SAFARI, WEST AFRICA

Rosemarie and Alfred Alecio

(I first met Rosemarie and Alfred at the 1991 AGM and dinner, when they were planning an extended cruise aboard their 38ft Iron Horse. Of course I asked them to write for Flying Fish, and was delighted to receive the following account of their visit to The Gambia -- posted from Brazil! Lots of practical information on the area plus several beautifully drawn plans accompanied the article, copies of which are available from the Cruising Information Service.)

In June 1994 we ordered our charts for The Gambia from the Admiralty chart offices in Gibraltar. Two weeks later, the British Foreign Office was advising us not to go -- there had been a coup and the situation was `unsettled'. Not only was œ32 of the cruising budget down the drain but our disappointment was great.

Perhaps the long hold-up in the Canaries awaiting repair of our radar was, after all, for the best. Although the dry season in The Gambia was coming to its end (we had planned to be there in December when it is supposed to be reasonably cool, and by now it was February) we thought that the political situation could be more settled, so off we went.

Our new radar enabled us to enter the river at night, in spite of the fairway buoys being unlit and not all on station. We anchored off the capital, Banjul (Bathurst in Colonial days), in the accepted anchorage for small craft just past the third jetty, and slept undisturbed until morning.

We were hailed in English, still the official language, by an important-looking young man waiting on the shore. He told us to take our Q flag down, but when we enquired as to whether or not he represented Customs his reply was negative, so our flag remained in place. We had doubted that he was an official at all, having learned of the `unofficials' who offer themselves to assist with clearance. However after a brief discussion we accepted Ousman as our guide around the official check-ins -- Port, Customs and Police. He was very efficient and we were pleased with the speed at which it all happened. He was known to them all, and at the crowded Police Station we were able to jump a long queue when he was given priority with our papers. We obtained permission to go up the river, and could stay for a full three months if we wished. Ousman had clearly saved us several hours of wandering around and, although his services were `voluntary', we were very happy to relieve ourselves of a few pounds sterling for his work.

We had not been to black Africa before, and Banjul as an introduction was a huge culture shock. We drank in the huge contrast -- the heat, the dust, the people. The shops were, initially, quite unrecognisable to us as such. Ousman showed us the bakery, where to buy the best oranges and, perhaps most important of all, the currency exchange facilities of the Black Market -- all quite open, and with a much better rate than the banks (who, by the way, have no cash-dispensing machines). Dollars were a more attractive currency for exchange than pounds sterling, for which the rate was between 12 and 14 dalasi. Ousman also took us to the African Heritage Hotel, where by pre-arrangement we collected a package containing guidance for negotiating the shallows to the anchorage at Denton Bridge.

Having completed the most important work, we took Iron Horse (our 38ft steel, Colin Archer-type gaff cutter) carefully through the mangroves of Oyster Creek to the small, peaceful anchorage at Denton Bridge. We were lucky in that the crew of the American yacht Australe, who were about to leave, met us in their dinghy at the entrance and gave us updated information for this short but tricky passage. A hand-drawn chartlet of the route is a must, not only for the entrance (where high on the bank is the white case of a liferaft Conspic, and long may it remain!), but also for ensuring the correct turnings through the maze. The passage needs care and should be made at high water if your draught is near 6ft, as ours is. Also, the tide is with you on the ebb, since the creek empties into the sea and not into the river. However one only hits mud, and later we were to become quite proficient at pushing this stuff!

We spent a most comfortable and enjoyable week in the Creek. The main road linking the capital with the other three main areas -- Serekunda, Bakau and Fajaro, all close to the coast -- runs within a few hundred metres of it, but the anchorage itself is very peaceful with fascinating birdlife. It was easy and safe to leave our dinghy ashore and take one of the many minibuses (two or three dalasi, depending on condition!) to these places to stock up with food for our trip upriver. Serekunda market, especially after dark, has to be the most amazing place in the world. So many people, so many smells, not enough space -- wonderful! Although as whites we were obviously conspicuous, and at times hands were held out to us for money, never for a moment did we feel unsafe in any way. `Twobab' is the name given to those with white skin and we heard it repeatedly, wherever we went, but never with malice. It seemed that to them `white' is synonymous with `rich'. We toughened ourselves up and learned to ignore the appeals.

The majority of Gambians are Muslim, so wherever there were local people we always covered our bodies, as they did. This was not too onerous since it gave sensible protection from both sun and insects.

Eventually we were ready to push on into the much more rural setting upriver -- what we had really come for. Our appetites had been whetted by one or two previous visitors who had told us of the wildlife to be seen further up. We spent about a month soaking up this beautiful country, slightly saddened to consider that their greatest asset, the river, seems so under-used as a source of power and irrigation for the drier interior. On the banks grew lush trees and bushes and, intermittently, small areas were cultivated for banana plantations. Rice is also being tried as a new crop, but so far the yield is insufficient to sustain the population. Their greatest source of income, however, comes from the growth and export of peanuts, and apart from the few dugout canoes that we saw from time to time, and the ferries which crossed from bank to bank, the barges used for peanut transportation were the only traffic we ever came across in all the time we were on the river.

To describe the Gambia as an ornithologist's paradise is an understatement -- the birdlife there is wonderful. Not only did we see many of our European birds in their southern bases, we also saw many new species of the most exotic colours, calls and habits. And all within fifty metres of the boat at anchor.

Neither were all the animals shy. Some very large black river dolphins kept station with us as far as St James' Island. Further up we had regular displays from monkeys and baboons, particularly during the early morning and evenings, with no special effort on our part. We even had a two foot snake arrive on board (we know not how) and settle itself beneath a towel in the corner of the cockpit whilst we were at anchor at Denton Bridge!

Crocodiles were much more evasive and, although we had been advised to keep away from both these and hippos, our biggest problem was finding them. We often took the dinghy into the small creeks early in the morning, hoping to find a croc not yet sufficiently warm to move quickly, and so allow us to photograph him. We spotted a number, mostly lying on low branches over the water, but before we could raise a camera they invariably dropped off and rushed away.

Hippos too were very shy and, although we heard their calls often, we did not see any until our return journey. Those of The Gambia live in the fresh water only. Indeed the most interesting part of the area for us in both scenery and wildlife did not really begin until we reached fresh water, in the vicinity of Deer Island. We did manage to capture the hippos on film, but only ever their heads (the last part to sink below the surface) before they too raced away.

We had heard of people visiting The Gambia without going very far from Banjul. How much they missed!

However it was not total paradise, and we experienced many of the `down' bits one must expect in this sort of climate.

March and April herald the end of the dry season. Temperatures were HIGH! The further we went from the coast, the higher they went and the worst was 42C with a water temperature of 30.9°C! Even so, regular dousing with buckets of water was very cooling. The worst part was the need to wear clothes to protect oneself from the bites of the most voracious insects we have ever come across. Many could bite right through the fabric!

The dreaded mosquito showed only a little evidence of itself, but even so we enclosed the cockpit with netting from before sunset each evening. This of course cut down the breeze, but seemed the lesser of the evils. In the upper reaches of the river we abandoned our double berth and took to the pipecots in the forward cabin, where we had fixed the windscoop above the larger hatch. This, combined with our 12 volt fans, allowed us to sleep reasonably well most nights.

Although we draw almost 2 metres we managed to travel to within five miles of the border with Senegal, past Fatoto, the last town on the river, before we ran aground -- with almost 300 miles recorded!

Navigating the upper reaches had not been without intrigue and challenge as the Admiralty chart 609 runs out at about 200 miles, shortly after Georgetown. For the part from there to Basse Santa Su we had acquired a chartlet (which we added to and updated) prepared by an expatriot, Steve Jones, during the nine years he had spent in The Gambia (he returned to the UK shortly after we left). However, for the last fifty miles we were on our own! After a few hairy moments, with high concentration on depth-sounder and using `Eyeball Mk I' to its limit, we decided to record our findings so that the return journey could be more relaxed. Knowing of Steve Jones' plan to produce a pilot of the area we decided to be very serious about this work. Using our lead-line from the dinghy we pinpointed areas of rocks, several of which lurk just below the surface, while the GPS gave accurate positioning. We followed the river's course with the radar, and assessed the path of the river on the tourist map which we were now using to be relatively accurate. (We learned later that it had been made from an aerial photograph). We became so enthusiastic about our new game that on the way back we decided to apply ourselves to Steve's chart to Basse with the same efforts at accuracy.

Steve now has all this information and intends to incorporate our `offering' into his publication. Meanwhile, although we guess there is unlikely to be a stampede for it, we plan to lodge our data and chartlets with the Cruising Information Service, in case any intrepid members wish to follow in our footsteps.

Eventually we returned downriver and settled Iron Horse once more at Denton Bridge, from where we busied ourselves stocking up for the Atlantic crossing. In many ways we were sad to leave. We had been made very welcome by everyone and had seen so evidence of any political unrest -- and we were enjoying ourselves! But now it was May, and we were anxious to get south of the Equator as soon as possible en route to Salvador, Brazil.