La Gomera, a compact island of contrasts

We have now spent a week exploring Gomera with my parents and it may just be our favourite Canary island. There is lots of good hiking, with extensive forests on the cool high plateau in the centre of the island and terraced ravines on its outside. In fact, everywhere that can be terraced has been terraced, but unfortunately most of the terraces are no longer cultivated; at most a few little dragon trees grow on them. It's not quite clear why so much land has been abandoned for agricultural production, but most likely it's due to the climate being significantly drier than in the past. The temperature gradient on the island is amazing. We've passed in an hour from 25C at sea level to 10C at around 1000m elevation.

There are a lot of interesting small boats about in the marina. The Talisker Challenge (rowing across the Atlantic,  solo or in teams) left from here just before we arrived, but two of the boats subsequently limped back. For a row boat they are quite deluxe, but it's still a hardcore endeavour. Jim admits to being strangely tempted by these little craft...

On our pontoon there are some French sailing legends, twins Emannuel and Maximilien Berque, who have made a habit of sailing tiny home-built vessels across the Atlantic. They have even done it without any instruments - no sextant, no GPS, no compass - nada. The latest Micromegas is their fifth, a 5 metre-long catamaran. Each hull is just a big enough pod for one to sleep in. They have a Trangia camping stove and carry 50L of drinking water for the crossing. Ah, the home comforts of Fettler!

Seeing numerous bags of gofio piled up on the catamaran made us want to try this Canarian cereal flour and it turns out to be great boat food. Gofio is pre-cooked and comes in different grain varieties (maize, wheat, barley and mixed). It's somewhat reminiscent of Weetabix. We've now switched to it for breakfast, mixed up with milk, date syrup and banana. Gofio, especially the corn variety, can also be used in savoury dishes, for thickening soups etc. Maximilien and Emannuel even mix it with red wine.

We checked out several possible anchorages on the south coast of the island by land and they all seem quite open and prone to swell so we are not sure if we are going to go there by sea. The Canaries are definitely not an anchoring hotspot; the only protected anchorages being found inside larger harbours. The wind fairly howls through the marina most days, funnelling through the high valleys, but once out of the wind the weather is balmy and, unlike the locals, we still swim in the sea most days. We are now chillling in San Sebastian and waiting for the strong northeasterlies to subside for a couple of days so that we can make for Las Palmas in time for Christmas and New Year. That being said, this place is growing on us to the extent that we might just sit tight a while longer.

Gran turismo

Inside the GPS

Our three weeks in Las Palmas passed very quickly. First we did a lot of boat jobs, including changing the display on our GPS (thanks to Dave and Fran for still having one and sending it to us!) and installing a 60W solar panel after the non-marine-grade solar suitcase broke. We don't have space to mount the panel permanently so it is moved around to catch the sun at anchor or in the marina and then fits snugly under the cabin table while under way. Then we did a lot of socialising and a bit of exploring, but only in city limits.

One of Christopher Columbus' old pads.

The cathedral, Santa Ana.

Las Canteras

Highlights of the social life in Las Palmas were a big Thanksgiving party organised by the American sailors in the anchorage (yes, there are boats with ovens large enough to cook turkey), the hospitality by Liz and Terry aboard Mahler and hanging out with some real Northeners, Erik and Solfrid on Fulmar, whose home port is Longyearbyen (80 degrees North).

We elected to stay at anchor for most of the time, partly for fear of acquiring cucarachas on board, something we want to avoid at all costs. During the four days we spent in Las Palmas marina and again in San Sebastian on La Gomera we liberally sprinkled insecticide on our mooring lines to keep the cockroaches out. Certainly something you don't have to think about in the North!

The produce grown on the Canaries is excellent and we've been enjoying the local tropical fruits such as custard apple, mango, persimmon and guava as well as the citrus fruits and bananas. In fact, the scent of the guavas in the hammock permeated the whole cabin, no need for incense.

The Christmas decorations are going up in the islands, but it's hard to feel in the Christmas spirit when the weather is warm and the scenery arid. The palm trees along the Las Palmas harbour front are decked out in blue LEDs, there are nativity scenes sculpted out of the sand on the main beach and baubles in some large cacti. Mahler had a Christmas lighting up party and her strings of coloured dolphins are much more tasteful than the santas climbing up the rigging on a neighbouring boat in the anchorage.

The Christmas sand sculpture

And the anti-capitalist one.

Our passage from Las Palmas to Gomera was a good one. We saw flying fish and a shark and Jim saw lots of dolphins, common and bottlenose, during his night and early morning watches. We went down the east coast of Gran Canaria and got a good look at the barren hill sides. The whole island looks parched. We tried to stop at Pasito Blanco in the south, but the swell was outrageous and it turned out not to be feasible to anchor anywhere along that coast in these conditions. On it was, through the night. This time we experienced the infamous acceleration zones between the islands as we crossed from Gran Canaria to Tenerife. One minute we were motorsailing, the next we had Force 6 from the north and a heavy swell, making for several hours of wild sailing. As soon as we passed the southern tip of Tenerife all calmed down again and it was back on with the engine. We arrived at San Sebastian at lunchtime in brilliant sunshine and are now awaiting the arrival of my parents who will be spending a week on the island.

Barren island: the southeast coast of Gran Canaria

We've been doing some hard thinking about our cruising plans and, as usual, it's all change. We have decided to remain in European waters – quite a hard decision to take while surrounded by hundreds of boats preparing their crossing to the Caribbean or South America, but it feels like the right one for us. Coming this far south, we've realised that we don't want to be away for years and years and that we do want to explore and spend time in the places that interest us closer to home. What we enjoy most about sailing is the pottering about and it makes more sense to do that in Europe than go thousands of miles and spend a lot of time on the ocean and then have a long way back again, with not much help from the prevailing winds. One thing we considered was going to the Caribbean rather than to Brazil, but it doesn't appeal to us that much (one memorable description by an American sailor: 'the best sailing in the world but don't bother going ashore') and you need to really want to get to the other side, otherwise there is not much point in crossing the ocean. We'd rather have nice hills ashore for hiking, secluded anchorages and friendly locals than hot weather, nice as it is.

So the new plan is to winter in the Canaries, toodling around all the islands apart from El Hierro (where there's currently a volcanic eruption going on). In the spring, head for Madeira and northern Portugal, spend a lot of time cruising Galicia and maybe overwinter there (with full use of our paraffin heater). More than once we've heard from people that the best bit of their Atlantic Round was Galicia. Then continue the Celtic cruising and make our way back home via Brittany, Cornwall, Ireland and Scotland. And  instead of Patagonia, one summer we'll go to the Lofoten islands.

La Palma to Las Palmas

Santa Cruz de La Palma

We spent 10 days in La Palma and probably didn't do it full justice as we were recovering from the passage down (mentally more than physically really). Even so, we had a good time and found the island very pleasant, with varied scenery and excellent fresh produce.

To the north: a dry river gorge, with plenty of bananas growing. 

In the midst of high laurel forest.

To the south: scene of the most recent volcanic activity (70s).

Black sand and igneous rock abutting blue sea and sky.

Although the marina was about half empty there was no shortage of fellow cruisers for us to hang out with. It was a particular pleasure to meet Pippa and Dee on Sula - our kind of boat: Elizabethan 31, 1967 vintage. They proved to be great partners in foraging and we enjoyed a couple of chestnut feasts together. Our other great foraging success was finding a big patch of ripe cherry tomatoes growing wild by the roadside. Delicious!

We departed SC de LP on the Monday evening so that we could be confident of reaching Las Palmas de Gran Canaria in daylight, on Wednesday morning. The passage was fairly uneventful and mostly pleasant. We skirted round the dreaded acceleration zones (where the wind funnels around and between the high islands and can suddenly boost its speed by 15 knots) and didn't have to motor much.

Originally we planned to wait until after the ARC (Atlantic Rally for Cruisers) had left Las Palmas but Raymarine tech support (whom we contacted about the problem with our wind instrument) directed us there to meet up with their factory engineer in town just for the big event.
Many times we'd been told that Las Palmas is a mad place to be in the run-up to the ARC. Over 200, mostly large and very expensive, boats fill the marina to capacity and the overspill fills the anchorage area as well. We were a bit nervous about even finding a spot to drop the hook but all proved to be well on arrival when we found a Fettler-sized gap tucked well in to the anchorage.

Marina? Full.

No expense spared. A helicopter rescue
demonstration for the ARC.

Things were snug in the anchorage.

Las Palmas has been altogether a pleasant surprise. We had good luck with getting things sorted right from the start, when we randomly encountered the very Raymarine engineer we needed to see. Within hours of arrival the TackTick trouble was over.
The social scene is brilliant too and we're really enjoying catching up with old friends and meeting new. Las Palmas is a big city and looks possibly a bit grim on the approach but it's very friendly and a half-hour walk takes one into the charming old town. There's even a free city bike scheme which we have been able to register for.

The ARC departed yesterday, amidst great fanfare. We walked along the sea wall to see them off and returned to a much more tranquil marina and anchorage.

And they're off!

Bow fenders are compulsory at the start.

Next stop: St. Lucia. Bon voyage!

Farewell to Sao Miguel

A view from the interior of the Gruta do Carvao, a volcanic
cave under Ponta Delgada. Just think - liquid rock.

It was a real wrench to leave Sao Miguel so we weren't feeling great about putting to sea in the first place, but the season was moving on and when there was finally a forecast promising five days of wind from the right direction (even if some of it was a bit on the strong side) we decided to go for it. We left the marina just as a cruise ship was entering the harbour and we hoisted our sails in its lee. It turned out to be a rough passage, probably our most unpleasant sailing to date.

There were some beautiful moments, which it might be well to highlight first. Dolphin viewing never gets old and we had a couple of fine instances, both at night. The first was on the second night, the only calm one of the voyage and after the moon had set so it was possible to see the luminescent glow around the animals as they moved. The character of the luminescent plankton is different down here compared with more northern waters. Up there it produces a diffuse glow and a dolphin leaves a solid looking light trail behind it. Here, the light is brighter but in discrete spots, so the animal appears outlined in sparkles. That night a gentle breeze sprang up on our beam, the stars were out and the sea smooth - the best sailing of this trip so far.


The other occasion was during one of the wild nights, not sure which now, Wednesday or Thursday. We were lying down below and suddenly heard the dolphins chattering to each other as they came to play around the boat. We hurried up on deck and held on tight to the rigging as the boat romped on. It was brightly moonlit, so we couldn't see the animals under the water, but only glimpsed them as a black shadow when they jumped. The wild, moon illumined sea was already a fine sight but the added spice of spotting the racing dolphins made it something magnificent.


Now for the tough bits.
The first day we beat into a Force 5, heading south and making fast progress past Santa Maria. It was too uncomfortable to cook so we just had some home-made (at Joao's, to his special recipe) granola for tea. Fortunately we'd had a major meat feast at Marcia's parents, both for lunch the day before and dinner the evening before that. The next morning the wind gradually died, but we motored on, knowing that bad weather was on its way and we needed to make as much southing as we could to avoid the worst of it.


The worst moment on the passage came in the depths of Tuesday night. It was blowing a full gale, which we were running before. We were getting well slammed about, but basically things were ok. Not happy, not comfortable, but ok. Then, at about 0300, the darkest hour of the night, the front passed over. We were huddled down below, unable to sleep, just waiting it out. Jim heard the rain start drumming on the coach roof, thought 'Hello. This could be something.' and grabbed the handheld instrument readout to keep an eye on the wind speed. In an instant, it jumped from mid-30s to 48 knots! The vane couldn't handle it and the next instant the boat had been shoved round head to wind and the sails were thundering like Judgement Day.


Jim was on deck in about 5 seconds, grabbed the tiller and steered the boat off down wind to safety. I appeared shortly after to help as needed. The scene was apocalyptic. Pitch black, monstrous seas, torrential rain. For perhaps 15 minutes the wind kept up at force 10. Thankfully we had put the third reef in the main the evening before. As it was, we found later that the top slider on the main sail was sheared clean off. Probably if Jim had been a few seconds longer getting on deck that night, the whole lot of them would have gone and we'd have been without the main.

Near disaster.

The wind kept up at Force 7 and 6 for the next two days. We couldn't sit in the cockpit as it was regularly deluged by waves breaking against the boat. Cooking was difficult, sleeping was difficult and watch keeping was pretty much left to the AIS. We felt depressed, Jimmy Cornell telling us in 'World Cruising Routes' that the best time for this passage is between May and August not helping, and Jim read aloud a PJ Woodehouse story to keep our spirits up. We meditated on Doc of Orford's words to the effect that you only can only expect to enjoy a relatively small proportion of a trip like this and that there would be many times when fear, exhaustion and depression are the order of the day.


Next up, a fitting holding a block on the self-steering snapped. It was a great good fortune that this didn't happen until it was daylight and only blowing Force 6. Jim managed to re-engineer the way the control lines ran right there and then and it's now actually a better system. The port side dodger also ripped slightly with the force of water blasting against it.

The original setup.

The damage.

The solution.

There was nothing for it but to grin, bear it and wait it out. At least the passage was fast. On the day of the Force 10 incident we made good 155 NM - a new record for us. Every other day we made 120-130 NM. The waves took a long time to calm down. Only the last day were they down to a reasonable size. During the gale, they were towering behind us, breakers everywhere.


At the outset, we had planned to make for Madeira, 500 NM away or, if the going was good, to continue another 280 NM to the small island of Graciosa, just north of Lanzarote. In the event we did neither. After Tuesday night we decided we wanted to get south as fast as possible, back into season, and did not want to stop start in Madeira, where we'd only be stopping for a couple of days at most. The plan was still Graciosa in the Canaries at this point, but our course was straight for La Palma. When I plotted our position and saw that it was only 200 NM away, as opposed to 390 NM for Graciosa, I suggested going there and after some discussion we changed plans. You need to stay flexible in this game!


The last day conditions improved, but we left our existing sail combination (double-reefed main and No. 3 jib) as there was no chance of making Santa Cruz de La Palma before dark and we want to keep going slow to get there early in the morning and maybe heave to for a couple of hours and get some kip before entering the harbour. Another plan that didn't quite pan out.


At 5am, we were about 4 miles off Santa Cruz, hove to, about to get some sleep. There hadn't been any shipping at all since a small burst of activity just south of Santa Maria. Now superfast ferries and cruise ships were appearing from all directions at once. Our solar-powered Tacktick wind instrument took this moment to announce it was out of charge and wanting to shut down. Since it's networked with the GPS, which in turn feeds into the AIS on our radio, this was a problem. We managed to get out of the way of a couple of ferries, but then one cruise ship bore down on us from the northeast. We could see both its port and starboard steaming lights, indicating a direct approach. The AIS didn't display its name so we couldn't call it up easily, with plenty of shipping around. Because we only had the No.3 jib up, we didn't have enough oomph to get out of the way fast. We started the engine, but even that didn't help much in the swell that was still running. In the end, Jim called Santa Cruz Traffic Control and the ship must heard that since it altered its course almost immediately.


High on adrenaline, we entered the harbour at first light, just in front of another cruise ship, which had been told by traffic control to proceed but to "take care of the small sail boat". 

The view from our cockpit: La Palma Marina.

La Palma marina is surprisingly empty. A bad reputation for swell and surge apparently keeps most cruisers away, but so far so good and we already have oversize rubber shock absorbers from the Azores on most of our lines anyway. We enjoyed a shower in the deluxe facilities and then couldn't sleep after all the excitement so explored some of the scenic old town instead. A croissant, a couple of beers, a cortado and a plate of serrano ham later, we were already beginning to recover; two drams of homemade Azorean aguardente (big thanks to both Marco's uncle and Marcia's parents for this) and 12 hours' sleep did the rest. It is amazing how quickly the horrors of such a passage fade. Probably there wouldn't be many sailors in the world if it wasn't so.

Santa Cruz old town.

The main drag in Santa Cruz, O'Daly.

PS

On an administrative note, we've changed the comment settings on the blog so that they have to be moderated before being published. That way, should anyone wish to send us a private message, it will only reach our eyes and not be published.

PPS
We're half way from Edinburgh to the equator!

Poised

Mater Dei - the best view over Ponta Delgada since 1500

We're enjoying the fine autumn weather in Sao Miguel, while waiting for a good bit of weather to sail to Madeira. When we returned here from Pico, the wind was boxing the compass almost daily. Then it settled on south easterly (the least useful wind for Madeira), where it has remained since. No matter. We're not in any rush and there's plenty to keep us occupied here.

We have been back to Furnas for cozido with Marco and Marcia, this time with bacalhao (cod fish) instead of meat. Considerably lighter on the stomach but equally delicious. After the meal, we were up for a visit to the Poca da beija - a very tastefully developed hot spring - where we soaked away a delightful couple of hours after dark.

We've also helped a friend with some heavy landscaping work and done several boat jobs, including the installation of a set of permanent mast steps with Thomas of Boat and Sail Service, who had the steps made specially at a local metalworking shop. I can now climb the mast comfortably any time without setup - should be very handy for maintenance and lookout purposes.

Mast steps! They're made from patterned
(treadmaster) aluminium sheet, cut into strips
and folded to spec.

Now we're off to help with the setting up of a mighty (22 metre) mast on a big American boat that arrived here, sans mast, about 18 months ago. It's taken this long for the owner to organise the replacement, which he ordered from the USA. It was delivered, in one piece in a very long box, to the American base on Terceira and then forwarded here. Delivery cost: 30,000 Euros. Ouch.

First of the autumn gales

We had admired the view of Pico's mountaintop from Lajes upon arrival, but that was the last glimpse of it we got until we were 20 miles offshore on our way to Ponta Delgada. The weather on Pico was mostly poor with plenty of rain so unfortunately we didn't get to see much of the island.

A hurried move back to Sao Miguel was indicated as the first autumn gale had appeared in the forecast. The passage back was quite pleasant, even though we had to motor half the way. Items of note were the eerie sight of a heavy lightning squall which fortunately passed to the south in the night, a dawn viewing of three sperm whales just metres from the boat, and our first deep sea fishing success.

New gear! A princely gift from our friend
Chuck of Valkyrie: rod holder, rod and reel.

Struck gold: a dorado!

We met Chuck in Horta and at some point the conversation turned to the matter of fishing, he inquiring after our success, we admitting that it was not considerable. He himself was never without fresh fish on his passage from the Caribbean to the Azores. He demanded to see our fishing equipment and seemed to take it as a personal affront, exclaiming "You'll  never catch any fish with this! Never!". Before we really knew what was happening, he had supplied us with the missing links in our fishing gear. Thanks, Chuck!
Everybody always remarks on the astonishing golden colour of the dorado and on how quickly the colour fades when the fish is dead. When I saw it on the end of the line, I first thought it was a piece of yellow plastic, the colour was so vivid it didn't look quite natural. Within an hour of hauling it out of the sea, it was ready to eat and mighty delicious too. Hopefully the first of many.

Once arrived in Ponta Delgada we made everything secure in readiness for the gale, expected the following day. Most people here hadn't heard anything about it and were surprised when we mentioned 'Gale Tuesday'. It duly arrived and came on harder than expected, blowing up to force 9 from the south west. The seas pounded right over the outer harbour wall, knocking shipping containers into the sea, flooding houses, killing one fisherman who was crushed between his boat and the harbour wall. Compared with what was going on outside, it was ok in the marina, but even so many mooring lines broke and the pontoons suffered significant damage. The worst thing though was the waste oil container of the marina getting swept into the water and creating a shocking mess. Boats covered in oil and a slick spread over the whole place. The clean up is more or less complete now, thank goodness. Plenty of Fairy Liquid was consumed in scrubbing the hull.

The weather is telling us that we really must get on south. Provisions are in and the boat is ready, we're seeing friends again and saying our farewells. Watching the forecast for a good window...

Whale-come to Pico

A fine example of Portuguese street mosaic.

We are now in the old whaling town of Lajes, on the island of Pico.
Horta (though I anticiapte a storm of protest for saying it) didn't suit us particularly well. There wasn't much doing and the people around the marina weren't especially friendly. It seems to be the case, as suggested by a French sailor we spent some time with, that an excess of tourism has begun to spoil the place.
It is still a very elegant looking town though and Porto Pim, next door, is beautiful. After a couple of days feeling slightly under the weather, we made an excursion across the island to see the newest bit of it. A massive volcanic eruption in the late 1950s added a couple of square kilometres to Faial, though about 80% of the new landmass has since been lost to erosion by wind and waves. The event was the calamity of its time and led to mass emigration, some 15,000 or half of the island's population fleeing, mainly to North America.

Somehow the lighthouse survived. It now stands inland in
a sea of ash, with one storey buried.

The new part of Faial.

After half a century, a few hardy plant species have begun to colonise the sandy new soil but it is still referred to as a moonscape and makes an eerie sight tacked on to the end of an otherwise verdant island.

Our passage from Horta to Lajes was not a pleasant one. The forecast indicated moderate southerly winds, which would have suited us well. The day started grey and squally but we were keen to push on, so checked out and pulled out. We got clear of the harbour just in time to be in on a torrential downpour. I was clad in swimming costume, t-shirt and oilskin jacket, which made an effective combination for the conditions. The wind was southerly, but up to 25 knots, into which we beat for a sodden hour to get out of the channel. The intensity of the rain made breathing difficult at times but we were looking forward to bearing off to the east once south of the headland and thought we were better off sailing than sitting in the boat in harbour all day listening to the rain.

The rain eased off somewhat as we exited the channel and we bore of slightly to the south east, set the self-steering and prepared to enjoy the rest of the sail. That was when the fun began. The wind suddenly dropped from 20 knots to less than 10 and backed from south through east to north east - where we wanted to go - leaving us wallowing on a perfectly dreadful sea. I changed the headsail up to the genoa and we persevered with it for another hour or two but the wind was so light and the sea so heavy that we made little progress and the prospects of reaching Lajes before dark were receeding rapidly. We toyed with the idea of simply pushing on for Ponta Delgada and sailing on through the night and next day but the wind showed every sign of conking out completely so on went the engine and we motored for Lajes.

Immediately after taking this decision we were joined by several pods of dolphins, a total of 30 or so individuals, who played around the boat for a good half hour and cheered us up immensely (laid out on the bow and reaching over the side, I actually managed to touch one of their dorsal fins - very cool). There were several youngsters amongst them, which were particularly fun to see swimming right close and in sync with their mothers. We have often noticed, and heard similar tales from other yachties, that dolphins have a knack of appearing just when one has an important decision to make or when a crew is desperately in need of cheering up. As a scientist I don't see what there can be to this but as a sailor it's what I observe. The two sides sometimes have to agree to disagree.

Aside from the primo dolphin action, there was one good thing about this passage in that it finally provided the opportunity to test an important repair job. From the time we left England, we had been plagued by a small leak that only ever appeared when sailing hard on starboard tack, with plenty of water on deck. Under these conditions, a little pool of water would gather in the middle of the saloon. It wasn't a significant amount, but the effect on morale was disproportionately high. Down below is the inner sanctum - if you can't keep the sea out of it, you've got a problem. None of the lockers higher up were wet and the water didn't seem to be coming from either further forward or aft. This was a tough nut to crack. In Ponta Delgada, I checked all the deck fittings and found them sound. Finally, in Velas, I noticed a suspicious looking flaw in the paintwork, just outside the toe rail amidships. Closer inspection revealed a crack, clearly associated with an old repair. Perhaps the last hard Edinburgh winter opened it up as it had never troubled us before. A couple of days of trickling 'Captain Tolley's Creeping Crack Cure' into it seemed to seal it up and with filler and a coat of paint it looked good as new. Happily it proved, under rigorous testing, to be tight.

Lajes do Pico.

Lajes is an interesting spot. The harbour has been greatly improved in recent years by the addition of an outer breakwater and is now fairly secure inside. There is space for 3 or 4 visiting boats, but we're the only visitors here at present. Indeed, the harbour master is on holiday and it took both him and the GNR official a couple of days to come and see us, meaning that we had to clamber around the gate to get ashore and return to the boat. This is a real whale-watching hotspot (the board outside the harbour hotel reads "Whale-come ao Pico") and so, of course, used to be a major whale-hunting ground. The whaling museum in town is very interesting and it should be pointed out that we're not talking about ancient history here - the industry continued, using mainly traditional methods, until the early 1980s.
The men went out in small, open boats with a crew of 7, harpooned the whale by hand and likewise despatched it with hand lances. At the museum is shown a short documentary film of the process, made about 1970. Though the narrative style is dated the footage is excellent and preserves a bit of ancient modern history, now truly finished. The killing scene was grim but one had to admire the skill and prowess of the men who did it.

Traditional fishing boat in the harbour of Lajes.

These boatsheds used to house the whale boats.

The highlands of Pico.

Ain't that swell

Although we were fortunate in missing the high winds associated with Hurricane Katia, which passed about 600 miles to the north, we didn't escape the effects of the storm altogether. Sunday night, the peace of the Velas marina was shattered by the ingress of quite a phenomenal swell. It started quite suddenly at about 8 in the evening and by midnight it was really spectacular.

The basin where the fishing boats lie, just to the west, was even more exposed and they had it cleared out by 0200. Some of the boats moved into the yacht basin and the rest were lifted out by the crane, right then and there in the middle of the night. I saw the last one being lifted clear when I got up to add more warps and tighten the existing ones on Fettler.

Waves were sweeping right over the quayside and washing all the way around the marina, creating an astonishing surge. It looked like a river in spate. The pontoons were moving up and down by over a metre and every boat in there was jerking and straining first at their lines, then against the pontoon.

Now, the wind was out of the north and so were the seas so nobody expected that sort of action in the harbour. The waves must have been bouncing back off the neighbouring island of Pico, 12 miles to the south, and bending round Sao Jorge as well.

I was up a good part of the night, adjusting warps and chatting with other skippers in the same predicament. At 0330 an air raid siren sounded, which immediately had me wondering if it was a Tsunami warning or similar but we never found out what it was about - some land-based emergency presumably.

The swell continued through the night and most of the following day but Fettler came through unscathed. In all there seemed to be remarkably little damage done. The one other visiting boat, an American, suffered a broken fair lead.

The marina manager, Jose, had the goodness not to charge us for that night's accommodation!

The harbour of Velas - open only to the southeast.
These harbours give the illusion of safety, but they're
quite exposed really.

Looks like a sheltered spot, right? Fettler is the middle boat
on the left, between the two big boys.

All this took place after an excellent day of hitch-hiking. Plenty of hitching, plenty of hiking. We went right to the opposite end of the island and it took us 4 lifts to get there and 4 back. Oddly, the last lift was with the same car, both ways.

The great thing about this particular hike, besides being all off road, is that it starts at the top and runs down hill all the way.

Serra do Topo - the top

Our lunch spot, the water source for Faja Santo Christo

Faja dos Cubres

Floral displays for a church festival. Flower
petals and greenery are precisely laid out for
the procession to walk along.

Once the swell had finally diminished to the point where it was once more safe to manoeuvre in the marina we pulled out and headed for Horta. As it ever seems here, once the big winds pass through you don't get much fair wind before it dies altogether. Coupled with the weird effects of precipitous islands, it doesn't make for great sailing. The seas were still big and sloppy and the wind conked half way across, leaving us to motor along through the slop, with the thrice-damned current against us all the way.

Still, Horta is lovely and by all accounts the rest of the island of Faial is too. So far (third day) we haven't been out of town yet, but we have done our duty and painted our mark on the breakwater. Yachting superstition has it that any boat not leaving their mark when visiting Horta will never return.

Tranquil Porto Pim with Horta behind.

The finishing touches.

Another Aldi moment - a good test for Aldi's finest acrylic.

PS
This post comes to you from the salubrious surroundings of the famous Peter Cafe Sport.