The beauty of sailing is the unpredictability… We experienced this again yesterday when we motored from Lanzarote towards Gibraltar in calm conditions. About 50 nautical miles off the Moroccan coast, we noticed an imbalance in the starboard propeller. During the underwater inspection via GoPro, we had to determine that several blades were missing not only from this propeller but also from the other one. Such sloppiness! Did someone at the shipyard have a bad day and not properly glue in the fastening screws…? We had dived and looked at the propellers before departure…! Be that as it may. In any case, the engines were no longer usable until further notice.

Hardly any wind. Under Code 0, we set off for the coast and reached the pure fishing port of Essaouira before sunset. There, it was now blowing onshore with 20 knots and corresponding waves. We had contacted the rescue coordination center, MRCC Rabat, by telephone and agreed that the local SAR (Search and Rescue) boat would come out upon arrival and tow us into the bay. Although the wind direction was favorable and we might have been able to sail in, we preferred to play it safe. We have probably seen too many videos of boats running out of control in waves at the entrance to bays.

It seemed a bit strange to us when MRCC Rabat politely asked if it would be okay with us if the rescue boat only came to our aid around 8:00 p.m., i.e., already in the dark.

After all, we had been at sea for over three days and were now supposed to cross in front of the bay between fishing boats for a few more hours in 20 knots of wind? Well, they will have their reasons, we thought.

After all: The lights of the SAR boat appeared punctually at the agreed time. We recovered the mainsail and they approached us from windward with the stern. Arabic voices screamed wildly, overlaid by the heavy, roaring sound of the engine. They threw us a monkey’s fist to which a line was tied. To my surprise, it was not much thicker than my little finger. What initially seemed like a bad joke, but was apparently meant seriously: But how should such a thin line pull a 19-ton catamaran? The tow started moving with a jolt. The captain of the rescue boat, after all, used his heavy engine with a lot of finesse.

About a quarter of a mile before the entrance to the bay, the line broke. With great shouting, a second line was thrown to us from the working stern. With that, we continued towards the entrance of the bay, which is flanked on one side by rocks and on the other side by what is probably the equally sharp-edged archipelago of Morocco. The water depth decreased, the swell increased. We were already quite close to the rocks when the line broke a second time. But now the swell was already pushing us forward; re-establishing the towing connection could easily have led to a collision. But if we got onto the rocks, it would certainly quickly become life-threatening.

We rolled out the genoa and signaled to our “rescuers” that we would try it on our own before we all ended up wrecked together.

Sailing was, of course, no problem at all. The genoa alone pulled us forward. Soon we were past the island and the critical point. The rescue boat drove ahead. Over the radio, the captain said that we should follow him, he would show us the perfect anchorage. We luffed up, shot up and finally dropped anchor at a water depth of 5m, about 2 cable lengths from the harbor entrance.

The rescue boat disappeared into its harbor. To be continued… Only this much should be revealed in advance: After 2 days in Essaouira, we suspect the reason why they only rushed to help us in the dark: It is Ramadan. Before sunset, the rescuers have not eaten anything for ages…