Arrived in Cabo Verde!   Saturday, 26/07/2025

We arrived in Mindelo, on the island of Sao Vicente, just after 11:00 this morning. What a relief! As expected, the voyage here was slow. For much of the way, the South Atlantic Ocean was relatively calm and the wind in general was light. To cover a distance of 2,300 nautical miles took 23 days (in contrast, the 2,880 miles across the Indian Ocean took only 21 days – an average speed of 5.7 knots against this trip’s 4.2. A big difference). 

I had been taking a chance heading straight through the doldrums, but they proved little trouble. At times they spread over a huge area, but then break up and become smaller. As we passed through they were pretty much at a minimum. (The alternative would have been to sail most of the way to Brazil and get around them). 

The highlight of the trip was crossing the equator, which we did at a point 15’24’856 West. This felt like quite a change – we’d crossed the equator in the Pacific, on the way from Costa Rica to the Marquesas, and that was in June 2023. So over two years in the Southern Hemisphere came to an end.

Otherwise, things were very quiet out there. Saw very few ships, perhaps 3 or 4 in 23 days. My more or less direct route from St Helena was well to the west of the typical shipping route I think. The weather was generally good, mostly sunny. And of course as we headed towards the equator the temperature rose, from a daily maximum of about 21 towards 26 or 27. Being out at sea and well away from land, there is very little temperature variation between day and night, so it became constantly warm. 

The only serious rain came a few days ago. At sunset I noticed a particularly black band of cloud astern. My immediate response was to shrug – we were sailing into a northerly headwind, and it was downwind of us. But a few minutes later it was clear that it was approaching – the wind up there was blowing opposite to the wind at sea level. I winched in the jib, so that we were sailing only on the mainsail. And then it came – a minor tropical squall. Our speed went instantly from 3 to 6 knots and the rain poured down for about 10 minutes. And then it had passed, leaving clear sky and stars above us.  

I must say that 23 days is a long time to be at sea. It’s tiring, especially because of getting up a few times through the night. You do get used to it, but it’s still tiring. The first few days always feel most difficult, until you find a steady routine, which I find takes at least 5 days. And then every day is pretty much the same and you just rely on the fact that gradually the days are mounting up and you are getting closer to the end. I don’t really miss human company much, which I suppose qualifies me as a loner – most people do: I’ve had a lot of very experienced sailors say to me that they just could not sail alone. It’s quite strange when you do arrive somewhere and start talking, after having been absolutely silent for more than three weeks. (I would probably do well in one of those silent monasteries!). Talking to the woman in the marina office, I found that after a few sentences my voice was failing. 

I was lucky to avoid any serious problems. One of the lines holding up the sail bag broke, but that was no problem when sailing; this morning, just off the coast here, having dropped the mainsail, I simply took a long rope and lashed the mainsail to the boom – not very elegant, but quite alright. More ominously, one of the steel cables attached to the mast started fraying very badly in the last few days (caused by about 36 hours of fairly rough seas, when we were slamming into waves). I kept my eye on it and the remains of it continued to hold, and the others were all fine. So a couple of small repairs to be done here. 

It was beautiful this morning sailing up to the island. Sunshine and a vista of numerous volcanic peaks, cliffs plunging down into the Atlantic. A harsh, arid landscape. We came around the western end of the island and it was then just a few miles along the north coast to Mindelo, which sits inside  a broad natural bay. I was careful of the numerous wrecks that litter the bay, so came in fairly slowly. Made radio contact with the marina, and the dockmaster was waiting for me by the fuel dock. I tied up there and filled up with fuel, and then moved into the marina, docking stern on to the pontoon without any difficulty. What a relief to finally be tied up… 

Because it’s a Saturday, the authorities are not on duty. But this is one of those very liberal places – the marina office said that I should simply go and check in with them on Monday, morning or afternoon is fine. No big deal. 

Friendly people around here. I’d just arrived and an elderly French man stuck out his hand and said “Jean-Christophe”. I said “Hans”. “Enchanté”. I thought I’d make him happy so said “Mon bateau est Dufour”, to which I got a huge grin. It was clear that he doesn’t speak English, and I don’t speak French, so that was about the best I could do. Then I had a chat with a guy on the Russian boat opposite me, who said he has been out of Russia for seven years, and that it’s not easy being a Russian these days. I can really sympathise with that. Then a German called Uli, who’s been here since April, stopped and chatted. The locals all seem pleasant, and certainly the younger people seem to speak at least some English. The official language is Portuguese, although the locals (as in so many islands around the world) largely speak a local Creole. 

I’ve been very diligent writing this. I am very tired and will go to sleep early and hopefully sleep long and heavily. I’ve just got back from the little floating bistro, where I had something to eat and a large beer. I must admit that it does feel good to be back among the living, so I can’t be a complete hermit yet.