December 2015

We started December in Puerto Calero, Lanzarote.  Having, for our current lifestyle, had a hectic week – Elsie doing her Day Skipper practical and me flying to U.K. and back, we planned a chill-out and we knew just the place: La Graciosa.  The anchorage here is in a conservation zone and requires permission.  The system for granting this seems designed to make it almost impossible for the cruising yachtsman who relies on the vagaries of the weather:  application must be made, in writing, at least 10 days in advance on a form available only in Spanish.  Fortunately, I had had time to spare while in Rubicon.  I found the form online; completed it, with the aid of Google translate and sent it to the correct person.  48 hours later – nothing.  So I went to the marina office and the helpful lass picked up the phone and after a 5 minute phone call, 4 ½ minutes of which seemed to be about hair, children and plans for Christmas, she assured me that it was all arranged.

We timed our departure from Calero to get the best winds, which were forecast to be SE’ly F4 from late morning, backing to E’ly in the afternoon.  The directions were fulfilled but it was lighter than forecast so it was late afternoon before we arrived at the Estrecho del Rio, the strait between Lanzarote and La Graciosa.  The wind now veered and increased and, as we passed under the cliffs it was a gusty SSE’ly F6.  This was blowing directly towards the anchorage and we seriously considered continuing west and spending the night safe at sea.  When we arrived at Playa Francesca, however, it had reverted to a light South-Easterly.  The anchorage, which a month before had been full, was now deserted.  Did everyone else know better?  We decided not, though we did put out extra chain on our main anchor and laid a second, just in case.  In fact, it was a very quiet night, with the wind boxing the compass and putting a full twist in our anchor cables.  It then settled from the east and we lay nicely to the kedge anchor for the next few days.  A couple of other yachts, which had been anchored (illegally) under the cliffs when we arrived, joined us the following day, and tourist catamarans visited daily but it was otherwise a very peaceful interlude with the biggest exertion being the afternoon dip, followed by a solar heated shower or, once, a dinghy ashore and 2 mile walk to the local settlement for fresh provisions and an ice-cream.

After 3 days of lotus eating, we headed south again.  Once more, the winds were lighter than forecast but we managed to (mostly) sail down to the capital, Arecife, to spend the night in the new marina, with a stroll round town to finish the day.  Next day, 6^th, we made the jump down to Gran Tarajal in the south of Fuerteventura.  A fine sail for the first 50 miles with 15-20 knots just behind the beam.  The wind then died and we had to motor the last 12 miles.  The book says that there is no-one to contact after 1400, so we just motored in and picked a berth, on the pontoon against the southern wall.  As we tied up, we noticed a guard in a hi-vis jacket waving at us and braced ourselves for his visit.  We had, apparently broken 5 rules, including not calling him on VHF; not noticing him waving; berthing on the wrong pontoon and taking a space that could have been used by a catamaran.  I suspect that it was bluster to impress his trainee and, as no catamarans arrived and the motion on his choice for our berth was quite pronounced, leading to one finger being broken off, I didn’t feel too badly.  The Port Captain, when visited the following morning, certainly didn’t seem at all concerned.

Betancuria

We were now a bit stuck.  It was 90+ miles from here across to Gran Canaria, our next destination.  This is too far for a daylight crossing, we didn’t want to arrive somewhere new in the dark and the wind was forecast to die every night for the next week.  Morro Jable, 20 miles to the west, was reputed to very uncomfortable in the current, SE’ly winds.  We managed to console ourselves by sitting in the sun, with a daily walk to town for provisions.  After 3 days, I bumped into a local, who told me that, although the normal pontoons at Moro Jable suffer from the swell, there are others, used by locals, that are more comfortable.  Accordingly, on the 10^th, we made the 20 mile trip and the old pontoons were indeed very calm.  We tied up alongside, rather than stern- or bow-to, as the local boats were.  Again, the Port Captain was very relaxed about this and charged us less than 7 Euros a night.  No water or electricity, but still a better bargain than those who, inexplicably chose to anchor in the swell outside, rather than join us.  This time we stayed for 4 days with an afternoon trip across to the standard pontoon to top up water and batteries and one day with a hire car to explore the island.  The western side had areas of great charm, including the old village of Betancuria, but much of it is almost as barren as Lanzarote and doesn’t appeal as a long term destination.  I took advantage of our lack of motion to go up the mast for a couple of jobs, including replacing the TV aerial, which had fallen off a few weeks before.  We now have 60 odd channels, with nothing worth watching.

Monkey up a stick

Finally, on the 15^th, we got a forecast of decent winds overnight.  We cast off at 1500 and headed south west.  Once more, we were disappointed with the strength of the wind, achieving 3 – 4 knots through the evening rather than our planned 5 – 6 but we had 24+ hours to make the 80 miles across.  The wind improved after midnight and Elsie got a good sail through her, 0100 – 0600 watch.  We arrived at our destination, Arguineguin, at 0800.  There was, supposedly, an anchorage in the lee of the harbour but, as often happens, this space is now taken by moorings for locals.  We tried anchoring but, where there was shelter there was a rocky bottom, with poor holding and where we managed to dig in, it was uncomfortable in the swell so, after an hour or so, we picked up and continued the couple of miles to Puerto Rico.  This is a tourist resort with a commercial marina.  Not our usual choice but there is, on this coast, with this wind, no better alternative.  One bonus was a launderette opposite our pontoon with commercial sized machines having 40 minute cycles.  By early afternoon laundry was done, tanks topped up and all squared away.

After our exertions, we took a day’s rest before hiring a car for a tour of Gran Canaria.  Much greener than the two eastern islands and a pleasant mountain road up the western side gave some great views.  We ventured into the capital, Las Palmas, to try to see the marina in case we wanted to use it in future but while the one=way system allowed us to pass it, we couldn’t find the exit and after 2 circuits, we gave up and headed down the east coast.  Things did not improve much as, try as we might to find a pleasant road to follow, each time we left the motorway we ended up in derelict industrial estates or minor housing roads.  The south east corner of the island is a huge holiday resort but we managed to find our way through to Arguineguin, which we had failed to visit by sea, for a very late lunch and mega shop before returning the car.

On the 20^th, we finally got a good sailing wind and made an early(ish) start across to Tenerife. We had a NE’ly F4-5 on the beam all the way across and made it to Bahia de Ahona by 1400.  We had hoped to find an anchorage here but, once again, the only usable spot was taken up with local moorings.  Fortunately there was plenty of time to carry on down the coast to Punta Roja, in the lee of which we knew there was a good spot.  We dropped anchor at 1630, having sailed 57 miles in just over 8 hours and spent a very comfortable night.  The following day we headed west again with a following F6 until passing the south west point of the island  where we found ourselves in light airs, eventually settling down to a light south westerly which took us up the coast past the fleshpots of Los Cristianos and Adeje to Los Gigantes where it finally died, leaving us to motor the last few miles to Playa de Masca.  This is a tiny bay surrounded by huge cliffs.  Rain was forecast and, sure enough, it started falling in the valley, leaving us dry but with a rainbow to enhance the already spectacular scenery.  The icing on the cake was the coastguard helicopter on exercise, rather than a shout, practicing approaches to various parts of the valley.  Given the huge variation of winds along this coast and the height of the cliffs this must have kept their adrenaline levels well up.

Coastguard helicopter, Los Gigantes

Although we were very comfortable through the evening, unfortunately a change of tide in the night put us beam on to the swell and we were a bit short changed on sleep.  The following morning, we headed back down the coast, again in light westerlies although the general area wind was from the east.  The day was enlivened by large pods of Pilot Whales.  I would call ‘there must be 10 out on my side’ only for Elsie to report 15 on hers.  On passing the south west tip, the wind again switched to Easterly.  We had been hoping to stop in Las Galletas but were told that there was no room so continued on to San Miguel, a rather soulless marina attached to a golf course.  Despite calling ahead by phone, there was no reply to radio calls, or to the phone on arrival leaving us making a blockage at the entrance.  A flustered mariniero waved us to a berth just as we overheard a radio exchange in which his boss assured the skipper of a departing tall ship that the entrance was clear.  We fortunately managed to get out of her way in time.  We eventually managed to find a small supermarket, manned by ex-pats, which provided us with essentials and a few luxuries, including mince pies.

Another island hop on the 23^rd, across to La Gomera.  Winds were forecast to be light overnight so we chose to anchor at la Cantera, a small bay on the south west side, served by a footpath and intrepid boats dropping off even more intrepid back packers.  Some of these set off up the, very large, hill shortly before sunset so I hope that they had a good plan.  Sleep was again disturbed by a change of tide putting is beam on to the swell and we resolved to become proficient at Bahamian moors which, with an anchor out at each end, can keep one head (or stern) to swells. 

On Christmas Eve we had a slow sail back round the coast and up to the Capital, San Sebastian.  This is a very pleasant town with an equally pleasant marina (apart from the ARMAS ferry which leaves it 2 stroke diesel generator running).  We had left ourselves time for shopping but unfortunately failed to find the big supermarket, which hides under the bus station, and could find nothing more exciting than frozen mince for our Christmas dinner.  This turned out not to be a problem as we were parked next to an Irish boat which had a supply of ice.  After a walk round the town on Christmas day, we joined them for a drink, which turned into several and we found ourselves wandering ashore at 9 PM for a festive burger. 

Needless to say, the 26^th was spent recovering.  We had hoped to hire a car to explore inland, but they were all fully booked for over a week ahead so, on the 27^th we set off on a series of very short hops round the coast.  As there was a good SWly wind this day, we zoomed out and back for a couple of hours, to blow away the cobwebs but anchored only a couple of miles further south at Playa de al Cabrito,  a quiet bay with a hotel served by water taxi.  We took the precaution of laying a second anchor and spent a comfortable night, head to swell.  The following day, another couple of miles south to Playa de la Roja, a small bay served not even by a footpath, though we dingy-ed ashore for a pleasant walk up the valley. We seemed very protected and did not lay the second anchor, with predicable results.

We learned the lesson next day another few miles down the coast at Playa de Chinguarime.  This is a wide bay, a mile or so east of Santiago harbour.  We had looked at it on Christmas Eve and figured that the most comfortable spot would be close to the eastern edge.  We set our anchors to keep us aligned with the edge and put our stern to the swell creeping round the edge, which also gave us full sun in the cockpit.  We discovered that we could fine-tune the heading by up to 15 degrees by changing the lead of the kedge (stern) anchor, and spent a couple of very comfortable nights with a little shopping trip to Santiago on the 30^th.

Vueltas

On New Year’s Eve, we continued round the coast, motoring the 11 miles to Playa de Argaga, just outside Puerto de Vueltas.  Like Santiago, there are no pontoons here and the harbour wall has a bad reputation for shredding fenders and mooring lines.  There are a few berths for bow- or stern-to mooring and we could possibly have squeezed in here but the anchorage seemed comfortable enough and there as there was a good place to leave the dinghy on trips ashore, we were content to stay outside.  There was a small care hire shop just outside the port which provided us with a car for the next couple of days so we went back aboard and slept through the New Year chimes.

Stats for the month:
Logged:          430 miles
Over ground:  416 miles

November 2015

In which we make it to Canary Islands and start our cruising life.

We started November in Porto Santo, Madeira.  Having had a few days exploring this small island, on the 1^st we set off to the main island.  We wanted to see a bit of it but indications were that, at this season, we were unlikely to get into the small marina at Funchal and that other marinas could be crowded, expensive and inconvenient.  It being fair weather, we anchored the first night just south of the eastern tip in the Baia de Albra, a very pleasant little anchorage. I had dropped a pair of expensive sunglasses overboard in Porto Santo and, while retrieving them noticed that the propeller anode was nearly exhausted.  I took the opportunity to renew this, using my little Scuba set.

Leaving Porto Santo

 The following two nights there was a south westerly forecast so marina berth required as there is no natural shelter.  A phone call to Quinto de Lorde confirmed that they could accommodate us.  Although it was only 2 miles away, we decided to have a beam reach down the Islas Desertas and back just for fun so actually did 46 logged; 41 across the ground.  Very warm welcome and plenty of space. But the cost! Our length being 12.06 metres (most places ignore the 6 cms) meant that we were classed as 12 – 15 metres, which put the price up from 33 to 46 Euros per night.  They then added on 10% for this and 20% for that and charged over 62 Euros.  Even at current exchange rates this is ridiculous for somewhere 90 minutes by bus from town. 

Another phone call in the morning to Funchal gave us news that there was space for us there so off we went.  Directly into a SW’ly 4-5 gave us a spirited beat.  4 hours to achieve 13 miles to windward (though 25 miles logged).  The pilot book spoke of rafting 6 or 7 deep and the phone call had advised that we would be alongside another boat.  No problem, Elsie is getting better at sharing.  It was only when we got to the far, cramped, corner of the harbour that we realised that we were expected to moor stern to the pontoon with a lazy line pick up to hold us off.  This is standard procedure in the Med and, 2-3 years ago we were well practiced but we were unprepared and Ruby does not handle well in confined spaces with a cross wind.  Suffice it to say that we provided entertainment for the onlookers without actually hitting anything.  The fees here were a much more reasonable E26 per night.

Thursday 5^th, we stayed in Funchal, intending to see the sights but after visiting one winery, where they didn’t do tours but provided free samples and another where they did both, we were not in a fit state to anything but sit and admire the scenery.  On Friday, after a delay caused by a blocked loo, we hired a car and toured the western end of the island encountering many hairpin bends, excellent ice cream and one parking ticket.  Managed to get help from a local on the last and escaped with only a 4 euro penalty.  We rounded off the afternoon with a trip up a mountain.  Elsie pointed out a little side road which seemed to be signposted to a higher mountain 20 km away.  Surely a mistake.  No.  There really was this incredible narrow, steep, windy road along the spine of the island.  Poor little Renault had to climb about 2000 ft in 1^st gear and the road was shutting for the night in 30 minutes so it was an ‘interesting’ journey.  Give Elsie her due, she only actually screamed once.

We had been studying route winds since arrival.  The previous Tuesday would have been ideal for our next leg down to Lanzarote, but would have meant missing the Madeira tourist bit.  Saturday looked, albeit with a slow start pretty good but we needed to make some ground to the East to get the best wind so, on Friday afternoon, we motored back to our initial anchorage, needing only 2 hours for the journey this time.

Sun setting over Madeira

We had to motor out of the anchorage on Saturday morning but within an hour had just enough wind on the beam to give us 3 knots.  It slowly built and, by 20:00 we had a F4 giving us 6-7 knots with one reef in for the night watches.  We had had full moon on the way to Madeira but, 2 weeks having passed, it was now proper dark – another new experience for Elsie who, though apprehensive at first, soon found the pleasure of a real night watch (in fair weather with the wind on the beam!).  Our plan of heading north of track worked well and we managed to keep the wind near the beam all the way down.  Once again we kept 6 hour watches and with growing confidence (and better weather) Elsie didn’t need to wake me at all while I was off-watch.  She managed to eat and I managed to sleep so we arrived in great shape 51 hours later at La Graciosa, the most northerly of the inhabited Canary Islands.  There is an anchorage in the sound between this and Lanzarote, which we had visited before both on Fumeke, a chartered Dufour 34 and as guests on Velvet Lady, an Oyster 55.  Previous visits had been in February and we had had the bay to ourselves.  This time, there were about 12 others, but finding a space presented no problem and we settled down for a couple of days of idleness. 

On Thursday 12^th, we managed to shake off our torpor and repeated a voyage first made on Fumeke, down the west of Lanzarote nearly 4 years earlier.  Back then, it had seemed like a huge undertaking – nearly 40 miles with no intermediate safe haven (not helped by my trapping, and breaking, a finger in the sprayhood.  Strapping with duct tape showed, once again how essential this stuff is).  Now, it was much less daunting, though perhaps we should have stirred ourselves a little rather than having a leisurely breakfast and only just managing to get the anchor up before 10.  We might then not have had to motor for an hour when the following wind dropped to F3 and our speed of less than 3 knots meant that we might run out of daylight.  Fortunately the wind increased and veered more to the beam so we had a good reach down and beat up to marina Rubicon on the southern coast.  Strong winds were forecast for the next 2 nights, so we planned a 36 hour stay. 

To entertain myself on Friday, I decided to check out the plumbing on the head (loo) before we had another blockage.  Oh dear.  Over the years, the 38mm outlet pipe had become encrusted with sea salt and was now less than 10mm for most of its 5 metre length.  Plus 3 valves.

Salt encrusted diverter valve

Most of this was inside a small locker inside an already small compartment.  It turned out to be a 3 day job to obtain, adapt and fit all the parts.  The marina is pleasant and we had no pressing engagements, so it could have been worse.  We stayed local for the rest of the week, day sailing and anchoring just outside the marina, as I had booked the boatyard to do a check on our standing rigging, replaced 4 months and several thousand miles ago.  It transpired that no adjustment was necessary but better to be sure.  Day trips included a circumnavigation of Ilsa de Lobos; one where we just zoomed out to the west and back, covering 34 miles in less than 5 hours and one where we tried hoisting our old genoa in the spare headsail track to give us twin headsails for a downwind passage.  Several hours were usefully spent experimenting with various sheeting and furling strategies and we are (reasonably) convinced that this is the way to go downwind in the Trades.

The following Saturday, we sailed the ten miles up the coast to Porto Calero marina, where Ruby was to spend the next week as it was time for my 2 monthly trip back to Scotland for medical checks.  Elsie spent the week doing her Day Skipper practical course.  Passing this means that, on paper at least, she is more highly qualified than I am to sail Ruby.  I wonder if she will still let me take a turn at being in charge?

Monthly Stats:

531 miles logged

506 miles across the ground.

October 2015

In which we spend a lot of time in Portugal; learn the truth of the saying: never try to sail to a deadline but finally make it to Madeira.

October started with Ruby in Leixoes marina, Oporto, Elsie aboard and Lionel back in Scotland for routine medical checks, returning on Friday 2^nd.  Our next appointment was in Lisbon on the 13^th to collect son Zac from the airport and then sail across to Madeira.

Port barges in Porto

This part of the Portuguese coast is basically a long beach, with very few harbours and even fewer that can be entered in any weather, so timing one’s passage down is fairly critical.  Saturday was light winds and we could have motored 30 miles down to Aviero.  Strong winds were, however, forecast for the following few days and we would have been stuck inside as the entrance would have been dangerous. So we stayed in Leixoes, with a big day out on Saturday doing touristy things in Porto, including a tour round a port winery (very tasty) and our first meal out since we departed Ireland.  We then just basically lurked, waiting on weather.  Sunday and Monday it blew up a Southerly gale.  We were comfortable enough in the marina but our berth was opposite a corner of the harbour and at high tides waves broke over the wall, carrying all the flotsam that had blown there so the pontoon and Ruby were covered in detritus.  A mistimed mooring adjustment meant that I, too, got a bucketful of garbage emptied over me, much to Elsie’s amusement.  On Tuesday, the wind had subsided but there was still a huge southerly swell, so we waited one more day.

Wednesday 7^th we finally departed.   We reckoned that Aviero would still be too dangerous to enter so headed for Figuera da Foz, a further 35 miles south.  Unfortunately the wind was now too light and, to make a daylight arrival, we had to motor most of the first 40 miles.  The wind then increased to a N’ly 4 and we were able to run goose-winged, then broad reach.  With an hour of daylight and 3 miles to our destination, we were congratulating ourselves when we were called by the maritime police and informed that the harbour was closed.  It transpired that a 25 metre trawler had been caught by the swell at the harbour entrance the evening before and rolled over, with the loss of 4 fishermen and SAR operations were still in operation.  We had no option but to continue a further 35 miles down the coast to Nazare, the only all-weather harbour between Porto and Lisbon.  This was our first night-time arrival and, it being a strange port, Elsie was a trifle nervous but we found a convenient, if slightly rickety, pontoon and tied up without incident having travelled 101 miles since morning.

The Iberians are very keen fishermen.  This goes from anglers on the pier to open boats with handlines, creel fishers, long lines, drift nets and trawlers.  All down the coast we had to watch for floats, some marked with flags, others with just bare sticks and never knowing what they marked.  Having heard of one unfortunate yachtsman who had had his stern drive destroyed when he picked up a steel wire we were very keen to avoid them.  Difficult by day and almost impossible by night.  On this leg, we saw a large (to us) fishing boat pass down our port side shooting his net.  He did a 180 turn and overtook us to starboard, still shooting.  We did wonder whether he was the big brother of the ring netter that we had annoyed a few weeks earlier but he didn’t actually attack us.  We reckoned, however, that his net must have been over 10 miles long.  Not fun to be caught up in.

It was light airs again on Thursday morning, but we only had a little hop down to Peniche so waited until the afternoon and had a fine broad reach down in N’ly 3-4, tying up opposite the border control’s launch, which made formalities easy.  A pleasant little town with a good supermarket and a convenient shop for morning bread. 

Elsie watching the sun go down.  It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it.

We had 50+ miles to our next port, Cascais, which presented a small dilemma on Friday.  Light airs in the morning meant motoring again, but the harbour is open to the south, whence strong winds were forecast later, promising an uncomfortable night if we stayed.  So out we went, heading well offshore to take advantage of the SW’ly forecast for the afternoon which would give us a broad reach in.  Unfortunately the wind, when it came was from the south-east giving us a beat home.   My disgruntlement at this was turned into a full grump on entry: for the first time ever, they required a photo copy of our insurance certificate.  Unfortunately the only available copier didn’t work and the half hour delay meant we didn’t get to our, very tight, berth until sunset.  Saturday, strong winds kept us in Cascais, which meant that we had to find a pub to watch the rugby.  2 very good matches with Scotland edging it over Samoa and Wales making a good showing against Australia.  As by this time we were slightly tired and emotional we didn’t stay for the 3^rd match, England having their predictable, but far too late, trouncing of Uruguay.

We elected to stay in Cascais for Sunday as well, having a nice walk along the shore to Cabo Raso.  Catching a bus back left us in the centre of town which dropped us at our new favourite supermarket, Pingo Doce, so we stocked up with a few goodies on our way back to the boat.  A late start on Monday enabled me to find a repairer for the bottom of the dinghy, ripped a few weeks back in Combarro.  It was collected from, and delivered back to us in Expo marina.  I suspect that, judging from the repairers grin, that I paid over the odds for the service, but it was worth it to have a fully serviceable tender again.  We sailed up the Douro, taking advantage of the flood tide and waving to the Oriana, which was just departing, on the way.  Our choice of destination, a marina at the site of the 1998 trade fair was convenient for the airport and busses to the centre of Lisbon. We took advantage of this on Tuesday by having a morning trip to the centre for a bit of sight-seeing before a mega shop for en-route provisions then collecting Zac from Airport.

We can carry 160 litres of fuel, enough for about 300 miles so, with 500 odd to go to Madiera, wanted to have full fuel on departure.  We hadn’t topped up since A Coruna so needed about 110 litres.  Not a problem: Expo marina had fuel; turned out to be out of operation.  So we set off on Wednesday, heading for a settling in sail to Sesimbra needing to stop at another marina near the mouth of the Douro which has fuel.  Unfortunately they had run out of berths and there was an unattended yacht at the fuel station so it was back to our unfavourite marina at Cascais.  There was flat calm on Thursday, so we stayed put.  Our best departure seemed to be at midday on Friday, heading well west to avoid a storm due to hit the coast on Saturday, so Thursday was R&R in Cascais.  On Friday, Elsie was uncomfortable with this plan and we decided to wait ‘til after the storm had passed.  Looking more deeply into the forecast on Saturday proved her to be correct in that while we might have made rapid progress, it would have been far from comfortable with winds averaging F5-6.  In fact the Saturday morning storm lasted all day, by which time it was too late to leave and make Madeira in time for Zac’s flight home.  Oh dear! Since his flight home from Madeira passed through Lisbon, I was able to re-book.  By the strange logic of airlines, it cost me about 50% of the original fare for him not to use his seat on a flight, which they could then re-sell.

We were provided with entertainment by a large tanker, which lost its anchor in the storm and drifted towards the marina, going aground only a hundred feet away from the breakwater.  It was fairly nerve wracking watching it approach as I am fairly sure that if it had hit the wall, it would have destroyed it, leaving us to the mercy of a force 10 onshore wind.  Having bounced along the bottom at the next high water, it managed to stabilise itself with its second anchor and a couple of harbour tugs and was successfully re-floated the following day.

Tanker drifts towards Cascais

We were now left with entertaining ourselves for the following 5 days, which we achieved by sailing back to Peniche on Sunday, having a good walk and lunch ashore on Monday, back to Cascais (anchoring off this time), up to the centre of Lisbon on Wednesday and doing the tourist walk along to Belem (Navigator’s monument, Belem tower and modern art gallery) on Thursday.  Early start on Friday to take Zac back to the airport. I’m sure he could have managed to get there and check in himself, but it seemed the least I could do after the disappointment of not making the crossing.

Navigators' monument, Lisbon

Friday afternoon, we motored back to Cascais (again!).  The forecast suggested that it was going to be light airs for the next few days, so we intended to meander down the coast and hang around Lagos until a suitable window arose for us to make our passage to Madeira.

Weather check again Saturday morning gave light, but usable winds and, if we went sufficiently far west, we should catch stronger northerlies to speed us on our way.  We had 7/8 fuel; 7/8 water and enough food for 5 days.  Decision?  Decision!

At 1130 on 24^th, we heaved up anchor and headed WSW.  At Elsie’s suggestion, we set 6 hour watches, with her keeping the 12-6.  Although this would give her the deep night hours, there was a full moon, it would not be totally dark.  For the first 16 hours we were on a dead run goose-winging main and, initially, chute then genoa before an ENE’ly 3-4.  When it was F4, it was fine as the sails were full but as soon as it dropped below 10 knots, the rolling would back the sails and they would slap.  Tried to overcome this, but I think the only answer is don’t run; reach.  Fortunately, the next morning the wind backed sufficiently for us to broad reach.  Unfortunately, 8 hours later it dropped and we had to motor to make more than 3 knots, which I had determined was our minimum passage speed.  This was not good news as, although our fuel tank was nearly full, we only had sufficient to motor for half the distance and we were anticipating light winds approaching our destination. Running out with 50 miles to go in a flat calm would not be fun!  Approaching midnight on the 27^th, the wind backed again to NW and, although it was only about 7 knots it was on the beam and we could again sail at 5-6 knots.  The wind continued to back and increase and by 0500 we had 2 reefs in close hauled steering 240.  By mid-day, with gusts to 20 knots we had 3 reefs in for the start of Elsie’s watch. An hour later, with it still increasing, we put away the genoa completely and she motored slowly on track with the wind fine on the starboard bow, while I went back down to doze.  After a further hour, I was woken by a violent slam and a frantic Elsie.  The wind had suddenly veered 45 degrees and increased to 35 knots, a full gale.  We brought Ruby round to put the wind back on the bow and throttled back to just give steerage way and the motion, while not comfortable, was bearable.  The rain increased to a steady downpour and there were all the indications of an approaching warm front.  This was not on our forecasts (neither was the wind); we were expecting to be well south of any significant weather.  After 40 minutes, the wind started to ease and we tried a conventional heave to (OK) then, by tiny increments, we put out the genoa to resume sailing on track with 20knots on the beam.

Having had such strong weather with the warm front, we were very apprehensive about its inevitable brother, the cold front.  As I came on watch at 1800, I could see a clearance coming and braced.  It turned out to be a total non-event and we continued on a beam reach with a NNW’ly F4.  Elsie was, naturally, rather cautious of her afternoon’s experience and insisted on 3 reefs before I turned in at midnight but we continued to make progress.  Favourable winds continued through Tuesday and we could now be sure that, come what may, we had sufficient fuel to motor to our destination.  This was good as, come midnight, it dropped and we were now alternating motoring and sailing.  A beautiful sunrise on Wednesday was made even better by the peaks of Santo Porto on the horizon and a pod of small dolphins coming to play.  We arrived at 1300 having taken 97 hours to cover 534 miles by log; 504 over the ground, with only ¼ tank of fuel used.  We slept very soundly that night.   

Bureaucracy in Portugal reminds me of India.  Every time we check in to a marina there are long forms to be completed, photo-copies to be made, invoices typed and reports filed.  In Porto Santo, this took 3 staff 20 minutes.  I then had to report to the GNR (government authority) who took another 10 minutes to complete his necessities. (And required me to report to him again before departure).  This compares to U.K., Ireland or France where, provided you tie up in a reasonable fashion and pay your money, little else is required. I try to just sit back, relax and think of the beer I will have once all is secure and tidy.  The only time that I have lost it(so far) was at Cascais, where they insisted on having a photocopy of our insurance before letting us berth, but had no working copier.  We spent 30 minutes, with nothing happening apart from the sun setting.  2 other instances of 'jobsworth attitude here mean that it is our least favourite marina.  Shame that it is so conveniently located.

The next couple of days were spent in drying out and cleaning the boat, a little maintenance and a little touristing round the Island.

Stats for the month
905 miles by log
833 miles over ground

September 2015

Inwhich we dawdle round the Galician Rias

Sepember did not start well.  You may recall that we ended August moored to the wall at Luarca.  The pilot book warned that this berth would be uncomfortable in strong northerly weather.  As the winds were light, we assumed that this did not apply.  Wrong!  The Northerly swell came round the corner of the harbour wall and made us rock, roll and surge through the night, keeping us awake and putting more strain on the moorings than we would like.  So, up before dawn, ready to let go at first light.  A helpful angler threw off our shore lines for us, which meant that I didn’t have to dinghy ashore for that but, as this was an unexpected bonus, we still had to secure Rubette and put away long mooring lines before getting out to sea.  Once clear, the day went well.  Finally, the winds we experienced matched those forecast and we had a cracking broad reach in a NE’ly F4 50 miles along the coast to Viveiro, anchoring in a wide bay with just a few other yachts for company. Amongst these was one we had spotted on AIS a few times over the last week or so and we were finally able to identify.

Dinghy ashore in the morning for bread, this time using the outboard, as we had to go about a mile up river to the marina.  Disappointed at lack of suitable landing spots (security gates on pontoons and no clear place to get help re-entering) Elsie had to climb up a ladder to get ashore.  Fortunately, it was near high water so only a 2 meter climb.  After purchasing bread (and E30 worth of other groceries – how do we always manage that?) the tide had dropped another meter.  No way was Elsie going down that ladder!  So I kindly motored to far end of marina and held Rubette against a slipway while Elsie boarded.  Up anchor just before mid-day and another great downwind run to Cediera.  39 miles in 5 ¾ hours from anchor up to anchor down.  Easy to cover the miles in these conditions.  Another nice anchorage, though a little more closely packed.  We ended up close to our companion of the previous night and managed a wave.  At this rate, we’ll be close friends in a week or so.

Internet was called for, and I was down to my last clean polo shirt so, on Thursday, 28 miles round the coast to A Coruna and a berth at Real Club Nautico Coruna.  Not as formal as it indicates in the pilot book as one is permitted to complete mooring without a tie.  I had been here in my Merchant Navy days but had forgotten how beautiful the town is.  The old town is still intact, with narrow cobbled streets lined with houses, each with glazed balconies.  The main shopping street even has a distinctive character, even if Kentucky Fried Chicken snuggles next to Burger King. Other facilities were a little disappointing: no internet.  “Some days it works; some days it doesn’t.”  Laundry had 2 domestic washers and one drier, all with very long cycles.  Just as Elsie was ready with first load for drying, a German managed to get his towels in first and set the drier for 2 ½ hours.  But the worst was the movement.  The Marina is sheltered from swell, but is open to the main harbour and fishing boats proceed past at full speed, creating huge wash, which jerks the yachts and pontoons around very nastily.  This made for very broken sleep, so at least Elsie was up, bright and early, to finish off the drying!

Glazed balconies in A corunna.

Friday, walk to chandlers, for bits and bobs, and supermarket, then a long stroll in the afternoon before re-fuelling then motoring across the bay to Ensenada de Mera for a comfortable anchorage with nice views of million Euro holiday homes.  And the best bit: it’s free!

Early-ish start on Saturday, as we had a reasonable distance to go and the wind was forecast to die.  In fact, it built through the day, starting NE’ly 3 and finishing F6. Great sailing!  45 miles covered and anchored in the prime spot off Corme by 1530 for a little siesta, then dinghy ashore for a walk round a very pretty town, back for sun-downers in the cockpit before dinner.  This became a pattern over the next few days:  24 miles in NE’ly F4 to Camarinas on Sunday and 28 to Sardiniero on Monday, albeit having to motor the last 10 as the wind died.  This brought us round Cabo Finisterre, thus fulfilling an insurance requirement to be clear of Biscay before the 15^th. 

Cape Finisterre, in brilliant sunshine.

As we approached the town of Finisterre, a huge fleet of passenger and fishing boats emerged, with a saint’s statue in the lead boat, for a trip round the bay.  As they returned to the port, there were sounds of firecrackers. (At least I hope so, and they weren’t shooting the last of the Moors). Sardiniero proved to be another picturesque holiday village with the added attraction of every (traditional) house having in its back yard a stone out-building mounted on staddle stones.  The ventilation holes looked too large to make good grain stores, they had no access for hens and all had stone crosses at the gables.  

My suggestion that they were where the spare nuns were kept in case of emergency was dismissed by Elsie (we later discovered that they were grain stores, but I’m not sure how rain would not be driven in by autumn winds)

From Sardiniero we sailed the 6 miles round to Corcubion, encountering a seasonable fog bank on the way.  A town with no great charm, but firmly on the route of the pilgrims on the Santiago circuit.  Forecast of complete calm on the 9^th led us to spend a lazy day at anchor, bobbing in the pleasant breeze – grrr.  The 10^th saw us sail round to the next Ria, Muros & Noia and an anchorage at San Francisco bay.  By now we were running short of water, so motored round to Muros in the morning, managing to upset the marina manager by firstly parking on a dirty pontoon and then wanting water when only paying for a day visit (you have 3 hours!).  One can understand that marinas have to turn a profit, but our preferred cruising style of anchoring when possible and only using marinas for port of refuge, does not work well on this coast.  There are no pontoons without security gates, which makes dinghy access problematical and with our adoption of the continental ‘bread and’ breakfast and lunch, requiring daily visits to the bakers, this became an irritation. 

As it was forecast to be light airs for the next 2 days and we had time to kill we continued past Portosin and Freixo to anchor off a holiday beach.  The pilot book suggested that this might be tricky and we took it slowly but there proved to be plenty of water.  The book warned that the river up to Noia was badly silted but we planned to go up by dinghy in the morning.  The silting was even worse than we expected and, at low water, we could not make it, so had to leave Rubette at a, fortunately unlocked, pontoon at a harbour a mile or so away. (But 2 miles on foot).  Much larger town than we were expecting, with an attractive centre.  On return to the dinghy, were given hard stares by the locals.  From here, motored down to anchor in the lee of Portosin which gave good shelter from S’ly F6 overnight.  Dinghy in on Sunday morning, for our daily bread, to find a classic car rally in progress.  Nothing exceptional but Elsie loved the SEAT versions of the 500 and was able to sneer at a badly restored Capri.  I saw a Panther Kalista, a car I had drooled over as a young man, for the first time in the flesh.  What was more amusing was the number of models which we had either owned, or remembered from new.  We must be getting old.  Returned to Rubette to be told, by the “welcoming and helpful” staff of the yacht club that it was not permitted to land at their slipway.  By this time it was too late to make the voyage round to the next Ria, so just sailed back to San Francisco bay. 

Very strong winds were forecast for Tuesday so an early start to make sure that we made it round to Ria de Arousa in good time.  As it transpired, winds were kinder than expected on the way round and we made it to Cabo de Cruz by 1600.  Very helpful mariniero assisted with mooring, unlocked the laundry (E2.00 per load) and even gave us a lift to the supermercado.   Winds on Tuesday proved to be every bit as vile as forecast, with accompanying heavy rain.  While the washing machine had proved efficient, the drier was anything but and the bulk of the day I was kept entertained bustling back and forth on, sometimes wildly bucking, pontoons to progress the laundry. The wind abated on Wednesday afternoon and we nipped out and across the bay to anchor off Pobra do Carominal.  Very sheltered, with the bonus of 2 supermarkets on the seafront, rather than the usual dozen cafes, so we knew where to get our bread in the morning.  What we did not know was that this was a prime shellfish area.  As low tide approached on Thursday morning, the shore was filled with cockle harvesters in waders raking the sea bed.  And between us and them a dozen boats anchored with free divers harvesting scallops.  We managed to weave our way between them in the dinghy and stocked up on essentials of bread, wine and beer then heaved up anchor to go for a little sail across to Vilagarcia.  This is only about 8 miles in a straight line but there was a pleasant breeze so we headed up between the mussel farms to Rianxo bay for a look-see.  A nice, sheltered area that would be ideal for dinghy racing but we were only able to get round as it was near high water.  There was a small motor-sailer pottering about.  Pottering until we passed then he started his engine to give us a race, still with full sails. Takes all sorts.  Into Vilagarcia, paying for marina for third night in 4 but we wanted to go on a tourist trip on Friday, which was forecast to be flat calm.

Ashore in the morning and train into Santiago de Compostela.  Managed to use the ticket machine to buy booked seat tickets back and forth, though this did mean that we had to catch a nominated train on return.  This turned out to be a good thing as, it being Friday, the afternoon trains were packed with students taking bags of washing home to mum.  Santiago is the resting place of St James the apostle and the end of a very popular pilgrimage so the cathedral was packed with those pilgrims, all queueing to touch the cape of his statue behind the altar.  Beautiful cathedral and beautiful city.  We are a bit slow on the uptake but managed to work out the tapas bar system.  Order a couple of beers and plates of the house snack are included.  Perfectly acceptable lunch for less than 2 Euros a head.  You just need to do a bit of browsing to distinguish the bar that is serving calamari and Spanish omelette, as today’s was, rather than the beans with tripe we had on our first attempt.

Back to the boat at 4 with a dilemma. Do we wait for half an hour, for supermarkets to reopen after siesta to get fresh veg for supper, or leave immediately?  Unforecast sailing breeze sprang up so, with the prospect of tinned beans for supper, we went out and had a short but pleasant sail back to our anchorage with supermarket views.  No shell fishers to get in the way of our shopping trip the next morning so, that accomplished, headed out for a slow sail down to the next Ria, Pontavedra.  Nice little anchorage just inside, off Porto Novo.  Once the day trippers had left we had this to ourselves for a quiet night.  Sunday, we had no particular place to go so had the slowest sail ever, 6 miles in 5 hours, to the head of the Ria and Cambaro.  This is an ancient fishing village and tourist trap.  Very pretty but we don’t deal well with crowds and, it being Sunday afternoon, it was packed.  Dinghy-ing back, we found water in Rubette.  It was a bit splashy, so we assumed that we had taken it over the side. 

Next morning, on the bread run, we discovered that we had, in fact, managed to haul Rubette over a sharp rock and put a slice in the bottom.  Out with the repair kit, to discover that the glue had solidified, so a temporary duct tape repair effected.   The plan for the day was to pop into the, little, Ria de Aldan but, with the northerly wind stronger than forecast, we couldn’t find anywhere suitable so carried on to Ria de Vigo.  Our first attempt, just inside Cabo del Horne (no, not that one) proved uncomfortable so we popped round the corner and found a spot in the middle of 3 small bays.  The other 2 already had yachts in and ‘ours’ only a small fishing boat which we were sure would soon disappear.  What we didn’t realise was that he was just starting to shoot a ring net.  To be fair, he only glared at us as he passed 10 ft from our bow, but I don’t think that my apologetic wave sufficed.

We were still ‘killing time’, as I had flights booked back from Porto on Monday 28^th and we didn’t want to arrive too soon.  The weather forecast was for very light winds in the few days leading up to this so the worst that could happen was that we would have to motor the 60 odd miles down the coast.  Wasn’t it?  So, on the 22^nd, we headed up the Ria de Vigo, dodging homicidal ferries to the shallow lagoon of San Simon.  This didn’t look that inviting on the way up but turned out to be remarkably scenic for somewhere as close to a major city.

Another quiet night at anchor and another dinghy ashore in the morning hunting for bread before heading back down the Ria in light airs which, totally unforecast, changed instantly to a N’ly F5.  We now had a dilemma.  This was probably the last sailing wind for a week, and we still had 70 miles to go to Porto.  Do we go for the first leg of 35 miles, probably arriving at an unknown port after sunset or stay put?  We opted for the latter plan as we didn’t want to arrive too soon and what could possibly go wrong?  So, up to the head of the bay where we had upset the fisherman two nights earlier, to a sheltered anchorage next to a nudist beach.  We anchored what we thought was a polite distance off and were amused by the later arrivals who all anchored within feet of the bouys marking the bathing area.  Purely to get the best shelter I’m sure.

Thursday 24^th we planned to be our last day in the Rias.  There are islands to visit, but they are nature reserves requiring prior permission and, by the time we realised this we were too late.  Never mind, I’m sure that we will return.  Instead, we went a little offshore and made use of what wind there was to go round three sides of a square down to Panxon.  This is another very pleasant little town with an ancient baroque church that turns out to have been built in the 1930s.  We could not anchor where planned, as mooring bouys fill the good spot and, with a change of wind that night ended up rolling quite badly, resulting in not much sleep.

Friday, we bit the bullet and started once again down the coast.  It was motor; sail; motor; sail all the way as the wind grew or died.  Eventually, with about 5 miles to go to Viana do Castello, we put the sails away and re-started the engine to be engulfed by clouds of white smoke from the exhaust.  Almost simultaneously the fog, which had been lurking offshore, descended on us.  There was no available anchorage so we just had to proceed slowly, with visibility sometimes down to tens of meters into a strange port with a sick engine.  Weekend coming up, still 35 miles to go to Porto and the harbour crammed, mostly with a gaggle of Swedish yachts heading South.  The marina staff did manage to find an engineer for us on Saturday and, while his explanation of the problem and how he solved it seemed a little far-fetched, the proof was that running the engine for 20 minutes under load produced no smoke.  By now it was too late to continue down the coast so had a pleasant stroll round the town.  Some beautiful architecture with ceramic tiles coating the facades of many buildings, but much of it in poor repair.  We later discovered that the Swedes had a torrid trip down in very thick fog, so didn’t miss much by our enforced stay.

Sunday, it was motoring all the way down the coast to Porto in light airs and poor visibility.  Not a great joy, but needs must.  Into Leixoes (apparently pronounced ‘layshoinsh’).  Not the most picturesque of places but handy for the airport.  Lionel to fly home for health checks etc. leaving Ruby in the care of Elsie.  

Stats for the month:
462 miles by log
422 miles over ground

August 2015

We head off on our big adventure.

We got back to Ruby on the evening of the 8^th to find that Michael had fitted the new battery charger and cockpit speakers and that James had received and passed on our deliveries of new charts, flags etc. ordered over the internet.  We had hardly settled on board when James appeared and invited us to join his family and a couple from another visiting yacht for a trip across to Cobh for a drink and dinner.  Even though it involved travelling in a RIB (something she normally hates) Elsie agreed and we had a great evening.

The following morning, James gave us a lift for provisioning and waited patiently while we did a week’s shopping in an unfamiliar supermarket. This is service.  If anyone deserves to succeed, it is this man who is battling beaurocracy to build a great facility for visiting yachts.

*VISIT MONKSTOWN MARINA*   

Out on Saturday afternoon motoring, then sailing, back round to Sandy Cove to get sea-legs back and be in a good position for our crossing to France.  Just for exercise, we practiced ‘tight spot’ mooring, by laying our second anchor so that, if the wind changed, we would stay in a very small radius.  Worked well.

Now for the big one.  We had done the delivery trip up from Shotley to Inverness, with a full crew; we had done an overnighter, from Orkney to Lewis, with just the two of us.  But we had never done an extended, two-handed, voyage.  The plan was to cross directly from southern Ireland to the north-west corner of France, by-passing the Scilly Isles and their traffic separation schemes.  The weather forecast was almost perfect, with moderate winds behind the beam all the way.  Sure, it was going to be cold and raining much of the time but good clothing copes with that much more easily than ‘the wrong sort of wind’. 

Anchors up at 0850 and, at 0900 sharp, set full sail for France.  We had discussed watches and the one that Elsie definitely didn’t want was the 12 – 4 night watch so we agreed a 4 on; 4 off pattern with me getting that one.  The wind wasn’t quite as kind as forecast, turning out to be SSW’ly for the first 24 hours, making us close-hauled to miss the busy area off Scilly.  It then died for a few hours on the second night, forcing us to motor for a while to make favourable currents for our arrival.  Our shake-down on the Saturday also proved insufficient as Elsie got a bad bout of Mal-du- Mer and was unable to eat.  Worrying about this caused me to be unable to sleep.  She could sleep and I could eat so, I suppose, we made one good sailor!

We timed our arrival off Ushant for the start of my watch.  This is a busy area, with all of northern Europe’s shipping from across Biscay passing through a separation scheme.  Although we were keeping clear of this, we still had to cross the traffic, which, in a sailing yacht is a bit like crossing a motorway with a pony and trap.  I was prepared to motor but, with 12 knots of wind on the beam and lighter than usual traffic we sailed across, no problem, with only one avoiding manoeuvre required, to give a super tanker a comfortable passing distance.  It transpired that Elsie got the problem bit on her watch, with a fishing fleet inside the TSS making seemingly random manoeuvres to get in her way.  We entered the Rade du Brest at 1100 and with a heading wind, motored the last 10 miles to the Moulin Blanc marina, tying up at 12:45.  311 miles logged, 280 achieved across the ground in 50.75 hours.  Not bad at all, for a first attempt!

We had chosen this marina, rather than our initial choice of Camaret, at the entrance to the Rade, partly because it would give better shelter in the forecast strong NE’ly but also because it was supposed to offer good engineering facilities.  On the crossing, Elsie spotted that our VHF antenna had fallen off and was swinging wildly on the end of its lead.  This was my fault, as I had re-attached it in Rhu, noting that the lock washer was a bit worn but trusting that it was sufficiently good.  Obviously not.  We needed a crane to lift an engineer to put the antenna back or, if the lead broke, to fit a new antenna and, possibly thread a new lead down the mast.  We had reckoned without the French practice of everyone taking their holidays in the first 2 weeks of August.  This makes the demand for services highest and their provision lowest.  No.  There was no-one in Brest who could help with this.  So it was out with the bosun’s chair and a trip to the top of the mast for me for the first, but probably not the last, time.  It transpired that the lead had suffered no visible damage; all the fittings were still there to be cleaned, re-used and super-glued in place.  All done in 20 minutes.  The forecast wind never materialised either, so all a bit of a waste of time, especially as there was no boulangerie  at the marina necessitating a long walk for fresh bread and croissants, an essential of life in France.

We stayed for 2 nights and set out again, after a leisurely start and a re-fuel.  The late start was dictated by the tides through the Raz du Sein.  This passage cuts 40 miles off the journey but has a fearsome reputation and we didn’t want to experience it with wind against tide.  We timed it nicely for slack water (despite conflicting advice from chart and pilot book).  Unfortunately, as we approached the narrows, the visibility dropped and dropped. 1 mile; ½ mile; ¼ mile.  Radar, plotter and AIS all working (together with back-up sat-nav on the phone), we proceeded with caution, making appropriate sound signals from our new fog horn.  This came as a shock to a yacht we were following, showing on our radar but without AIS, who on hearing our horn, scrambled for whistles and a vuvuzela to make a reply.  The wind failed to co-operate and, apart from a 10 minute experiment with sails, we motored all the way to Audierne, to be greeted by a very efficient attendant who directed us alongside a large Bavaria yacht who was there for the season.  Audierne is a very pleasant spot, with a nice balance of traditional fishing village and tourist necessities.  Forecast of strong winds kept us in for 2 nights though, once again, we could have coped with the actual weather with no problem.

We left Audierne at 0830 on the 15^th and at 0915 with a following F 2-3 set cruising chute and genoa wing-on wing for a run along the coast.  As we passed Ile de Groix, we encountered a yacht race, with contestants coming from both sides.  Being effectively on port tack and on a dead run, it was our duty to give way to all comers, which made for an ‘interesting’ 10 minutes which could have been eased by snuffing the ‘chute in advance.  Lesson learned.  We have a rule of thumb that if our water speed is less than 6 knots (except close hauled) we have insufficient sail up; more than 8 knots and we have too much, though it is interesting how frequently our peak speed for the day is nearer 9 than 8.  This afternoon we were bowling along at 8-9 knots when a larger gust built taking us to 11.  Instant decision to snuff the chute and, instead, put up the stay sail.  This, with the genoa gave us a much more comfortable 7 – 8 knots.  We anchored in the Anse de Stole at Lomener, further out than we would have wished, because all the best area is covered in moorings.  At first we rolled a bit in the swell but, as the wind veered to North. This quietened and we had a comfortable night.

Dinghy ashore in the morning for our daily bread, then light winds took us south to Belle Isle sometime under ‘chute, sometimes motoring.  There are many small inlets on the southern coast where, with local knowledge, one can anchor.  We opted for the safer option of the large bay at Port Herlin.  There is one smaller bay off this with room for about 3 yachts.  As we arrived there were 2 already there.  We dropped sail and headed towards it to see if there was room.  As we did so, a small French yacht under sail cut across us.  OK.  We will go for the big bay.  SFR tacked and chased us across, glared at us as we laid our anchor then pointedly sailed round us before heading off and spending another 20 minutes choosing a spot for himself. All done under sail, so presumably he was disgusted at our wham, bam, thank you ma’am method of dropping anchor, tidying up and breaking out the wine and nibbles.

 Monday was another day of light winds and we drifted slowly east.  Destination was Port Morin on the north west of the Isle of Normoutier.  This is a drying harbour but the pilot book suggested that there was sufficient depth just outside for us to anchor.  The chart disagreed, so we approached with caution and a careful check of present height of tide versus next low water.  Chart was correct.  We would still have 50cms beneath us but that is not enough where there may be a swell, so we headed back towards the outer bank and found a spot with another 1.5 meters.  Elsie was rather doubtful as the outer bank was submerged and, looking to the west, whence the current wind was blowing, the next bit of shelter was New York.  In fact, it was very calm and another comfortable night. 

In the morning, the tide being higher, we motored the mile or so back to the entrance and used the dinghy to fetch our daily bread then, once more under light airs, drifted down to the Port Joinville on the Ile de Yeu.  This is a famously picturesque harbour and, it being my birthday, we were looking forward to a quiet stroll and a nice meal ashore.  It turned out that every other yachtsman in the area had the same idea.  We were herded into the marina and warned that someone would be rafting up to us.  This turned out to be an understatement.  Every berth was rafted 4 deep and there were 6 yachts astern of us.  It was fortunate that we were not planning an early departure!  The waterfront was similarly crowded and the only restaurant we liked the look of was both packed and highly priced so it was back on board for my cooking again.

Sunset at Port Joinville

The wind was forecast to be calm in the morning but useable in the afternoon, so we had a leisurely start, watching the mass of boats untangle themselves and depart through the narrow harbour entrance where, for reasons that escape me, the ferries must arrive and depart at high speed.  Given the local penchant for entering and leaving port with full sail up, even if motoring, it was a good spectator sport.  We left at 11:45, before the day’s influx started and had a pleasant sail down the coast.  The plan was to anchor off the North East side if Ile du Re, but the wind was dying and to make it before nightfall, we would have had to motor 15 miles, so we turned to port and went into Bourgenay marina.  There was a local market in full swing, mostly the same tat that you would find anywhere, but a few interesting stalls.  I was at least able to replace the pair of sunglasses which had been mangled during a sail change the previous week.

Elsie Writes:

A new Perspective on Life

Well, here I am drifting towards another French island, sitting under the binimi (sunshade to you land lovers) and contemplating life. It’s Lionel’s birthday today, quite a significant birthday, so as a treat I’m taking him out for a meal tonight. It should be tuna steaks as the island we are being wafted towards is the French capital of tuna but since we bought two steaks earlier in the week and it took us two days to eat them, I don’t think so.

Back to my contemplation. A lot has happened in the last six months, a lot has happened since we bought Ruby almost two years ago. Some very good some very bad but no one can say life has been boring. We made the final decision to set sail into the sunset about two months ago after proving that we could live with each other in such a confined space and we could handle Ruby in most weather conditions. It is actually a very well balanced partnership. I am the cautious one, “what’s the weather going to be in three day’s time……., I think we should reef, NOW!!!!!” Lionel is the gung-ho one, “let’s go and do it……., the wind isn’t that bad” Believe it or not you need a little bit of both on a yacht. With my attitude we would have missed some of the most wonder close haul sailing imaginable and with his we would probably be dead or lying in a hospital bed….only kidding darling!!!

Anyway, after the decision was made Ruby needed work done to make HER ready for this epic journey. Lionel chose Rhu in Helensburgh for this to be done as it had good travel links to Aberdeen and everyone was there who we needed. So, with my heart in my mouth I watched Ruby being lifted ashore and put on stands. She looked so alien on dry land, out of her environment but the work had to be done. Lionel has already written about the joys and frustrations of boatyards. I kept well away as I have not got Lionel’s diplomacy or patience. Eventually we just took the hit and motored away. The idea was to go to Belfast to see the tall ships then cruise round the west coast of Ireland. At the end of July we were heading home to see everyone then back for a couple of weeks then back home to pack up. Complicated eh? The tall ships weekend was wonderful and I couldn’t get over the hospitality of the Irish. Everywhere we went we found nothing was too much trouble for them. The Irish put on a grand display and I am sure most spectators went home appreciating their hospitality. The west coast of Ireland is challenging sailing at the best of times. We met a crew in Port Rush who had turned back after Donegal. Their comment was there was no good restaurants or pubs after there, little did they know. On the Atlantic coast of Ireland, if the wind blows from the South it rains, if it blows from the North it doesn’t rain so much, or so it seemed to us. I think we sailed in most weather conditions, and even motored in a Force 8, where I kept on repeating to myself, “please let the wind stop” I was rather scared to say the least but challenges like that will make a man of me yet.

Now some phrases out of the pilot book and what they actually mean in Ireland.

Water on the pier – it’s been raining again

Some swell – tie yourself to the bed if you want any sleep

The entrance is challenging – don’t even try it in any sort of wind

I can safely say without fear of contradiction, that Ireland is a very wet place. We got stuck in Dingle for four days, parked beside a 100 foot super yacht which slightly dwarfed Ruby. The “crew” went round every morning adjusting the mooring lines. They used the “bow thruster” to do this, much to Lionel’s annoyance. Ruby sails like a dream in all weathers and at every point of sail but she is a bas…d to try to manoeuvre in a confined space. A bow thruster would make this so much easier. It’s on the wish list but like so many things we have to decide what is essential and what is just another toy. For the four days in Dingle it rained for three of them and blew a hoully for the other one but still the tourists came to see Fergie, the trained dolphin, and eat ice cream. The second day we went ashore for supplies and found an ironmongers who sold the size of camping gas we needed. There was two counters, the ironmongers and the bar, yes a bar serving drinks. It would have been rude not to have a pint so we bought our drinks and wandered into the back shop which had some comfy chairs and a TV showing the Open at St Andrews. That was a very pleasant afternoon, supping pints and watching some very good golf.

Once we got out if Dingle and set sail again the weather improved and we made good time and distance getting into the swing of this cruising malarkey. Going round the Fastnet Rock was a sober moment reminding us of the dangers of sailing. I listened to a documentary about that fateful race recently and some of the survivors were still choked up talking about it. Into Baltimore we went, mixing with the big boys now. This is one of the first land falls sailors use on their crossing from America. Some of these boats have serious kit on them – wind turbines, solar panels, wind steering and more sails than you can shake a stick at. That’ll be us some day……….maybe.

Lionel had booked airline tickets from Dublin to Aberdeen so we made a decision that we would stop in Cork and travel from there by bus to Dublin. Another thing no one explained to me before I set off on this adventure was that on an Atlantic coast all the big towns and cities are up rivers to get away from the wind and swell. Cork is seven miles up a river. There are two marinas on the way and a pontoon in the centre of the city. Lionel had arranged to leave Ruby at Monkstown Marina. The owner, James, seemed a very accommodating person and we were not wrong with that assumption. We had a night in hand so we decided to sail up to the city centre pontoon and see Cork. It is a beautiful city. The English market was very impressive with every type of fresh food available. Even the night life was entertaining. We managed to find a quiet local pub showing some football. Settling down to watch the match, the bar man asked us where we came from. The craic was good and he ended up telling us his life story. We noticed two of the locals seemed to have very weak bladders, running to the toilet every five minutes and they seemed to find every remark made by the barman hilarious. They left half an hour later and that just left us, the barman and a man/woman. Eventually he/she stood up and said his/her goodnights. At this point the barman started to laugh and explained that the two locals couldn’t finish their drinks for laughing at him/her. We just thought he /she was another local and took it in our stride that it was the usual Wednesday night custom in that particular bar. And we’re the country bumpkins!!!!

Next day we motored into Monkstown marina and met the most charming helpful Irish man yet, James. We arranged to leave Ruby there for two weeks and arranged for his friend to do some electrical work – cockpit speakers and a new charger for the batteries. Once again we got his life story, he worked in the oil industry in Scotland for a number of years so Lionel and he had a common bond. He was having many problems setting up the marina and he brought over the draft plan to show us. It looked wonderful but according to him The Government were not interested. It would be a shame if the area was not developed into a centre for sailing and James is the perfect person to do it.

Anyway, next morning we waved Ruby goodbye and got a lift, a bus, an aeroplane and another bus back home. The decision was made at Dublin airport that this was the last trip home and it was time to cast of and head for sunnier climes. It was costing too much to travel back and forward. So, the next two weeks were frantically spent in packing up, selling and arranging storage for all our worldly belongings. I think the local charity shops did very well. A shipping container was placed down at Plunkie (my family home). We packed everything that was left into a van and with a chorus of “My old man said follow the van” we headed to Fife, where we unpacked everything then packed it again into the container. Thank you Zak for being such a fantastic help over the last week on dry land and Davie and Jane for putting us up for our last night.

And that’s how I have ended up floating around the Bay of Biscay with no fixed abode, no car and no job. Have we done the right thing? Only time will tell. Are we enjoying ourselves? Oh yes. And anyway, I’ve worked out that at sea is the perfect place to commit a murder – “I don’t know what happened officer, I finished my watch at midnight, I said goodnight and when I came back up at 4am he was gone”!!!!!!!!!

The following 2 days had a good forecast and we decided to make a long hop down the coast.  It meant bypassing La Rochelle, Ruby’s home town but it seemed that if we didn’t take this opportunity we would be faced with several day’s motoring past fairly uninteresting coastline. So, a day-nighter.  Out at 10:00 into a promising ESE’ly wind.  The promise was unfulfilled and by 11:00 we were motoring and continued to do so until 17:30.  A light northerly then allowed us to sail, under main and chute, at 4 knots increasing to 6 by 2300.  Discretion made us substitute the genoa for the chute overnight and we were able to continue like that for a further 12 hours.  Again we kept 4 hour watches with me on the midnight to 4 watch.  Our rule of thumb for this leg was that if we could not keep a ground speed of 3 knots, we would motor and the late morning and early afternoon of the 21^st were spent alternately motoring and sailing as the wind died and revived.  We arrived off Capbreton at 15:30: low water.  Not good, as there was little room for error in a shallow and winding entrance.  We slowed down, so that at least we were on a rising tide and proceeded very gingerly, to the obvious irritation of a local fisherman who steamed past shouting ‘follow me’ (or I think that’s what he said) and showed me the way in. 

Capbreton is another touristy town. Alright, but it failed to capture us, apart from the fish market.  Each fishing boat has its own stall and you just know that this is as fresh as you can get.  We bought some bonito steaks and some oysters the next morning.  That done we set off for the short trip down to Socoa / Saint-Jean-Du-Luz, broad reaching under chute and main and so just turning the bottom corner of the bay of Biscay.  We anchored in the bay, close to Socoa, laying 2 anchors as the holding is reputedly questionable and the wind was forecast to increase to F5 overnight.  Dinghy’d ashore and were finally captivated.  Picturesque old town, lovely food shops, fine looking houses on the hill and pelota being played in an open stadium.  Best of all, Ruby lying to anchor in a sunlit bay. 

Hubris. The last thing I wrote that evening was: Oysters and fresh fish for supper, followed by a thunder and lightning show with a storm in the hills to the south.  Who could ask for more?

Nemesis. We normally bring the outboard engine back from the dinghy at the end of the day but, as I was going to pop ashore for bread in the morning, we decided to leave it in.  The wind was supposed to be no more than 18 knots so it should sit quite comfortably, especially as, with 2 anchors out, we should be ranging less than usual.  There was, in fact, a violent squall in the small hours.  Our schedule for the day was quite tight, as 40 knot winds were forecast for the following night and our chosen ‘safe haven’, Zumaia, has a shallow entrance and I wanted to be arriving with at least half tide.  With the squall in the night, I decided that there was likely to be a heavy swell and we should forego fresh bread and just head off.  As I was making coffee, prior to bringing the outboard, then the dinghy, on board, there was a wail from the cockpit:  “The dinghy’s gone”.  Elsie doesn’t joke about things like that and, sure enough, we were alone.  Picking up anchor took longer than usual as, of course, there was a second one to be pulled in by hand but we cracked on with it and 20 minutes later we were heading downwind and scouring the shore through binoculars, hoping against hope that Rubette had washed up somewhere safe.  Back and forth we went with only one possible sighting and that might be a rock or the remains of a wrecked dinghy.  This was serious.  Not only the cost of replacements, but the inconvenience meantime of having no way of getting ashore from an anchorage.  Our last option was to go into the small marina at St Jean, report the loss and hope that Rubette would be found or at least the police would give me sufficient paperwork to support an insurance claim.  Out with fenders and mooring lines and in we went.  Elsie set off along the shore, to check our possible sighting, while I tidied up and went to the marina office.  The attendant was sorry for my loss; if the dinghy should appear on the beach, he would be informed and, in turn, inform me.

Catharsis.  I had noticed some policiers municipale on my way up and located their office.  They took me outside and had a quick word with a man sweeping the quay.  The man turned to me.  A small boat?  Lost this morning?  That one, by any chance? And sure enough, there she was, tied to the back of the customs launch 10 metres away.  All was present and correct, and no-one seemed to want anything to do with the matter so we scolded her for her wayward behaviour, loaded her on board and left.

It was by now too late to even consider sailing round to Zumaia, if we were to arrive at half tide, 1500.  So it was a motor in light airs but heavy swell along the coast, ceremonially changing the courtesy ensign from French to Spanish as we crossed the border.  The entrance proved to be no problem and, indeed, the locals were coming home, in similar sized boats, right on low water.  In, fuelled and safely moored to sit out the storm.  Which never arrived.  Although the shelter was so good, it may have been bad outside and we just didn’t know.  As we had paid for 2 nights, we decided to make the best of our stay and do some shopping, laundry etc.  Easier said than done on a Sunday afternoon in Spain.  Twenty places to buy a beer; several to buy sweeties but fresh veg? Not a chance.  Enquiries at the tourist information suggested that the nearest laundrette was 10 miles away by bus.  In the morning, we asked at the marina.  No problem.  Laundry round the back.  3 Euros for washer; 2 for dryer.  I suggested that we might need more than one load, but he did not wish to understand, so we got out best deal yet: 5 euros for 10 days clothing and bedding.  Food shopping was also a success though not, alas, clothing (I’m not paying E110 for a pair of shorts) or Spanish sim for Elsie’s phone (couldn’t find one that wouldn’t expire in a month).  We also tried to stock up on culture, by visiting the local museum where there are pictures by Goya and El Greco, but it didn’t open that day so we did the nature walk instead.

Zumaia

Tuesday, round to Bilbao (which Elsie calls Bill Bailey – cue chorus of “won’t you come home Bilbao, won’t you come home?), some sailing; some motoring.  Our usual weather guide, Wind guru, was proving very unreliable on this coast,  as were the local forecasts.  It seemed to be ‘suck it and see’ with even land / sea breezes unpredictable.  There is a large sunken breakwater on the eastern approach to Bilbao.  The locals seemed to be happy to sail across it but near low water, and with a big swell, we went round the end and followed the charted traffic pattern to the southern end of the bay, to the apparent confusion of everyone else from yachts to fishermen and harbour tugs.  The published anchorage is filled with moorings but we managed to find a quiet spot to drop the hook.  Quiet until the party boat arrived, pumping out “Cheerleader” at 120 dBs.

Guggenheim, Bilbao.

Wednesday, culture day.  Dinghy ashore; metro to centre and to Guggenheim museum.  Building lives up to the hype and contents not bad either.  Cultured out by 3, we thought of doing a little shopping but as everywhere was shut until 4:30, metro’d back.  An unforecast breeze had sprung up and we decided to sail out to the next small harbour, Castro Urdales.  Did my bit for Anglo-French relations by arriving, picking my spot, dropping on the run and handbrake turning to a stop, without noticing a small yacht doing a run in from amongst the moorings to drop his anchor.  He gave us a dirty look, dropped his hook, realised it was misplaced, picked it up by hand and re-laid it.  Elsie suggested that I apologised but, as the French wine we had been given in Capbreton and we now opened turned out to be more useful as a varnish stripper, I remained aloof.

Thursday, to Santander in what was forecast to be NW’ly F3-4 but turned out to be light and variable. I could see lee wave clouds in the sky and conjectured that this was what was affecting the surface winds.  Early afternoon, motoring with full main up, for stability, I saw wind on the surface ahead and prepared to sail.  When it arrived, it turned out to be a SE’ly 6-7, presumably the lee wave hitting the surface.  Genoa away and 3 reefs in the main then motor closer to the coast to get a lee making about 5 knots.  Over a period of about 10 seconds, this decreased to less than one knot. Not good.  There had been no fishing floats and there was no sign of anything dragging but we must have caught something. We stopped and went astern. On resuming, we achieved normal speed so, whatever it was, it was no more.  Motored to Santander, anchored next to a tourist beach and got the SCUBA gear out to check the undersides, but nothing seen.  Re-positioned to a quieter anchorage for the night and, anticipating an early start, were turning in when Elsie muttered “cant he park any closer?” I looked out and, about 10 feet away was another yacht, facing the opposite direction.  “He’s not parked”, I said.  “So why is he swimming?”  And, sure enough, the owner was at the stern, pushing on the rudder.  I am still at a loss to understand this. He presumably had an engine.  There were certainly sails.  He had a dingy with oars, which would certainly have acted as a better tug than a swimming man and an anchor at the bow if it all became a bit much.  Strange folk, sailors.

An early start on Friday as between Santander and Gijon there was only one harbour that gave shelter from the, ever present, northerly swell and, with Spring tides, the anchorage was just too shallow for comfort.  So – a trip of 80 miles.  Up at 4; under way at 04:40 with a ground rule of motoring unless we could achieve a ground speed of 5 knots under sail. We had full main up, for stability and for a lot of the day had a following 5-7 knot wind, meaning zero apparent, so the sail was slapping from side to side.  Being fed up with this we put it away, commenting that we could expect no change in the wind until we did.  Sure enough, 30 minutes later, the wind picked up to 12 knots, so out with the Genoa on a dead run at 4 knots.  OK, breaking the ground rule of 5 knots or not at all but we only had 10 miles to go.  We could probably have got the extra knot with the cruising chute but we were both tired and, with our current run of luck, setting it would have either killed the wind or whistled up a gale.  The downside of the wind picking up was that it was blowing into our selected anchorage, so into the Marina.   Nice and comfy with the bonus that Elsie took the long way round the following morning looking for bread, so finding a clothes shop where I could buy a pair of shorts for E20.

Late start on Saturday as there was hardly any wind and we were just going 10 miles up the coast to Luanco where, we were promised by the pilot book, we could anchor inside the harbour.  Not so: chased out by marina staff who wanted us to pay for a berth.  Outside to a promising spot, only to be pipped to it by a motor cruiser.  He left at 7 so we nipped in and, once the wind had steadied for the night, were comfortable enough.

Light airs again on Sunday, but we managed 22 miles to Cudillero, albeit with a bit of motoring.  Moored to fore-and-aft bouys.  Bit of a struggle as the last occupant seemed to have tied the mooring ropes in knots, but ended up reasonably square, unlike a late arrival, who couldn’t seem to find a matching pair.  As he was mooring in a thunderstorm, our hearts bled so much, we even considered lending a hand, but there seemed no point in getting any wetter than we already were, having been ashore, stopped for an ice-cream and then got caught by the start of the storm.  A very pretty village, full of tourists but go 200 meters up the hill and the poverty shows through. 

 Cudillero

My turn for bread on Monday, walking through a 300 meter tunnel to get to the shops (shore area only supports bars, restaurants and souvenier shops).  Again light airs and after 20 miles tried a couple of anchorages but the, ever present, northerly swell made them untenable to headed into Luarca harbour for another variation on the mooring theme.   One puts a bow-line onto a bouy then runs a stern line to the harbour wall.  All a bit hard work for Elsie, who prefers the simplicity of dropping the anchor but, after about an hour of playing we managed to be secure with 2 lines at each end.

So we come to the end of August, having started our nomadic life and achieving 1091 miles by the log and 965 over the ground.  Since we know where we want to be at end of September, Oporto (aprox. 275 miles) and October, Funchal (aprox. 670 miles), we should be able to slow down a bit now and enjoy some of the scenery.