Winterising blues

It's always a bit of a sad time when you're wrapping the boat up for winter. We've been chipping away at all the wee jobs: varnishing, taking down and washing halyards, dinghy, canvas, servicing of outboard and inboard engines, etc., since we returned from Angra.
The weather hasn't been particularly cooperative, with brisk winds and frequent showers being the rule. Today, however, is lovely and we've used it to good effect. Good forecast for tomorrow as well, so it shouldn't be a problem to take care of the last few items on the list and still have a little time for relaxation before our early morning departure on Tuesday.
Then, it's back to Edinburgh to find jobs for the winter in order to replenish the coffers so that we can come back to the Azores in the spring and sail Fettler the rest of the way home.
It's been quite a trip so far. Many remarkable experiences, people and places encountered and the urge to roam satisfied for a little while, at least. Thanks for following along and keep an eye out for the continuing adventures of Fettler.

Running bull

We’re on our last little cruise of the season – a jaunt to Terceira, 90 miles from Sao Miguel. The marina at Angra do Heroismo where we are staying must be one of the most scenic marinas around. It’s right in the heart of Angra, a UNESCO World Heritage site that has served as the Portuguese capital on more than one occasion, overlooking a volcanic hill on one side and a beautiful Renaissance church (whose bells toll every quarter of an hour) on the other.

Terceira is the third island in the Azores that we’ve visited. It’s also the third largest -and the third one that was discovered by the Portuguese – hence the name. The island’s main claim to fame is its fighting bulls that are regularly run in the streets for sport and entertainment. The tradition, apparently, dates back to a memorable occasion some four centuries ago when a mass-release of bulls drove the invading Spaniards back into the sea, with much loss of life. We went to one such bull-running festival in a small village yesterday – what enjoyable madness.

It was quite a gala event, the main street through the village being blocked off for the occasion and all the householders along the road having boarded up their gates and fences to protect them from and keep out the maddened, rampaging bulls. There was a beer and a bifana (pork sandwich) in nearly every hand and pleasurable anticipation on every face lining the walls and balconies along the street, while the white-shirted, black-hatted bull handlers secured their long rope around the animal’s neck and prepared to release it from the box.

We arrived just in time for the first bull and hurried through the village, looking for a free spot on one of the stone walls along the thoroughfare. No sooner were we settled there than the mighty bang of a rocket announced the beginning of the fun.

We were around a bend in the road from the release site, so had to wait a short while for the action to reach us but it wasn’t long before the melting away of those still in the road announced the coming of the bull.

There were a small group of chief goaders, equipped with an umbrella or cape, who took turns tantalising the bull and directing the action back and forth from one end of the village to the other. In addition to these ‘official’, and rather skilled, operatives, there were others who would try their luck with the bull, shouting and stamping to draw its wrath before retreating hastily onto the nearest wall. A couple of times, these daredevils hopped up right next to us, with the bull charging up behind and once staring me right in the eye, clearly considering whether it would be worth the effort to jump the wall. He didn’t jump our wall but did, at one point, manage to break into one of the temporary food courts along the street.

The bull, for his part, looked alternately indignant and enraged. He would stand, pawing the ground, and look around to discover who might be responsible for this outrage. A willing volunteer would then present himself, shouting “Oi! Oi!” and waving his arms or umbrella. The bull would then charge, only to be led in circles behind his agile tormentor, who would sometimes grab ahold of the bull’s horn before spinning out of the way.

After nearly half an hour of this, the now exhausted and slavering bull was recaptured into his box and a new one prepared for release, following a short break for refreshments.

Following the retirement of the second bull, the young boys had their moment of glory with a similarly roped sheep running up and down the street and we slipped away amongst the hilarity, clutching our own beer and bifanas for the walk home.

Shorebound....

...But not for much longer.
Just a brief note to let you all know that we haven't dropped off the end of the earth, have been back in Scotland for the last couple of weeks and will be returning to P. Delgada and Fettler next week.
The evening before we departed, we invited several of our fellow sailors over for drinks. Around a dozen came on board (including one very cute ship's cat, who showed up spontaneously later on) and we found, as Fran and Dave had before us, that it was necessary to close the cockpit scuppers with that many people on board as the extra weight was causing it to fill with water!
The first, and most important, order of business when we arrived back home was to attend the wedding of some old and dear friends. It was small, but perfectly formed and one of the rare instances when the entire core of our old gang from university days manage to all gather together.
The event took place in beautiful Fort Augustus, on the banks of Loch Ness and, of course, on the route of the Caledonian Canal - definitely looking forward to the passage through there next year.
After the wedding, I stayed on a few days to help the groom get caught up on some hedge trimming, while Sonja travelled on to Berlin to visit her folks.
Back in Edinburgh, we've been busy unpacking and sorting out the stuff we brought back from the States with us, as well as the things that we packed away before going to the US three and a half years ago.
After four months living on the boat, it seems like a lot of stuff! In fact, shore-living has come as a bit of a shock after the simplicity of life at sea, leaving us both eager to get back out there. When we do get back, we hope to squeeze in a few more weeks of Azorean cruising, before bedding down the boat for winter.

Santa Maria cont'd....

Where was I...? Ah, yes, the excrement making contact with the fan.
Just the usual, really, when one dares to spend a few days in a less than totally protected anchorage - unforecast windshift to the one vulnerable direction. We were expecting a cold front to pass over, bring a bit of rain and then for things to settle down for a couple of days. Still, I had an ill-defined feeling of dread keeping me awake that night, which was fully justified when the wind shifted with some force to the northeast and started building the seas that would soon be rolling into our beautiful bay and giving us a good shaking.
We lay there awake the rest of the night, hoping things would settle down and thinking of the rocks nearby, onto which the wind was doing its best to force us. With the coming of the dawn, it was clear we really couldn't hold on and must evacuate.
Rather foolishly, we had left the dinghy trailing in the water and full of snorkeling gear, etc., so that had to be emptied out and put away under rigorously bouncing conditions. By this point, the depth alarm was going off as the tide receded and the waves built, so we first upped anchor and moved out to give a more comfortable margin.
The dinghy was a hassle, but we got it all stowed away without any drama and commenced preparations for departure.
All night, I had been wondering why the anchor chain was making such a din and had put it down to the rough conditions. It was, however, due to the fact that the chain hook had parted company with the snubber. Perhaps some lucky snorkeler will find it there in the bay...
Our initial thought, after clearing the bay, was to head straight for P. Delgada, but the seas were a mess, after the wind shift, and then the eyebolt that I had fitted to Nanette's quadrant (for attaching the control lines) snapped. I clung on grimly to the after deck while making an emergency repair and was soon projectile-seasick. That settled it. We freed off downwind and made for Vila do Porto, hoping to find refuge.
Vila do Porto, remember, is open only to the southeast and the winds had been west through noreast for a good few days. Nevertheless, a large southerly swell was emanating from somewhere between here and Antarctica and was pounding into the harbour mouth and bouncing all over the place inside. Still, it was at least possible to anchor safely inside, if not comfortably. We couldn't even be bothered to relaunch the dinghy under those conditions and passed the remainder of the day sleeping and reading and watching the dramatic arrival of another yacht (Danish-flagged). They first tried one wall, then the other, then a couple of spots with the anchor before they finally settled next to us.
Two of them, Ken and Tobias, joined us for drinks later in the evening. Ken and his wife are on a megatrip from Denmark to New Zealand and take various crew along for various bits (they've space for 8 aboard).
We couldn't leave without having a look at the island's interior, so we dinghied ashore the next morning and walked/hitched across to the beautiful village of Maia, where we bathed in the thrilling (good wave action) sea pool (see photo). The islanders were friendly and the beauty of the place amply compensated us for our anchorage woes.
A look at the forecast suggested that night would be the best time for the passage back to P. Delgada, so off we went, pulling out just before sunset. An astonishingly fine night's sail followed with fair winds speeding us over slight seas. In fact, we arrived quite a bit earlier than intended, which meant a 2-hour wait tied up to the odious fuel dock, before the marina office opened. The approach to P. Delgada was enlivened by the presence of quite a variety of shipping, including a Chillian Corvette (I had a laugh listening to them call up the harbour, only to be told to wait as the pilot was 'busy'), a container ship, a ferry, a square-rigged sailing vessel, tugboats and pilot vessels!
Now making preparations for our departure for Scotland on Thursday. Drop us a line, people! You know what we've been up to, so what about you? We'll write back, promise...

Santa Maria (Eulalia!)

Lovely little cruise to 'Sao Miguel's little sister', Santa Maria, but we're now slightly sleep-deprived.
It all started on Sunday, with a dawn departure from Ponta Delgada. Winds were light, so we had a smooth and relaxing motorsail the fifty-odd miles down. Curiously, given that there's plenty of EU money flowing into these islands, they don't appear to have heard of freedom of travel within the EU. I had to check out of Ponta Delgada before departure, then check in at Santa Maria, then check back in at Ponta Delgada when we returned. The process here in P. Delgada is reasonably streamlined, at least. In Vila do Porto, it was an entirely different matter. We arrived at around 1830 on Sunday evening and I was pleasantly surprised to find that the Policia Maritim officers drove down to meet me when I landed (dinghy tied up to a slimy, rusty ladder attached to a sea urchin-encrusted wall). Those two characters were great - friendly, efficient and speaking good English. We completed the usual forms, document inspection, etc. and then they handed me over to the Guardia Civil do Republica. This chap was nice enough, but apallingly slow. He agonised over each entry on the form, pen hovering over the blank space while the precious minutes ticked by. That being completed, he then handed me another blank copy of the same form, to fill in for customs! 1 hour, killed.
The following morning, I made my way along to the Harbour Master's office. Here I handed over the documents to a man who disappeared for a good half hour before returning with a beautiful certificate and a bill for 2 Euros - lighthouse tax. Another hour killed.
We hauled anchor and sailed around the island to the truly spectacular anchorage at Sao Lourenco. It's half of a volcanic cone (not sure what happened to the other half - on the seafloor somewhere?), with lovely terraced vineyards rising up the steep slopes all round. We had a delightful couple of days there, snorkelling and exploring a sea-cave by dinghy. Then, on Tuesday night, the shit hit the fan.
To be continued (got to go snooze now)...

Island of plenty

It's a great place to rest and recharge after a spell at sea, Sao Miguel. The produce of the islands is available in plenty and at little cost. What variety too! The quite extraordinary climate and fertile soil allows them to grow everything from bananas and pineapples to tea and tobacco and the dairy products, as Paula pointed out, are of the first quality. The cheese, oh, the cheese - full and intricately flavoured, beautifully complemented by the robust wine grown on ancient lava fields. They produce the only tea grown in Europe and without needing any pesticides or fungicide, as the islands are free of any tea-pests.
Another curious thing is that we have yet to come across any mosquitos here, though we've heard from others that there are a few about.
It's a very social scene amongst the sailing community. Everyone who arrives has had a long ocean passage and therefore have an immediate bond of shared experience. By the way, this is the only marina we've ever stayed in where there are no clanging halyards - a fine testament to the seamanship of those who venture across oceans.
There's no possibility of pigeon-holing the yachties passing through. Many nations and many social strata are represented but everybody (except the French, usually) all muck in together. We've met a 75 year-old Englishman who's sailed solo around Cape Horn and is still picking up pole dancers from the 'Gentleman's clubs'. His theory is that one doesn't age at sea, so he intends to simply keep on going.
Then there was the Canadian couple just out from the Great Lakes, having made the crossing with their 2 spaniels and a cat on board. They said the dogs generally do their business in the cockpit, unless it's rough. Can't imagine anything worse than having to clean up dog excreta belowdecks during a storm...
There's a slightly ramshackle Swedish vessel next to us at the moment, just having their engine re-installed before heading east. Another Swedish-flagged vessel, a 26-footer, has a Polish couple aboard who are on the final leg of their circumnavigation - 5 years at sea.
There are numerous Dutch boats as well, one of which - a fine 39-foot Hallberg Rassy - we spent the evening aboard yesterday pooling our experiences over a few glasses of tinto.
There's a surprising number of people out jogging around the world's oceans, all driven by the same sense of adventure and love of freedom and the sea.
We'll probably set off on the weekend for a little mini-cruise of the archipelago before we fly home on the 23rd.

Ilha Verde

There wasn’t much opportunity to get out and about the island on our first two or three days here, us being fully occupied with cleaning and sorting stuff out on the boat. The big cleanup after a couple of months’ cruising is quite an operation. Anyway, with everything shipshape once more, we could set off yesterday with a clear conscience.

We treated ourselves to some new hiking boots and gave them a pretty severe trial with a trek of perhaps 35km. We hadn’t really intended to walk quite so far, but our luck with hitching in the morning wasn’t good, so we ended up hoofing it all the way across the island to the trailhead for the hike we had in mind.

Ilha Verde, they call it – the green island. The lush greenery, rolling hills and volcanic peaks were a soothing sight after the semi-arid terrain of southern Spain and Portugal. They should have shot the ‘Shire’ footage for Lord of the Rings here, it has that sort of mythical look about it.

Dairy cattle there are in abundance, grazing meadows lined with bright hortensia hedgerows (we’ve already enjoyed some of the fine cheeses that result). Every little farm truck, and even the occasional horse and cart still seen, bear their load of steel milk cans. The cows here don’t come in to be milked, instead the farmers head out to the high terraced pasture with a portable milking machine and do the business there. We took a wrong turn along a beautiful forest track and came across a young lad waiting for the evening milking hour, listening to the radio in his truck and drumming on an empty milk can to pass the time.

The main objective of our hike was the trail around the crater rim that encloses Lago Azul. Unbelievable stunning scenery, timeless in itself, but we were rudely reminded of the age we live in by the obnoxious presence of a rave going down on the lakeshore and a Jeep rally progressing over the same trail. The Jeep rally at least had one beneficial consequence for us in the form of a ‘Promobar’ midway around the rim.

We escaped this nonsense by cutting off the official trail and heading down towards the coast and the fishing village of Mosteiros. The track we chose turned out to be a bit of a hidden gem, populated by extraordinary numbers of birds – mainly chaffinch, sparrows, blackbirds and starlings, but we also saw a sweet little goldcrest (Europe’s smallest bird) and an Azorean bullfinch.

After our encounter with the cowherd, our hitching luck improved and we caught a lift down to the black lava sand beach at Mosteiros where we refreshed ourselves with a cooling dip in the sea.

We were definitely flagging by this point and it was still 35km back to Ponta Delgada, so it was with some relief that we picked up a lift that brought us all the way back.

Not feeling nearly so ambitious today. We’re hoping to get along to one of the hot springs and just soak for a bit.

Do please leave comments - we love to hear from you!

Azores High

That's what we're experiencing now. We made landfall in the wee hours of this morning after eight days on the high seas. They were high, at times, but also low at others. As soon as we rounded Cabo de Sao Vicent, the Nortada began to exact her terrible vengeance in payment for our impending escape. A steady Force 6/7 buffeted us as we wallowed over the lumpiest sea we've ever experienced. There were two cross-swells, at least, with a nasty little chop layered on top, all of which combined to produce a motion that made both of us violently seasick (for a full two days), after these many weeks at sea without complaint.
The following four days were a blissful contrast, wafted along by a gentle breeze under clear skies across a sapphire sea - a balsam to the soul. One day was entirely without wind, so Sven got his exercise, and we profited by the opportunity to stop for a bath. Much to our suprise, the water was much warmer than back on the south coast of Portugal. There were around about 4000 metres of it underneath us at that point - bluest thing I've ever seen...
We got alot of reading done in those days. The only thing apart from sea, sky and the occasional seabird to cross our vision was the occasional freighter. Three or four per day in the early days, though later (more than 400 miles offshore) there passed a couple of days when we saw no human traces whatsoever.
Very symmetrically, the trip was rounded off by two days of tough sailing against adverse winds and through frequent squalls. It was an elated pair of mariners who tied up in Ponta Delgada this morning.
Weather information was hard to come by out there. Initially, the only forecast we could pick up was on Radio France International. Laterally, even that source faded into the aether and I radioed a passing freighter yesterday evening to get the latest forecast. Happy news it was, too, giving tidings of a much-needed favourable wind shift.
It's difficult to describe the feelings engendered by a long ocean passage. I had a stab at it while we were out there, during the blissful middle days:
"Nothing can fully prepare one for the experience of a long offshore passage in a small boat.
Books, films, thoughts and dreams can give an inkling, certainly, but the impression gained is muted, like a bed of brilliantly coloured flowers viewed by moonlight.
When land is left far behind and things are getting rough, the nature of the sea is driven home. The immensity of it. The utter implacability. The sheer, elemental mercilessness of the entity at whose mercy you lie. Always, the awareness that there's no safe harbour or snug anchorage for many hundreds of miles ahead.
One comes to regard the sea with an odd mixture of awe, wonder, fear and respect.
When things are calm, there's an isolated tranquillity only found in the ever-diminishing number of true wildernesses left in this world.
It's you, your thoughts and one other soul (asleep belowdecks) in the midst of this vastness. The sky, horizon and miles of water below. Miles. Ever changing and yet the scene that has changed least on this planet in the aeons since it coalesced from a molten ball.
Standing there alone, on deck, in the middle of the night and gazing out, the fineness of the line we tread becomes clear. Out there, you're on the very edge of existence."
On a lighter note, the lot we've heard and the little we've seen has convinced us that being in the Azores is too rich an opportunity to pass up. The north Atlantic weather's too bad and time remaining in the season too short for us to press on this year so, we've decided to winter the boat here and start the next season with a proper exploration of the archipelago before heading north to Ireland and then home.

Ambling in the Algarve

This is the first morning in a week that the wind hasn't been howling and very pleasant it is too. Last couple of days we've experienced cold for the first time on this trip. Even bought thick woolly jumpers.
Forgot to mention in the last post that we logged our thousandth mile on Fettler some time on the approach to Albufeira. One of the photos up for that post shows me cockling at Alvor. The lovely hand-drawn charts left us by Dave and Fran indicated 'good cockles at LW' and so there were. The sands there are teeming with them and it was short work for the three of us to gather a pint or so of very tasty little shellfish.
It's been a great stop here in Lagos. Got a lot of things done and enjoyed the town but now looking forward to getting back out there and anchoring up at Sagres (also the home of our favourite Portuguese beer).
Jeff's been a model guest. No trouble, doesn't take up much space and is more than willing to do the washing up.
The signs are looking auspicious for the Azores run starting early next week, so our next post may well be from San Miguel.

Go west!

We´re making slow progress along the southern Portuguese coast, due to the Nortada (which bends around to the west as it passes Cape St. Vincent). This singularly unhelpful wind blows against us at force 5-7 every afternoon, severely limiting westward progress.
We´re now in Portimao, having picked up Jeff here this morning. Just had a truly excellent meal of grilled fresh-caught sardines and will make a couple of short, early morning, hops along the coast over the next few days to avoid traumatising our guest too severely.
After that, it looks like we´ll have to sail to the Azores, to avoid the true Nortada, swell and current which would all make heading north up the Portuguese coast a serious trial. Instead, it´ll be west until we pick up the southwest trades which we can then ride up to the south coast of the UK or Ireland.
In the meantime, all continues well. We exited the delightful Guadiana on Saturday last, stopped in Faro and then made an unscheduled stop in Albufeira after one of the bolts holding on Nanette´s quadrant on sheared off, making a marina stop for repair necessary. Odd, legoland-type marina and expensive, but pleasant and got the job done without fuss.
More photos to follow, so be sure to review the last several posts when we get them up.

Carry on up the Rio

Definitely the most relaxing part of the journey so far. I can’t believe we almost passed this by. Caught up in the drive to get west and north towards home, we very nearly pressed on to Faro, without taking the time to amble upriver on the Guadiana. Fortunately, the madness passed and we only needed to travel a few miles before it was clear that the pilot book wasn’t exaggerating – this is truly a spot not to be missed.
The surrounding country is semi-arid and hilly, the banks fringed with willows and bamboo and the birdlife is numerous and interesting. Azure-winged magpies (!), listed as a rare bird, are plentiful here. We’ve also seen golden orioles, kingfishers, plenty of storks and long-tailed tits.
Yesterday, we forged upriver to a very lonely spot just a couple of miles short of Pomarao, where the R. Vascao joins the Guadiana and spent an extremely peaceful afternoon, evening and night there. The sensation of remoteness was heightened by the discovery that there was no mobile phone reception – this in a world where reception is strong even on the Aonnach Eagach ridge in the West Highlands.
A dinghy expedition into the waters of the Vascao was rewarded by sightings of several of the above-mentioned birds, plus some very shy and wary turtles that slid off their mudbanks into the water at the first sign of our approach.
This morning, we took advantage of the last hour of ebb tide to come a few miles back downriver to the opposing towns of Alcoutim (Portugal) and Sanlucar (Spain), where we are anchored just a little upstream and between the two. Both very picturesque wee towns of whitewashed houses with colourful window frames and each with its castle peering across the river.
The heat is quite extraordinary by the middle of the afternoon. We had to spray the dinghy with water to even be able to touch it, let alone climb in and ride into town. Full awning over the cockpit and windscoop deployed for’ard keeps things bearable on board.
The ‘Tube Action’ donut claimed as salvage on a windy day way back in Alcudia is proving most useful under these conditions. It now streams out astern of the vessel (with the aid of its own plastic bag drogue), ready to be reclined upon for a spot of cooling off.
We expect to be here another couple of nights, before heading downriver a little further where there’s reputed to be the remains of a Roman villa.

Jamon on board

We are now in Portugal, in the first town across the border from Spain: Vila Real de Santo Antonio. It is the first time on Portuguese soil for both of us and we soon realised that we knew as much Portuguese as Korean! However, we did buy a phrasebook and dictionary yesterday and this will soon be remedied.Before coming here, we were weatherbound in Cadiz for a couple of days, waiting for a fierce Levanter to pass through. We took the opportunity to go on a day trip to El Puerto de Santa Maria, a bull-fighting, sherry-making kind of town and stock up on local produce.
We bought a 4kg jamon, hoof and all, which now resides in its own wee hammock. He is a lazy crew member, only getting out of bed once or twice a day to be sliced. We also purchased some fine sherry and brandy from an old bodega. One litre of old Pedro Ximinez for 5.50 euros!
It was quite a wrench leaving Cadiz, especially since it was still blowing Force 6-7 when we took off. But we were going downwind so had a cracking sail to the resort town of Chipiona, which was mainly notable for the fact that it was almost exclusively frequented by Spaniards on holiday.
We are definitely back in tidal waters. Coming into Vila Real, we were just slightly early and had to contend with a knot of cross current flowing in the marina while looking for and slotting into a berth. The marina is small and tight and runs out rapidly when moving fast enough to keep steerage on top of the current. A small and toothless marinero pointed to a berth which was a sharp turn round but we made it in with a reasonable minimum of fuss. We will be sure to leave at slack water when, as the pilot book puts it, "manoeuvering is least traumatic".
Portugal is very pleasant so far. We plan to pop up the River Guadiana for a couple of days and then continue along the coast before picking up our first guest, Jeff, in 10 days' time. -S

On to the broad Atlantic

Where to begin? Our last proper update was from Cartagena – a stop we thoroughly enjoyed. Now we’re in Cadiz, another ancient (supposed to be the oldest in Europe) Phoenecian-founded city and, again, thoroughly enjoying it. Although the span of time in between is rather short, rather a lot has happened.

We pulled out of Cartagena around about three o’clock on a fine Wednesday afternoon. The sea was flat and we had a fine breeze on the beam wafting us westward. On the way out of the harbour, there was a small glitch when the winch for hoisting the main halyard stopped working. I knew they needed servicing, but not quite how urgently. Anyway, not really a problem. Conditions were pleasant and the main was hoisted, so we carried on under main alone while I stripped down, cleaned, greased, replaced pawl springs and reassembled the winch. We headed 15 or 20 miles offshore, to avoid tunny nets and shipping, and enjoyed an uneventful evening of simple sailing.

Around sunset, as often seems to happen, the wind died down, so we dropped the genoa and fired up Sven and were soon joined by a playful pod of dolphins. It’s impossible to tire of the company of these fun-loving animals. Just before dark, a tern circled the boat many times, almost alighting more than once, before flying off towards land.

12 hours later, we had 20 knots of wind again and we were running with double-reefed main and poled-out jib. Sadly, these conditions did not last and by the middle of the afternoon the wind had died completely. Sven was duly fired up only to conk out a few minutes later. There we were. 10 miles or so off Almerimad (the cheap British-dominated marina of Almerimar), no wind and now no engine, bobbing. Though the wind had stopped, the sea hadn’t and so we bobbed quite vigorously while I set about trouble-shooting the breakdown.

First thought was fuel supply, but there was plenty in the tank and cracking the line at the bleed point just before the injector and hand-cranking the engine showed there to be fuel present. Rope around the prop? A quick dive over the side showed this to be a false hope. Overheating or lack of lubrication causing piston to seize? Nope. Diesel injector clogged? After consulting the manual, I decided to pull it and check. Sure enough, the spray pattern didn’t look too good so I took it apart and found it to be a bit mucky inside. Following cleaning, reassembly and installation, I figured we’d be in good shape. No dice.

Finally, I decided to have a look at the fuel filter. I had been reluctant to do so, since it’s a damned diesely job and besides, I’d seen it only a few weeks ago, just before we launched, we hadn’t motored that much and I had only put in clean, quality fuel into the previously unused tank. As soon as I pulled it, however, the cause of our woes was revealed. Water! I’m still not sure how it got in there but my best theory is that it was condensation that had built up in the tank during Fettler’s long spell on the hard (should have checked this before putting fuel in for the first time). Anyway, this is a parameter that will be much more closely monitored hereafter. I found quite a bit of agua in the tank when I bled it out and then did all the fuel lines, replaced the filter, cleaned and reassembled everything once more and crossed fingers. That did it. Soon, Sven was happily put-putting away once more, sounding even better, I believe, for his newly cleaned injector.

There followed the longest motoring marathon in our sailing history – 45 hours, just the thing to clean out any residual droplets of water in the system. The wind seemed to have gone on strike for the next couple of days as we motored on across the eerily glassy sea. Dolphins visited us frequently during this time, by day and night, and I’ve seldom seen anything as beautiful as them playing by moonlight or, even better, after the moon had set and they were sheathed and trailing a bright glow of phosphorescence as they sported around the vessel. We were both on deck to marvel at this sight as the watch changed just before dawn.

Sometime between 0330 and 0400 that night, the log stopped reading. Something fouled around the paddlewheel, I supposed, so we decided to stop for a swim around 1000 and check it out. A bit of weed was the culprit, easily sorted. As we dried off in the cockpit afterwards, we were surprised by an odd blowing sound which turned out to be a pilot whale off the port quarter!

The motoring marathon went on. Just before noon (this is Friday now), when we were still 60 miles east of Gibraltar, we started to experience effects from the odd currents that flow there. We were plodding along with a knot and a half of foul current holding us back, when I noticed an odd line on the sea ahead. The line itself was a smooth band, with different ripple patterns on either side of it. As we crossed it, the foul current increased to two and a half knots. I immediately altered course towards shore and we crossed several such lines as we got closer in, until at last there was only one knot against us.

The main reason behind our big push for Gibraltar was the forecast we’d received in Cartagena. The winds were expected to hold easterly until Sunday and then swing around to the west. The geography of the Straits constrains the wind so that it almost always blows either due west or due east. Combined with the steady east-setting current and the tides, the practical effect of this on a small sailing vessel is that it is only really possible to get through, from east to west, with the wind behind you. We particularly wanted to avoid being bottled up at Gibraltar, waiting for the wind so we pressed on. Tide-wise, our timing was looking pretty good as we headed into Friday night. The best time to get through to the west is around 4 hours after high water Gibraltar, which would fall at 0700 on Saturday morning.

Sonja went off watch at 0100, just as visibility was starting to close down and we had 15 miles or so to go to Gibraltar. By 0200, we were shrouded in thick fog and I was navigating purely by radar and GPS, with periodic looks up on deck. There wasn’t much point in being up there, as I could only see a small circle of water around the boat and shipping was heavy in the approach to the Straits. At one point, just before Sonja woke up, I could see a dozen ships in the 3 mile range on the radar, some headed one way, some the other, some stationary, apparently riding at anchor. Several we passed within half a mile without being able to hear or see any sign of them. We passed the Europa light itself at a distance of one mile and couldn’t see a thing. In the end, we passed the Rock and crossed the boundary of the ancient world, through the pillars of Hercules, without even seeing it.

Sonja woke up as we were crossing the Bay of Gibraltar, had a near heart attack upon catching sight of the radar screen and now we both stayed on watch for the demanding passage through the Straights. Soon after we passed Gibraltar, the fog began to lift and a light breeze sprang up from the east. We were a couple of hours before the optimal time to pass through, but our speed over ground was reasonable and we decided it would be more hassle than it was worth to wait around.

Midway through I went down for a short nap and managed to grab half an hour before all Hell broke loose. Just as I came to, I heard a slightly anxious Sonja call down from the cockpit that the wind was picking up. Soon, as we approached Tarifa, the western extremity of the Straits and their narrowest point, the wind was blowing a near to full gale and the seas building quite fantastically.

Sven and Neville then went off duty and we ran before the gale with the double-reefed main out on a preventer and myself at the tiller. We had three knots of current against us and 30+ knots of wind behind, so the seas became very large and very steep in pretty short order. As one particularly vicious one slewed around, the wind got behind the mainsail and the boom whipped across with a bang. Accidental gibe – not good. The cleat that had been holding the preventer dropped into the cockpit, one screw broken off, the other simply ripped out. We had no option but to gibe a couple of times more, in a deliberate controlled manner, and to steer the course with great precision to avoid any further mishap.

Thankfully, as land fell away after passing Tarifa, so the wind and seas moderated rapidly and, though still rough, the danger was past.

It was a pair of tired but happy sailors who pulled into the unattractive and vaguely unpleasant port of Barbate a few hours later. The eventful 3-day passage from Cartagena was a challenge that left us with a great sense of achievement and the need for a good night’s sleep. Our satisfaction was heightened the following day when we learned that the wind had indeed come around to the west and was blowing a near gale the other way.- J

We then set out for Cadiz, hoping for a relaxing day sail. It was not to be – we had to fight for every inch of the way, with two knots of current against us, an unfavourable wind direction and horrible shoals that made for uncomfortable seas. We finally pulled in at the marina in Cadiz just before 2300, 11 hours after setting out for the 35-mile trip, and this despite doing over six knots the whole way.

Cadiz has a truly beautiful old town and we spent yesterday exploring its shady narrow streets and leafy squares. We will stay another two days here to recuperate before heading across the bay to sample some sherry at the port for Jerez and then continuing on to Portugal. - S

Through the Straits

We´re tired but happy, having made it through the mad Straits of Gibraltar. Now in Cadiz and preparing a full post, with photos, to follow.