Halfway to paradise

Location: 20 34.00 N 38 22.00 W

We're half way there. To Barbados, that is. How does it feel?

Well, bumpy, for a start. The wind's blowing a near-gale here, down in the tropics. 'Ananda' is taking it all in her stride. The waves are big - as each one approaches from behind and towers up above her stern, she accelerates forwards, lifting herself up, and the wave hisses past, spray sparkling in the sunshine. And the rolling? Certainly nothing like when we made the passage over 30 years ago, on 'Coot', a narrow yacht that could rock 'n roll for England. We're getting used to the motion now, although it took nearly a week before our appetites returned to normal.

So what is there out here? To our left- the sea. If you go a little further, there's the Amazon, about 1250 miles away. Almost straight ahead is Barbados, also 1250 miles away. And to our right, there's a lot more ocean, with some pretty bad weather up north, judging by the size of the cross-swell that still manages to reach us down here, miles away, causing all that rolling.

Was it her?

Just before noon, 9 days ago, we finally set off from San Sebastian, Gomera. Despite the strong winds in the harbour, these quickly fell away as we cleared land, and we were faced with headwinds – albeit light, but quite the opposite of what we had expected! We passed a pod of shortfin pilot whales, lazily basking on the surface and then diving with arched backs, and sailed as best we could.

Whilst on starb'd tack, we were approached on port by a lightweight fast French racing boat. At the very last moment, they skilfully tacked to clear us, and then put in a second tack back to skim our stern. The girl on this boat looked the image of Dame Ellen McArthur. 'Nice boat' she shouted - was it actually her? They left us standing, of course, and raced off, quickly disappearing over the horizon.

On our way

The first few days were pretty tiring time for us both. Not surprising, really, as preparations for the voyage are so demanding. There are ships provisions to consider and a month's supply of food to purchase, transport and stow. Deck gear needs checking, and any worn ropes or blocks need servicing or replacing. Safety lines must be rigged, the dinghy lashed down securely, and the mast climbed to check all the rigging and fastenings. Everything mechanical or electrical needs checking and servicing – engine, generator, refrigeration, water-maker, navigation equipment and communications gear. Fuel and water – a ton of each - must be shipped, and the backlog of repairs (always a feature of boating) dealt with as best as possible.

Add to that the washing and cleaning (inside and outside), arrangements to be made for the next port-of call, last-minute contact with family and friends, plus our aching muscles from our recent mammoth hike down the mountains of La Gomera, and you can understand why sleep was a priority for us.

Not many ships out here. But there are some. A week ago, one cargo ship, 'Stellar Stream', passed close by our stern, bound for Liverpool – her estimated time of arrival (ETA) was 19th Jan – only 1 week later! It makes us realise just how leisurely our speeds really are. At one point, 2 ships passed close by, 'Cattleya' 2miles in front and 'Saga' simultaneously 3 miles behind us. This was close enough, as, with our downwind sailing rig, we are unable to manoeuvre more than a few degrees either way.

So we always need to keep a look-out, and we are now trying a routine of longer night watches. Lit brightly by the waxing moon for most of the night now, night watches are less intimidating. Indeed, experienced cruisers Janine and Terry on 'Chrisdata' always plan their ocean passages to coincide with a full moon.

According to weather forecasts, we've at least a couple more days of these strong winds. In one squall last night, it blew 40 knots over the stern, quite a wild ride. To receive these forecasts, I write out the code for the co-ordinates of the area we are sailing into and the weather information we require on a computer. These I incorporate into an email to be sent to 'saildocs', an automated service which provides Grib files* by return mail. Fire up the satphone, send it off, and abracadabra - the data arrives back by return!

*Gridded binary data files. These computer generated files give predictions of wind strength and direction, barometric pressure and precipitation for up to 7 days, though with decreasing accuracy as the time period extends.

Celebrate?

So how shall we celebrate the half way mark? Certainly not another party. We arranged one a few nights ago at 21 degrees north and 30 west, and sent out the invites. Nobody came! Usual time worn excuses about transport problems, etc, I suppose. So it will have to be chocolate – Peter Appleton's Famous Grouse whisky truffle bar - thanks Pete!

And how do we spend our time?

Firstly, there are the regular exercise classes held daily in the cockpit. Today, for example, we went for a run around Alfriston, Littlington and West Dean, dropping in at the tea gardens on the way home.

Then there's shower time: with the luxury of a water maker, we can enjoy daily showers.

There are books, of course, books that, in a page or two, transport us far away from the rolling crashing seas to other distant times and places.

There's music, with variety no problem in this age of the iPod. I've even got the guitar out on a couple of occasions. And for a real blast, there are films too! With a good selection on board, some evenings we wonder off to the flicks.

So there's plenty of places to go, people to meet, good times to be had. No problems with maintaining our sanity out here…

On the brink

Location: 28 05.33 N 17 06.48 W


Que? No barca? We could hardly believe it - we'd missed the last ferry back to San Sebastian. Contrary to what we had been told by Tourist Info, the late ferry only ran on a Sunday, which it plainly wasn't. Kind of
reassuring to discover I'm not alone in not knowing what day it is! But it did mean a long and costly taxi ride back over the mountains (or a night on the black sand of Valle Gran Rey).
The island of La Gomera is stunning - very mountainous with deep ravines, fertile green valleys, and dense forests. It remains largely unspoilt with no major airport.

Valle Gran Rey

The Valle Gran Rey (valley of the great king) is a haven for hippy refugees from the seventies, German hikers and now a few assorted yachties to add to the incongruous mix. We had just clambered down the mountainside from a height of 4000 feet to the sea, Stellie sporting a pretty dress and sandals, to the consternation of Germans in full hiking gear, poles and boots.

San Sebastian, fittingly, is our last port of call before we set off across the Atlantic. For it was from this town that Columbus left for the New World, over 500 years ago. His house is now a museum and art gallery, and
the Town Hall was once the home of Columbus' friend (and possibly mistress) Beatriz de Bobadilla.
Reflecting on our travels so far, we've certainly managed to sample the individual flavours of these extraordinary islands.

Ananda at anchor off Graciosa with Lanzarote in the background, taken from Graciosa's volcano.

We've visited 4 in all - Gracioza, Lanzarote, Tenerife and La Gomera. In between, we managed a wonderful trip back to Blighty, to catch up with our wonderful family and friends and remind us just how cold winter can be.

A hoopoe in the scrub on Gracioza - photo by Stella

All being well, we will leave tomorrow (Sunday), to follow the time-honoured sailing directions - 'go south until the butter melts, then turn right'. It's around 3000 miles to Barbados, and, unlike Columbus' crew, we are not expecting to fall off the edge of the world. So, despite feeling a bit weary after yesterday's mammoth hike, we are busy with last minute preparations. We even retrieved the dinner knife that Stellie had dropped
down the cockpit drain. Having disconnected its pipe and painstakingly drained all the water off into the sink, all was nearly done. Then Stellie decided the sink needed emptying - result: water all back in pipe again!
Oh, the joys of boating.

View from the top: inspecting the rig in Marina San Miguel, Tenerife

Stellie has stowed enough food to feed the Spanish fleet, and the watermaker is now in commission. So, unlike the last time we made this trip (in 1987on a 30 foot yacht called 'Coot'), we shouldn't need to ration water.

We'll try and update our diary whilst on the crossing, though bandwidth limitations may mean we will have to ration photos for a while - hence the 'splurge' with this log entry!

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.