighing 25 lbs and measuring 47 inches. Wahooo!!!!!!!

Arrived in Brazil

SV Brown Eyed Girl has arrived in Brazil as of February 6th.  Hopefully a blog from Jared will follow...

On their way across the Atlantic as of Saturday Jan 8th ... from my dad

It is 11:00 on Sat. A.M and we are ~ 5 n.m. out of Cape Town in fog. Will go by Robben Is. and probably never see it.

Recap of the entrance to Cape Town from Jared....

Since our harrowing tow and docking into Hout Bay on December 11th by South Africa Sea Rescue, much good has transpired in this beautiful, conflicted, and intriguing country of South Africa.  As they say, all disasters are similar in the fact that they are triggered by a series of compounding events and bad luck, such was that day and night that we shall never forget and will be happy to never re-live.  Furthermore, all events like these have those quick-to-act and quick-thinking heroes of which we should sing the praises of my beloved mother who made frantic calls to the authorities and the Hout Bay unit of Sea Rescue, an amazing group of professionals who saved our boat and maybe more.  As I write this, I'm a little emotional about the events of that scary experience.  It is a story of how quickly things can and do go wrong out here on the deep blue.

My brother, Travis, has done a wonderful job at getting the information out about the what transpired that day and night, far better than the local news which said we had rescued another World Arc boat by the name of "Chessie" (rescued by Sea Rescue after rudder failure). All I want to do is give you a quick first-hand account of the last hours of what was actually a nice four-day run from Durban.  Hours within approach of the harbor, seas and winds began to pick up to 35 knots and above sustained.  As we tried to roll in our jib to adjust for the rapidly declining conditions our furler jammed on our Genoa.  As Oisin and I tried to manually roll it up, a pin broke making this an impossible task.  We dropped the sail on deck and secured it with lines as howling winds and crashing waves continued to increase and make work outside the cockpit a bit more than dicey.  Trying to further reduce sail, the Skip tried to roll up the main and to our amazement and fear, it jammed as well.  We put the "Brown-Eyed Girl into the wind and Oisin and I tried to pull the main down but with little control of the boat at this point the main was flapping so hard it was an impossible task.  We struggled at this for a while when Oisin suggested to put the boat downwind and make another attempt.  It worked!  We rolled up the main.  With a 2 knt current working against us, no sail to power us, and winds now reaching 45 knts and above our little 80hp motor would be put to the test.  At this point we could hear radio communications between our fellow boat "Chessie" and Sea Rescue and realized they were having a bad day as their rudder failed and they were dead in the water.  Over the course of the next hour and a half we made a mere 1/4 mile of headway.  Light was beginning to fade and the situation was tenuous.  Sea Rescue contacted us and asked if we wanted a tow into the Hout's Bay and yes it is true, the Skip did ask how much this would cost.  Priceless.  Let's be clear and realize that we cold have just motored or drifted toward Cape Town but as winds were recorded at 90 knts while getting towed that night, I'm glad we didn't.  Unbeknownst to us, mom had arranged for the two rescues when she realized we hadn't made landfall and conditions were predicted to deteriorate. The sight of Sea Rescue charging toward us was a welcome sight to weary eyes.  The tow was uneventful until we approached the harbor and winds directed down the mountain passes had know reached 65-75 knts.  The plan was to berth us on the lee-side of a pier by using two rescue boats to push us against the ever-increasing wind while the good citizens and responders of Sea Rescue on the pier tossed lines to secure the boat.  We struggled at this for over an hour.  The horrible sound of lines stretching once secured to pier will be etched into our memories.  After being secured, we headed up to yacht club and grabbed a hot shower as we were drenched to the bone and quite cold.  Walking along the pier, sand from an adjacent beach pelted us and the salt wind burned our eyes.  We crouched as we walked.  Standing up would have assured a quick flight and drop into the icy waters.  We slept well, when we did manage to fall asleep.  We awoke to a sunny day and realization that our main boom was cracked, our solar panels had been blown off the boat (we were able to retrieve one), our bodies were aching, and our Genoa was torn.  The Indian ocean went out like a lamb while the Atlantic surprised us and greeted us like an enraged, charging lion.

On a far better note, Mercedes arrived December 15th and the two of us began a whirlwind tour of the country by car visiting Krueger National Park where we saw the big five (elephant, lion, rhino, cape buffalo, and leopard) up close and personal and a cobra and stayed at the Royal Krueger Lodge were we were pampered as we were the only guests, then to Drakensberg Mountains in Champagne Valley where we hiked to a waterfall and slept in a traditional rondival (round, adobe house typical of Africa), set off to celebrate Christmas in Port Elisabeth, and then met up with Mom and Dad and headed to Simmonstown to see the penguins and the Cape of Good Hope, and finally to Cape Town where on the most beautiful of evenings, the most beautiful of ladies officially became my fiance and accepted a diamond ring from me upon Signal Hill.  The day after that very same mountain burned when arsonists set it ablaze.  We've managed to find a way to say that is a good omen of things to come.  The last days of our trip were spent taking the cable car up Table mountain, visiting the infamous district six and learning its sad story of the abuses of Apartheid, day trips around the city, visiting and dining with Mom and Dad, and fighting the several hundred pound seals on the dock to make headway to board the boat.   Bar none, our time together seeing this wonderful country of South Africa was the time of my life.  Yesterday, Merce and I said our good-byes and I made my way back to the boat grateful to be so blessed to have her in my life again and for having had such a wonderful time and a little bored at the prospect of a 1700 mile trip to the isle of Saint Helena.   As always, love and miss you all.  Te amo, Merce.