I have been sailing in paradise (i.e., Fernando de Noronha).

He didn’t have to run away from anything, he just wanted to fulfill his dream: to cross the ocean. Thus Nicolò von Wunster, 60, puts an ad online to find boarding and finds himself in South Africa aboard Mr. and Mrs. Roger and Mary’s Oyster 625 to the remote island of St. Helena and then Brazil.

Logbook of an excellent sailor’s first time in the ocean, taking Italy aboard a British boat. Nicolò (who Has an impressive sailing record. Two-time Italian Tornado Champion sailed 30,000 miles around the Mediterranean on his Baltic 38DP) tells us about his “Ocean Passage” in four installments, full of useful tips.

In the second installment of his trip, we left him in Salvador de Bahia, Brazil.

• Read the first episode: Cape Town – Saint Helena
• Read the second installment: Saint Helena – Salvador de Bahia

In this third installment, Nicolò recounts the four-day sail from Salvador de Bahia to the beautiful Brazilian island of Fernando de Noronha, a sailor’s paradise.

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Salvador de Bahia – Fernando de Noronha

4 days at sea, 701 miles. The Tale of Nicolò von Wunster

…Darkness enveloped us as we exited the marina, we pulled over to the left following the exit channel lights. Mary was on the bow with the VHF to immediately alert Roger, at the helm, of any obstruction ahead, soon after the waves began to make themselves felt and being on the bow was certainly not a comfortable and safe position even though safely hooked with lifejackets and harnesses.

The course involved a wide windward tack with starboard tack, to portside there was the coast and we wanted to get as far away as possible to avoid the shallows. The city slowly receded and the lights faded, giving way to a greater brilliance of the stars and the moon. We went back to sailing and the relaxed feeling enveloped me making me very happy, I was fine on the boat, better than on land.

On-call shifts

There were four of us left, and after a very democratic discussion on board, David’s motion, which I largely supported, to increase the night watch shifts from two hours to two and a half hours had passed, keeping the hours of the watch-rota fixed, with no more rotation, in order to let our biological clock adjust to waking hours versus sleeping hours.

I chose the 3:30 a.m. to 6:00 a.m. shift, taking over the command from David and giving it to Roger who followed and then the day shift 3:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. This left me free to cook lunch and dinner and set up the Galley. To give you an idea of what it was like to be on watch I describe how my night hours unfolded: I would wake up at 3:00 a.m., put on my life jacket with seat belt and make myself a mocha of coffee for four, with Kimbo coffee and then Lavazza, almond milk and three cookies. I would go up to the cockpit and ask David to summarize the situation: wind shifts, current, ship crossings from AIS and Radar, distance to Way Point, deviation from course (XTE), percentage of sail spread, etc….All the instruments that appeared on both console screens and repeaters, while at first they were a mass of data you thought you understood, became a source of essential data to monitor the boat, the heading, the wind, the course etc….

David and I began the game of having to pass us the command with an XTE (deviation on course) of zero, being able to set any adjustment no later than five minutes from the zero hour of passing the command. To accomplish this, one had to demonstrate a great deal of sensitivity about how the boat would react to the lean or heave.

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Safety, Comfort and Speed (SCS)

Clearly we were sailing with the autopilot set to the angle of the true or apparent wind (Wind Vain) and not the course at WPT, adjusting by plus or minus degree approaches to keep the boat on course. Cmq having taken command and discharged David I would begin to study the radar and plotter in the cockpit to check for lumps, ships on our course or danger zones. I would then check the sails, which in this passage were mainsail, foresail and genoa, the boat being Cutter rigged, check wind and boat speed and heeling angle. Slowly I would adjust the sails to achieve what I felt was the best trim, the principles Mary made very clear were: Safety, Comfort and Speed…and woe betide to reverse them.

One night in order not to expire dangerously downwind and maintain a cruising speed of no less than 5 knots, boat’s tilt was quite high, by morning Mary was very annoyed and I took a no-nonsense disciplinary reprimand.

Despite the fact that I actually had no real fault except that I preferred to keep a tight angle without reducing the mainsail in order not to lose speed. It did not happen again however with a tolerated tilt angle it had to remain under 20 degrees.

Batteries

During my shift, the overnight veteran batteries would drop below 40%-30%, so I had to turn on the generator not before turning on the fans in the engine compartment and generator compartment, wait two minutes for the temperature to rise, during which time I would turn on the water-maker, bringing the pressure to 50 bar and waiting for the high-pressure pump to start producing fresh water and fill the 600-liter windward tank, after electronically checking its quality. The pressure was then raised to 65 Bar to ensure a flow of 140 liters per hour.

When the temperature of the generator reached 70 degrees, the switch had to be activated, which turned on the panel where in turn the Lithium battery chargers divided into two banks were activated. An intricate procedure in both the various switch-ons and switch-offs, and woe betide if you get it wrong.

Sailing along the Brazilian coast

Sailing along the Brazilian coast, even though it was over 20 miles, gave a different feeling than sailing across an ocean. At night one could see the faint glimmers of small towns without being able to make out anything other than a fair amount of fishing boat traffic. Four days of sailing was nothing and passed quickly, with a broad windward and crosswind gait that blocked the boat’s roll on one tack while also facilitating sleeping. My fixed 3:30 to 6:00 a.m. watch allowed me to see the sunrise every morning, at dismounting I would note and transcribe all the log data in the logbook and go back to sleep. It was beautiful to fall back asleep leaning against the broadside of my bunk.

Fernando de Noronha, the island that is not there

We arrived on March 1 at 4 a.m. We dropped anchor in front of the only landing place on the island. In the morning the island appeared to us with all its beauty, it looked like Neverland or the island in Jurassic Park. From the nearby coast could be heard with a regular interval a roar that left one imagining a sea creature from Julius Verne’s tales.

The ocean wave coming ashore broke on a rocky promontory, perhaps with caves and siphons, where the vents created by the water pressure, generated a noise similar to the breathing of a huge creature.

We went ashore, rounding the end of a short but high breakwater over the sea, the undertow was strong, and it took us a while to safely moor our tender. Ashore, Marcos, the port captain, was waiting for us. We waited a couple of hours before the Migration Office reopened after the lunch break, and in the meantime in the nearby bar we began to sip some excellent beer.

Slowly came the other crews who had already been around the island in these beat-up buggies.

Sean, the Irish “romano de Roma”

As usual, it was pleasant to resume the chats left unfinished in Salvador. I saw Sean and Catherine again embarked on the Archaeopteryx, a name impossible to pronounce correctly, owned by Michael, 61 years old on Feb. 6, my peer and a former City of London financier and very easygoing.

His dream was to have a boat longer than his years (in feet) and so he had decided to buy an Oyster 66, which was also very beautiful internally. Sean was Irish, to everyone, but to me he was Roman de Roma, the official cook on board, with whom I would compare and consult on various recipes or where to retrieve our ingredients.

The funny thing was that Sean and I had already crossed paths several times talking to each other in English. At St. Helena, however, I had greeted them perhaps with a “hello” as they were leaving Anne’s place. He asked Catherine who I was and if I happened to speak Italian. When we met again he spoke to me not even Italian but Roman de Roma.

Finally someone to talk Italian and cooking with and with the same approach on food….know what it means to have to explain that when you drain the spaghetti al dente that you have to come to tavola….strange no? Lunch over, bar talk and immigration procedures over, we decided to return to the boat.

Fernando de Noronha, surfer’s paradise

A swell, i.e., the famous “great swell” that would last for at least three days, was expected the next day. Indeed the next day large long waves passed quietly and majestically beneath the boat, having anchored far enough away from the beach proved to be a wise decision by Roger. The boats between us and the beach disappeared in the hollow of the wave only to reappear. We went ashore and it was really the first time I could witness with my own eyes, huge waves, a surfer’s paradise, breaking with the crest swept by the headwind and a great noise as the wave then fell in on itself coming ashore.

We took no small risk, surfing with the tender and then quickly turning around close to the breakwater. The undertow was very strong and Roger decided to go back to the boat to get two long lines. In doing so, Mary and I decided to stay on the ground while David to Roger would return. They were nearly swept away by a huge wave.

We saw them disappear behind the dam only to see them return surfing at full power chased by a huge breaker wave. They had got the sequence wrong. Fortunately, in spite of his years, Roger had once again demonstrated quick reflexes and cool-headedness, bringing the tender to safety, then setting off again, succeeding on his second attempt to cross the line where the waves were beginning to break.

The last day in Fernando de Norohna

We decided that we would leave again at sunset, so that was the last day. Roger and Mary on the one hand and David and I on the other, rented respectively two Buggies, very beat up. We split up by meeting at 5 p.m. at the port. We had a lot of fun, I was driving with David filming everything with his GoPro. We took a dirt road until we came to a thicket that separated us from the beach below. We walked down and found ourselves on a huge beach, without a soul with the breakers coming in from the sea and breaking 30 meters away and then reaching up to get our feet wet.

We walked along the beach past a rocky promontory, coming to a bend with a large pond that went into the bush. On the rocks large brightly colored crabs were moving in slow motion, continuing on we passed another headland trying to pass between the rocks, avoiding being dragged by the waves that came in a steady rhythm. Beyond that headland opened a long beach full of people who were watching a surfing competition, which David told me was part of an international circuit.

We grabbed a beer and approached the stage where a mass of young surfers stood watching a few daredevils tackling the breakers a short distance away. The race had been suspended because the swell was too dangerous. I felt admiration for these guys all very young and super cool, with super athletic physiques, flat bellies and super tanned. International idols of many of their peers and riders of the waves.

David told me that Brazilian surfers are among the best in the world. They were beautiful, young and free spirits waiting for the ideal wave. What a difference from the boys back home. Another planet, a thousand light years away.

We went back to the Buggy, found a small local restaurant, with very hospitable and nice people, finished lunch with the usual Moqueca de Camarão, realized we had a flat tire…patience, drove to the place where we had picked it up and left it there, it was pretty banged up anyway and we had filled it up with gas. With a cab intercepted by chance, we were taken to the port. I paid cash with the last Real that was left in my pocket. After an hour we were in the boat, having overcome a large wave in leaving the harbor.

We began to prepare the boat to take to the sea again, as usual sorry that we had not been able to discover more of the island and its vaunted seabed, but happy to resume sailing with the methodical routine of the ship, everything slowing down again reopening spaces for sleeping, reading, cooking, contemplating the sea and fishing.

Nicolò von Wunster

CONTINUED…

• Read the first episode: Cape Town – Saint Helena
• Read the second installment: Saint Helena – Salvador de Bahia