Land Ahoy

Location: 29 13.07 N 13 31.76 W

Dawn, landfall, and as spectacular a daybreak as one could wish. For there, bathed in sunlight off our starboard bow was a giant volcano, complete with crater. Rising steeply out of the ocean for 1000 feet, Isla de Allegranza is uninhabited and barren, but impressive and a welcome sight after 4 days and nights at sea. Beyond it we could see Isla Graciosa, where we hoped to shelter and enjoy some rest.

Our 600 mile sail from Portugal had been eventful, though the sorts of challenges that presented themselves will be familiar to those who also choose to travel in this strange, slow, uncomfortable and yet somehow enchanting way. But the lure of the Canaries had beckoned, and it was time for us to leave Portimao and follow the sun south.

Our stay in the Algarve was pleasant and comfortable. Our very old friends Tim and Barbara flew out from England to join us, and in their company we enjoyed a break from boat jobs and the opportunity to become tourists for a while.

Dropping down the chimney: careless stork costs lives

The coastline is attractive with beautiful beaches and bays, although sometimes backed by areas of excessive tourist development. The shore is eroding rapidly, and despite attempts to reinforce the cliffs with stone walls, some quite new buildings were actually in danger of falling into the sea.

Just offshore was a rock with a similar wall on one side, but now completely surrounded by water. Built in hope of saving a previous building, the crumbling wall stood as testimony to the futility of trying to arrest nature.

Though damaging to property, the erosion still had a positive aspect – fossils! Dating from the Miocene, the sedimentary rock contained ancient sea urchins and bivalves, adding interest to our coastal walks.

(photo courtesy of Tim)

Erosion is not the only problem to have beset this area. In 1755, one of the deadliest earthquakes in history struck Portugal. The epicentre was in the Atlantic Ocean, about 120 miles W-SW of Cape St Vincent, and, together with its accompanying tsunami, killed 40,000 people in Lisbon alone. The devastation included the Royal Ribeira Palace. With the loss of the Royal archives, the historical records of Vasco da Gama and other early explorers and hundreds of works of art including paintings by Titian and Rubens, all disappeared. On the Algarve destruction was rampant, and, in Lagos, the waves reached the top of the city walls.

In the little fishing village of Ferragudo, the fish are cooked on the quayside, right next to where they are landed. Cooked in a traditional clam-shaped copper vessel, the cataplana de marisco is delicious, especially with vinho verde!

Also in Portimao was our good friend Jim, spending time on his own boat ‘Mbolo’. Jim is part of the reason we came here, and for those lucky enough to meet him, his advice on all things nautical is priceless! But with all the comforts and convenience of Portimao, we were both suffering from an advanced bout of ‘port rot’. It would not be long before this insidious disease took such a firm hold that we would convince ourselves that there was really no need to go anywhere else.

And so it was (as the miller told his tale)…

- that with no running fresh water, the spinnaker pole jammed up on the genoa sheet, the navigation computer crashed and my shaver packed up, we pulled into an idyllic bay on the south of Gracioza. The anchor dropped through 40 feet of crystal clear blue water onto sand, watched by tiny fish. Within an hour, a dinghy pulled up and we were invited to join the other yachts for drinks on the beach. All was forgotten as we played guitars, socialised and watched the sun go down against the backdrop of Lanzarote’s volcanic cliffs, 1 mile away across the bay.

Flying lessons for Stellie - tackling the jammed spinnaker pole

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.

Safely in Spain

Location: 43 07.59 N 9 10.92 W

After a quiet crossing of Biscay, we were surprised this morning to be surrounded by a fleet of perhaps 50 fishing boats. Viewed against a grey dawn, they looked like giant insects with their enormous outriggers. But we were still over 50 miles from land - why were they all here? A quick peek at the chart soon explained their presence. We were sailing over the edge of the continental shelf, where the depth of the water changes precipitously from over 4 miles to only 100 metres or so. Presumably, upwelling currents here provide an abundant feeding ground for fish, with rich pickings for fishermen.

 So many fishermen might mean less fish for cetaceans, but this certainly did not appear to be a problem on Stella’s birthday. With perfect timing, a large school of common dolphins arrived just after Stella had opened her birthday present - a new camera. They spent the entire day and most of the night playing in Ananda’s bow wave, delighting in performing acrobatics, leapfrogging over each other and, every so often, turning on their sides to look up at us through the crystal clear water. Each animal seemed to have its own distinct personality and many sported a range of scars, possibly from injuries sustained by propellers or even fishing nets.

As we head southwards, the air is becoming noticeably warmer. Despite being covered by a crust of salt from butting into the short channel seas, Ananda now feels drier, and so the night watches are becoming more comfortable.

The VHF radio provides an interesting window on the world. One skipper sounded most irate and indignant that another ship had passed too close to his own. So how do yachtsmen on tiny boats feel in the same situation? When about to be run down by a supertanker, I usually try and call up the ship on VHF, hoping a little polite conversation might wile away some time before drowning. Not all reply, despite the use of a lot of technology to call them directly both by name and by callsign. Are their radios turned on? Or are they too busy on the bridge doing their internet shopping?

Now it’s dusk, the moon has already risen, and we are preparing for another night at sea. We are sailing over a ‘submarine exercise area’, whatever that is. I suppose if you don’t exercise your submarines regularly, they must get pretty unhealthy. Still another 25 miles to go before we arrive at Camarinas, on the north western tip of Spain, for a little rest and paella.

Just over 4 days non-stop from Eastbourne and another 700 miles on the log – not too bad.

Buenas noches, mi amigos.

Turn left at France

Location: 48 26.92N 5 00.99W

Just one of those perfect night watches. No matter how many times you've experienced it before, there's still something magical about the combination of a gentle warm breeze and the boat making her way through a silvery sea. The moon keeps a watchful eye and peeks under the sprayhood every so often. Venus is in the west, Jupiter's there somewhere too, and. according to our planetary 'guru' Tim, we should see Mercury later in the east, an hour or so before sunrise. There are now only a few fishing boats about, although in the distance we can still see the endless procession of ships heading further offshore to clear Ushant. The AIS, an automated information system for ships, tells us so much about them, their dimensions, speed, course, cargoes, and such a range of exotic destinations as would stir the heart of even the most diehard couch potato. We, however, have chosen to close the shore and take a shortcut around this north western extremity of France, on our way to Spain and warmer waters. It was hard to get away. The list of jobs, both in our new home and in preparing 'Ananda', stretched on to infinity. At the last minute, I dived to check out the underside of the boat, using Jim's ingenious breathing apparatus - a combination of a dinghy pump and some plastic electrical conduit. Intriguing it may be, but the anaesthetist in me still remains wary. All that was missing was the brass helmet! But on examining the prop shaft, I found the propeller anode missing, presumably having fallen off. There was little left of the shaft anode either, so I bolted on a new one. Reassurance was needed, so we decided to slip the boat at the last minute, making a thorough check and washing her off for an extra turn of speed.

Touched by the interest shown in our plans and by the warmth of the best wishes from friends and family, we finally set off, once the weather improved sufficiently for a late season getaway. Now it's all about settling into safe routines around the clock, keeping the boat's systems working. Yes, it has been a hard day's night. I just called up a cargo ship called 'AB Liverpool' on the DSC radio, and rather than the reassuring tones of a fellow scouser, I was startled to hear a very polite German voice. Something to do with the Beatles' Hamburg connection? Must be getting late. Time for Stella to take over this watch.... Happy birthday Stella! And onwards across Biscay….

Will we go...?

Location: 50 47.73N 0 19.73E
All a bit of a rush really. Will we actually get away before winter freezes the halyards and algae cover the decks? The longer we leave it, the more enticing the lure of the armchair and a cosy log fire. Then we'll just have to read about it in the yachting mags rather than actually doing it.....