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November 29th, 2009 – Sao Luis, Brazil
by Herb McCormick
We picked up the first blinking lights of the channel markers roughly forty miles from shore, running fast before a brisk northeasterly breeze. Though we’d recently learned the coastal city of Sao Luis, Brazil, is home to a million inhabitants – and that its adjacent commercial port, called Itaqui, is one of the busiest shipping terminals in all of South America – of the metropolis itself, there was still no visual evidence. We’d need to wait a few more hours before that.
Six days out of Cayenne, French Guiana, we were in the midst of perhaps the most frustrating single leg of our voyage Around the Americas since leaving Seattle last May. Because of fierce, non-stop, contrary currents, we’d “sailed” through the water nearly twelve hundred miles down the coast to cover the actual 720 nautical miles between Cayenne and San Luis. Much of that had been under a combination of sail and power. But once skipper Mark Schrader made the call to alter course for terra firma to top off fuel tanks, we’d shut off the engine and enjoyed some of the best pure sailing since the Labrador Sea. It was small consolation, but we were glad to be consoled in any way possible.
Once in the channel proper (a body of water called the Baia de Sao Mateos), the breeze was almost dead astern, and navigator Dave Logan was on his game keeping Ocean Watch “between the wickets” (the red and green channel markets) without having to jibe before the gusty winds. Eventually the crew struck the jib and the 64-footer charged downwind under mainsail alone, still touching speeds up to 9-knots in the puffs. The current had been a serious downer, but the sweet sail was kind and welcome solace.
It wasn’t until dawn, some six miles from the mouth of the river leading into Itaqui, that we got a solid glimpse of where we were going. To the north, the big bluffs were reminiscent of the shores of Nantucket. To the south, the beachfront skyline looked like Miami. Along the banks of the river itself, there were miles and miles of the whitest beach imaginable; it was so snowy white it actually brought to mind the ice we encountered in the Northwest Passage. But the river water itself, just as brown and fudgy as what we encountered off French Guiana, bore no resemblance to the Elizabeth Islands, South Florida or the Arctic. The lush green jungle, the thick fronds of palms, and the local skiff sailing with one of the funkier rigs we’d ever seen, all underscored the fact: For the first time since leaving the Caribbean, we were skirting the coast of Brazil.
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| The Ocean Watch rookies performed a musical number for King Neptune as part of their initiation ceremony to mark their first crossing of the equator. |
Hours earlier, just before sunset, the crew of Ocean Watch – at least the four of us who’d never done so before – recorded another new milestone, crossing the equator for the first time ever. As mentioned in previous crew logs, sailors who’ve not previously crossed are known as pollywogs, and are administered a crossing initiation ceremony by those who have, known as shellbacks. The veterans on Ocean Watch (skipper Schrader, scientist Michael Reynolds, and Rick Fleischman) thus summoned the rookies (Logan, David Thoreson, Jen Price and myself) to prepare a musical offering to King Neptune, and late in the afternoon, we gathered for our performance.
We’ll spare you, thankfully, from the blow-by-blow details. But here’s the short version. Our quartet of minstrels gathered in the cockpit, dressed and made-up appropriately (i.e., ridiculously) and together recited the following introduction:
King Neptune and His Court,
We’re so glad to see you!
We’ve come a long way
And we sure aim to please you.
With your greatness in mind we’ve cobbled a story,
It’s a musical theme with nautical allegory.
Oh, it’s a grand entertainment, and it’s not boring!
The title of our play is North Side Story.
In unison, each of the pollywogs recited a poem and song, with a chorus between each tune, sung to the tune of Monty Python’s “We’re A Lumberjack,” that went like this: “We’re the crew of Ocean Watch and we’re okay! We sleep all night and we sleep all day!” The conclusion, again in unison, was this:
So there you’ve had it,
We’ve all had our say.
We hope we brought King Neptune pleasure
On this epic day.
A funny thing happened
As we frolicked and played.
A line called the Equator got in our way.
When we crossed that line
It changed the name of our play.
So here’s to King Neptune in all his glory.
North Side Story’s become South Side Story.
The court gathered and brought forth a favorable ruling. Thus appeased, the equator newbies, pollywogs no more, were granted entrance into the Kingdom of Neptune and even presented with quite nifty certificates verifying the fact. And we were very happy to have that behind us.
In front of us was Sao Luis, located on an island right off the Brazilian coastline. True to its advanced billing, a small fleet of freighters and tankers were anchored off the shoreline. We followed the channel, frankly, not knowing our next exact move – where to clear customs, and where to find fuel.
Remarkably, among all the commercial traffic was a single sailboat, a Beneteau 51 with the name Private Retreats on its mainsail cover and a hailing port of Road Town, Tortola, on its transom. We came alongside and shouted hellos over the wind, and the smiling couple waved at their VHF-radio; moments later, gave us a call.
We never got their names, they said they were making ready to sail and were leaving within an hour. But their story was familiar: Beset by currents “and battling into weather” while making their way south towards South Africa after purchasing the boat – clearly a former charter vessel on the British Virgins – in the Caribbean, they pulled into Sao Luis to re-supply, which they’d done, and were now anxious to resume their voyage.
“You’re in luck,” said the skipper in a clear South African accent. “We went through quite a learning curve but we can help you out.”
The officials, we discovered, “are very strict and not very friendly, but you can clear customs in this harbor,” he said. There was “a bit of a piracy problem” in the local waters, but fortuitously, this very anchorage, surrounded by pilot boats, was probably the best and safest around. It was all we needed to hear.
Moments later, our own anchor rattled to the bottom in 40-feet of water. A little while later, our new friends bid us farewell and set forth, but not before we’d offered them our gracious thanks and well-wishes. The breeze was still honking and the current was still ripping. A boatload of shellbacks had arrived in Brazil.
- Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson
This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos
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