How We Capsized in the Dinghy. Cape Verde Islands

This story happened to the crew of Lady Mary two and a half times in the space of twenty-four hours, and it did not teach us to sit still and behave ourselves. But it did lead us to some conclusions about the right way to get through ocean surf in an inflatable dinghy 🙂 Introduction We had practised the “landing from and boarding the dinghy in ocean swell” manoeuvre on uninhabited Santa Luzia, where the waves are deep blue and perfect for surfers. For four days we did not venture ashore, studying the theory waiting. The fifth day was calm; we worked out the interval between the long ocean swells, zigzagged along them, and landed with barely a wet pair of pants. We made it back without casualties too and, with light hearts, set off for the south of Santo Antão, where the fishing village of Tarrafal had already waited in vain for us twice. View of Tarrafal from the ocean . Prologue The chartplotter suggested that we had anchored right in the middle of the beach, between the sea and the cliffs. Having sent the captain and a crew member off in the dinghy, the first mate and the youngest junior crew member swam for shore, and no one had any difficulty landing :). The first mate and the youngest junior crew member in the process of landing After enjoying the scorching sand and blazing sun in the village’s scruffy streets, the crew made its way to the resort café belonging to Tomás, a Spaniard. According to our Cape Verdean friends, they make amazing ice-cold passion-fruit juice here. At the café, it turned out that the owner had gone to sea, while in these parts passion fruit only grows after five in the afternoon. We do not need telling twice, so we immediately swam back to the yacht to fry some fish—to have a meal before going to the café, the way we like it. In our absence, the swell beneath the deceptively smooth surface of the ocean had grown just enough for us to appreciate a peculiarity of the seabed: three metres from shore, the bottom drops away steeply, making ordinary surf behave in an extraordinary fashion. A crest rears up out of nowhere, while the backwash from the previous wave suddenly drags you into deep water. On a gently shelving beach everything is predictable, but here you are being pulled out to sea from below while, from above, you are already being engulfed by a wave that has appeared from God knows where. The deserted beach and calm ocean on the way to the village Take One: Unsuccessful Nastya holds the bow; Andrei and I hold the sides. We head into the wave, while the captain starts the engine and jumps into the dinghy beside Lada. She follows instructions: sit on the floor with her limbs spread wide. We are supposed to guide the dinghy onto the crest and instantly jump aboard, or hang from the sides perpendicular to our general course, all laughing together. The first wave pulled the dinghy’s bow under the second. After swallowing about 40 litres, the dinghy nevertheless lifted its bow onto the crest; all 40 litres shot towards the stern, together with Ladka, who had washed down there. Taken by surprise, the dinghy stood on its tail, and our junior crew member pretended to be Spider-Man. Losing her grip on the rope, Nastya went under, while the lightweight bow whacked me on the head, slapped down onto the water and, responding to the captain’s tug, flopped back into place. In other words, the dinghy did not remain upside down on the waves; instead, having dipped its bow into the water behind the outboard, it was flung upright again by some unknown force. (You cannot say that we capsized, but it would not be entirely accurate to claim the opposite either.) In judo, if you throw your opponent cleanly onto their back, it is scored as an “ippon”; this was a “waza-ari”—the opponent twisted onto their side in mid-air and sprang straight back up before the referee noticed ))). Just as he once had in Senegal, the captain smiled: “Everything’s wonderful—we’re sinking!” Ladka and the bench are floating around inside the dinghy; I burst out of the depths yelling, “Where’s Lada?!” I find her splayed out inside the boat, after which we return to shore to bail out the water and go in for round two. Our junior crew member and the skipper sail off in the dinghy; Nastya and I swim back. “I’m shaking and I want to cry,” says my daughter as she climbs aboard the yacht . “So am I,” I reply. The fried fish calmed our nerves so thoroughly that we decided to try our luck again and finally sample the legendary passion-fruit juice after five in the afternoon. Take Two, Proving That a Rake Can Be Lying Even Where There Wasn’t One Before The landing promised to be uneventful, because we had all but decided to swim ashore. Imagining myself swimming with a bundle clamped between my teeth like Chapayev, while the captain, in addition to his own bundle, helped Lada and her bundle too, I declared firmly, “We’re taking the dinghy.” We were not worried about landing; as for getting back, we would manage somehow. Perched neatly on the inflatable tubes, Nastya and I were just about to jump out into the surf when a treacherous wave kicked our ark up the backside and washed me into the sea. I hit the sand forehead first and somersaulted, expecting the hull—and, God forbid, the outboard—to come down on my head. The captain leapt into the water to steady the boat. The dinghy shot past half a metre away from me and rammed into the beach. Had we capsized? Apparently not... “Holy crap,” I uttered, having established that my head and the crew were safe and sound . The acceleration, multiplied by the force of friction, had ground sand into my hair. Mechanically, I helped drag the dinghy ashore and pronounced, “Holy crap.” For the next half-hour, there were neither words nor thoughts, other than “Holy crap” repeated five times. The freshly made, ice-cold passion-fruit juice restored my powers of speech, along with the realisation: we still have to get back now.... That very healing juice 🙂 Entrance to Tomás’s café If we make it home 🙂 Dusk was falling. This time I was genuinely afraid. Our junior crew member received strict instructions to sit perfectly still on a little rock and await further orders. The captain was told to comment on every step in a loud command voice. I took up position at the bow, and the three of us entered the surf. We took water aboard, reared up, the skipper jumped into the dinghy with the engine already running, and at the last moment I was catapulted backwards. Not knowing whether Andrei had made it over the crest or was bearing down on me stern-first, I dug my claws into the bottom with all my might and began crawling commando-style beneath the wave towards shore... Phew! The manoeuvre worked, and the dinghy was waiting beyond the surf for us to bring Lada out to it. Our youngest junior crew member was told that if a wave broke over her, she was not to scream or cry, but to swim with all her strength. “You can scream at home if you want. In the water, your mouth must stay shut.” Lada began backing away, but Nastya and I, like Balbes and Byvaly, held the doubtful Vitsin firmly by the hands and marched boldly towards the enemy. We giggled through a couple of waves so our junior crew member would think it was some kind of game, then made a dash for the yacht . We swallowed only a little water, and beyond the surf the captain’s strong hand hauled Lada aboard the dinghy. Nastya and I swam after them. Afterwards we drank tea by candlelight, while the captain sang to his guitar: We came out of the cyclone’s zone, Out of the pack of storms and rain, And each of us quite rightly had One deathless notion in the brain: The clink of faceted glasses— Friends, how splendid to survive; The cyclone left us as a farewell Just a dent in the right cheekbone. More photos: The waterfront—the village’s main and most beautiful street. They ask you not to poop here... A net spread out for repair Tarrafal waterfront At Tomás’s Our lady keeps a straight face and graciously endures the attention of the owner’s boys 🙂 Here we wrote about another incident that very nearly ended in tragedy— In the Canal Near Rome, with a Leg Not Severed by the Anchor (Hallelujah) P.S. What did you think of the article? 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