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.

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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.