Our journey to Lamberts Bay started a year ago. A season in our lives where sailing was still the romanticized version, with new places, new sights and sounds, sunset walks on the beach, and stolen kisses in the dark.
It was in Paternoster where the reality of what we had embarked on started setting in, it was the 4 o’clock wake-up call of alarms and anchors dragging in a pitch-black night that we started to realize that things were not as safe and secure as our romantic ideas had led us to believe.
Our trip had started in Langebaan and the idea was that we would travel to Paternoster spend a few nights in the bay, and then continue to St. Helena Bay where we would spend a few nights in Port Owen before setting off to Lamberts Bay
Many days since starting that journey I have asked myself “Is it time to give up sailing…?” “am I facing my fears by going back to Port Owen or is it really finding the courage to continue sailing.?”
And that is what this blog is about…
“Finding the courage to face my fears…”
Last year when we did this trip we got as far as Paternoster when things started going horribly wrong, I was getting hurt in one accident after the other. We even had a situation where the NSRI had to be called. We should have turned around by this time, but alas we continued on(such brave foolish souls). When we got to Port Owen, we sat on the holding Jetty that allows you to wait in safety for high tide before entering the marina. Someone from the Port Owen Marina will then either join you on your boat or verbally instruct you on how to enter the marina safely.
While we sat waiting for high tide, I did some research on Port Owen and found out that it is a man-made marina, situated 145 km from Cape Town in the small town of Velddrif. The Port Owen Yacht Club situated in the marina has all the amenities a sailor would need to pop in grab a shower, get some washing done, and hit the shops for provisioning. Their rates are so so good, and the staff are very friendly. It’s also a very safe marina as Velddrif has been reported as being one of the towns on the Western Cape with the lowest crime rate. The marina is clean and truly a beautiful work of art. A must-see, for anyone sailing in this region.
Velddrif is a town sporting fishing, tourism, and salt production as its main industries. The salt works industry has two pans that provide most of the salt in the Western Cape. The fishing industry is substantial in this area; as the town is part of the talked about Crayfish Route… When I hear the words “Crayfish route” it conjures up images of the old West Coast, with its beautiful white beaches and old fishing villages.
As we sail this route, we can see why time stands still here on the West Coast. We experience daily the fisherman fishing to provide for their families and community. I watch as they cast their nets rowing their boat and allowing the net time to catch the hard sought-after fish that will feed and clothe them… I see their hands hard and callused as the daily routine of cast-and-retrieve yields the good and the bad of this hard life.
The morning begins while everyone is still sleeping. The fisherman moves silently past the village as the rooster crows in the distance. I watch as the fisherman walks up to his boat, sighing deeply he sends up a prayer, before loosening the knot and pushing his little boat off into the water. Today he still fights the tide and weathers the storm for the food that will be eaten tonight, callused hands he stands with the offering of a hard day’s work.
You always know when the men have come home because the sound of laughter is carried by the wind as they run to pick up their son running barefoot in the sand.
Here you still find old-fashioned hospitality with mouth-watering food that might just include the West Coast Rock Lobster if you catch the season right.. Watching the sunset over the vast Atlantic Ocean I am reminded that this is part of the joys of the West Coast. Its people, the fishing, the hard work, it all rolls into one… you can’t see one without the other. This is home to so many, with its pristine beaches and its vast ocean’s containing an abundance of life few of us get to see.
When we arrived in Port Owen we moored onto the holding Jetty and took a walk across the wet marshy estuary to have a look at where our berth is and where we would tie up Anchored In Hope for the next few days. The Marina is beautiful and the first thing I noticed as we walked up to the dock was the beautiful restaurant and guest houses surrounding the boats docked in the marina.
I also noticed that the moorings were different from the marinas we had tied up to in the past. There were no fingers next to the boats as with the walk-on moorings I had grown accustomed to. On doing some research I found that you call this a pile mooring. We would have to sail in between the poles(piles) and then lasso ropes onto them as we passed so that we could make sure the bow and stern of our boat were both secure and safely positioned between the piles.
I would like to warn you before reading further that I am not a professional and the things that went wrong from this point forward were not of my doing, I could actually be tried and found innocent of all charges…
The time had arrived and we were going in, Andre came into the marina like a pro, I was shaking by this time so when we got to the berth I felt as if I was becoming a bit light-headed. When those poles (piles) started coming at me, I forgot everything that we had discussed and started throwing ropes at them, but it went downhill fast.
I missed the back ropes and we started drifting into the berths beside us… in my mind, I could see us mowing boats down that were all positioned perfectly in their own berths. I noticed at this time that the restaurant was full of people who were all staring straight at us.
And then I went down… I don’t mean like a woman having a minor fall… Oh NO… I went down like an army tank, between the cockpit seat and the helm. I heard my ankle snap. My chin hit the opposite seat with a loud crash my arms flailing. My last shred of dignity floated out with the tide. I looked up and saw the shock on the people’s faces. Some people couldn’t get it right to close their mouths. People were choking on food in an attempt to keep themselves composed.
I on the other hand could not find a deep enough hole to crawl into. I stood up completed tying on the boat and sneaked into the boat as soon as I could without making it look as if I was running away. Which I would have if at that point I didn’t “break” my ankle. I had torn all my ligaments and in the process, the ligaments had ripped a piece of bone out of the top of my foot. I was not going anywhere.
So, if that was not bad enough, we had to find a way to get me off the boat… and yes you guessed it, I was jacked up like a car engine and lowered over the side in a bosun’s chair… bosuns chair sounds so ladylike, BUT it’s not. I had no dignity left.
It is this scenario that kept playing in my mind a year later when we decided that we would do the trip again and finally get to Lamberts Bay. I was shaking even before we set sail from Mykonos ready to take this trip and get to our end destination.
AND
Can I say it.. it went so smoothly, we spent a few days in Paternoster, St. Helena Bay, and then set off for Port Owen to sail into the marina and spend a few days exploring the surroundings. I think God just understood my fear because we had two of the most amazing gentlemen from Port Owen Marina Authority help prepare us for the entrance into the marina.
John and Tiaan quickly realized that there was some serious fear going on there. So, John got on board and helped us enter the marina and when we got to the dock Tiaan was waiting for the ropes to fasten us. If it was not for them I don’t know if we would have managed, but we got it right and the courage I needed came in the form of Port Owen Marina’s staff being the heroes that I was so frantically looking for.
I have feared docking in this marina for over a year now. For a year it got the best of me. Convincing myself that I can’t do this again. What I actually realized on taking this journey for the second time was that God had placed these obstacles in my life to remind me of my courage.
Andre and I have in the last 19 years faced hardship, fear, and sadness together, by facing it together we got through it together, we survived… We didn’t survive because of who we are. We survived because of who God is in us. Without our heavenly Father, the courage we search for would not be found.
Sitting here telling you my story, I would lie if I didn’t tell you that I don’t still have fears. Like loads of stuff in life can scare us, the dark, the bully at school, the shark in the waters, the boss that gives you sleepless nights, cancer, gusts of winds and large waves and so much more… but I faced that fear and I did it… and that is what counts, that’s what matters. I was not conquered by this fear, I rose above it, and so can you.
You can take that trip to the beautiful West Coast, the stunning harbour of Port Owen, or the Marina further down the river. You can stand up to the bully at school, you don’t need to be scared, and you can find your courage.
With God, I found mine.
