Of ships and seas

Location: 37 06.76 N 8 31.40 W

There it was, an upright, black cylindrical object, 2 miles off our port bow. I passed the binoculars to Stella and went below to check the charts. But there was no buoy listed for that position, and I knew our charts had all been recently updated. I went up to take another look.

We were sailing southwards from Portinho de Arrabida, reputed to be one of Portugal’s most scenic anchorages in a nature reserve. With its shallow approach, this bay had been rather tricky to enter but, safely inside, we enjoyed its tranquility along with one other (Swiss) yacht.

Nice to see there are still some traditionalists cruising here in Bayona. Some bloke called Columbus, apparently…

 Since leaving Bayona, our leisurely cruise had taken us down the Portuguese coastline in light northerly winds, allowing us to enjoy the wildlife. Stella saw a turtle, and dolphins would come and visit us most days, playfully jumping in the yacht’s bow wave. They appeared to be migrating northwards, sometimes in schools of 30 or more, in contrast to the gannets that were heading in the opposite direction. The further south we travelled, the more we saw of these large and graceful birds, gathering in flocks on their annual migration southwards to Africa.

Yesterday, we sailed around Cabo de Sao Vincente, scene of Nelson’s famous battle, when he disobeyed instructions and broke line to head off, and eventually defeat, the escaping Spanish fleet. This huge and formidable headland marks the south western limit of Europe. Here, the gannets appeared to pause, hovering over the gigantic cliffs before setting off on the final leg across hundreds of miles of ocean towards Morocco. The more nervous ones would circle over our boat as she pitched in the swell off the headland, then fly back to the lighthouse as if for reassurance, before finally setting off. Sadly, we saw one young adult that had died before completing the final stretch of his journey.

Cabo de Sao Vincente

 
The small back cylinder was still there, silhouetted against the misty coastline, and I raised my binoculars again. What I saw was hard to believe. It suddenly sloped to one side, and another larger blunt object appeared beside it – the bow of a submarine! The vessel surfaced clumsily, its bow completely out of the water whilst its stern remained submerged. Slowly it levelled out, and then motored slowly to the north. Keeping its distance, it turned back on a parallel course, trailing Ananda for a while, before slowly submerging until only the conning tower– the object we had originally mistaken for a buoy - was visible. Finally it submerged completely, disappearing into the depths. Was it in trouble? Or simply a novice helmsman learning the ropes…

The mystery submarine

 Lisbon had been a cultural feast. We anchored at Cascais, a pretty fishing village that had been tastefully developed with pretty mosaic cobbled streets since our last visit only a year ago. A 40 minute train ride took us to Lisbon, with its ornate Monastery de St Jerome, a Palace and numerous monuments to Portugal’s impressive historical explorations.

Monument to the discoveries, Lisbon

 Off Sesimbra, a warship was conducting speed trials. This was most impressive, particularly when he turned directly towards us – we got out of his way fast! A helicopter launched from his stern and circled around us. This was a little friendlier, and the two airmen standing at its open door waved at us.

The weather is becoming much warmer as we chase the sun southwards. Once around the Cape, the Portuguese ports have a different character that is much more Mediterranean in feel, with tourism well catered for. So from Portimao, it’s a chance to explore a little of the Algarve – an area we’ve always sailed by but never visited before.

Reeling in the rias

Location: 42 07.16 N 8 50.35 W

“Quick – cut the rope Stella…”

 I felt myself being dragged backwards, and had little strength to hold on to the stern ladder for much longer before the line plucked me away from the safety of Ananda.

We had left Bayona a few hours earlier, and had just entered Portuguese waters when the problem occurred. The area was peppered with lobster pots, and it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened and we caught a rope around the prop. Stella was quick to put the gearbox into neutral. But it was too late – we were held firmly by the stern in the northerly swell and a following breeze. We dropped the sails and followed our well rehearsed procedure; me climbing into my wetsuit, donning weight belt, diver’s knife, safety rope around waist and makeshift breathing apparatus, Stellie working hard on the dinghy inflator. With a plentiful supply of air, over I went.

Stellie’s quick action on the throttle had saved the stern gear from damage, and it was a quick job to dive under the boat to untangle and release the rope and pickup buoy from the propeller blades and shaft. But I had neglected to cut the buoy free, and it had caught around a bight of my safety line, effectively dragging me backwards as the newly released boat surged forwards with the wind and swell.

“Keith… what is it?”

Stellie couldn’t understand me - no surprise, as I still had the breathing pipe in my mouth. I spat it out, and she quickly understood my predicament. Freeing the diving knife from its holster, she cut the line around my waist with one stroke. The buoy released me from its fierce grip and floated harmlessly astern, leaving me breathless but still holding on.

Back on board after tea and a hot shower, the learning point from this experience seemed obvious. Before untangling the mess, always cut the boat free first!

Neptune, looking a little spaced out after his ordeal.

The picturesque Galician Rias make a wonderful area for cruising. The estuaries are wide and sheltered, with pretty bays where one can anchor against a backdrop of wooded mountains. Add to that, the historic villages and friendly people and you can understand why we want to return someday.

Fishing is prime here, and Ria de Arosa is one of the main mussel producing area in Europe. The shellfish are farmed from about 3,500 vivaros - floating rafts - that are neatly moored in groups in specified areas. When mature, the muscles are gathered by a fleet of small boats, washed on board in giant sieves, graded, and either bagged in small net sacks or paced in huge crane bags. These are then lifted ashore on pallets before being loaded onto huge refrigerated lorries, many of them French.

Despite their number, the vivaros do not overwhelm the huge Rias and the old villages cater well for the industry, modernising where necessary. Rather than rely on the limited space of a fishing wharf to unload catch, some have built fishing marinas – like yacht marinas, but scaled up to provide space for the larger pontoons that fishing boats need.

A bus ride takes us further inland to Santiago de Compostella. Here, the tomb of St James provides still provides a focus for thousands of pilgrims, as it has done since the beginning of the 9th century. Nowadays, the pilgrims arrive by foot or bicycle, over prescribed long distances (100km walking, 200km cycling) in order to qualify for their official compostella (certificate). Understandably, with their backpacks, canes and cockleshell necklaces, the pilgrims look tired, but the gilded shrine to St James in the 13th century cathedral is certainly impressive. They queue for long periods to touch the ornate statue of the saint.

 The city is larger than we imagine, and we pass a large and austere granite building. With its barred windows, it looks like a prison but is in fact an old convent. Designed to keep women in or men out?

Our new washing machine arrives, and is carefully placed on the pontoon by the amused delivery men, who thankfully take away the remains of the old machine (pillaged for spares).

So how do you get 75kg of bulky machinery on and off a yacht?

 Easy, when you have a ready made crane in the form of a mast, boom and electric winch…

…just drops in like this.

 We don’t understand the Spanish labels and instructions, but Mr Google soon finds some English ones and we’re back in the laundry business!

Gunkholing in Gaicia

Location: 42 15.41 N 8 42.36 W

There could be no doubt it was heading our way. Dark and rather sinister looking, the craft abruptly changed course and sped in a sweeping arc directly towards us, so fast that its bow wave appeared from amidships. We held a steady course and waited anxiously. Before long, we could make out the uniformed crew on deck preparing for boarding and placing fenders along their starboard side. And they were certainly not smiling.

We were heading across Ria Arosa, where we had been sheltering from some bad weather. A rather vicious ‘low’ had tracked in from the Atlantic with steadily increasing winds and heavy rain. At first we had stayed alone at anchor in the bay off Muros, but the swell was increasing and locals warned of worse to come. So we were sailing on our way to a more protected position in the new marina at Portosin, and it was then that we spotted our uninvited visitors on the distant horizon.

The patrullero (photographed a few days later on a return visit in better weather)

The Commandante and crew of the patrullero ‘Aguila V’ were unfailingly polite but insistent, despite my concerns of the risks involved in coming alongside in a swell. They manoeuvred their craft skilfully, depositing two crew with non-nautical footwear on our teak decks. After examining our paperwork, they completed a form in triplicate which was duly signed by all parties and given an official Ministerio de Hacienda stamp. Refusing our offers of hospitality, they managed to relax a little before transferring back to their craft with the same dexterity, then sped off at full throttle to seek more lucrative prey.

At anchor in Muros

Wind and an increasing swell maybe, but there’s no stopping Stellie once she’s decided that now is the perfect time to refit and paint the anchor locker! Everything is hauled onto deck, buckets of soapy water thrown everywhere, then much scrubbing and sanding before covering anything not moving in grey paint. That’s my excuse for being so grey!

When the depression arrived at Portosin, the force of the wind took everyone by surprise. Passing directly overhead, it produced a wind shift of 90 degrees in a matter of minutes and the wind blew harder still. We measured 50 knots across the decks, storm force 10, although local newspapers reported gusts of up to 140 km/hr and some local boats were damaged. ‘Ananda’, weighing-in at over 30 tons, was heeled hard over against the (fortunately) strongly built pontoon. But despite a one-metre swell in the marina, we got off lightly by tripling some mooring lines and using spring shock absorbers.

 Still more bad weather here in Vigo, and so our rather late season cruise along the beautiful Rias of Galicia is becoming more prolonged (more details to follow soon). Hopefully things will eventually improve sufficiently for us to head south to Portugal, but meanwhile there is plenty to do. Along the lines of the cruising philosophy ‘mending things in interesting places’, we have had great fun with the washing machine – an unreliable beast even if not surrounded by sea water and thrown about in a small boat. The diagnosis was tricky - the dryer element had shorted to earth and thrown our safety trips. But treatment was even harder, as corrosion had made it impossible to fix, helped by a misplaced screwdriver through a gasket (oops!). So we have admitted defeat, and yesterday we ordered a new one from the appropriately named El Corte Ingles store.

Some you lose.