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.

Bull's eye

Here's a little taste of bull fighting Azorean style - a refreshingly Health and Safety-free zone. This was bull number one at the village of Queimada today. One umbrella was destroyed.

Pineapples and cheese

We finally tore ourselves away from Ponta Delgada and our great friends on Sao Miguel and got underway again.
Before leaving though, there was time to go with Ricardo to his father-in-law's pineapple plantation just outside Ponta Delgada. Pineapples are a traditional crop of the island, grown in glass houses in accordance with a series of mysterious rites, including lighting a fire in the building to smoke the plants and induce them to produce fruit synchronously. Each plant produces one fruit and takes a year to do it.

Baby pineapples!

We didn't go away empty handed, the boss fellah being sure to harvest one ripe pineapple for us to take home and enjoy.

The forecast we left on wasn't ideal, but it looked like the best in the immediate future so we went for it. It was a wrench to leave but we gritted our teeth and cast off the warps regardless. The wind had been blowing stiffly from the north for a couple of days so we expected it to be rough once clear of the island and so it was. At least we had the pleasure of 'stealing' a pod of dolphins from the whale watching boats as we sailed past.
The following day we got within striking distance of Pico and Sao Jorge and began to feel the bizarre effects of these high mountainous islands on the wind. At times it was pleasant sailing, at times hideous. The wind changed direction and strength all the time, dancing between 10 and 26 knots unpredictably. Finally it settled stiff and on the nose as we tried to beat up the channel between the two islands towards Velas.
A possible anchorage at Calheta became very tempting as the day was drawing to a close but the fact that it's not a port of entry was a problem and the pilot book didn't make it sound very attractive either. However, we were tired and really didn't feel like thrashing up the channel all night so pulled in to Calheta after all and were very pleased we did.
It's tight for space, but there were no other boats in the anchorage and only one fishing boat unloading on the pier. We dropped the hook near a dodgy looking mooring buoy and crashed out at about 2200, to the melodious strains of the Cory's Shearwater.
I woke up around midnight and had a look out, not feeling too confident in the holding, and was dismayed to see a small sailboat tied to the dodgy looking mooring. Should the wind shift in the night, we would almost certainly collide. There was nothing for it but to haul the anchor and move to another spot. This turned out well though as we found better holding the second time and slept soundly thereafter.
In the morning we found the wind in a much more favourable direction but still highly variable in strength as it poured over the mountains from the north and down into the channel. Still, it was a nice sail until the final approach to the harbour at Velas, where it was seriously howling. No matter. We had reached Sao Jorge, the island of cheese, and settled quickly in at the small and friendly marina.
The town and the island in general are, you won't be surprised to hear, beautiful.

The central square of Velas.

One of the famous Sao Jorgian cows, with Pico, Portugal's
highest peak, in the background.

An escaped hen, returned to the wild, with her newly hatched
and very cute brood in the forest.

The season is more or less over here so the marina, which is normally packed out, has ample room. There is only one other visiting boat here at the moment, another of 'our type' of vessel. Malu is a Danish 27-footer, belonging to Frank and Lone, whose company we have certainly been enjoying.

We had quite an exceptionally good day today, setting off to hitch hike to the northern part of the island. Getting lifts was easy enough, the first in the back of a pickup truck full of bags of sugar, taking us to the village of Norte Grande. From here we hiked down to the Faja Ouvidor. The island is seriously steep-sided, only broken by the Fajas, which are the sites of ancient lava flows to the sea.

Faja Ouvidor, looking to the next Faja along. The Fajas
were the first part of the island to be settled.

Bar Azul, next to the wee harbour, where we stopped for a
 cold glass of red wine. Well within budget at 80 cents.

Where the lava met the sea. We had spotted a tempting looking
swimming spot and were prospecting for the route to reach it.

The view from above. We just had to swim in these pools! 

Finally! On the fourth attempt, a route down was discovered.
We had the place entirely to ourselves.

Columnar basalt and clear turquoise water.  

Heading back over the lava bridge.

Returning home again, we first got a lift with a friendly farmer who took us as far as the first field of cows he had to milk. He invited us to view the evening milking, which we were glad to do, and then gave us as much fresh milk as we could drink and carry away with us. A lifelong wish for both of us fulfilled - drinking milk fresh from the cow! Not just any milk either but delicious Azorean milk.

'Form an orderly queue please, ladies'. The cow that our milk
came from. The milking machine was run by a generator
on the spot.

Lastly, we got a lift from a very nice chap living in Velas, who invited us into his home when we reached town and fed us well on bean stew and plenty of the famous Sao Jorge cheese, washed down with red wine and a very local aguardente. This is a friendly island!