Safely arrived

We reached Baltimore in Southern Ireland yesterday evening, after a voyage of 11 days and 5 hours. Superb!
It was an incredible experience. Feels a lot longer than 11 or 12 days, but in a good way.

Fettling

We’re ready to go. The rigging was finished a couple of days ago. Just as well that we decided to replace it since one of the old deck fittings, beefy though they looked, crumbled in Thomas’s hands when he pressed on it after we pulled it out. The mainsail is back on as are the dodgers, the lines, the anchor and the solar panel. Engine-wise, the water pump has been serviced, gear and sump oil changed. Sonja has provisioned for the trip and the little hammocks are bulging with fresh fruit and veg.

Tomorrow we’ll wrap up the last bits and pieces and then take the boat out of the harbour so we can scrub the hull beneath the waterline. Sunday is looking good for departure.

My week here before Sonja arrived was full of boat work, but the social scene was pretty lively too. My days took on a strange pattern of waking early, working all day and then being sucked into some drinking session or other until late. Not bad. Last Friday, for instance, I was finishing my day’s work by scrubbing the chain, rode and anchor that had spent the winter on the harbour bed, holding us off the pontoon. Pretty foul. I was nearly done, when I noticed the chap who had helped out with the marina dinghy when I needed to get the anchor up. He was on a nearby boat, so I took him and his friend over a couple of beers by way of thanks. These were gratefully received and I went back to work. Soon though, I heard a cry of “Hey! Stop working!” and they invited me aboard for a beer. Several hours later, I staggered back to Fettler, clutching a parting gift of a large lump of swordfish, which I cooked up for a very late supper (and lunch the next day).

The weather has been beautiful, not too hot, not too cold. We’ve hung out with some of the friends we made here last year and met some other sailors as well. An interesting junk-rigged ketch pulled in from St. Martin (in the Caribbean), the day after Sonja arrived. Mike, the affable septuagenarian solo sailor, duly invited us aboard for six o’clock G&Ts that evening. Sonja slipped away at about 0130, while I lasted a further three hours. It was a lethal night for that bottle of gin.

The very next morning, at 0900, one of our Azorean friends, João (bloody brilliant guy), arrived to take us on a little tour of the island. We stopped at a remote spring that produced the most fantastic sparkling water, before having a lunch of small fried mackerel by the sea and looking for the elusive priolo, the Azorean bullfinch. This is Europe’s rarest bird, with only 200 breeding pairs remaining, and we managed to spot about 10 of them in the mountain reserve where they live.

João also made us a present of some freshly picked coffee berries from his garden – we were instructed to soak them in water, remove the outer shells and then dry the beans in the sun for a few days. This coffee will be processed across the north Atlantic and should be ready for roasting when we reach Edinburgh.

This evening we’re off to dinner on another friend’s boat (Ricardo). Delightful folk.

It’s quite hard to tear ourselves away from this beautiful island and our good friends here, but we will definitely be back!

View Larger Map

The route (intended) Part II

The map above is fully interactive. Zoom in, move around, marvel at the wonder that is Google Maps! Even better - click the link below the map to view it larger in a new window.

We will be heading back to the Azores in a couple of weeks, to get Fettler ready for sea again and make our way back to Edinburgh. The route on the map above comes with all the usual caveats of sea travel.

As always, we will update the blog to keep pace with our progress to departure and after arrival.

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.